One by one, the rest of their party began to filter in. The last two in were Zabe and Zurrah. They’d stayed awake well past everyone else talking through the last several years that had passed with the younger brother lost or in captivity. Once the last of the lycans had taken a seat, Sam stood and wrote a question at the top of their white board.
What do we know?
“We need to account for as many variables as we can if this mission is going to be successful. I am not a warrior, I’m a scientist. I make hypotheses. We’ll need as much data as possible if we are going to succeed.”
He drew a few numbers one by one and listed the top items. 1. We might all die. 2. Unchecked, Nitthogr will destroy the universe. 3. We have the element of surprise.
“What else do we know?”
They started calling out items to add to the list.
Gita is a traitor (probably unwilling).
The vyrm are at odds with Heptobscurantum.
Some vyrm reject Sh’logath.
The Veritas, Guardian Corps, and military are likely destroyed.
We have no trustworthy allies on the Prime.
Claire is stronger than ever.
Sam twisted his lips at the list. It was not overwhelmingly positive. “Now let’s list what resources we have and what we need if we’re going to launch a full scale assault on the Prime, which we can safely assume is under Nitthogr’s full control.”
Resources:
A third werewolf.
Rift generator.
The Stone glaive.
Jarfig can pretend he’s Sisyphus.
Telekinetic kophesh.
The Venus Oculus.
Chamber of Mysteries is impenetrable.
Needs:
An army.
A diversion.
A miracle.
Together they stared at the list. Cerci blinked at it. “It’s official… we’re all gonna die. But at least we have a name for the house,” she winked at Shandra and Sam. “I overheard you earlier… We’re going with the Miles Mansion, right?”
Everybody groaned, but they were glad for the moment of humor to break the serious tone. “She’s joking everybody,” Shandra said. “It’s the Jecima Estate.”
Claire broke the burgeoning silence that followed after the humor petered out. “I think I have an idea, but we might not all like it.”
***
Sam and Shandra stole up the stairs to continue research of the Venus Oculus. Below them, Cerci operated the machine, helping the others pilfer resources from the Prime. Using as much stealth as possible, the thieves raided the Guardian Corps’ armory to steal armor and weapons.
In Jecima’s project room, Shandra stared at the shapely form of the mirror. She traced her fingers over its curving, ornate lines as Sam sat on the floor with Jecima’s research spread out before him. Shandra whistled as she touched the gilded edges of the frame. It looked much like the enchanted mirrors that the royal family previously kept in the royal keep of the Prime.
“This is really it,” she said reverently, “the Venus Oculus.”
Sam raised an eyebrow as he translated the texts in his head and grumbled about how slow he was at this part; Miles had always been the linguistic genius between them. “It says something here about trading values… I’m not sure what that means.”
He chuckled as he sorted through his old friend’s notes. “That old huckster… all this time he sounded like he didn’t believe in magic.” He scanned some notes written in the margins. “But I think he was trying to bring his wife back.” He felt a little sheepish for reading Jecima’s private thoughts, as if he’d sneaked a peek into Miles’s diary.
Could Wanda’s return help me bring Jared home? Miles had written. It seemed obvious Jecima used every option at his disposal to try and fix whatever rift had transpired with his son—he even entertained necromancy… Sam could sympathize with his deceased friend.
Sam read aloud from Jecima’s other notes scribbled lengthwise down the page, those notes relevant to the mirror—and whether or not they could or should use it in their quest. “For every gift granted, there is an enormous toll… how much is too great a cost?”
“It is known that the mirror takes something of value to use,” Shandra said. “There is a high cost—a form of a curse, depending on the situation. What do your ancient writings say?”
He sighed and summarized the texts. “There are some very sad tales. One features a man named Tarquin. I think that’s an ancient Roman name,” he muttered. “Tarquin used the mirror to bring back his dead lover. She was restored to beauty and perfection, but she now despised him.”
Picking up another photocopy he summarized again. “A man returns to life his child claimed by a plague. At the same moment, the child’s healthy mother dies of the same illness.” He set the sheets down. “There are others, each like the rest.”
Shandra touched the inscription on the mirror. It was written in the secret code of the Veritas Order. “‘The mirror of gifts gives when it takes, lest what’s held dear reciprocates, what’s old is new and powers break, truth revealed unmasked annihilates.’”
Sam looked up and recognized she was reading some deep message which he lacked the context to understand. “What does that mean?”
“It means those stories are probably more than simple folklore,” Shandra sighed. “We cannot use the Oculus without making a terrible trade.”
Sam asked, “And what do you desire most… your ‘what’s held dear?’”
“My allegiance is to the Architect King, like all Veritas… like most Veritas,” she corrected to account for the ones like Shjikara. “That is what I hold most dear.”
“I don’t know how that could be transformed into a curse.”
Shandra grimaced. She could envision a few situations similar to the lore in Jecima’s copies. Mostly they involved martyrdom and sacrifice—and not all were of her.
She didn’t ask Sam his. He answered anyway. “Mine would have to be my daughter. I would move heaven and earth to keep her safe.” He trailed off, knowing that he was incapable of assuring her safety under any circumstance given the nature of their enemies.
***
“We have to do this,” said Claire as she cinched the straps on her combat uniform. “It’s the only way I can think of to get the army we need.” Light glimmered off of Zurrah’s old armor which Claire had previously claimed; it no longer fit the third lycan, anyway.
Seeing her in it, the youngest of the Vangandrans nodded his approval. He and his girlfriend had managed to swipe a new set from a raided armory which better fit Zurrah anyway.
Among the armor, they’d scored crates of artillery, weapons and supplies, and a massive stack of heavy shield generators which had been piled symmetrically against the far wall. Together they stood against them in a neat row so that they could all rush through the portal quickly if necessary.
Cerci hit the button and activated the energy gate. A triangular rift split the sky somewhere over top of Basilisk’s Desolation stronghold. The fiery geometry slowly descended and expanded to meet the eyes of a startled tarkhūn soldier.
Speaking in the vyrmic high-speech Claire demanded, [Summon your masters. Tell him and her that Claire Jones has arrived.]
The large, reptillian guard hurried away. A few minutes later Basilisk and Caivev approached the gate. Two vyrm of the Black followed behind them.
Shandra recognized one of them. “Trenzlr, is that you? But… how?”
The skinny vyrm bowed. “Only have I recently come to Limbus,” he said. “The Emperor and his wife have welcomed the Seekers of Maetha back into vyrmkind.”
Caivev waved a hand. “Please, enter Limbus. We will guarantee your safety.” Caivev did a double take when she spotted Jarfig, but relaxed a moment later; Jarfig’s compassionate eyes told the large man’s story. He was no longer Sisyphus, and any who had known the wrestler would recognize that in an instant.
The group walked through. Last to follow
, Sam turned to Cerci who had to stay behind with their machine. “Give us a couple hours and then check on us. I trust Trenzlr… but not any of these others. Not yet.”
She nodded, and the portal zipped shut.
Basilisk led them through to the gardens that Zabe and Claire were already familiar with. Now, however, the statues were gone. Only a few of the gaming tables remained, and these looked to be actually used, rather than left in stalemates. “Refreshments will arrive shortly,” he said scooping up a handful of pieces from a game board as he walked past. “Allow me to tell you why you have come,” he said.
Claire’s mouth smirked. The tarkhūn emperor had always been one step ahead of everyone else—even when he didn’t have access to his renowned spy network. She nodded.
Basilisk held out his hands with two fists full of pieces.
Claire cupped her hands and Basilisk dumped a whole load of pawns into them.
“You need an army.”
She nodded. “I assume you know what has happened in the Prime?”
He nodded. “I knew the instant I saw you bow to my brother on his broadcast. I was certain that he’d replaced you with a shade.”
Claire scowled but nodded. “Will you help us?”
“I suppose I must add some moral credit to my ledger,” Basilisk said slyly. “The rovers think that I or my wife has some kind of intrinsic connection to their Maetha. I can’t be a villain and a savior both, can I?” He smirked and then whispered, “We’ve joined with them for our own purposes… that they think we might be some kind of god because of our dual nature linked to old prophecies works to our advantage. Together, however, we can defeat my brother.”
Claire cocked her head and stared at the Maethans and then at Basilisk and Caivev. If he thought they could defeat Nitthogr, then perhaps they still stood a chance. “Do you believe them? Are you Maetha?” Her words sounded skeptical.
He and Caivev both shook their heads.
“We’ve never claimed to be such, and both deny it could be possible,” she said. “However, we’ve both come to believe in much of those teachings they have followed for generations… certain proofs have come to light, things that neither of us could deny.”
Basilisk slowly nodded. “Chief among them is that Sh’logath must be stopped.”
Zabe pointed up and the rest of them realized that the unspeakable horror no longer blotted out the sky. The weather was actually pleasant on Desolation. “Where is he?”
“My brother has returned only to become Sh’logath’s living incarnation. A different sort of Awakening has happened than what you stopped at the Nebraska World Gate. For my part in it, I apologize. Sh’logath used me for his own purposes and then cast me aside… though it is not for petty revenge that I defy him now. I made an unbreakable vow to your Architect King long ago. Whatever else I am guilty of, falsehood is not among my crimes… that would be like cheating and that is a crime I can not condone.”
Zabe looked at Claire as if to ask her, do you trust him? She nodded. They both believed him to be sincere, and for the first time, they didn’t sense ulterior motives in him.
A line of servants entered the garden courtyard carrying food and drink. Caivev motioned for them to sit and Basilisk summarized the events of their last few days for them.
“So you will help us?” Claire asked, optimistically.
Basilisk tilted his brow. “If you will open the gates,” he promised, “we will bring our army and fight for our right to exist. Nitthogr may have most of the Black, but those who remain with me, and any of our tarkhūn, are worth ten of them.”
Claire leveled a conspiratorial gaze at her newfound ally. “We must move soon. Can you have your troops ready by the morning?”
He nodded with severe resolution.
Claire gripped Zabe’s hand. “There is one more request I have.”
***
The Desolation
A red sky drew across the vista beyond Limbus. It swirled with shades of fuschia and purple that cast everything with a cerise tint.
Trenzlr stood off to the side and brought his cousin Gerjha to a ceremonial altar of stacked stones he’d helped create. Sam and Shandra stood alongside Basilisk and Caivev. Wulftone and Jackie clustered together with Zurrah in their midst; Jenner and Jarfig watched from the rear.
Claire and Zabe approached the altar where the Maethan cleric waited for them. Gerjha bowed to them both. He turned to the red sky and stared into the distance for a long time—almost uncomfortably long.
“I have stared at the evening sky every night of my life,” he said. “Never have I seen such a sunset… until mere days ago there was no beauty in the sky. The red horizon is an omen.” He turned back to the couple, not telling them if it was a good one or bad.
“You are joined, wed together. There is no special magic in this ceremony except what already resides in each of you, and the fact that the Almighty One sanctions it. But your magic is a jealous thing that becomes one whole which is greater than the two. Protect each other. Love each other.” He winked. “Make babies and prosper. Live long and enjoy laughter for as long as the world still remains.”
Zabe leaned forwards and put a finger under Claire’s chin to turn her face up to his. “In the morning I will earn your kingdom back for you.”
She responded, “Even if you can not, I would be satisfied with only you.”
He kissed her.
Shandra smiled as the newlyweds led them back to earth so they could make final preparations for an early assault against the devourer god. “It was no Veritas ceremony,” she whispered to Sam. “But it will do.”
***
Earth
The old house on the Minnesota coast creaked as the heat finally pumped through the home with the sounds of a shuddering air filter that shook into place for the first time that year. Cerci rubbed her bare arms to quell the gooseflesh.
“Thanks,” she told Sam. “I know it’s barely halfway through October, but I’ve gotten used to that Texas weather.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, emerging from the utility room with a flashlight. It amused him that the girl was capable of constructing a machine that could tear holes through the dimensional fabric of space and reality but couldn’t figure out how to start a natural gas furnace. He grinned… it might have had more to do with her need to see a father do fatherly things.
Cerci threw a blanket over herself and bundled up like some kind of monk beneath a fleece prayer shawl. She shuffled back towards the center of the house and Sam wandered the hallways in search of Shandra.
He’d had much on his mind. His daughter had just wed, and all of reality might soon end—not that he’d be around to see it if they failed to stop the nigh omnipotent forces of evil that had entrenched itself in their home.
Sam knew Claire wanted to bravely rush towards their possible end as a married woman. He had toyed with the possibility of a similar proposal and wedding the last Veritas cleric. There might not be much more time; ticking clocks surrounded him as they waited for Armageddon in a dead man’s home.
He didn’t find Shandra on the main level and so he began climbing the steps. He rubbed his sore ribs from where he’d been thrown down those stairs only recently. How long ago was that… two days, maybe three? Time had mostly stopped passing in noticeable increments for them.
Sam spotted Shandra in the mirror room. Her back was turned, and she didn’t know he was there. They’d already agreed that the Venus Oculus would prove too dangerous to use.
He walked in, planning to come up with some kind of impromptu romantic gesture on the fly. Instead, his heart sank. Shandra appeared to be sobbing.
“Hey… what’s wrong?”
Shandra whirled, startled. “I… I’m so sorry.” Tears steamed down her cheeks and collected on her angular chin before falling in hot splashes.
Sam noticed another; crimson drops fell from her finger tip. He looked up and saw a smear of blood across the mirror frame where the myst
erious letters had been engraved; she’s already activated it!
Catching his own eyes in his reflection, Sam stood transfixed. Rooted in place by the magic, he whirled to look at her, panicked by whatever magic had been unleashed by the Oculus. His reflection no longer moved in tandem with his own.
“What… what did you wish for?”
Shandra wiped the tears away. Her voice cracked. “My heart’s desire.” She looked down. “You told me what yours was. You would do anything to protect Claire, pay any price?”
Sam wanted to be mad. Instead, he gave her a melancholy smile. In his heart, he knew it had to be this way; he understood what toll the mirror would extract… and he was happy to be a sacrifice for something as valuable as what Shandra might wish for.
“Tell Claire that I have always loved her… and that I always will.”
Shandra sank to her knees, bawling. She’d hoped the high cost of this magic could have been anything else.
Sam turned back and faced the mirror. He cocked his head at his reflection. It looked so much like him, but with slight differences. His eyes radiated a kind of power and charisma and the reflection wore a circlet upon his brow.
“Is it possible to refuse the magic? Do I have a choice in the matter?”
The reflection nodded solemnly.
Sam paused for only a moment to look back at Shandra and meet her gaze one final time. Her eyes are so bright when she’s crying. He nodded and turned back, accepting the aid of the mirror.
Crumbling, Sam collapsed like a pillar of ash and disintegrated leaving behind only a puff of evaporate and a small pile of salt.
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