Rob gave her an inquisitive look, focusing on the old woman’s cup.
“Perhaps Gichi-manidoo will finally answer me, too,” she said hopefully. The more experienced planes-walker exhaled deeply, as with a contented sigh, and closed her eyes. She leaned back against the wall and her lids shot open to reveal milky white eyes. She’d traveled beyond.
Claire’s head lolled to the side and her jaw slackened. She sighed as every remaining scrap of breath leaked from her lungs. Then, she inhaled and exhaled rapidly, like a panting dog; Claire, too, was gone.
Rob sat in silence between the two unconscious, female forms. The roasting heat made his head swim and his new shirt, an oversized hoody borrowed from Jackie’s trunk, quickly soaked with perspiration. He refused to leave the sweat lodge before they’d returned.
. . .
James only needed a fraction of his concentration to maintain the open viewing portal. The ethereal opening between the dimensions looked much like a smoky window.
From the others side of the aperture, Vivian assured Nitthogr that he’d correctly anticipated his enemies’ move. “The Vyrm psychics tell me that Princess Bithia’s trance is deeper than mere communion with the Architect King. She sent her spirit out into the ether, probing, trying to connect with her other form and interfere with your plans. Thus far, she has been adept at evading the Vyrm eidolons and escaping any traps they have set against her.”
Amused, James chuckled. He knew he couldn’t simply kill her—with her spirit disconnected from body, the Royal mark her soul bore would be lost forever. She’d made a good move.
“Fools,” he grinned again, easily guessing his fugitives’ next moves. “Zabe is running straight down the contents of the Grimmorium. It’s like he does not realize that I wrote this book! There’s no way he can beat me at my own game, but it will be fun, nonetheless, even if it is barely a challenge.
“Pull the psychics back. Their eidolon projections are not to interfere with Bithia making contact inside the ether.”
“As if they could,” Vivian spat over her shoulder to the vyrm clairvoyants behind her. “They cannot even locate her, now; she’s talented, and her will is strong.”
James continued. “Have them lie in wait and merely observe. If I’m right, Claire or Zabe will try and contact with the princess. Once that happens, we should be able to locate them. We won’t need to find Bithia; if the eidolons can mark Claire in the ether, then we will have them.”
Vivian nodded and the vyrm behind her immediately sank into their positions outside of the prison doors. “I’m ready to return,” she assured him. “Regorik will contact you through the runestones once there is news.”
Nodding and smiling James congratulated himself. “The snare is set. We only need to wait for the prey to walk in.” He waved a finger and the inter-dimensional window dispelled in a wisp of smoke.
Soon, she would be his again. And time was urgent. The Seven grew restless; astral bodies aligned and they still required Claire’s blood to complete the dark summoning rite to release Sh’logath.
. . .
Claire awoke with a violent gasp! No… not awake… conscious on a different plane… It felt like a vision, but Claire knew that it was also real in a different sense of the term. Everything appeared silent and still. She spun a lazy circle and observed her surroundings; nothing moved save a gentle dust that floated in the air, kicked up by her slow movements. Shades of blue and grey seemed to paint everything in an otherworldly light: a cool tone of faded sepia.
She called out, but no sound came from her mouth, though she could hear her words echoing through her mind; they seemed to reverberate into eternity. Claire centered herself and moved forward through her surroundings, trying to identify where she was. It all felt so familiar, certainly far removed from the wild growth of Ma Kechewaishke’s island.
Concrete and pavement stretched across the ground. From deep within the cracks dandelions and crab grass shoots sprang up; they wavered in a breeze that she couldn’t quite feel. A recognizable building towered nearby: the high school she attended when she was a teenager.
Climbing the front stair, Claire pushed her way through the heavy double doors. The thought stuck in her mind that these doors shouldn’t weigh so much. They were difficult to open and so much heavier than she remembered.
The main hallway stretched before her as she bravely entered. Seeing it all again—reliving it—she suddenly began to doubt herself. Claire felt just as she did when she entered that building for the first time so many years ago: unsure and overwhelmed by life. This was a brick ark that preserved her pain and suffering. Emotions bubbled to the surface: doubt and self-loathing, fake friends and the painful, social pecking order, the heartache of losing her mother so shortly after enrollment, the sense that everything in life was uncertain. Everything felt like a threat.
Claire winced against the pain that slowly crippled her heart. She knew she’d buried these feelings so long ago, but she’d thought them dead and far below ground. Now, they threatened to crawl out from that grave she’d put them in years prior.
She swallowed hard and wandered the halls. Empty desks sat like gravestones amid the abandoned rooms. The drab tones only helped conjure old memories, though not all bad. Claire meandered past the drinking faucet where she’d first met Jackie.
Her heart caught in her throat when she looked down to her hands. She held a photo frame that she had made in her introductory woodshop class and she knew what that meant! This is that dark day—the one that nearly broke her! She looked around, but the halls were still empty and silent.
Claire walked forward as if drawn to her locker, knowing that she had to put the frame in her locker before her next class—she had to, like irresistible fate. Claire tried to slow down, to drag her feet, but she could not. This was a fixed memory, she couldn’t change it! As soon as she’d get to her locker, the announcement would come for her to report to the office and learn that her mother had died.
She struggled against the forced march towards that tiny, metal door as if she might somehow change the course of history—but her efforts proved futile. Standing before her locker another memory rushed back to her: she didn’t even realize it had all happened on this same day… the frame never made it into the locker! There was a snake in there. This was that day, too!
Closing her eyes against the locker that loomed before her, Claire could feel the vibration of the speakers demanding her presence in the administration hall. It all repeated itself, but this time there was no Robert there to save her!
Time seemed to stretch out forever and she slowly, inevitably reached for the locker handle. She looked around in a panic for Rob, half expecting to see a young Vivian watching her handiwork from a distance, but the halls remained empty. Claire was on her own.
The locker latch lifted. The door swung free. And there was her algebra book, tattered and propped up against the side, like it always was. Claire exhaled the tense lungful of air she’d been holding; there were no snakes here. She laid the frame inside and walked to the ladies room, wiping away the warm tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Her resolve rose up inside her again as she pushed her way into the lavatory and leaned against the walls. Closing her eyes she dried her cheeks and remembered what her father had told her. You are strong, and so much like your mother. Claire rarely thought of her mother; those thoughts were too painful.
She’d always been strong. But perhaps her strength did not come from killing her hurts, or dying to them; maybe denying her emotions was the wrong course? Was it possible that strength came by conquering those emotions and ruling them even amid all the pain they caused?
Feeling childlike, Claire chided herself and looked at her fingers. They had blackened from the mascara when she’d wiped her tears. She walked towards the sink in order to clean herself up, trying to remember exactly what it was that she was supposed to do here.
Scrubbing the dark makeup from her fingers, she looked
up at the mirror and caught her reflection. Her reflection moved of its own accord. Standing further back than she was, her doppelganger held a finger to her lips and motioned for her to be silent.
For all the self-talk building up her bravery and strength, Claire’s heart skipped a beat and she bolted for the door. Never a believer in ghosts, she’d never experienced anything like this before! Looking over her shoulder, her reflection pounded on the glass, demanding her attention.
Nearly tumbling into the hall, Claire reevaluated her situation. I’ve never experienced anything like this before? She laughed at herself. What about living fire demons, werewolf protectors, inter-dimensional warlock fiancées, plus whatever the heck a Sh’logath is?
Claire’s heart rate returned to normal and she scanned the hallway. A fog had crept in, obscuring much of the tiled floor. She looked at the locker door she’d left hang wide. Snakes poured from the opening; one after another they fell to the ground like great drops of scaly water leaking from a faulty tap.
Her heart leapt again, but this time it was for a perfectly rational fear: snakes. Wild eyed and worried, Claire rushed to the mirror to meet her other self.
The woman in the mirror nodded knowingly, as if she could tell from Claire’s expression that the serpents had arrived. They are here? Claire could hear the question echo through her mind.
She confirmed with a head bob.
I am Bithia, she explained through the mirror. Rob must have sent you?
Yes, she responded.
Bithia looked excited at the prospect. If the snakes have found us, then there isn’t much time. The darkness has already started. The tiny window revealed a creeping darkness as dusk had fallen; it grew deeper by the moment. You must get out and into the light, and you must not let the snakes touch you!
Why did Rob send me to see you? What is it that I need to know?
Bithia reached into her own chest and pulled out a glowing orb from where her heart should have been. We must align! There isn’t time for me to tell you, she looked hesitantly to the creeping shadow by the window. Take this; once we merge you will see it all. Bithia pushed the radiant sphere to the edge of the glass. It slowly pushed through, like a hot stone sliding through butter.
Claire cradled the orb. She paused only momentarily and then thrust it into her own chest. Memories, realities, information, feelings and emotions, all flooded through her, crackling within her nerves and synapses as the collective moments of Bithia’s life hit her at once. They washed over her as one. She knew the vast history of the Prime and its importance to all of reality. Everything that Bithia knew, Claire now had access to.
She fell to her knees, only slightly trembling. They had merged. Claire touched her cheek, she felt the sting of Nitthogr’s backhand strike. Her amulet crackled with energy, polarity confusion caused a ripple of power to radiate off it.
All of the warlock’s plans lay open before her; the bragging monologues and hours Nitthogr spent lording his scheme over her were exposed via Bithia’s memories. The vyrm’s Chosen One planned to use her as leverage: he sought the opening of the sacred chamber of the Tesseract so he could claim reality as his own to mold and master.
The vyrm would feel betrayed and possibly revolt if Nitthogr denied Sh’logath his due. And yet, if he seized hold of such power, he could be an even more dread force than the mere annihilation imposed by Sh’logath; he could easily cow them into submission and eventually turn their hearts.
In her mind’s eye she saw the prospective fallout of his reign of terror; it spread across the multiverse like a cancer. The Prime would fall under his thrall and all the dimensions would bend and bow before him in domino fashion.
Claire saw her part in intricate detail as Nitthogr became James Shianan in order to bind her to himself and tie his line into the royal lineage. Birthing a child would grant him access after killing Bithia post-birth: Claire would then assume the spirit of the Prime and the power of the royal blood would run through the heir. Nitthogr would create, and then mold the child, in his image—the mother was unnecessary.
He would offer up the blood of either the Princess or Claire and unleash the mighty Sh’logath only as a last resort should his assumption of power fall short. The entire scheme of the warlock hinged upon the proper alignment of the lunar bodies.
The machinations of the evil warlord appeared impossible to delay; the quickest and most immediate option was to flee Nitthogr’s forces. As long as they remained hidden, reality would continue to exist despite the Prime’s beleaguered state—but if Claire fell into captivity, all would be lost.
Bithia pounded on the glass again, gaining her attention and pleading for her flight. She pushed her hand to the portal and begged her to relay a message. Please, tell Rob how much I love him!
Claire touched her hand to the glass and bid a silent farewell. She bolted for the door where her feet scattered the ankle-deep fog as she sprinted through the haze.
She rounded a corner, armed with the knowledge of Nitthogr’s plans and her deep, abiding connection to her Prime. The hiss of a viper alerted Claire and she dodge-skipped over an area where the snake struck. She doubled down and ran forward.
In the distance she spied a glowing light at the end of the hallway; the shining exit radiated hope. She bit back against her burning lungs and pressed ahead, ignoring the pain in her chest brought on by the sudden sprints.
Another adder struck, passing through the vapor with a shrill hiss. She paid it no mind, only keeping her eyes on the exit. Her shoes scattered a growing cloud away from her feet which dashed through the vaporic miasma.
Her soles pounded like drums. The hiss of her assailants’ efforts tempted her to take her eyes off the prize. She resisted!
The door grew larger and larger. The light outside shone brighter! Just as she hit the threshold of the door she felt the sting of a viper as it latched onto the back of her leg. Claire screamed as she tumbled through the door; but she could only hear the hissing of snakes in her ears as she collapsed into the light.
Claire skidded to a halt on her back as the serpent coiled itself around her leg, injecting its venom ever deeper into her soul. She could see blackness crowding her vision, choking the light as she struggled to hold onto everything that Bithia had instilled within her.
As her vision faded she could feel the sting of Nitthogr’s vanity and dark desires; they overruled and dominated her soul, shriveling the glowing orb that Bithia had implanted within. She looked to her leg to see the snake drive its fangs ever deeper. She could swear that it smiled at her. And then everything faded into black.
. . .
James Shianan stormed into the dingy room filled with Thomas Chelish’s aromatic cigar smoke. He welcomed the surprised faces with a fake smile. Seated at The Sevens’ table were high ranking magnates from around the globe: Victor Adams, Peter Greyson, Charles Summers, Andrew Thornton, Thomas Chelish, Bruce Cannon, and Jonathan Trask. Each formidable in their own right, together, they could rule the world… or destroy it.
Greyson rose to his feet and stammered, trying to give a plausible reason for their meeting which had secretly convened an hour prior to the time appointed by James. James let him ramble while he dumped a box of heat-etched runestones into a pile upon the table.
“Sit down,” the warlock barked. “I already know why you’ve assembled without me.”
The seven men traded sagacious glances.
“I’m not sure any of you trust me. However, you each owe me.”
Their glances melted into the inevitability of this knowledge. Each of these men owed James innumerable favors.
Nitthogr touched a finger to his temple as if he could read their minds. “You fear that I am letting Claire escape for my own purposes or benefit?”
Adams chimed in with his thick accent, “You do seem like you have lost care for the Great Awakening! The astral alignment is only days away—we could miss our next opportunity to release the Master.”
Whirl
ing around to address him, James explained. “More than any of any of you, I know Sh’logath! I have served him since long before the Syzygyc War and I have worked to release him ever since!”
He scanned the room, looking for a tell on any of their faces. The conniving warlock still suspected that his brother had somehow wormed his way into the group he’d so carefully setup on Earth, a dimension where Basilisk’s reach and vision was severely limited. None had overtly betrayed him… not yet.
“Then just tell us why you don’t just bring the princess here from the Prime!” Trask demanded. “We could easily sacrifice her upon the altar; we don’t need Claire Jones.”
Even as the runes began to move of their own accord upon the table, James tapped his lower lip. “You know so little about what happens when a Prime is taken from the master realm against their own will,” he bluffed. “What you seem to know a great deal of, is my plans… such as how I am holding the Princess in the Prime capital. I had not divulged that information to anyone here.”
Trask stuttered. “Well—we can assume that’s the case.”
“I’ve long suspected a traitor on the council—one of the Seven feeding information to my brother.” He looked down at the runes and smiled. Regorik’s message had come through as timely as could be hoped for.
Trask stared at him, both inquisitively and fearfully.
“Our efforts have paid off. Sh’logath will rise. Claire has been discovered and marked by my psi-vyrm. She will be apprehended in no time and the rituals will happen.” He leveled a gaze at the other six men seated at the table, and then to Trask.
He circled Jonathan Trask like a predator sizing up his prey. Trask looked around the table for support, but his fellows averted their eyes, rejecting any association with a possible traitor.
Nitthogr raised a curious eyebrow at the tiny octagonal symbol tattooed behind Trask’s left ear, an identification mark of the Tarkhūn. It was the last piece of evidence he needed to condemn him. “Oh, but you’ll never see it.” He made a sign in the air, tracing Trask’s silhouette with his index pointer, and then snapped his fingers; Trask burst into flames before he could react.
Wolf of the Tesseract Page 11
