Kip & Shadow

by David Pietrandrea

  “Very well, if you brought this portal into existence, then you will remain alive while I learn its secrets.”

  Lord Blackmoor rang the silver bell on his table once again, summoning his daughter back into the room. Again she came like a wraith, her eyes as empty as before. She took her place at her father’s side but there was no connection between them. She might have been just another object in the house. Her white hair hung in her face, masking any expression.

  Blackmoor’s eyes never left Kip.

  “Step forward,” he said.

  Kip and Shadow stepped forward two paces, looking down at the floorboards.

  Again Blackmoor flipped the switch at his side, charging the arc lights. They burst to life.

  A ripple of energy charged through the air around them as Blackmoor muttered an incantation once again; again the glint of embers in his eyes, red coal buried in the black.

  A rending crack sounded beneath Kip’s feet and he watched as the floorboards began to heave and buckle, then fall away. Stars peaked out between the falling boards, and the chill of the darkness rose up to meet him. The table and chairs followed the floor, spiraling into the star-scape below. He watched as his unfinished cordial spilled and tumbled downwards, the liquid exploding into droplets before freezing into perfect spheres.

  He saw his bag resting on a bookshelf across the room. If only he could get to it.

  The only bits of floor that remained were the broken, toothy pieces that Kip and Shadow balanced on, like two nests suspended in air. Shadow was nearly faded to nothing now. He whined and clawed weakly at the floor, flinching from the beams of the arc lights.

  “The floor you’re standing on will continue to shrink, completely disappearing after one hour. A small assurance that, if I were to not return, you would follow me to the grave.”

  “You’re a little man,” Kip said.

  Bright beams spilled into the void, making thick streams of light.

  “Sometimes it takes little men to do great things. The world is a contradiction, Master Kip.”

  He gestured to the fallen world below.

  “Does your alchemy allow for such things, Master Kip? You’ve played with things that you should have left alone. Let’s see if I can make use of them.”

  Blackmoor turned, deliberately showing Kip his back as if to make a final wall between them.

  “Come, daughter,” he said. “We have much to do.”

  The pair turned and left the room. Only the cold remained.

  7

  Reveal your secrets, Lord Blackmoor thought, running his hand over the wooden door of Alchemy House, then finding the handle that looked like blue metal in the moonlight.

  A simple unlocking spell and he could feel the heavy bolts slide out of place. How wonderful it is when the world gives itself over to you, he thought, as he stepped inside.

  He could smell the scent of an extinguished fire as he groped forward, trying to find some anchor in the darkness.

  The house is asleep, he thought. It has slept for too long, occupied by a child and his beast.

  The three houses should have come to him, were there any justice in the world. Magic House reigned supreme, but Alchemy House and Dark House were the other legs of the stool. Symmetry and balance were all that he asked for. Discipline. Not the loose freedoms of the modern age. He remembered a time when a master had ruled each house and had worked together for the good of the Empire.

  Something damp brushed against his face and he cringed, bringing his arms up. He reached out slowly, feeling the object, then tracing its shape with his fingertips. It was a leaf. He felt its thick and waxy form, then the branch it was attached to.

  He felt displaced, wondering why a tree would be growing here, wondering what its purpose might be.

  Where is my mind? he thought suddenly, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small vial and felt for the cork. The tiny popping sound it made when removed sounded like a snap-cracker going off. He tilted the vial, and the dust inside, onto his fingers, then rubbed them together. Small blue sparks jumped from his fingertips and became a steady flame that rested just above his palm. Light flooded the house. The shadow of the tree branches projected into the room.

  I’m lost in a forest.

  The light would be his guide. Magic would seek out magic.

  The light in his palm tugged him gently, leading him through the house. He was in a room with a stone hearth, the black hole of the fireplace a yawning mouth, waiting to be fed. Above the mantel hung a portrait, all blue and black in the shadows.

  Was this Kip’s obsession? Another youth to practice his perversions on. The immorality of youth was no surprise to him. His own daughter had once been a disobedient and willful child.

  Through the fireplace, is that where I’m meant to go? That had a certain poetry to it; passing through fire to gain knowledge. He stepped into the hearth and pushed at its back wall. It gave under the pressure, a chasm opening into deeper blackness.

  He moved down a chilled tunnel that ended in a wooden staircase. As he descended, he saw it, finally getting an answer to a long-asked question.

  Everything that has eluded me is made clear. Even as he thought that, he couldn’t be sure why. It was a hole in the ground, filled with blackness. Why does it hold such power?

  Blackmoor approached its edge, his footsteps quiet on the earthen floor. Craning his neck, he stared into the abyss. It was in that moment that his certainty left him. A small clawing thought entered his mind: was he prey that had come willingly to the predator? His stomach churned as the blackness below mesmerized him.

  “What…what are your secrets?” he whispered.

  Silence.

  Then an echo, as if his own voice were speaking back.

  “There are no secrets between us. You’ve told me everything. You’ve spilled your heart’s blood into this well, with each thought, each wish, each desire. I know you like the course of my veins as they pump my lifeblood.”

  It’s not talking to me, is it? It thinks I’m Kip. Blackmoor felt a rising panic. It would be best to declare himself, declare his ownership.

  “I am Lord Francis Blackmoor of Magic House and I demand to know the nature of this well.”

  Silence again.

  A cold breeze shot up through the circle of stone. The voice turned to ice.

  “You’re new. Come closer.”

  Blackmoor obeyed without hesitation, craning his neck further over the well. The blackness gave way to a faint light, a sickly green glow, like small bioluminescent creatures moving in a tidal pool. The movement made him dizzy.

  “I have come…to learn secrets,” Blackmoor said, finding it hard to form the words.

  “Yours or mine?” the darkness asked. “Mine are terrible and wonderful and not for this world. Where is the boy?”

  Blackmoor’s mouth was dry now, so dry that he could barely speak.

  “I took him,” he rasped. “I imprisoned him. There were reasons.” He found himself reciting the monologue he’d shared with Kip, the summation of his ideas. It came out like a poorly read script. “There are two roads. One is the free sharing of ideas and the challenging of conventions—”

  “Silence,” the blackness said calmly.

  There was silence. The sounds of Alchemy House filled the void; the soft creaking of wood as a house continually settles, and an odd breathy sigh as if he could hear every inhale and exhale.

  Blackmoor imagined the branches and leaves moving in time to the sound.

  “You’re so different, different than the boy. Are all of you so different? The boy is pure and beautiful, even with his sadness. He wears it well.

  “But you, you’re pointy and dangerous, aren’t you? You’re all wants and anger and righteousness. That’s boring. Does it bother you that you’re boring?”

  Blackmoor’s fingers tightened against the stone, forming two claws. He thought he would shatter the well, shatter the house, with his tension.

  �
�There are so many down here like you. They had ideas too. They thought their beliefs would save them. Do you think the plasma of a star cares about your beliefs? Or the particles that skip across the universe, blinking in and out of existence?

  “You can do your little magic tricks and think you’re a great man, a mover of history, but you’re no different than the villains who have come before you.”

  Blackmoor wanted to protest, but found it difficult to speak. I’m the hero not the villain, he thought. Doesn’t this thing know that?

  “This very night you’ve taken lives because of your beliefs. I can see the aura of death around you. Death is a disruption. Did you think it wouldn’t leave a mark?”

  Blackmoor’s eyes grew wide. He wanted to blink but couldn’t pull them away from the hypnotic green light.

  “How…how did you come to be?” he struggled to ask.

  “The boy wished it.”

  This doesn’t make sense, Blackmoor thought. He wished it? There is no power of magic or alchemy to wishes. They are the limp fantasies of a child.

  “Wishes…are the stuff of children,” he said to the black pit.

  “Are they? If you say so. Yet here you are, wishing just as the boy did. You’re practically on your knees. In fact, let’s see you there…”

  And it was done. Blackmoor’s legs weakened and shook, before collapsing. He fell to his knees in the dirt, a small cloud of dust circling him. His fingers still clamped the stone and his eyes stayed locked to the blackness below, his chin nearly rested on the rim of the well.

  “It’s a wishing well,” Blackmoor whispered. The thought triggered something in him and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or scream. It was all so absurd, all so counter to his vast knowledge. It defied everything.

  Then he heard the sound of drums and the slithering of branches behind him. Vines and leaves coiled around his arms, holding them in place. He wanted to run; Lord Blackmoor had never wanted anything so badly. He would have given up everything in that moment, sped screaming from London, content to live a quiet life in some insipid countryside. But he also wanted to stare down into the well. Perhaps it’s all he’d ever wanted. There was a black heart down there, blacker than his own, and it drew him closer.

  He’d heard whispers from Dr. Fairfield, before his recent demise, that heavenly bodies moved in the cosmos, things of immensity and blackness that drew all other things to them. He had found his own immensity now.

  “What do you wish for, Lord Blackmoor of Dark House?”

  Blackmoor’s eyes grew wider.

  “How do you know I wish for anything? No one knows.”

  “It’s written on your heart, plain to see.”

  “I only wished for the pursuit of truth, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I want still. I want to find Dark House again so that I may share its secrets.”

  “There are shapes to the universe that you can’t comprehend, edges that defy reason, that bend truth.”

  “Parliament had no right to attack a pillar of discovery, to defunct an entire school of thought.”

  Dark House had left on its own, following its own timeline. But Blackmoor was convinced it had known they were coming for it. It had known.

  “You’re a tiresome thing, an ant moving a grain of sugar. And yet, there is something we can do for each other. You want to know the secrets of death, and I want to know the secrets of life.”

  Blackmoor didn’t want to know anything anymore. He just wanted quiet, to be nestled safely somewhere, but it was too late. The void had a form.

  “What does it feel like to be alive?”

  8

  The dining room was a shadow now, almost lost to the weight of the stars.

  Blackmoor hadn’t returned. What had he found in Kip’s basement, or what had found him? Kip thought he knew, but couldn’t bring himself to ponder it; Lord Blackmoor poring over his secrets, exposing parts of him that should have remained hidden.

  The floorboards had almost entirely dissolved at their feet. The star-scape rotated on an unseen axis and Kip had to close his eyes or be taken over by it. More furniture had fallen away. All the room’s finery was being stripped and sent into the void.

  Shadow was at his side, his form still paled by the arc lights. Their bodies burned like two candles, every inch of them illuminated in a sea of black. His friend mewled weakly, somehow injured by the light. Kip didn’t know the limits of Shadow’s powers, or his vulnerabilities.

  He lowered his arms, his hands no longer shielding his eyes, and felt the silver bracelet slide down his wrist. The twin to Enos’s bracelet. Even now, with death imminent, he couldn’t escape the thought of him. It turned like a key pushing past tumblers, unlocking a door.

  Then his mind barked a thought back.

  Magnetism.

  Even now the bracelets were attracted to one another. It was his own alchemy. He remembered the force of it, strong enough to tug at his arm, and pull him towards Enos, wherever he might be in the world. If it had worked before, it would work now.

  Kip turned the small dial on the rim of the bracelet, touching the two metals, and felt them activate, a subtle buzz of energy that he had been trained to observe.

  He could feel the other bracelet, tucked into the pocket of his bag on the bookshelf across the room. It was just beyond the wall of stars and in danger of fading out forever.

  Kip thrust his hand out and felt a shudder of motion. The green bag tipped towards him, one handle tugging in his direction.

  I have to get closer, just the slightest bit closer, he thought, then looked down at the patch of floorboards he stood on. They continued shrinking down to nothing.

  He inched forward on creaking wood, its edges dissolving by the second, and leaned his body out over the void, nothing to support him.

  He extended his hand again.

  The bag slid a foot towards him on the bookshelf, toppling a small ivory statue that fell into the star-scape below, a spinning white blaze.

  Closer.

  “Shadow,” Kip said as calmly as he could.

  The creature stirred, his blue eyes now two slits as he tried to block out the light. Even now, he tried to help, raising himself up on weakened arms.

  “I need to get closer to my bag, Shadow! Just the smallest bit would do it. The bracelets weren’t meant to be powerful. They were just a toy, a compass to nudge me in the right direction. But I think they’re just powerful enough.”

  Shadow nodded and uncurled his body. The light cut through him, burning transparent swathes out of his form. His platform of floorboards had floated above Kip’s. Shadow crawled to the edge and peered down. He would have to jump.

  Jump down and over the abyss below.

  Shadow’s small fingers gripped the edge of the wood and he opened his eyes as wide as he could, the blue swirling with pain. His body coiled like a cat and then he pounced.

  The movement was graceful at first until his hind leg caught the lip of his platform and he began to spin. His body nearly disappeared as it filled with starlight. Kip scrambled to catch him, hoping Shadow would even be visible by the time he got there.

  The moment drew out, freezing time. He thought he could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, counting every second with its heavy weight.

  Kip extended his arms, unsure now if anything was above him.

  I just had my friend commit suicide, he thought.

  Then the weight hit him, a roiling mass of shadow in his arms. Kip locked his forearms around it, and dropped to his knees to keep his balance. Shadow’s face appeared from the dark mass, a slight smile there.

  “Let’s go home,” his friend whispered.

  “Yes, let’s!”

  Kip looked to the bookshelf and his bag, now teetering over the edge.

  “I need an anchor. Can you wrap your tail around the bottom of the platform?”

  Shadow nodded and got into place. Kip took his hand.

  “Ready?”

 
; Kip leaned over the edge, flying over stars. He felt their coldness closing in just as it had on Britten and Fairfield.

  If the bag falls, we’re ruined.

  Kip shot his arm out again, willing every muscle to stretch. His fingers clawed outward. He felt Shadow’s body expanding, tipping him further over the void.

  The bag shuddered, began to slide over the edge of the bookshelf, and then rocketed forward, all kinetic energy. It spun in a straight line directly to Kip. He grabbed the handles as it pushed him back with its force. Shadow supported him, before the two collapsed onto the wood.

  A thin layer of frost covered the bag. Kip cracked it open, his mind racing.

  Restoration, he thought; the process of restoring an element to its original form. If he could recall the elements that made up the dining room, stitching them together one by one, they’d be saved.

  Kip took out a glass jar sealed with wax and ripped off the covering in thick shreds. The shimmering liquid sloshed in the jar and he steadied it with both hands to prevent it from spilling.

  The dissolving platform disappeared under Kip’s shoe, no more than three feet around.

  He rooted through a leather pouch and found the starter agent, a small dried ball, no bigger than a rifle shot. This one contained the elements of wood; carbon, oxygen, and a few binding elements. He dropped it into the liquid and it began to smoke and bubble. Kip let out a hiss as it poured over the top and stung his hands, but he didn’t dare let go. Instead, he scooped his cupped fingers into it and threw the liquid in a straight line from their platform to the door.

  At first the fluid fell uselessly into the abyss, tiny drops of shimmering liquid speeding towards the stars.

  Kip wanted to scream, but there was no time. He wanted to do so much, but there was no time.

  Instead, he continued spooning out the liquid, coating the edge of their piece of floorboard and watching as the axis of the stars rotated again.

  You’ll never escape our gravity, they seemed to say.

  Then something began to hiss and smoke. Thin brown veins appeared where the floor had been, moving outward in straight lines; some stick-straight, others wavering. They were tracing the pattern of the wood, bringing it back to life. Kip thought of the rings in a tree and his nervous mind wanted to count them all, each new one a better chance of them living. They continued to grow as the floor was restored around them. The veins traced the pattern of the floor and then turned at a right angle, finding the wall and bookshelves.