Chapter 13 - The Door To The Tower
Anno Domini 2003
Simon could not believe that Conmager stood upon his porch.
Yet there he was. Conmager looked healthier, less desperate than the wild-eyed man Simon had met six months ago.
Simon shook his head. “I was sure they would kill you.”
Conmager’s thin lips twitched. “They almost did. So, I did the only thing I could do. I came back to Chicago.”
Simon sputtered. “What? You…came back here, with those things chasing you? Are you insane?”
“Quite probably,” said Conmager. “But I was a thief and a highwayman before the Master took me as one of his apprentices. Sometimes the only way to throw off the hunters is to go to the place of the greatest danger.” He shrugged. “This city is the place of the greatest danger for me. So they do not search for me here. Instead, they seek for me in the great city of angels.”
Simon frowned. “You mean LA?”
Conmager nodded. “Yes. Los Angeles. They look for me there, amongst its teeming crowds.” He grinned. “They will not find me there.”
Simon hissed. “Get in here. I don’t want anyone to see you.” He grabbed Conmager’s arm and pulled him inside.
“You are right,” said Conmager, brushing snow from his sleeves. Simon slammed the door and locked it. “I can only stay for a brief time.”
“I won’t stop you,” said Simon. “Why are you here at all? I told you to go and never come back.”
“I must see something,” said Conmager. “Get your coat.”
“My coat?” said Simon. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Quite true,” said Conmager. “We are just going to the trees behind your house. However, it is cold. You will want your coat.”
Simon spread his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll get my coat.” Simon pulled his coat from the hall closet and wrapped it around him. “Let me get my boots quick. They’re upstairs.”
Conmager nodded. “As you wish. Hurry, though. I am pressed for time.”
Simon hurried upstairs. He looked at the phone on the table at the end of the hall. He could call the police. Conmager would never know until they arrived. Simon bit his lip, doubt and hesitation battling within him. Why had Conmager come back?
The memory winged thing crashed through his mind. No matter what theories or explanations he devised about Conmager, they all foundered on his memory of the winged creature. He could not explain that. Simon retrieved his boots from his room, shoved them on his feet, and stomped back downstairs.
Conmager leaned against the wall, staring into the shadowy dining room. If he knew of Simon’s doubt, his face gave no indication. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” Simon scratched his chin. “I don’t understand. What could you possibly want to see in the woods?”
A sad half-smile tugged at Conmager’s lips. “I do not understand myself, Simon Wester of Chicago. Let us go and see.”
Simon led him through the kitchen and out the back door. He flipped on the porch light, its glow playing over the snow-filled driveway. Simon would have to shovel the drive again tomorrow, assuming Conmager didn’t get him killed.
“There,” said Conmager, his voice a scratchy whisper. “There.”
“What is it?” said Simon.
“It is as I thought,” said Conmager. “Those woods. How long have they stood there?”
Simon blinked. “The trees? You want to know how old the woods are? Don’t tell me you came here to ask about the trees behind my backyard.”
Conmager grabbed his arm. “It is important.”
Simon slid away from his grip. “Fine. The trees are…old. I don’t know for sure how old. I think they’re old growth, some of the forest left over from pre-Columbian America.” He shrugged. “All I know for sure is that they’re older than the city.”
“Older than the city,” said Conmager. “And how old is the city?”
“About a hundred and fifty years old, more or less,” said Simon.
Conmager shook his head. “A century and a half. The great cities of my world…my nation were a thousand years old. Yet they are tiny compared to Chicago and the city of angels and the Isle of Manhattan. A young country, this is. And yet so vast.”
“Fascinating,” said Simon, “but this is neither the time nor the place for a lengthy historical discussion. What’s so important about the trees?”
“I am almost sure.” Conmager started down the porch steps. “Come with me.”
“What?” said Simon. He followed Conmager, grabbing at the railing to keep from slipping. “I am not tramping through the woods in twenty degree weather during a snowstorm.” Conmager marched into the backyard, floundering through the snow. Simon growled, cursed himself as a fool, and followed Conmager.
The light from the porch faded as they drew closer to the trees, but the dim city glow reflecting off the snow provided enough light to see. Conmager started down the steep slope to the trees, snow slipping and sliding past his shoes. Simon found his own path down the slope, grabbing at the ground for purchase.
“You mind telling me what you’re looking for?” said Simon.
Conmager stopped at the edge of the trees. “As I have said, I do not know. But it is close.” He strode down a narrow, snow-choked path between the thick old trunks. Simon followed, clutching at the trunks and branches to keep his balance.
Shadows lay over the old woods, mingling with gleaming white snow. Patches of the purple night sky showed between the tangled branches. Simon floundered along, the cold air biting at his nose. He wished he had brought a hat.
The path ended in a clearing, and Conmager stopped, staring at the ground. Simon almost crashed into him. “What? What is it? Did you find…it, whatever it is?”
Conmager raised his eyes and gazed into the clearing. His breath rose in short puffs. “Can you not see it?”
Simon looked back and forth. He saw nothing but bare trees and snowy ground. “See what?”
“The door,” said Conmager. “Ah, I was right. The Master was right. How much did he know? How much could he have known? But he had the gift of Prophecy, of foreseeing.”
“What are you talking about?” said Simon.
“Can you not see it?” said Conmager, gesturing at the empty air.
Simon almost screamed in frustration. “I can’t see a thing. What were saying before? Something about a door? Oh, I get it. You must be one of those UFO cultists or something. Let me guess. The door’s going to open, and it’ll take you up to a spaceship, and then you’ll get seventy-two virgins or something for all eternity?”
Conmager blinked. “Not to my knowledge, no.” He snapped his gloved fingers. “But I forget. You cannot see it. You have not the gift. I shall try to make things more…visible for you.”
He stepped forward and raised his arms, head lowered. His fingers traced odd patterns in the air, and he mumbled a long string of phrases. Simon stared at him. Was this some bizarre joke?
“This is ridiculous,” said Simon. “I’m going back…”
A pale white light bathed the clearing, seeming to spring from the earth.
Simon gaped.
A dark square appeared in the center of the clearing. Simon could see the trees through it, yet it seemed solid and real. It looked like a massive door built from green-veined black marble. Odd symbols had been carved in patterns across the stone door, and a faint light shimmered and sparked around its edges. Conmager smacked his hands together, and the door flickered and vanished.
“What…what…what was that?” said Simon, tongue tangling around his teeth.
Conmager wiped sweat from his brow. “Exhausting.”
“What? No, the thing that looked like a door,” said Simon. “What was that?”
“A door,” said Conmager.
“To where?” said Simon.
Conmager stared at the empt
y snow. “A door to the Tower.”
“The Tower?” said Simon. He blinked in confusion. “What Tower? You don’t mean the Sears Tower or something?”
“No,” said Conmager. “The Tower of Endless Worlds. The Master was right. Indeed, I saw it with my own eyes when I followed the caravan through the Tower’s perils. The gallery ended in five doors. Wycliffe only uses one. The other doors have to open somewhere.”
Simon shook his head. “This has to be a scam of some sort. That’s the only explanation. That…that door was a hologram or something. Next you’ll want all my credit card numbers and the numbers to my bank account.”
Conmager didn’t blink. “You saw the winged one. Explain how that is a scam.”
The memory of the winged thing surged through him, and a ghost of the fear tugged at his stomach.
“You know I am not lying to you,” said Conmager, his voice quiet. “I have not told you everything, it is true, but neither have I told you lies.”
Simon stared into the woods. He thought of the day, months ago, when he had seen Conmager hiding in the parking lot behind Katrina’s building. “I’ve tried to convince myself a thousand times that you’re a con artist. I’ve almost done it, too. But I keep remembering the winged thing.”
“Those who see the winged ones do not easily forget them,” said Conmager.
Simon snorted. “Yeah, I can agree.” He waved his hand at the empty clearing. “So, you said you wanted to see something, right? Well, you’ve seen it. Now what?”
Conmager sighed, his breath rolling up from his mouth. “Simon Wester. I must ask a favor of you.”
Simon flinched. “What?”
Conmager’s eyes were solemn. “It is of vast importance. The fate of many lives may hinge on this.”
Simon took a step back. “It’s my van you’re driving around the country. I already took a huge risk helping you before. I can’t do so again.”
“You must,” said Conmager. “If you do not, millions of people may die.”
Simon glared. “Maybe, but you haven’t told me much, have you? Never told me a lie, but not all the truth? Then you can tell me more, if you want my help.”
Conmager slumped. “Perhaps you are right.”
“Let’s go back in, at least,” said Simon. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Might I beg some food of you?” said Conmager. “I have not had the opportunity to eat today.”
“I’ll cook something,” said Simon.
###
Simon hit the power button on the microwave. “You don’t look as starved as you did, but you still look half a famine victim.”
Conmager sat the kitchen table with a sigh. “I had not eaten well for years before I came to your nation. Truly, Simon Wester, your nation is a land of bounty.”
“It is.” The microwave beeped, and Simon pulled out a bowl of beef stew and set it before Conmager. “Here. Eat up. There’s more in the fridge.”
“Thank you.” Conmager took his spoon and attacked the stew.
Simon watched him. “Now. Why should I help you?”
Conmager took a long drink of water. “I told you I had come from a distant nation. Do you remember?” Simon nodded. “That was true. I did come from a far nation. I did not tell you quite how far, though.”
“So where did you come from?” said Simon.
“I was born in the city of Carlisan, greatest of the seven High Kingdoms,” said Conmager, “though I was of little birth, and survived as a thief and a highwayman in my youth and young manhood.”
Simon took a bowl of leftover noodles from the fridge and sat down. “I thought you seemed like a con artist.”
Conmager half-smiled. “I had a shadowy youth, but it has served me well. I learned much of men and their hearts and their ways. Nations and customs may differ, but men are often greedy and stupid, no matter where you go. This knowledge that has enabled me to survive in your strange land. But I digress. Carlisan is a farther nation than you know.”
“Where is it?” said Simon. “I’ve never heard of it. Some place in Africa?”
Conmager shook his head. “No. It…is on another world, Simon Wester.”
"Another world?" said Simon.
“Another world, one so far that the distances cannot be reckoned,” said Conmager.
“Another world. Right,” said Simon. “And how did you get here? Flying saucer? Rocket ship? Hitch a ride on the Starship Enterprise?”
“No,” said Conmager. “I, and others far darker, found our way to your world, to Earth, through the Tower of Endless Worlds.”
Simon tried to laugh, but Conmager looked so serious. “What is that? It sounds like a Japanese theme park.”
Conmager shook his head. “It stands far northwest of Carlisan, on a great expanse of ghoul-haunted wasteland called the Crimson Plain. It is a long journey to reach the Tower. One must pass through the lands of Narramore, then through the great forest of northern Rindl. Then the road goes over the Mountains of Rindl, across the whispering ruins of the Forgotten Vales, and through the canyons and cliffs of the Broken Mountains.” His eyes were distant, as if seeing old memories. “And then there is the Crimson Plain, with the ghouls and the wraiths that haunt it after dark.” His voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “And then the Tower, in all its horrible glory, like the black finger of a marble god. It is huge, Simon Wester, greater than even the mightiest skyscraper of Chicago or the city of angels. And terrible. So terrible.”
Simon leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Sounds like this Tower affected you.”
Conmager scooped up another spoonful of stew. “I have a good memory, but even I forget things from time to time. Yet I cannot forget the Tower. I cannot. It is etched into my mind, every buttress, every arch, every statue. It is…not something that mortal eyes should ever see.”
“Okay,” said Simon. “Okay. So you got here through this Tower thing. Why did you come?”
Conmager fiddled with the spoon. “Because I had no other choice.”
“Ah,” said Simon. “That clears things up.”
Conmager pierced him with a stare. “You must understand. My world is different from yours. In your world technology and science reign supreme. This technology is a two-edged sword, I think. It has done much good, from what I have seen. It has destroyed many diseases, and the people of your nation are taller and stronger and live longer. Yet it has done great evil. I have seen much evil here, and I have read about worse things done. In my world, it is different.”
Simon snorted. “I suppose your world’s some sort of anti-technology Luddite utopia?”
Conmager frowned. “I do not know what that is. My world does not have the technology, the machines, the industries. We live…we lived, rather, in a different time, the way your ancestors might have lived eight or nine hundred years past. Peasants farm the fields and live in their villages. The lords and the kings rule from their castles. The Knights fight against the darkness and guard the High Kingdoms, while the Wizards keep the dark forces at bay. At least, that was the way it was.”
“Right,” said Simon, his doubt growing. “The High Kingdoms are guarded by the Knights and the Wizards and so forth. You go to the bookstore and discover fantasy novels?”
Conmager scowled. “I am pressed for time, and I doubt anything I say can convince you. I will be brief. Several years ago the High Kingdoms and the White Council embarked on a war to destroy the Black Council.”
“The what?” said Simon, his skepticism growing with every word.
“The Black Council of the Warlocks, masters of the black magic,” said Conmager. “The war went well. The Warlocks were killed, all save for one, Lord Marugon of the Wastes. He fled to the Tower of Endless Worlds and escaped. The White Council thought him dead. No one who had ever entered the Tower returned.”
Simon arched his eyebr
ows, his opinion vacillating between doubt and amusement. He had seen the winged thing, but Conmager’s story seemed ludicrous. Had Conmager’s encounter with the things unseated his mind? “Okay, then. Sure. What happened to this Marugon fellow?”
“He passed through the Tower and came to your world, to Earth,” said Conmager. “The door he chose opened into the cheap apartment of an obscure scholar.” His eyes flashed. “You may have heard of him. His name is Thomas Wycliffe.”
Simon shuddered. “Wycliffe? He knows this Marugon?”
“I do not know what happened next,” said Conmager. “As far as I can determine, Marugon made a deal with Wycliffe. Marugon would give Wycliffe gold in large quantities.” Simon remembered that Wycliffe had made a lot of money in commodities exchanges. Gold had been one of the things he had bought and sold. “With the gold, Wycliffe would purchase guns, food, uniforms, ammunition, and other things of the sort needed by an army. He would send them through the Tower.” He leaned closer. “That huge compound where you work? Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping is a farce, a façade over a rotten core. That compound supports Marugon’s army.”
Simon tried to hide his unease. “Then Wycliffe’s an interplanetary gunrunner, right? Is that what you’re saying?”
Conmager didn’t blink. “Yes. Marugon’s soldiers stormed across my world. The Knights and the Wizards were valiant. Yet, tell me, what good are a sword or a spell against a bullet? Marugon’s armies ripped through the High Kingdoms. I saw the cities burn. I saw peasants slaughtered by the thousands.” His voice trembled. “I saw my Master in the courtyard of Castle Bastion, thrown down by treachery and Marugon’s spells. The lord of the winged ones ripped out his heart.”
“What did Wycliffe get out of all this?” said Simon.
Conmager snorted. “What do you think? Wycliffe wanted power, and Marugon gave it to him. Marugon taught him the ways of the black magic. How do you think Wycliffe has risen so far and so fast? There is no one in your world who practices magic, either white or black.” He paused. “I see that you do not believe me.”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t. Something’s going on…I saw the winged thing, remember. And I saw that stone door in the clearing. But this is a wild story. A fanciful tale. It defies belief.”
“That is understandable,” said Conmager. “In your place, I do not think I would believe it. But you will, soon.” He looked grim. “A storm is coming. And that is why I must ask something of you.”
“What?” said Simon.
“Someone will come through the door in the woods,” said Conmager.
Simon recalled his mother’s complaints of strange noises in the woods. “Who?”
“If my hopes are fulfilled, two men and a small child,” said Conmager. He stood and stared into Simon’s eyes. “Watch for them, I beg of you. I know you do not believe me. That is fine. But watch for the two men, one old, one young, and the child who may appear in the woods. It is vital that they be kept safe.”
“Friends of yours?” said Simon.
“No,” said Conmager. “I have never met them, if you wish to know. But they must be kept safe.” His hands clenched. “The winged ones are hunting them.”
Simon felt a chill. “They are?”
Conmager nodded. “Five of the Tower's doors open into this city and its environs. I have made other friends in my time since I have come to your world, Simon Wester. They have agreed to watch three of the doors. Yours is the fourth.” He smiled. “It is a fortunate coincidence that the fourth door stands in your backyard. Too fortunate, no? Perhaps some other power guides our actions.”
“Where is the fifth door?” said Simon.
“It is the door Marugon used," said Conmager. "It is Wycliffe’s door. It once opened into his apartment, and now it opens into the warehouse complex he built over the apartment building. I pray the men and the child do not choose that door.” He looked at Simon. “You will watch for them?”
Simon shrugged. “I’ll…do what I can, I guess. It’s not as if I can sit in the backyard with a pair of binoculars.”
Conmager half-smiled again. “You will not need them. If the door to the Tower of Endless Worlds in your backyard opens, believe me, you will know.” He looked out the window and frowned. “I must go. I thank you for the food, Simon Wester, and for the aid you have given me, and the aid you have promised.”
Simon stood, his eyes on the strange, thin man. “You…well, you take care.”
Conmager nodded. “I shall.” He extended his hand, and Simon gave it a quick shake. Conmager turned and ducked out the back door, hurrying towards the red van. Simon shut the back door, locked it, and walked to the front windows.
“Oh, damn.” Katrina’s old Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb as Conmager backed into the street. The red van accelerated away, as Katrina pulled into the driveway, her lights winking off. Had Katrina seen the red van? Simon tried to think up some plausible excuse.
The doorbell rang, and Simon took a deep breath and opened the door.
Katrina stood on the doormat, brushing snow from her jacket. “College boy. You really need to shovel some of that snow off your roof.”
“Ah,” said Simon. “Sorry about that.” He reached for her coat.
“No, don’t bother,” said Katrina. “I want to leave soon.” She shook her head. “I must have your van on the brain.”
Simon started up the stairs, Katrina following. “Why is that?”
“I saw a red Ford Aerostar backing out of your driveway,” she said. “Thought it was yours for a minute.” She grinned. “It wasn’t, was it? You look guilty.”
“Um…no,” said Simon. “It was one of my mom's friends from church.” He went into his room, flipped on the light, and scooped up his shoes and jacket from the floor. “She left some pans at church. I was supposed to go pick them up.” He pulled on his shoes. “I guess I forgot.”
Katrina looked at the bookshelves. “You do read a lot, don’t you?”
“What?” Simon realized he had never taken Katrina into his room before. “It’s a necessity when researching a dissertation. Still, this is nothing. You should see my advisor Dr. Francis’s office. It looks like the Bookmobile crashed through her wall.”
“That so?” said Katrina. She looked over the books, and Simon stifled a sigh of relief. The red van had passed from her mind.
He only wished he could forget so easily.
***
Chapter 14 - An Engagement
Anno Domini 2003
The Tower of Endless Worlds Page 33
