by Carl Purcell
“Who goes there?” He demanded. There was no answer. Pentdragon took a moment to strengthen the aura he had been projecting and the crimson glow blasted the whole room with light, leaving no corner untouched and no shadow remaining. Now he could see his visitor. The man standing in the room had dark eyes and short grey hair. He was over six feet tall and gaunt as a skeleton. The skin on his face clung tight to his high cheek bones. He grinned so wide that it reached from one side of his narrow face to the other. The stranger made a point of each motion being grand and dramatic. He flourished one arm outwards, then wrapped it around his waist and bowed low.
“I greet you most respectfully, Your Lordship Pentdragon. I petition you only for a moment in your presence.” He remained low in waiting. Pentdragon sat straight in his throne and examined his visitor. The stranger was well dressed, his black shoes had been recently polished and he was wearing spotless white gloves. But he could tell the suit was too big for the stranger. He didn't look right in it, not like a man who knew how to dress himself in true class and style. This stranger was just a pretender to elegance and nowhere was it more evident than the hint of insincerity in his voice.
“You may rise and come forward but only after you have told me your name.” Pentdragon told him.
“My name is Lloyd Crane and I am at your service.” The stranger stood straight again and walked forward. “I am told that you have had some misfortune recently.”
“And who told you that? Who?” Pentdragon made sure to address the stranger with a cautious but no less authoritative tone.
“A man at the door. He tried to convince me that I should return another time.”
“How did you convince him to let you in?”
“Do not fear, my Lord. I did not kill him or any of your servants who tried to intercept me.” Lloyd smiled up to his eyes.
“I never accused you of killing them.”
“No? Of course not. I only mean you have nothing to worry about. I come only to lay my service at your command.”
“And what use do I have for you?”
“You will find that I am the only man you will meet that is both able and willing to kill Griffith and his friend. More than this, I am offering you this service at no cost to you.”
“How do you know about them?” Pentdragon asked. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.
“I was with one of your subjects when the invitation to their execution came. We arrived shortly after they had escaped and heard all about it.”
“If you were with a member of my court, then you should know that there are laws for sorcerers in my realm. The Law of Tribute and The Law of Proclamation. I received no word of your arrival and no tribute. No word or tribute.”
“But you have.” Lloyd stepped closer to Pentdragon. Pentdragon rose up and the room darkened. Lloyd took a step backwards. “I am announcing myself to you now and I am offering my service as tribute.”
“Service? You want to kill Griffith and Roland as tribute? Do you take me for a fool?”
“If I did, I would not be here.” Lloyd answered with his head bowed and his eyes averted. Pentdragon wasn't convinced. The stranger was trying to play him for a fool and he didn't like it. But the offer was still enticing.
“Then tell me, what do you get out of killing them?”
“That is my business and my business alone. You will either take my offer as it is, or you won't.” Lloyd stretched his mouth into a long grin again.
A chill ran down Pentdragon's spine. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice told him to send the stranger away. Pentdragon closed his eyes and silently considered this instinct. Would he be showing weakness? Would the stranger kill Roland and Griffith, anyway? Wouldn't he look stronger if the Stranger did it at his command?
“Very well, Lloyd Crane.” Pentdragon said. “You have my sanction to find and kill the criminals. Find and kill.”
“Your Lordship is most wise and, if your Lordship will allow it, there are a few things I will need to achieve his goals.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Chapter 8
When he was sure he'd stopped moving, Roland picked himself up and dusted himself off.
Complete darkness surrounded him. He couldn't even see the stars in this... Whatever he had fallen into. He could still hear loose dirt and rock following him. Somebody close to him shifted and groaned.
“Griffith?” Roland asked.
“Yes,” the voice in the darkness answered.
“Are you hurt?”
“A little.”
“Good.” Roland picked the direction that most seemed like the one he'd come from and tried walking. The ground inclined upwards and then turned sharply into a ninety degree angle. Roland tried to dig into the wall and climb but the soil gave way and dropped him back down. Even if that was the right way, he couldn't get up like that.
“Anything broken?” he asked.
Griffith mumbled back.
“What?”
“I said no. I just hurt.”
“Good. Get up and help me, then.” Roland felt for his lighter but he already knew it was back at the motel, sitting with his wallet and cigarettes by the bathroom sink. “Well...” Roland paused just long enough to realise he'd already had all the good ideas he was going to have that day. “Shit.”
He sat and waited, hoping his eyes would adjust to the darkness and allow him some small vision of his surroundings. They didn't. Griffith eventually picked himself up and Roland heard him go through the same trial and error that he had gone through, only to come to the same realisations.
“Where are we?” Griffith asked.
“In a hole.” Roland shifted to get comfortable, stretched his legs out and leaned back against the wall. “Knowing our luck, it's probably a trap those sorcerers set.”
“I don't think so. They didn't seem like the build-a-trap types.”
“Whatever. We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't gone running after that dog. Or if you hadn't tried to shoot them. What the hell were you thinking?”
“It worked, didn't it?”
“Somebody could have been killed. If you'd just listened to me and stayed put, they would have taken what they wanted and left.” Roland felt Griffith sit next to him, uncomfortably close. He slid across the ground, giving himself some more space.
“You heard what that guy said,” Griffith argued. “They would have hurt somebody, regardless. People like that need to be stood up to. I still can't believe you of all people are saying we shouldn't have fought them.”
“They had a gun and they were sorcerers.”
“Well, yeah, but we didn't know that at the time.”
“Ugh!” Roland threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever. We lived. What's there to complain about, other than being at the bottom of a hole?”
“Don't worry about that.” Roland could hear Griffith smiling when he spoke. He made a point to scowl at him more, even though he probably couldn't see. “Let me rest a while and I'll get us out of here.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Roland felt his face redden. Was he really making a fuss over a hole? After everything that had happened and all the magic he'd seen Griffith use, a hole in the ground was nothing. But he couldn't be blamed for not thinking of that in the first place. It was all new to him, after all. Roland guessed that, like doing anything else, magic got harder the more exhausted you were. He felt exhausted, ready to lie down and sleep anywhere. Griffith must have been feeling the same. Roland couldn't do anything by himself, for now, so he sat and he waited in silence.
Before long, he fell asleep.
A weak trickling of sunlight hit Roland's eyes and dragged him kicking and screaming from his sleep. He kept his eyes shut tight and tried to crawl back, away from the daylight. Sleep felt good. The dreams haunted him but constant pain dulls over time. After a long night, what he wanted was rest – dreams be damned.
A sensation of heat on his finger killed any chance of that. Thinking it
was another beam of sunlight, he dropped his hand down beside him. The heat stayed. Curiosity killed any chance of sleeping again and Roland opened his eyes. The tacky jewelled ring he had stolen from Pentdragon pulsated heat and light. He looked up, across the hole at Griffith. The young sorcerer sat cross legged in meditation, the air visibly stirring around him. Roland had seen it once before. He was casting a spell. Roland looked up and down and around them for any sign that the spell was doing something. Other than his ring glowing at the air vibrating around him, nothing seemed to be happening.
Then Griffith opened his eyes, smiled and stood up. “Good morning.”
“It's good, is it?” Roland asked.
“It can be. I'm glad we got to sleep under the stars at least once.”
Roland looked up. The canopy of leaves blocked the sky. “Stars?” He looked back to his companion. “Griffith, there were no stars. We're in a hole.”
“And I'm getting us out of it.”
“How?”
“Magic.”
“Of course.” Roland stood up and gave Griffith all the space he needed.
Griffith stretched his arms, his abs and his knees. He cracked his knuckles and stepped up close to a wall. Solid, uneven slabs of sandstone encased their hole. The hole was about three metres deep and most of that was a ninety degree drop. Griffith placed his hands against the rock and closed his eyes. He slid into a trance-like state that Roland knew meant he was casting a spell.
Roland leaned back against the opposite wall and waited. It would no doubt take a while. He also knew that Griffith’s magic was painfully slow. Roland folded his arms and noticed the ring still glowing. The heat of the jewel spread into the metal band. Roland slipped it off and pocketed it.
“There we go,” Griffith said. Roland looked up, eyebrows raised high. That was fast. But he was right. Roland could see the stone wall rippling like water as Griffith touched it. Griffith pressed his fingers into the rock and balled his hands into fists. He raised one leg and pushed his toes in next. He made careful, deliberate movements and steadied himself before continuing. He pushed up, pressed his other foot in a little higher than the first. Griffith grunted and pulled close to the wall. Then his arms came out of the rock, leaving perfectly shaped hand holds. He repeated this process and step-by-step, hoisted himself up and out of the hole, leaving a ladder of hand and footholds, carved into the solid stone.
“Your turn!” Griffith shouted from the top and stepped away, out of sight. Roland gripped the stone and pulled. The rock held firm. It looked like the kid had done well and he sure as shit wasn't getting out of there any other way. Roland nodded to himself, stepped into the first foothold and began to climb. Moments later, he joined Griffith at the top.
“What do you think?” Griffith asked.
“I think we fell into a sink hole. But hell, I'm not a geologist. I also think it's your fault I slept in dirt.”
“Well let's find a place to clean off. So which way should we go?”
“Which way did we come?”
Griffith turned a full circle on the spot. “You know, I have no idea.”
“How long has the sun been up?”
“No idea.”
Roland sighed. “Great.” He, like Griffith, took a moment to take in the lay of the land. In every direction he saw trees – lots and lots of trees, that stood motionless and silent like tall, wooden gravestones, serene in the creepiest way. Roland couldn't see any end to them. Above, the sunlight filtered through the interlocking tree branches, occasionally disappearing behind grey clouds. Roland found a sunny patch of bushland and stood in it. He looked down, only to find that whatever shadow he may have been casting was swallowed by the dark forest floor.
“Just fucking great.”
“What?”
“If I knew where the sun was, I could tell more or less which way is north. But I can't see a damned thing through the trees.”
Griffith shrugged. “Well, in that case I think we should walk this way.” Griffith pointed.
Roland followed his arm and stared through the trees. “Why?”
“I like this way.” Griffith shrugged again. “And we don't know any other way?”
“You-” Roland stuttered, trying to put words to how stupid Griffith's suggestion was. “That—”
“Is as good as any other idea?”
“No! That's stupid.”
“Well, you know, the best way to get found, if we're lost, is to stay put and wait.”
Roland ran a hand over his face. “Kid, the only people looking for us want—”
Griffith smiled.
“Stop that.” Roland started walking in the direction Griffith pointed.
Griffith fell in beside him. “You know, I'm actually pretty pleased with myself.”
“Idiots often are.”
“I mean with that spell.” Griffith corrected. “It was just so quick and easy. New spells are usually much harder; at least I find that to be the case.”
“Everyone has to do something right, occasionally.”
“Jeez, no need to be so negative.” Griffith went on talking but Roland tuned the sound out. He couldn't have had more than a few hours uncomfortable sleep and he was in no mood to listen to Griffith's optimistic babbling. On the bright side, any direction they walked was bound to take them onto a road or a farm eventually. This part of the world wasn't heavily forested. Was it? Come to think of it, he didn't really know what the world was like any further north than Armidale. Even if they did find a road, how far off course that would put them was another matter entirely. To make matters worse, the ring felt uncomfortably hot, even in his pocket.
Roland stopped. Griffith kept on walking, saying something about who-cares-what. Roland pulled the ring out of his jeans and turned it over in his hand. The jewel still glowed, pulsing with energy. He took another look around at the trees and at the light, leaking through the leaves like a broken tap. No signs of magic. He turned to Griffith, spotting him a ways off by then, and quickened his pace to catch up.
Until the sound of sobbing hit his ears.
Roland turned, following the sound. He knew the sound well. That same sobbing filled his dreams each night. Or did it? Sobbing was sobbing, after all. It all sounded the same. Yeah, he was mistaken. He wasn't hearing that dream-sobbing. It was somebody else, obviously. Maybe it was somebody lost, crying nearby. Roland imagined them huddled up against a tree, frightened and alone. Maybe they'd hurt themselves. Yeah, that made sense.
“Griffith!” He called and looked to his companion. Gone. Not a trace of him. “Fuck.” Roland looked between the direction Griffith had gone and the direction of the sobbing. Easy choice. He had to know. Plus, if he just walked away, Griffith would never let him hear the end of it. Roland slipped the ring back into his pocket and headed towards the noise.
It didn't take long to find the source. Roland weaved around the random spread of trees. The sobbing grew louder, clearer. The rotting remains of an ancient fallen tree blocked Roland's path. He couldn't see either end of the trunk and decided, instead of looking, to climb over it. Roland found a boulder to stand on, one small enough to move but the perfect size to boost him. He gripped the top of the dead tree and pulled himself up. Scraps of dry paperbark caught on his sleeves and followed him down the other side of the trunk. On that side, completely cut off from the forest behind him, Roland saw the door.
A door. A door in the middle of the bush. Standing upright without any support. That alone was weird but it wasn't what made the door an impossibility. Roland ran his hand over the chipped white paint and found, right where he was expecting it, the black scuff marks from his shoe. He'd tried to throw the shoe across the hall, into the bathroom, as a reminder to polish it next time he was in there. The shoe bounced off the door and never made it out of the room but it did leave a dent in the wood and a black mark he never got around to cleaning. That door, that impossible door, was the door to his bedroom years ago. The bedroom he'd shared with Violet.
The sobbing came unnaturally clear, through from the other side. Roland walked around the door. The other side looked much the same, save for the black mark and the lack of any handle. Roland gave it a push from both sides and the door stood straight, unbudging. He knocked on the front. The sobbing stopped. Sweet, merciful silence filled the air. Roland started backing away, ready to forget he'd ever seen the door. Then the crying started again.
Roland stared at the door. He shifted back and forth on his feet, uncomfortable standing in any position. The ring in his pocket – no, his whole body – felt unbearably hot. His throat ached. He swallowed and ran his tongue over his dry lips. Magic. This all had to be magic. A magic door making magic sounds, standing out in the middle of a magic nowhere.
But it was his door. Why would a sorcerer create his door? How did they know it was his door?
Mind reading. A mind-reading sorcerer playing a sick joke. Roland made plans to find the bastard and play a sick joke of his own. The I-broke-your-nose-arse-hole kind of joke. Fucking hilarious.
Until then, he could leave the door alone. He didn't need to open the door. He didn't need to back then, and he didn't need to now. Not that anything was on the other side of the door. There couldn't be. He'd walked all around it. The door went nowhere. Right?
Right?
Roland stared at the stainless steel door handle. The door didn't have a lock; at least assuming it was his door, it didn't have a lock. Of course it was his door. It's not like somebody else's dreams or somebody else's memories were coming to life in front of him.
No fighting it. Roland reached down and gripped the handle. He had to know. He had to see her. It had been so long, and after what he'd done. This was the only way he could see her. Roland pushed the door open. Beyond the door, inside his bedroom, he saw the blanket-covered, human-shaped mound on the bed. The sobbing hit him like a kick in the gut.