Under The Stairs

by John Stockmyer

  A more serious question was who would become the next Crystal Mage of Stil-de-grain? And there would be one. Whatever the "travel plans" of Mages, their Crystals seemed never to leave this world. (A deeper question was, could the Crystal's power be tapped when its current owner -- John -- was still alive?) Crystal magic or no, John felt responsible for providing Stil-de-grain with as good a Mage as possible.

  Not Golden, certainly. John had never trusted him. Too filled with himself. Too ambitious. Too tricky, by far. But who? ....

  Thinking about leadership, the stone-cooled shadows of the dining room aiding reflection, John decided the only one completely trustworthy was Coluth.

  "May I speak with you, great Mage?" It was Golden, the melodious tone of the young man's voice booming in the "sound chamber" of the nearly-empty room.

  "Of course."

  "There will be an attack against the Malachite army?"

  "That's what I understand. Etexin will use the merchant ships to take the army to Carotene; hope to surprise them there."

  Zwicia, at John's right, continued to eat, smacking her lips as she wiped up the last of her meat gravy with a piece of bread. Platinia sat quietly to the left, the girl between John at table-end and Golden, the girl's small hands folded in her lap.

  "Must this be?"

  "I don't know what you mean. It's the best chance we have, it seems to me."

  "But if there were another way to end the war?"

  "If there really is another way ...."

  A rush of horrifying images flooded John's mind! Reading about wars as an historian had done nothing to immunized him against the grotesqueries of actual combat!

  "I ... have another way."

  "What?"

  "Great Mage. I do not mean this as a criticism, but you have kept me ... busy ... for many up-lights."

  "True."

  "So occupied I could not find the time to be about my business."

  "Which is ...?"

  "The discovery of the green Crystal of Pfnaravin."

  "The green Crystal that will, somehow, help you to become King of Malachite?"

  "Regain the throne of Malachite," Golden corrected with an edgy bite to his voice, a sound John rarely heard ... from anyone.

  "And should you succeed ...?"

  "I would stop the war. I would have my people join Stil-de-grain and Realgar against the evil one!"

  Though John generally mistrusted Golden, this time John believed Golden to be sincere. "But the green Crystal is lost. Either that, or Yarro's hidden it somewhere in the palace," John said, stalling to buy time to sort out his own feelings about this turn of events. "Hidden it so well that even you couldn't find it, as I recall."

  "I had not the time to do so. Could look only in the most obvious places." Like around Yarro's neck, John remembered. An action that, somehow, had led to Yarro's death? "I have had no time to search."

  John knew that was true, at least. John -- following his own dictates about never taking for granted those closest to him -- had deliberately been keeping his eye on the slippery young man. "What I beg ...," Golden rushed on, a shakiness in his voice making John realize that Golden felt himself to be at risk by asking a favor of the Mage, "... is to be allowed to return to Xanthin palace. To be allowed to search. I know I can find the hiding place. No one knows the palace like I."

  Since Yarro's death, that was also probably true.

  Everything considered, John was impressed with both the sincerity and truth of what Golden was saying.

  "And if I find the Crystal, if I am allowed to return to Malachite -- I will be king." Golden, still seated, came to a soldier's attention. "As king, you have my pledge to stop the war!"

  Golden, King of Malachite. A long shot. Still ... when a long shot is the best shot you've got .....

  "I'll make this compromise with you," John said slowly, thinking it over as he spoke. "I'll release you to go to Xanthin with instructions that you be allowed complete freedom of the palace. If you find the Crystal, however, either Etexin or I will then determine the next move."

  "Of course, sir. I realize that the green Crystal belongs to you. No one can use the crystal but Pfnaravin. Yarro could not use it. I cannot use it. But as a symbol of authority, to show the favor of Pfnaravin, I only thought ...."

  The legendary green Crystal no longer "worked" because only the Mage who owned it could use its magic.

  A novel idea suddenly struck John! Could the green Crystal's "inoperability" mean that, somewhere in John's world, the real Pfnaravin, Mage of Malachite, still lived? Assuming Pfnaravin was still alive, if John abandoned the golden Gem of Stil-de-grain, could the remaining Mages contain the Dark Lord? A non-relevant speculation at such a time.

  The question of the moment was, what would happen if Golden did find the green Crystal. As gullible as these people were, Golden might pull off a kingship with it. Flash a Crystal in this land and everything stopped.

  All to happen in the uncertain future if John's own plans worked out, Band politics none of his business, in any case.

  Even if Golden found the Crystal, Etexin would prevent Golden from leaving the island unless Golden's leaving promised a quick end to the war. What was also true was that, in this world, Etexin was in a better position to make that judgment than John.

  "You're free to leave for Xanthin island tomorrow."

  "Thank you, great Mage." Though seated across from John, Golden did his best to make a deep, deep bow.

  Was Golden sweating? He was! John could see streaks on Golden's face, wet, spider lines that shone like silver in the torch light, the slaveys just now thinking the room's torches "on" in anticipation of down-light. For being so cheeky as to ask a favor, had Golden thought John might slay him were he sat? Perhaps. Though masked by Golden's solemn way of speaking, what John might have just heard was "Give me liberty, or give me death."

  What would Golden have done if John had not "given him his walking papers?" Another speculation of no importance.

  Golden sweating. Just another indication of what a terrible strain everyone around John must be under to be living in such close proximity to a Crystal-Mage. A Wizard who could, at any time he liked, with no "checks and balances," strike - them - dead!

  John had been so busy sorting through his own dilemmas he hadn't considered the implications of his new powers. (New to him. Others in this world seemed to understand Crystal power -- all too well!) Believing John to be a Mage, no wonder everyone took such elaborate care that John be pacified. No wonder the subservient behavior. Living in the company of a Crystal Mage must be like being quartered with a savage beast, having to say at every moment, "Good, tiger. Nice, tiger. Please don't eat me, tiger."

  Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright

  In the forests of the night.

  What immortal hand or eye

  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  Blake. Never quite sane. Nor did John think that he, himself, would ever be.

  Dinner over, down-light coming soon, a slavey guided John and Platinia to a suite of torch-lit rooms, chambers considerably larger and more luxurious than the bed and bath where Chryses had installed John so long ago. (Melcor's old quarters?) A second bed had been brought in for Platinia as ordered. With Weird-and-Crystal also in the castle, the girl's presence was still necessary. (Discovering how to tap Mage-Magic had done nothing to strengthen John against his addiction to crystal gazing.)

  John's plan for making the attempted cross-over to his own world? Rub Zwicia's crystal. Hard! Fast! In this way, build static in sufficient quantity to affect the transfer.

  Did this mean that he must rub Zwicia's crystal himself? Do that, and he very much feared that he would fall under the Crystal's spell again, wake up days, months, years later. Wake up ... never?

  John had a hopeful thought. Now that he'd discovered how to use the magic of his own, yellow Crystal, could it be that, just by rubbing it, he could generate sufficient power to take him across? He'd certainly seen the Cry
stal project his own, murderous will with undreamed virulence. By calling on the Crystal's potency in another context and by concentration, could he focus that same energy on himself as a means of "jumping the gap"?

  Pacing now (Platinia sitting quietly by the wall at the foot of her bed) John pulled the Crystal from the front of his formal Mage-robe. Holding the Gem by its metal frame, John rubbed the Crystal with his other hand until he felt its static build in his body.

  Concentrating, John was unaware of a corresponding build up of euphoria until, before he realized it, he felt himself to be the omnipotent master of mankind! God-like!

  Now a Deity, John wished to experiment with his unique power -- as a child is compelled to play with a new and fascinating toy.

  Were the twin torches supplementing the room's failing light too dim? Engrossed, holding out his hand, John waved an increase of magic to the torches, at his thought, their flames burning brighter until they were twin balls of dazzling incandescence, the room blazing as if illuminated by a thousand, sputtering arcs!

  With a simple twist of his mind, he dimmed them once again.

  John heard a noise. Sensed a quick intake of breath, John's increased awareness magnifying the soft sound. Platinia. Cowering against the wall; shielding her dazzled eyes with both arms.

  Platinia. The enigma.

  But no more.

  John now saw it as a high crime for mere mortals to have secrets from him!

  Fiercely, he gripped the girl with his mind, Platinia's body immediately as rigid as if encased in transparent chain.

  If he wished, he could hurl her to the ceiling; skewer her there as one might pin a chloroform-killed specimen to a board!

  But ... exercising mercy ... he did not.

  "Girl," he said with soft menace, twisting her body with a wave of his hand so that she was forced to face him, John mentally wrenching her arms away from her eyes. Not satisfied to have her sit in his presence, John induced a spasm that convulsed her to her feet. "You will tell me who you are."

  "I ... am ... Platinia." At least she had told him the truth about her name. Others lied to him! He would have the truth or destroy them! "Tell me where you come from."

  "I am the sacrifice of Tenebrae." She spoke as a puppet, John the master of her strings.

  "Tenebrae?" Hearing that strange word amused him.

  "The goddess of the night." True, he had to force the girl's voice from her throat. But it was an easy thing to do.

  Tenebrae? A goddess? Ah. This was religion, a topic he had neglected. Somehow, he had not thought of the girl as religious. "And what is your task as sacrifice?"

  "I am the Etherial of the goddess Tenebrae," she continued woodenly, as if made to speak by rote. "To be sacrificed by the priests of Fulgur, lord of light."

  Forgetting to stroke the Crystal, John's sense of divinity ... faded.

  With the diminution of his Crystal power, felt shame. What was he doing? Why was he hurting this defenseless girl?

  As a child releases a soap bubble from a blow pipe, a shake of John's mind set the girl free, Platinia slumping heavily to the floor, terror replacing her robot look.

  John was flooded with remorse. My God! What kind of man had he become!?

  Freed from his control, huddled on the floor again, John saw the girl look up at him with that intensive stare he'd seen from her from time to time.

  And in a stroke, John was overwhelmed with lust! Though he'd never been aware of sexual feelings for the girl, the thrill of the thought of copulating with her was overpowering! His body, the blood and bone of him, lusted for her!

  John was trembling. It was all he could do to keep from attacking the small girl, her naked flesh the only food to satisfy his unnatural craving!

  John tensed, ready to spring, ready to rip up her tunic, to take her violently! He must dominate her! Delight in her helpless suffering!

  At the same time, vaguely, he knew these feelings for the girl were ... wrong. Not his feelings ... for anyone. Dimly, John realized that the desire to tear into Platinia's body ... was akin to the terrible joy he'd felt while ... massacring ... children.

  Strengthened by his memories of The Horror, with all his remaining will, John fought against these barbarous feelings. Though shaking, stood his ground; refused to become the beast he longed to be. Until .... as a torch could be thought out, John's desire to be a sexual torturer ... vanished.

  As John saw past the blood that had raged behind his eyes, almost fearing to do so, he glanced at Platinia, still huddled before him, the girl looking down now, unaware of the terrible wave of lust and fury that John had felt for her.

  She was ... sweating, though. Had clearly undergone an emotional transformation of her own.

  Unexpectedly, the girl rolled to her knees to put her hands together, fingers interlaced; holding her clasped hands above her head in an attitude of prayer. "Please, great one," she said, her voice a broken sob in the room's vast quiet. "Tell me what I must do to please you. I will do ... anything. You have but to command me, great Pfnaravin."

  Pathetic. Particularly after the violent thoughts John had just had about her.

  How could John excuse himself? He'd acted like the most rabid spectator at the games of ancient Rome, the kind of "fan" who received a sexual thrill from the violent death of gladiators. John thought of how people throughout history had experienced acute sexual pleasure by tying or by being tied, by dominating or by being dominated, by being whipped, by screaming, scratching, biting. Sex and violence. Too often linked for man to deny his bestial origins!

  John was dizzy; could barely stand, his emotions flayed. Too many bizarre and frightening passions. He could no longer cope. He was exhausted. "All I want to do," he said in a voice so thin that even he was shocked to hear it, "is to go ... home."

  "Home? To that ... place ...?" A wave of the girl's small hand told John she understood.

  He nodded.

  "Under the stairs," he said, as if in prayer.

  "I can help you do that, great Mage," the girl said, pathetically eager to please the ravening beast that towered over her, fatigue holding the monster in check as much as will. Twice now, John had turned into the fiend the people of this world so feared in Crystal-Mages. "As I helped Melcor."

  "Melcor?" A name from long ago.

  "If you use your crystal power, I can strengthen it. Help you to go ... there." John remembered, dimly.

  "Melcor ... was killed ..."

  "An accident, great Mage. Such a thing could not happen to Pfnaravin." She was looking up at him again, pleading with her dark eyes, his sudden pity for her as unnaturally strong as his desire to ravish her but a moment earlier. Dizzy again, staggering, John felt himself out of control, careening helplessly from emotion to emotion.

  As from afar, John realized what the girl was offering. Hope. Hope that brought with it an increase of strength. He had to go home. He had to! This place was changing him. Consuming him.

  "I am an Etherial," the girl continued, speaking more rapidly, as if pressing an advantage. "When priests torture the sacrifice of Tenebrae ... if the girl has ... the right mind ... she becomes an Etherial. Etherials have the power to ... strengthen ... feelings." What the girl said was true. He'd felt her ... strengthening ... ability. That was why he kept her near him, he remembered ... always.

  "You can get me home?"

  The girl, still sweating but with a rare smile, nodded. And in that nod, John saw, for the first time in forever, the possibility of his salvation!

  * * * * *

  Chapter 23

  Platinia waited in the tower room. The room was damp from the night rain that always fell through the hole in the ceiling. The room smelled of the moisture. The yellow light of the sky came through the hole at a slant and lit a place on one wall and a little of the floor below. The rest of the curving room was in shadow.

  The Mage had told her to come here and to wait.

  She had been afraid. But now that she had decided, she
was calm again.

  After this, she would live here in the castle. Zwicia would live with her. That pleased her.

  At last, Platinia would be safe. No one would know that she was an Etherial.

  For many up-lights, though she could not find a way to kill the Mage, she had been happy. The Mage had not used his power to hurt her. Instead, she had ... influenced ... the Mage by looking into the Mage's mind and strengthening the feelings she wanted him to have.

  There had been many new things to see as they traveled about. She liked flutterbys and birds.

  But she loved cats. They would sit in her lap. They were warm. They were furry. She could pet them all day. Everywhere she had been, there had been a cat for her to pet.

  Still, she had a worry. That the old man, Chryses, might know she was an Etherial. When men knew that, they hurt her to make her serve them.

  Then the Mage had sent her to this castle to get the red bird.

  Here, in the mind of the old man, she had sensed that he was tired. Near down-light on the day she and Zwicia came, he was tired -- even of his life. Knowing that, Platinia had reached into the old man's mind to add to that tired feeling.

  After that, Chryses had jumped off the castle wall.

  Then she was sure no one knew she was an Etherial. So she was safe. Golden did not know. John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had not known.

  Later, came the battle. The Mage had used his magic in the battle. She had seen it in his mind, that he was building power to attack the enemy. Like she had helped him strengthen other feelings, she had helped him build his hatred of the enemy.

  Staying with him day and night, Platinia had learned to control the Mage's feelings. So much so that she thought she could always make him ... care ... for her.

  Until last night! Then, he had hurt her with his dreadful magic! He had forced her! And she could not make him stop!

  After the hurting, she had tried to gain power over him again. Had tried to make him rape her. She had done that to the priests. She could reach into their minds, sometimes, and made them want to rape her instead of torture her. But ... she could not make the Mage do that! She had lost control of him!