by J G Smith
I’m alone. The girl isn’t here – no one is – and I have no idea how long that blackout lasted. I don’t even have the faintest clue about what goes on when an episode like that happens.
I’m scared and I don’t know where to go. I’m even too tired to continue fighting with myself. Wait, no, I’m never too tired for that.
The thing is, it’s like I’m dreaming. It’s like those nights when your dreams turn dark and you’re just waiting to wake up. I’m waiting to wake up – to a warm bed and a closed window. I’m waiting to wake up to know that Steve is still alive and that I haven’t abandoned my best friend.
That scene keeps playing, over and over. Should I have told him? Should I have let him come?
Whispering voices bombard the back of my mind: No, then yes; then yes, then no. The idea was to keep him safe, but now I’m not so sure. What exactly can I do, if all I’ve been doing is getting lost and blacking out?
Keep him safe, re-echoes a voice inside my head.
It gets me thinking. The girl said that Lighkame would be back. Though, I’m not entirely certain Lighkame will do anything. He was different after posing as Steve. Then again, he hasn’t been the most consistent with what he’s been doing – besides following me.
I close my eyes and remember his, glowing red. I recall the moment I realised Steve was gone.
Get up, I tell myself. You’re not going to magically wake up and Steve’s not going to suddenly come back. You need to get up and get out, now.
I straighten my back and shoulders, with my arms wrapped around me, and notice the torches flicker. A subtle breeze follows – crisp and eerie. That’s not supposed to happen, I think to myself. I look around me and watch as the shadows dance between the light. I almost swear they move more freely than they should.
I also notice what sounds like a commotion of whispers in the distance. These ones are not in my head. I’m sure of it. I try listening to where they’re coming from, but they’re constantly moving – evading detection.
I turn towards the coffin, at the symbol engraved on its heart, and think, Rex Anderson. This can’t be his coffin. I mean, the girl speaks of him as if he’s alive and I’ve seen him in my reflections. Maybe he’s a ghost, comes the thought.
I still don’t like him, or the girl’s repeated conscious and subconscious mentions of him. Don’t be jealous, Robert, I tell myself. Maybe she’s taken. I shake the thought. It’s beside the point.
I look up, to where the inscription for James Widek is, and wonder, Who is he? Why is his epitaph in Rex’s tomb? and Bradley… He said I mentioned his name. The more I ponder, the more I reckon I’m asking the wrong questions. I’m here to find out as much as I can about the Arcane Messenger, but I cannot ignore anything else I happen to stumble on.
I reach forward to touch the Shadow Master’s memorialised text, but the whispers grow louder to stop me, “Don’t!” That just about scares me half to death. I pause and listen more intently, questioning if I heard correctly. “Do it,” they come again. What? I’m confused.
I wait a moment to see if they say anything more, but there’s nothing. So, I move closer to the text, but I don’t get very far. Barely an inch closer and the whispers cry, direly, “Don’t!” I’m caught in my tracks. An immediate wrestle between the contending voices ensues, prompting and nudging me to do and not to do, faster and faster.
My heart follows suit with the rapid pace. My temperature rises and I struggle to focus on anything else.
I pull away, put my hands to my head and seat myself with my knees to my chest. Now it’s just noise. My eyes close and open the louder the voices get and notice movements in their peripheral. It isn’t real, Robert, I tell myself. It’s a trick of the eye. But that doesn’t explain the voices.
I start humming to dull them out. It works, but only in short waves. What is this place? is the only thought I’m left with – the only thought I’m able to muster.
A soft voice breaks through, just behind the others. “Robert,” it calls. This one is in my head, sort of. It’s different. It’s… familiar. It calls my name again and speaks, but I’m not able to pick up on everything. I hear something about ‘Rex’ and ‘find her.’
It triggers the memory of the ghost’s plea for me to find the Arcane Messenger. I’m not anywhere closer to doing that.
The voice continues, “It’s me.” The ghost? It doesn’t sound like it. “Rex,” it says. “Find her.”
The whispers fall away from the spotlight. This is the first time I’ve heard Rex. First, I see him in my reflections, without any collaboration, then he sends some ghost to deliver a message, then the girl sees him in her visions. It’s obvious that we’re linked, somehow. It’s all the other questions that need answering.
However, those answers don’t seem to be coming anytime soon. The Arcane Messenger. That’s where I’m being led to—well, told to go. One of the other tombs, I’m thinking, must have her title.
I stand up, slowly, and begin moving away from the coffin. My steps are shuffled as I do. I have an objective, yes. There are unexplained voices and shadows, yes. Yet, my mind keeps tugging to one unanswered question. Who is James?
My eyes draw back to the inscription on the wall and whispers flood at the thought: no one, master, enemy, ruler, shadow and king. The voices are torn – they have two distinguished sides, both for and against James.
It could be an answer. No, echoes the voice inside my head. My voice. I remember my blackout starting just after I touched the Ghost Master’s inscription. Could the same happen with the Shadow Master’s? I choose to refrain from this risk – at least, until I know a little more.
To my left, with the coffin behind me, is the outline of a door, but no handle. On the other side of the room, same side to where I stand, is a trapdoor. I march over, thinking it’s something, and notice the voices grow louder. I see figures approach from the corner of my eye.
I stop – hardly believing the experience myself – and so do they. The figures meld back into the room and the voices revert to their hushed babbling. There’s nothing to be scared of, Robert, I tell myself. Whatever is here is just messing with your mind.
I push myself forward and the shrouding voices and figures recur. Whatever it is doesn’t want me to open that door. But, terrified, I close my eyes and do it anyway. There’s an uncomfortable feeling of something moving in and through me. Nope, some things – it’s definitely plural.
But, as I wait, I notice that’s all it is. It’s scary – no question there. It’s strange, uncomfortable, loud and invasive, but that’s about it. They’re not doing anything. Not really. Maybe they don’t have any real power over me. Maybe.
I open my eyes and continue. There’s a large old book underneath the trapdoor. Its pages are brown and bound together with a dried out calpryc vine. I lift it out of the sandy and dusty crevice as carefully as I can and start paging through, finding symbols similar to those at the top of the door leading to the tombs.
“What good is this?” I blurt out in a tone of frustration. I move through the pages at a rapidly increasing pace.
The whispers retaliate in incoherent mumbles. So, it matters to them? “You keep it, then,” I say, irritably. I don’t know what they are and I am being stupidly bold. But I’m on edge. I return the book to its place in the ground, not so carefully, and shut the trapdoor.
I’m throwing a tantrum and whoever or whatever is in the room can see it. A heavy wind pushes through the room, in response, causing the flame torches to flutter and the voices to whistle. This doesn’t make any sense. None of it does.
I make my way along the wall, opposite the coffin, to a darker area. It opens to a passageway – back to the entrance, I assume. I walk, taking breaths to calm myself down. The light grows dimmer and dimmer until it radiates no more. “They’re coming,” I hear the voices whisper, ominously. They’re not following me.
“Who?” I ask, turning my head towards the partially lit room. I’m hoping on
e of them is the girl. I need to know where she is.
“The oracle and the eidolon,” they say with a sense of awe and reverence, before going quiet… too quiet.
“Are you talking about Skye?” I ask, frowning as I do. They can’t be, I start thinking. I mean, she’s the only oracle I know of, but she didn’t want to involve herself. Not enough to come down here, at least.
There’s a silent hum. I wait and receive no answer to my question. This allows my thoughts to wander, to Bradley… My heart sinks. I don’t—I can’t… My head is all over the place.
To change this, I redirect my thoughts to another question. “Who is the eidolon?”
The voices remain still. Even the murmurs in the background and the sound from the unexplained wind has fallen to an unsettling hush. “Hello?” I call. Still, no answer.
I feel myself growing desperate, but fight to keep these feelings under control. Frustrating is what it is. Though, there isn’t much I can do about it.
I turn back towards the blackened path, putting my hand against the wall. It doesn’t light up. I close my eyes and feel my way forward, noticing the walls, floor and ceiling in bluish white. It’s like using car lights late at night, just enough to see where I’m going.
Why was I there? I ask myself. Should I have touched the Shadow Master’s inscription? It was the only thing there I had any control over, besides the unintelligible book. As usual, I’m left with more questions than answers and fight this constant battle of continuing forward or going back home.
Where is the girl?
Is Skye really coming?
Why was I in that tomb?
Who is the eidolon?
And they keep coming and coming. The most urgent objective at this point, I feel, is finding the Arcane Messenger. It’s been repeated to me more than anything else. If I find her, I’ll find answers… or, answers will come.
Skye’s warning then plays at the back of my mind. ‘Something’s coming, and you’ve gotten yourself smack bang in the middle of it.’ I still need to ask what she saw.
I notice the walls close in ahead of me as the ceiling descends gradually. It’s a tight squeeze, head ducking included, but not for long. I see the exit and find myself back in the blackened room I was in with the girl. The same spot I was in just before blacking out.
I call out for the girl in the naïve hope she’s still around, realising I still don’t have anything to call her by. “Hello?” is all I’m able to muster. No answer. I’m starting to get used to unanswered questions.
She must be around here somewhere, though. I mean, I’m the one who got us through that door. She couldn’t have left. Maybe she’s in one of the tombs – Oliver’s tomb. It should be the one next to the Ghost Master’s. I see that it is open, along with the tomb which read The Alternate Enforcer. I open my eyes, briefly, and notice a dim purple light from what I believe to be Oliver’s tomb.
First, though, I need to see if the tomb opposite Rex’s mentions anything about the Arcane Messenger; the one to the middle left of the room. I have to know. I follow what I see in my mind’s eye, and place my fingers on the letters. They don’t light up. I need the girl, I think, remembering that the others only lit up when we touched them together.
I move my fingers back and forth over the letters, trying to confirm my suspicion. Though, the capital letters are the only ones I’m able to somewhat make out. Maybe I’m clouded by what I want them to be—what I need them to be.
I follow the pattern of the previous inscriptions – name, title and symbol, top to bottom. I feel the initials for the name and surname as AN and TAM for the title. It must be—I don’t know. And the symbol, I almost swear I recognise its outline from somewhere. But where?
I lean my head against the tomb, feeling a little more than defeated. What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I know how to open the tomb. Besides, the Ghost Master’s tomb didn’t hold much insight. What’s to say this one will?
I let out a heavy sigh, straighten my shoulders and head towards the tomb to the right of the Ghost Master’s. Get your act together, Robert. Focus on what you have control over.
I head to the tomb I suspect she’s in, to the corridor with the dimly lit purple traces. I feel over the engraving to confirm my suspicion, of it being Oliver’s tomb, but make out even less than I did with the previous inscription. I shrug it off and enter the small opening, smaller than the Ghost Master’s, and crawl.
Sarcastic thoughts return to my mind as I make my way through. If these tombs tell us anything about the people they inscribe, then Rex is creepy and Oliver is short. That was rude. I probably shouldn’t jump to conclusions or let this mood I’m in get to me. Take it down a notch, Robert.
I put my right hand forward, expecting solid ground, but nothing – literally. My whole arm falls straight down and my lower chest smacks the edge of the floor. There’s an instant flash of white in front of my eyes and a rush through my head. My heart is pounding, hard enough for me to feel my blood pulsing through my veins. My weight is just barely balanced and I feel that one wrong move will send me tumbling down.
My hands, knees and torso press firmly against the marble floor to secure a careful grip while my feet float above and behind me in the air. I’m freaking out on the inside, but keeping my composure. Slowly, very slowly, I wriggle myself backwards.
How did I not see that? Clearly, I wasn’t paying attention.
I manage my way back up, away from the seemingly endless pit, and let out a sigh of relief. That was close.
Then, the worst of thoughts enters my mind. What if she, the girl—NO. I stop myself. She wouldn’t have. She would’ve seen it coming. I search for any reason to convince myself that she couldn’t have gone down. But the fear of it being true weighs heavy on my heart.
I choke. It’s the same old lump in my throat, hot face – red hot – and burning chest. I’m tired of this – all of it.
“Please be alive,” I whisper, taking a moment with my eyes closed.
With my feet leading the way, I back away steadily, returning to the pitch-black room.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Really. I’m running around in circles. My options, now, are: check the Alternate Enforcer’s tomb or go back to the gang—give up, with more questions and absolutely zero answers. What if Lighkame returns? What if the girl is in the Alternate Enforcer’s tomb?
What if? That’s the question. I let out a grunt and decide on exhausting all my options first.
If Skye is on her way, with whoever or whatever the eidolon is, I should have at least one answer. So, I enter Claire’s tomb.
It has more room than the previous two, allowing me to move freely. I put my left hand against the icy wall, noticing that it’s the same as the mystic mirror on the walls of the labyrinth outside. It too gives off a guiding light. However, unlike the light in the labyrinth, this light remains—and spreads. The further I walk, the further it reaches, until I’m able to see an opening to a brightly lit room, also made of unscathed mirror.
Is this my stumbling block? The opening is a ledge, about two storeys off the ground, without any ladders or stairs. Apparently, Claire and Oliver don’t want any visitors.
I hide my hands in my jacket sleeves (cross-armed) and take a seat. Cold!
With the light still bright, I let my feet hang over the edge and scan the large and spacious room to see what’s there. At its centre is a thick glass coffin, with only a blur visible where the body is, and an even brighter light forming an archway on the reflective glass wall to the right, just big enough for one person to fit through. More than that, I see the reflections of these two items, and myself, echo endlessly from one wall to the next.
Looking at them, though, feels wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. It just seems off… out of place.
I double-take my scan of the room to see if the girl is there. She isn’t.
I shake my head and, as I’m about to give up and go back to the campsite, feel something str
ange happen with my right leg. Instead of it pressing against the surface made of mirror, as I lift myself up, I feel it move further – into the surface – without any restriction. The portion of my leg that goes in turns cold – colder than the rest of me. I pause, momentarily, sit down in my original position and try again. The same thing happens.
It’s curious. I reach with my hands and press firmly to see if it brings about the same results. It does. It’s like putting my hands in a bucket of ice water, except, without the wetness and with a lot less fluidity. There’s no resistance.
I move a little further than I should and feel my environment shift. I slip. The same harrowing effects as my almost fall in Oliver’s tomb encroaches but, this time, worsens. There’s nothing to hold onto. I miss the ledge and the reflective glass wall offers no friction.
I’m hyperventilating.
With my face towards the ground, I see my reflection coming closer and closer. No, not my reflection. Rex’s. No, another. His eyes, I notice, are emerald green and chill not only my bones, but also my soul.
I close my eyes, anticipating the imminent hit or continued drop, and feel one last thud inside my chest. A wave of ice chills my body and everything goes blank. I’m no longer falling. I’m held in stasis, for a split second, and then everything flips. I drop upwards – the same direction from which I fell. Though, this drop is only a few inches. The landing is pleasant – a lot more pleasant than expected.
I feel disoriented for a moment before standing back on my feet, lucid and mobile. I’m down, in the room with the thick glass coffin, but something feels different. It seems to be exactly same, except, without the off feeling. And, now that I think about it, I’m not as cold.
I look to the archway made of light. It’s a portal of sorts, right on top of faintly protruding cracks in the mirror wall. I look to the coffin. It reveals, obscurely, the body it entombs. That’s what it is! I think to myself. I have my own little eureka moment. Everything is reflected… wait—Am I inside a reflection?
