A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  “Are they alive?” She said as she softly put her hand on the glass.

  “In a way.” Came a soothing voice from behind. The sudden interruption of their moment was unsettling, but the man’s tone was so full of love and admiration that it took them both by surprise. Khar had a flashback to his grandad reading him bedtime stories, wrapping him in safety and delighting him with elderly tones of wisdom. K'Chool remembered her own father and how he talked to her in times of conflict. Settling, calm and complex, but reassuring, profound and full of affection. The voice seemed to echo across lifetimes, a timeless and wonderful sound that was so tender they both relaxed, letting their minds drift. Neither could imagine what the owner of the voice would look like, but it didn’t matter. Elation flooded through them as they lived in their flashbacks a little longer, happy to have experienced this small kindness before The Master would lay out their punishment. They were both shaking as they turned around, so touched by those three words. They had such power that they wanted to hear more. Understand more. What they were confronted with however, was perplexing. There was a man, bending slightly down to be at eye level with them, when recognition pierced their minds. It was The Master, or what looked like a softer version of him. Somehow, he seemed a little smaller and the harsh light that bounced off of his bald head was welcoming, rather than harsh. His dark skin welcomed you and his small beard had such a plush combination of colours they couldn’t help but stand there, open mouthed at what they thought would be their cruel punisher. Sensing the disappointment at seeing him, he chuckled with delight, watching them experience this juxtaposition.

  “Sorry for the show out there. Unfortunately, one must keep up the facade in front of the troops otherwise all my hard work will be for nothing.” He threw them such a caring and understanding smile that they continued to eyeball him with incredulity in complete silence. Looking a little lost for words himself The Master explained what they’d just been looking at. “They are past Nahgwal and heads of our order.” He said straightening up and regarding the animals with respect. “When one of us dies, our magikal essence manifests as our animal self and wonders the worlds, seeking out purpose and contact with other life. Where do you think the Naïves get all their ideas about the afterlife and spirit animals?” He winked at them before moving on with a touch of sullenness making its way into his rich voice.

  “Eventually our essences, our spirits, make their way here, to commune with their brethren. And the current head of our order.” Pausing, he bowed his head slightly and held his hands delicately behind his back before looking up again at the slightly glowing boxes.

  “I have spent many wonderful hours discussing the machinations of the universe with these beings.” He looked at the pair of confused faces beside him and with a knowing grin said, “and who of us, had the worst fashion sense.” He chuckled again. “Incalculable powers, awe-inspiring magiks, fantastic intellects, imaginations beyond compare and sometimes all we can discuss are the dreary shades of brown that Schulmar used to wear. Do not even mention some of the clothing choices that Surelikai herself made.” Simultaneously, every single animal form ruffled and vibrated, looking agitated and frenzied. “Calm down everyone.” He raised both hands apologetically to the room. “We have something else to discuss this hour.” He turned to Khar and looked at him thoughtfully.

  “So, you saw her, Weyaal?” Silence still prevailed over the smaller man, but he managed a nod, still processing what he was seeing and hearing.

  “Follow me.” The Master said and started walking away from the two conflicted adults, rooted to the floor with confusion.

  They eventually obeyed however, pulling up their roots and walking past an endless parade of enclosures into a second room with moving tapestries hanging from the walls. Detailed figures moved through the scenes on the walls on a never-ending loop. Khar knew some of what he was seeing as it marked the walls of the monastery they lived in, but what he was seeing here was different. Parts of the living records outside The Master’s chambers matched what he knew, but there seemed to be a more complete record here.

  “The real histories of our order master Khar.” The Master said as they walked through the room. “We can review them together one day if we get the chance.” He casually threw the sentence into the room with a whimsical hand movement towards the walls. They continued on through the long room before finding themselves in a beautiful antechamber. The ceiling was very high and exquisitely decorated with different styles from across the globe, that mixed colours, forms and expressions from multiple cultures and races effortlessly. In the centre of the room was a circular sunken floor filled with soft cushions, blankets and the occasion pipe. “Please.” The Master waved towards the area. “Take a seat.”

  Khar and K'Chool selected a spot and flopped into the cushions. They were already exhausted by their fluctuating emotions, the late hour, and the initial onslaught visited upon them by the man who was now, looking at them with an uncomfortable look. They sank further into the softness, worried what would happen next based on The Masters face. They checked their immediate area, but nothing seemed to be disturbed or out of place.

  “That’s… my seat.” The Master said, moving towards them and not waiting for them to move. Quickly shifting to the opposite side of the small circle, they sat there and watched as The Master gracefully sat down into a cross-legged position. He took a deep breath and addressed Khar with a serious face. “Tell me what you saw.”

  K'Chool looked at Khar and then they both looked over their shoulders at where they just came from, forgetting why they were there. “What was that?” K'Chool coughed out, nodding her head towards the tapestries and animals, wondering with great effort why The Master was suddenly being so nice to them.

  “That. Is for another time, Sojela. You woke me to tell me something important, so I suggest we get to it. Tell me what you saw master Khar.” The Master said pragmatically, giving Khar permission to begin. At this, the young monk lowered his eyes slightly and focused on a distant point whilst he recalled what he saw.

  “I saw a woman getting a coffee. She seemed foggy, like something was disturbing her. She couldn’t connect with the real world and struggled with her thoughts. It was written all over her and I could see a darkness in her. Around her.” He paused as he thought about the poor woman’s face. “Then, when she went to grab her drink, she flew backwards across the room and slammed into a brick wall. It was horrible Surelikhan.” He briefly looked up at the older man and saw encouraging eyes and a slight nod of approval. He skirted through the first parts of his story, knowing The Master was wanting him to get to the punchline.

  “I watched it in slow motion. She collided with the surface and I saw bits of her fly off in different directions, but that wasn’t the worst part. Whilst she was flying through the air I saw her eyes. Hands were clawing at them from the inside and her mouth was trapped open. Like she was screaming.” Tears visited Khar’s eyes and cheeks again as he thought about the woman. “And then.” He sighed deeply. “And then I saw her. I saw The Thousand Curses. She pulled herself out of the woman’s mouth. First her hands and arms forced their way out, opening, ripping, tearing at the woman’s mouth and face. I saw her jaw distend, hearing cracks as her bones broke and then this, black thing, slid out of the remains of the woman in the wall. She was covered in a fleshy energy and sheathed in a dark, red light.”

  “Keep going, Weyaal.” K'Chool said, placing her hand on his, Khar drawing strength from her touch.

  “She lay motionless for a moment, when a Naïve got up and walked towards her. I don’t know why he did it and, in my dreamscape, I was screaming at him to stop, but the creature was humming and purring a nauseating sound. It was drawing him closer. The man reached out to touch the coal black skin and at the faintest glance of contact he fell to the floor. Flopping like a rag doll, the life went from him in an instant, and he was dead. The creature coughed and sputtered into life, a trail of disgusting mucus trailing from her t
o the woman in the wall. It got to its hands and knees and looked up.” He shivered.

  “Such immeasurable darkness Surelikhan. When I close my eyes, I see that look.” He swallowed. “I see her looking at me. She knew I was there. Her eyes snapped to exactly where I was watching from and she smiled. Her teeth were sharp, covered in browning, rotting flesh and she was daring me to do something, knowing I couldn’t. I was just a bystander. A witness. Then she got up with a confidence and surety that was frightening. I thought she would kill everyone in the room and she tried to. She muttered dark incantations to herself and cast her hands about, but nothing happened. She looked at her hands in frustration when they started phased in and out of reality. Things didn’t seem to be going according to her plan and I think she realised something because she fell to her knees, screaming towards the sky.” Exhausted, Khar slumped backwards, joyful to have told the story to someone else. The Master didn’t react to any of the details just laid out in front of him. He just sat there, shrouded in his own thoughts. Calculating.

  “Was the woman in the wall of average height, have shoulder-length black hair and bright blue eyes?” The abruptness and coldness of the statement caught them in the middle space between understanding and confusion.

  “Yes Master.” Khar responded confused.

  “Did she have a birthmark on the side of her neck?”

  “Yes Master.” Khar echoed.

  “I thought we would have more time” The Master said to himself, disappointed.

  “Did you see what happened to her after she screamed?”

  “No Master.” Silence followed before Khar asked, “Is it, The Last Word, Master?”

  “It is, master Khar. How did you know her name though? She passed into forgotten histories a long time ago.” There was an edge to Obed’s voice. A longing and regretful one.

  “It just came to me Surelikhan. As if I’d always known it.”

  The Master raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.” He said to himself, rubbing his beard. There was an awkwardness in the room now, as if Khar and K'Chool were no longer welcome. Not knowing what to do next, The Master lead the way by suddenly standing up.

  “Thank you for coming to me, Master Khar. You were right to do so. Your visions and dreams were always of great interest to me and they have revealed an evil we thought subdued. I must however, ask a favour of you.” A dark seriousness penetrated his next words. “Do not speak of this to anyone and do not investigate The Last Word. Do you understand?” The Master waited for Khar to nod before dismissing him. Then he looked at K'Chool and winked.

  CHAPTER TEN - RESCUE

  Rain was pouring just like it was when he spoke to her through the portal. Heavy, dirty rain that soaks you to the bone. Christophe hated the rain. Over the years he’d developed a style that reacted poorly to anything other than perfect weather. Dirty water splashing around on the floor and falling from the sky messed with his beautiful, tailored threads and he didn’t like not looking his best. When he saw her lying in an alleyway though, like a discarded piece of unwanted food, he forgot about what he was wearing. He handed his umbrella to his servant and walked away from the car towards her, almost running with the urgency of wanting to help.

  The walls were close and suffocating, providing some respite from the torrential downpour swirling around him. A few lights held onto the walls, like rock climbers about to fall, trying to illuminate his path, sputtering and coughing out light when they could. He liked how private the dark was so didn’t care, pushing forward through the curtain of wet. Rusting fire escapes threw awkward shadows across his path and random pockets of steam forced their way out of unseen holes. It was a rough neighbourhood. He knew she was in real trouble as she would never have chosen to be there unless it was unavoidable. He caught a glimpse of her in the ambient light and quickened his pace. Her skin was so black. The rain hitting it but passing through, leaving ripples of their passage from shooting through her like stones thrown in a lake. It looked like her whole body was moving with the passing of the water, even though she was completely still and unconscious. He didn’t know where to look or know how long she’d been like that. His heart beat faster with dread wondering what they’d done to her when he reached her side.

  Water was making its way into every nook and cranny of him now. Soaking his hair, drowning his clothes and making it difficult to see with a steam of it cascading over his eyes. He paid no attention to any of it. The sight of her was enough to make him think of nothing else but helping her. He cursed himself for being so slow to get to there, but he knew the necessity of the delay. When they talked through the window he noticed that she wasn’t fully corporeal and so, he needed something very specific from The Merchant. Something only, he would have. These kinds of magikal items were becoming rarer and rarer and Leopold McKenzie wasn't always the easiest man to bargain with, despite his profession. Christophe however, had always liked dealing with The Merchant. The well-dressed, huge man was entirely composed of deceit and lies in his opinion, but he always delivered on his promises when a profit was to be made. Particularly lucrative deals and ‘charismatic’ goods - as he referred to hard to obtain things - would make the man’s wide, well-kempt, grey moustache twitch with excitement and that was the exact reaction he got when he asked for a Zielghün.

  “A soul net?” The large man laughed when Christophe suggested the trade. “Sounds delightful!” He mused. “And fancy.” Mischief appearing in his eyes. He didn’t like to use words like expensive or costly, he felt it cheapened the conversation.

  “Can you get one?” Christophe asked hurriedly.

  “Of course I can, Äsheen. It just so happens that I have one in stock. Can you get me what I need?” Always to business.

  “It is on its way.” After agreeing the price, he’d called Dreeoth to bring what was requested.

  The Merchant clapped his massive, bejewelled hands together quickly and grinned with all his might. “Then let us shake on it my dear boy.” He reached out and Christophe grasped the man’s hand tightly as the moustache flickered with a binding incantation. “Just in case, of course. Just a little insurance if what I need doesn’t arrive in time.” The Merchant said slyly. “You understand.”

  Christophe’s skin crawled at remembering that handshake. The incantation felt so invasive and dirty, but it was standard practice when dealing with The Merchant. Mocking the traders voice in his head he thought, “It’s just good business.”, but he couldn’t help thinking about the consequences of not fulfilling their deal. Specifically, with a trade of this rarity, The Sunder was a terrible price to pay should he not fulfil his end of the bargain. He’d never actually seen it happen, but rumours and part-truths were the lifeblood of the Lucidfolk black markets, and they had all made their way to his ears. Stories of mystical objects held by elder wyzards, whispers of old and new spells that only the darkest of wytches knew. Out of all of them, a soul being parted from their body was a particularly vicious little spell. It was said that when it left this plane, voluntarily or not, it wandered a kind of netherworld in constant confusion. Watching the people it had left behind continue without them, the wandering souls seeking out comfort from others who had been banished there. Sad, limbo-esque communities stuck together trying to derive some sort of satisfaction from their new existence. All hearsay and old hareem tales he thought.

  In contrast to the pain of the victim and the soul parting, some rumours circulated of what the actual spell looked like and how they reacted also reached Christophe’s ears. The person, apparently, almost looked peaceful when it happened. Eyes rolling into the back of the head, light shining from them to reveal their circulatory systems in a flash of beauty, and then nothingness. He’d heard of families and friends taking care of the soulless bodies until they were too old and passed into the endless sleep themselves, holding onto their remembered lives. They’d whisper of the time they spent together with the victim, but ultimately, they’d lose their own lives to the contract as well. Rar
ely could anyone repay The Merchant for reneging on a deal, mainly because he refused to hand over details of the agreement, claiming it was between him and the lost soul but mostly, he wanted people to fear the consequences of breaking a contract. Even when details of the deal were released, the cost was usually too high for anyone to satisfy the terms. Christophe thought long and hard about what it might feel like to have his very essence torn away from him. He thought long and hard about what was asked of him in return for such a rare item. He thought long and hard about what he would do for this woman and then reached into the bag he’d been carrying, unphased by the contract he entered into with large, moustached man.

  He pulled out a square piece of cloth only the size of a napkin and studied the material. It didn’t seem to fold or crease or change shape in any way even though he could hold it easily. He grasped it tightly at one end and dangled it in front of him to see how the material acted, but it gave nothing away to suggest it was being pinched. The Soul Net made his skin crawl and when he looked at the symbol embroidered in one of the corners his stomach turned. It was a simple shape, just a loose spiral with a cross through the middle of it, but it made bile rise and eyes weep. Not wanting to look at it anymore and recognising how badly she needed him, he went to delicately place the small item on one of the woman's shoulders. She was laying at his feet whilst he inspected the cloth, but after dragging himself away from looking at the cursed item he crouched down, placing one knee on the soiled concrete so as to lay it as gently as possible onto her. When it settled it began to expand rapidly in every direction, wrapping her entire body and head in the dark green material. She was still in the foetal position as the cloth worked around her, encasing her entirely. Protecting her. Then, with incredible gentleness he slipped his arms under her body and lifted the fragile form up. Slowly he turned, innocence and frailty in his arms, and began walking back towards the open door of his car.