Portals

by Brian S. Pratt

  Will this take me home?

  With only one way to find out, Holk swam toward the up-jutting rock pile. The climb from the water and up to the mirror left hands and arms with nicks and scrapes. To avoid the worst of what the rocks could do to him, Holk took it slow. When he at last reached the top and stood before the mirror, he searched it, and the immediate area, for any clue as to where it might lead. Unfortunately, if there was a rhyme or reason correlating the mirror’s construction to where it would send him, he was unable to discern it. Feeling like a man rolling dice with everything riding on the outcome, he reached out and touched the mirror.

  Translocation, though unnerving, created no ill feelings, nor any kind of sensory anomaly. Holk started out atop the pile one moment, then stood among an array of rock formations the next. Shadows danced around him as a slight breeze caused the torchlight to flicker and dance off dozens of stalagmites and ‘tites.

  Towers of rock rose from the cavern floor, while others cascaded down from the ceiling. Every ‘mite had its ‘tite. Some had even grown together, forming complete columns of stone. Small sounds of drip-drip-drip could be heard from all around.

  Off to his left in a small, cavernous recess, torchlight was being reflected. Moving around the rocky spires, Holk made his way toward a mirror unlike any of the others. It had a blue, shimmering field that seemed to flow around the reflective surface in a clockwise manner. Intrigued, he came closer and gave the blue border a closer, visual inspection, preferring not to touch it until ready to depart. With a border like that, who knew what it might do.

  The blueness did indeed seem to be in motion, though it could easily have been a trick of the erratic light being given off by his flickering torch. Curiosity satisfied for the moment, Holk turned his attention to the rest of the cavern. Since the other areas contained more than one mirror, he figured this one would as well.

  He made a circuit of the room, its dimensions being about half that of the Lake Room, and came back to the blue-bordered mirror without finding another. Maybe the ‘Tite Room didn’t have more than the one mirror?

  While bolstering his courage to try the mirror, his attention was again drawn to the flickering of his torch. It occurred to him that the breeze causing its erratic behavior had to come from, and go to, somewhere. A way out perhaps?

  Putting some distance between himself and the wall, Holk used the torch as a guide in search of the elusive egress. Since the flame was being blown toward the center of the room, he moved against the current toward the wall.

  He made his way around the stalagmites. Upon reaching the rock wall marking the edge of the room, he came to a confused stop. A breeze could be felt, but there was no avenue through which it could be passing. Placing his hand against the wall’s rocky imperfections failed to bring to light the breeze’s origin. That’s when he realized the breeze was flowing down the side of the wall from the upper reaches of the ‘Tite Room. A glance to the upper reaches of the wall and adjoining ceiling failed to reveal the source of the airflow.

  If he couldn’t find the inflow, perhaps the outflow would be more readily discernible. With that in mind, Holk moved from the wall and allowed the fluttering flame of the torch to lead him. Step by step, he moved toward the center of the room. At ten paces, the flame began fluttering wildly in all directions. Upon reaching fifteen, the flame had settled down but now blew in the opposite direction.

  Bewildered to say the least, Holk retraced his steps back to the cavern wall. Once again, and this time taking it very slowly, he inched his way forward.

  At roughly the same point as before, the flame was again blown about in every direction. Holk came to a stop as he watched the flame dance. Creeping forward, he again reached a point where the wild gyrations of the flame settled down and fluttered back toward the center of the room.

  The room’s center was naught but stone and towering columns where ‘mites and ‘tites had grown together to form columns. He returned to the center, that area where the flame danced the most wildly, and this time worked his way perpendicularly to his original path. Once he moved beyond a certain distance, the flame settled down and was drawn to the center.

  He tried it along half a dozen points, and each time, the flame was blown toward the same point of the room. Not the exact middle, but close enough to be considered such. Intrigued and befuddled, he came to stand upon the spot where he believed the air currents converged.

  Now, what is it about this spot that causes such a thing? There is no fissure or opening through which it could be drawn.

  Holk was at a loss. There was a mystery in that room, one which may very well lead to his deliverance from this place if only he could figure it out. Intrigue and befuddlement rapidly grew into irritation and annoyance.

  The walls held no fissures, the floor bore no cracks or other openings, so where…? Raising his gaze, he turned them up toward the cavern’s ceiling. Could it be? He raised the torch as high as he could. The flame whipped about and the residual smoke emitted by the burning material twisted into a spiral as it rose to the cavern’s shadowy heights.

  At this point, the ceiling was beyond the reach of the torch’s light. Holk’s gaze tried piercing the shadows but had little luck. He had heard of such things, boreholes miners would delve in order to maintain a fresh supply of air in the nether reaches. Could this be what it was? A borehole would extend all the way to the surface. Excited and wishing to know for sure, Holk tossed the torch up into the air.

  End over end it rotated as upward it flew. Peaking in its arc, the torch at last revealed a dark space crouched in-between three of the massive, rock columns some distance still farther above.

  That might be it!

  Once the torch fell back and landed upon the ground, Holk picked it up and this time, threw it with every bit of strength at his disposal. It quickly reached the point where it peaked the previous time and continued on. The sound of wind whipping the flame grew in intensity the farther up it went. As it peaked, Holk’s hope of an avenue from this place was quickly dashed. The dark area turned out to be another mirror with a bordering of dark red, and where the reflective surface should have been, a black vortex churned.

  Holk couldn’t believe someone would put a mirror way up there. While pondering such incongruities, he came to realize the torch hadn’t begun its descent. In fact, it appeared to be hovering several feet beneath the mirror’s black vortex. The torch remained so for several moments before beginning to rise.

  Moving very slowly at first, it picked up speed as it drew closer to the black vortex. Unable to stop the torch’s ascent, and in awe that this could even be happening, Holk watched as his torch, his only source of light, was drawn inexorably toward, and then into, the black vortex. Being too far away, he couldn’t be sure if the torch vanished upon touching the mirror, or had merely been drawn into it. Either way, the result was the same. Holk was plunged into darkness.

  ”Damn.”

  Giving out with a stream of expletives that would make any soldier proud, he began making his way blindly toward the wall. As hands passed from one stalagmite to the next, he tried to bring his anger under control. No sense berating himself over the loss of the torch. How could he have known throwing it up there would have resulted in its disappearance?

  He couldn’t help but think about the difference in how this mirror reacted to the ones already encountered. It wasn’t passive, it drew in what whatever happened to be close. That would also explain the odd behavior of the wind that had blown the torch.

  Upon reaching the wall, he worked his way around the room’s edge in search of the mirror. He would have thought the mirror’s shimmering blue border would be discernible in the darkness, but it must not have its own, internal light source.

  He went round and round in his attempt to locate the mirror. It seemed he had gone around the room at least twice before his hand finally encountered its smooth border. Bracing himself for wherever he may be sent, he reached a finger out and touch
ed the reflective surface.

  Instantly, the darkness was no more. He was back in the Prison Room where light from a setting sun streamed in through both windows. Relieved to no longer be in the dark, he slumped down against the wall opposite the windows and allowed the sun’s rays to purge the chill from his bones.

  All rooms seemed to connect back to this one, while the only out-bound mirror in the Prison Room led to the mushrooms. A hub of some kind? He wasn’t sure if any correlation actually existed, but it was worth considering.

  Exhaustion and frustration took its toll. He watched the sun as it descended below the window sill. Too tired to do anything about his situation, Holk laid his head back and closed his eyes. His stomach growled, but it would have to wait.

  There were certain challenges he had yet to overcome. First and foremost was locating a light source. In the Prison Room, he at least had the daylight, but that did him little good in the other enclosed, underground rooms. Could they even be called rooms? Probably not, but that’s how he thought of them.

  The only area that held anything remotely organic that might have a chance of being combustible, was the room with the mushrooms. He didn’t think the smaller ones would be of much use, but the larger? The one he thumped had felt more solid than fungal, kind of like a tree. He would make that his number one priority when the sun came up.

  For now, his mind was shutting down, fatigue taking over. Before realizing it, he was asleep.

  Chapter 4

  Holk stood with forehead pressed to the bars of the window. Outside, another beautiful day had dawned, a day he was prevented from sharing. For the last two hours, he had looked out over the wide expanse of ocean stretching away to the horizon. Birds there were aplenty, but no sign of people. He wondered how remote this place could be.

  A growl disturbed his quiet solitude, an incessant need that could no longer be ignored. He was hungry, yet still hadn’t figured out a viable solution to his lighting problem. The only course of action he had thus far come up with was to tear strips from his leggings to use as fuel. But that would be a short lived solution, and over time, would render him less able to keep the cold of his new environs at bay.

  Turning from the window, he again glanced to the locked door that had so far resisted every attempt at opening. What he wouldn’t give for an axe right about then. The wood, drawn from a very hardy variety of tree, gave up little more than tiny splinters to his efforts. After ripping off a fingernail during his latest attempt at prying a section loose, he gave up trying to use it for fuel.

  Again his stomach voiced its need for sustenance. He could put this off no longer. He reached down to the bottom of the legging around his left ankle and ripped off a two inch swath. Holding it in his hand, he contemplated what would happen when he lit it. If he held it in his hand, it would burn him; allowing it to dangle free while it burned would only allow the fire to consume the material all the faster. He needed a way to carry it so the flame would last the longest possible time while avoiding serious burns.

  Something in which to hold it…

  Catching sight of a torch sconce upon the wall, the idea came that it would be ideally suited for his purpose. After a quick inspection revealed the sconce to be securely fastened to the wall, he turned his attention to the other three. The next sconce tried was just as securely attached to the wall, the third wiggled slightly, and the fourth resisted all attempts at movement.

  Returning to the one that wiggled, he took hold with both hands and wrenched it forcefully back and forth. Aside from acquiring a holder for his burning material, the effort afforded him a much needed avenue to vent his pent-up anger and frustration. Back and forth he pulled, each wrenching loosening the sconce from the wall a little bit more. Finally, it came free.

  Wadding the swath of cloth taken from his leggings, he set it within the base of the sconce. He then took his makeshift torch over to the mirror, removed his flint and knelt. Using swift strokes he began striking sparks. Following the third strike, he was able to encourage one of the sparks to ignite the cloth. Immediately, he stood and placed his hand against the mirror. The mirror and wall vanished only to be replaced with a forest of mushrooms.

  Holk knew his “torch” would not last long as the material was being consumed rapidly. Looking about, he scanned the room for something to add that would keep the flame going.

  Unlike a forest of trees, this expanse of mushrooms held no dead material. If Holk would have been less pressed for time, he would have thought it odd. With no ready fuel available, he turned to the large, red-capped mushroom before him. It had the consistency of a tree, perhaps it would have a tree’s combustibility as well.

  After setting the makeshift torch upon the ground, he picked up a hand-sized rock bearing a somewhat-sharpened edge, and proceeded to drive the rock’s edge into the side of the mushroom. His first strike sank in an inch. Using the rock as a wedge, he worked a section of the mushroom’s outer skin loose. Taking hold of the loosened piece, he pulled and peeled off a strip all the way down to the stalk’s base. Two inches wide and four feet in length, the strip had the consistency of softened leather. A thick moisture oozed from the recently bared area of the bole. It looked akin to tree sap.

  His light was burning out fast. Now little more than a small, flickering flame, it had consumed nearly all the material torn from his trousers. Holk quickly balled the strip of the mushroom’s outer skin into a loose package, then set it into the top of the torch sconce.

  Pushing gently, he pressed it closer to the dying flame. At first, when it came into contact with the fire, the mushroom skin did little more than smolder. But with a little spate of gentle, encouraging breaths, he managed to get it to catch. Darkness rolled back as the flame spread to engulf the ball of mushroom skin.

  Sweet. He had light!

  Mighty proud of himself, Holk returned to the mushroom stalk and proceeded to remove every bit of outer skin the mushroom held. Using his rock, he hacked and peeled until seventeen separate strips lay on the ground near his flickering torch. By the time the last strip had been peeled away, he added another to the torch as the first strip had been all but consumed.

  After that, he set about eating his fill of the little gray mushrooms. Not the most appetizing of meals, it at least satisfied his hunger. He took a dozen with him when he returned to the Prison Room.

  For the remainder of the day, he set to meticulously search the rooms of this world for a way out. During his search he used ten of his “mushroom strips” for torch-fuel, all of which proved futile as he failed to uncover a means of escape. Before returning to the Prison Room, which had become his base of operations, he gathered more mushrooms.

  Now, as he stood at the window looking out over the panoramic scene created by the setting sun, Holk was at a loss as to what to do. His thoughts kept returning to that mirror positioned in the ceiling of the ‘Tite Room. He couldn’t shake the memory of how the torch had been drawn into the mirror’s black vortex. Could that be the way out?

  During his recent exploration, he had sought a way to scale the walls of the ‘Tite Room in order to reach the mirror. But the walls had proven too sheer and his climbing skill insufficient. There was no other way he had yet to try. It was either that, or the door that withstood his every attempt to breach. Even using the torch sconce had been ineffectual.

  Sighing, Holk looked out through the barred window to a world unattainable. Wisps of clouds went from brilliant scarlet to a deep purple as the light continued to fade. When the first stars appeared and night set to with a vengeance, Holk turned in. Sleep, however, was proving to be an elusive goal. But by the time the moon had risen, and its ethereal light fell upon him, sleep came.

  Why get up?

  Time dragged by as he grappled with that question. What was there for him to do? Gather mushrooms, perhaps? Take a dip in the lake? Stare out a window? He was certain he would be doing all three before the day was through.

  Morning’s light had dispel
led night’s hold upon this world, but he didn’t care. When a man is trapped in a place from which he can’t escape, it sucks all life from him. If only there was a way out. Correction, if only there was an obtainable way out.

  There were still two possible avenues, the door, and the mirror with the vortex that drew in his torch. Neither one, unfortunately, could he avail himself. Hours of early-morning brain-wracking over a way of reaching the mirror and its vortex had birthed no viable solution.

  Holk glanced to the window, could see the blue sky, and birds flittering far out over the water. How he longed to be out there with them. But such was not to be. Sighing, he reached for the torch sconce and the strips of mushroom skin that together, would form his makeshift torch.

  The skins had shrunk during the night and no longer had the consistency of softened leather. Instead, they felt like tough rawhide. He took hold of a piece in both hands, and snapped it hard. It didn’t break. Trying again, Holk was surprised at its ability to resist coming apart.

  “This could come in handy.” A quick inspection of the rest revealed how each had also become like rawhide. It was definitely an odd occurrence, especially seeing as how the strips had come from a mushroom.

  Tearing off another strip of cloth from the right leg of his trousers this time, he set it within the base of the torch sconce. With his flint, he struck sparks and soon had the material smoldering. A few short breaths encouraged it to life, after which he added one of the toughened, leather strips wadded into a loose ball. The dried strip caught much more readily and didn’t appear to be consumed nearly as fast as when newly peeled from the mushroom stalk.