The Window and the Mirror

by Henry Thomas

  No! Rhael screamed inside his mind, I must seek the door and open it!

  The Kuilbolts were shuffling him toward the base of the strange tower bathed in its golden light within the cavern and Rhael was primally aware that it was a place of mortal doom for himself, but his feet were plodding solidly, one after another toward it as the three-fingered clawed hands guided him.

  “The Masters are not here?” Krilshk asked.

  “Today is their feastday. We shall harvest this one alone,” Iztklish hissed back.

  Rhael raged within himself as the sleep draught coursed through his body and his mind surged forward through the portal within the depths of his consciousness and he felt power, raw and real, flowing into him. His captors were pulling him toward the half-opened panel that stretched up straight and smooth to the roof of the cavern, when Rhael began to laugh low and wickedly.

  “What does it do, the forest child?” Iztklish sounded annoyed.

  “It has mirth, perhaps?” Krilshk offered.

  Rhael jerked his arms free of the Kuilbolts and rose to his full height. They hissed in alarm and leapt away from him, hands moving to the pale leather whips they carried at their belts, but Rhael was laughing and feeling power moving through him like a conduit.

  The energies were real and deep, limitless in their possibilities and pulsating with power. As they uncoiled their whips and moved to subdue him, Rhael extended his arms and pushed the Kuilbolts against the stone panel and pinned them to it with a phantom force drawn from the power within him. He was looking for the shock in their eyes, but they were so alien that he found reading them impossible. He could not help but relish in the glory of the moment, regardless of that disappointment. He still found it satisfying, to watch them writhe beneath his crushing force as he pinned them and pressed them against the smooth stone panel. He had wanted to burn them but the fire was not coming to him through the weak measure of the sleep milk. “Oh, how I have longed for this moment,” Rhael said thickly, the sleep draught slurring his speech slightly through his numbed tongue.

  The Kuilbolts squirmed and struggled against his overwhelming energy. Krilshk opened his mouth as if to speak but no sound came forth. Rhael wondered if his energies were trapping them and isolating the air from their lungs or if perhaps this was the way that the Kuilbolts registered shock? Either way, the giddiness welled up inside of Rhael and he shrieked gleefully like a child when he saw the gasping creatures. He was elated, but he felt the power draining him; he felt the energies drawing out his own and he was growing fatigued. No, thought Rhael, I must not slip away now! He gathered himself and pushed harder, attempting to flatten the beasts against the smooth stone panel. They writhed against the magical force that was pressing them, flattening them so that their eyes bulged and their mouths gaped. Rhael pushed again, delighting in the torment he was inflicting when the panel began to give way and pivot on its axis, opening and revealing the center of the chamber and its bright, intense, golden light. The creatures slid off of the smooth stone face and into the center of the chamber as the giant panel gave way and turned completely sideways beneath the force that was being applied to it.

  No, Rhael thought again, he wanted to crush them! He was leaping toward the Kuilbolts now, hands outstretched as they slid across the floor, the golden light in the chamber diminishing and sucking back into itself seemingly. The hum grew louder as he leapt closer to the stone panel, it even seemed to pulsate and vibrate with the hum, a breathing, living thing of stone in the heart of the cavern, glowing white and gold. Rhael stumbled as he landed, his legs going to jelly with the sleep milk in him, his heart racing in his chest, his hands stretching out and extending the strong magical energy that slid the Kuilbolts across the smooth alabaster white floor. The creatures scrambled and struggled to no avail, so strong was the force applied to them. In the center of the chamber stood a low, slender pedestal on which an orb of black glass rested.

  The orb is where the light comes from, Rhael realized. It’s pulsating and making the hum. Breathing, as it were! He was watching it grow dark when suddenly golden light erupted from its opaque depths and arced out in three lightning bolts of energy that fully struck Iztklish and Krilshk as they writhed there on the floor.

  The third bolt arced straight at Rhael. It hit him square in the chest and flung him from the chamber like so much chaff. He landed in a heap near the mouth of the tunnel that led to the prison cells and the bolt retracted back to the orb and the panel slowly closed as the light flashed gold and then died suddenly in pure darkness. The light began to come back slowly. Rhael could barely lift himself from the floor, but he managed to crawl and edge his way toward the chamber and the orb behind the stone panels. When the bolt struck Rhael the power had left him, vanishing behind a wall of pain as he felt something stretch and tear within him, in the very core of his being.

  Now he was crawling and stumbling over the smooth white floor to where the panels were slowly opening in unison, the breathing motion ceasing and the glow from the orb low and steady. Rhael looked at the lifeless bodies of his former captors. Iztklish and Krilshk lay tangled in a heap of blue skinned limbs with forked tongues hanging out. Too swiftly did death take you, my pets, Rhael thought ruefully. He had wanted to draw their deaths out for much longer. He pushed past the open stone panel and cautiously made his way toward the glowing orb on its slender pedestal. Rhael proceeded tentatively, unsure whether or not the orb would flare to life and arc an energy bolt straight at him again. His hand held up protectively, guardedly, Rhael made his way toward the pedestal and the glowing glass orb that rested there.

  The hum was still there, but only as an undercurrent. Rhael had the impression that the room was resting, that somehow there was an interval of inactivity that allowed him to approach it without incident. He approached on shaking legs, his unsteady hands extending toward the pedestal as he crept closer and closer. The orb was glowing and humming slightly. Tentatively, he reached out to it. His hands closed on it and a flurry of activity and energy flooded his entire being; he sensed three separate entities inside of the glass sphere, and one of them was in some way part of himself. He had the odd sensation of existing both within the orb and without. There was something akin to an electric shock that coursed through him as he felt the consciousness of Iztklish and then Krilshk searching for their bodies and the piece of him that was separated and desperately attempting to rejoin the rest of himself. Rhael trembled and recoiled and the awareness faded from his mind as soon as he broke the physical connection with the orb. He steadied himself and drew a ragged breath. He reached out again and grasped the orb with both hands, the discomfiting and chaotic awareness flooding his mind. He wrestled with the spirits as he lifted the orb from the pedestal and held it before him. The three-fold consciousness inside the orb railed against him.

  The energies of the orb were at his command to use as he wished, like the energies that lay behind the door in his mind; yet these energies were at his fingertips and leapt at his command without elixirs or seeking or grasping at elusive handles. A long and high-pitched laugh erupted from Rhael as he lifted the orb above his head and stalked unsteadily from the center of the paneled chamber, the orb glowing an almost purple light.

  He looked back at the pedestal and saw another orb appear from somewhere within it. Somewhere within this contraption was the secret of power, Rhael knew, a way of trapping energies and creating objects of wondrous might. At the moment, however, he was quite contented as he reached out into the orb again and pushed the entities inside of it to the center, compressing them and wringing energies from their very essence. He was in the sphere and without it as he felt both power and oppression and red orange flame leapt out and engulfed the dead bodies of the Kuilbolts Iztklish and Krilshk and set them ablaze with a vibrant and searing heat that sent him back shielding his face.

  Rhael stood in the middle of the cavern on the edge of the smooth white dais and gazed
toward the tunnel that led to the prison cells. Harvesting, they had called it. A grim smile fixed on his face and the purplish orb pulsing in his palm, Rhael made his way to the mouth of the tunnel and wondered how many souls resided in the stone jail from which he had just escaped. He flexed his thoughts and dreamed of power, power that would soon be his.

  Sixteen

  The airship’s deck was alive with activity as Joth and Eilyth stood near the forecastle and listened to the captain’s shrill voice shouting commands to the crewmen. They had reefed the sails and the airship had slowed, seemingly. Now Elmund was at the bowsprit while Kipren and Galt manned the draglines at the stern, all of them answering, “Aye, lady, aye!” when the tall slim lady in the broad feathered hat ordered them about a task from her place at the helm. She was stood near the wooden and brass column, operating the strange bronze lever smoothly and intently.

  Joth and Eilyth were wrapped in fur cloaks, clad in their new traveling costumes. A solemn and disgruntled Elmund had escorted them to the crew’s quarters after Eilyth had spoken with the captain and Joth had been given access to the late Dathe’s crew chest. The man had been of a similar size to Joth, and the strange garments he had pieced together from the man’s wardrobe fit relatively well considering. Afterward the tight-lipped Elmund escorted them to the captain’s quarters and Joth was made to wait outside on the deck as the captain took over from Elmund and ushered Eilyth into her cabin and shut the door behind her. When they reemerged, Eilyth was swathed in slashed silk from head to toe, and Joth thought that the outfit suited her somehow even with the odd incongruity of her hair ornaments, and she and the slender captain were laughing together. The clothing fit her well.

  Joth was still unused to seeing women in hosen, and it was hard not to stare. Perhaps the bodice was a bit too long for her, accounting for the slender and long torso of the elegant ship captain’s figure, but the hosen accentuated Eilyth’s surprisingly shapely legs, and the bodice pushed forward other aspects of Eilyth’s figure that Joth had not realized existed. He found himself getting hot despite the sub-arctic winds blowing in the heights above the cloud canopy that stretched out as far as he could see, seemingly in touching distance below them as they sailed the skies aboard the airship. There she was staring at him and he realized that he had been staring at her since the first time that she had appeared. He felt color flush his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, averting his eyes to the deck.

  “What is it?” she asked him simply.

  “Nothing. You look very nice, I’m sorry. I mean to apolo—”

  “Stop it, Joth. I tease you.” She smiled at him. He felt the fool. “You expected me to dress differently?”

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said. The captain gave him a wry grin and took her position back at the helm.

  Eilyth laughed at him. “You have not seen yourself in a mirror, Joth Andries; your costume is equally provocative.”

  Joth felt his cheeks burn. “As you say, lady, forgive me.”

  She had laughed even harder then. The clothing was warm and comfortable, but the way that it sat on his frame felt strange as he moved in it for the first few hours. The clothes were cut to allow a full range of movement, especially at the shoulders and arms, and they fit much differently than anything Joth had ever worn before. He felt a bit ridiculous in the airship crew costume, but the other crewmen looked at them approvingly once they were on deck in the attire.

  Kipren winked at them both and said, “Better, much better!”

  They had flown through the day and the evening was settling in when it was announced that they were nearing Grannock. They had descended well below the clouds and the crew had worked at the sails and in the rigging as they did so, and now they were watching as the captain and crew prepared to set the airship down.

  “Ready, Elmund?” called the captain.

  “Aye, lady, aye.”

  “Away the drags!”

  Kipren and Galt dropped large metal grapples over the side then pulled two levers at the stern. Two spools began to play out their lines and wind out.

  “Drags away, lady,” Galt reported.

  The captain waited for a long moment then cried out, “Make fast the draglines!”

  “Aye, lady, aye!” Kipren and Galt pushed the levers and the spools slowed to a stop.

  “Ready, all hands!” The captain manipulated the bronze lever at the column. The airship began to descend and Joth had a strange panicky feeling in his gut as the ship lurched and fell through the skies. He felt Eilyth’s hand tighten on his arm and he knew that she felt it too. The sun was low on the horizon and burning a beautiful crimson shade of orange and the skies were bathed in pink and gray as the landscape below them took on shape and dimension. Trees that had looked like balls of green wool now stretched up and out, their branches and leaves discernible from the deck. Hills stretched up and vales opened out beneath them, and the ground sped past them at an alarming pace. Had they been traveling this swiftly when they were in the heights above the clouds? Surely not, Joth thought, the ground had barely seemed to move at all from up there. Yet here they were, racing faster than Joth had ever traveled before, the world speeding by a mere hundred yards below him.

  “Brace for drags!” Elmund cried out from the prow.

  The captain nodded toward him and Eilyth.

  Joth put his hand on the rail that surrounded the opening in the deck that led to the forecastle hold and kept his other arm around Eilyth. She grabbed the rail with both hands and planted her feet slightly apart on the deck. A few moments later the deck lurched beneath them. Joth nearly lost his footing but managed to only go down to his knees as the deck swam beneath him for a long beat. The drag lines had caught on the earth and were slowing the ship now.

  “Nothing like it in the world!” Galt grinned at them. The short, dark man’s smile stretched from one jug ear to the next as he dangled from the rigging. The tied-up horses whinnied their disagreement and rolled white eyes at him. Joth had studied the knots well when he had checked the horses earlier, and they had managed to rig them up fairly cleverly, he thought. It was paying off now as the horses skidded and sought purchase on the shifting deck. If one of them panicked and managed to tear free it would be a disaster, Joth mused. The captain looked out to either side.

  “How’re we dragging?”

  “Both lines dragging even!” Kipren hailed back.

  “All clear ahead, lush and green!” Elmund called from his place at the prow. “Haul and wind, lads!” the captain ordered, and the men sprang to. “Elmund, take up Dathe’s place a-stern.” She pointed at Joth. “You take Elmund’s place.”

  He nodded. He had no idea what he was meant to do at the bow, but he knew not to question an order; the First Army of the Magistry had taught him that.

  Elmund was eyeing him contemptuously as he passed him on deck. “If you see the ground getting too close too quick then make sure to cry out,” he said with a sneer.

  “Is that what you stand there for?”

  Elmund was ready for a fight, Joth could see it; and part of him wanted one too. He did not like the man’s bearing toward him and Eilyth, and he was tired of being the scapegoat for the man’s grief at the loss of his comrade. Let him come and fight me, Joth thought. I’m a bloody Linesman of the First Army and I’ve already beaten the town guard of Borsford today.

  Elmund opened his mouth, eyes screwed up with rage and tongue forming a torrent of vehemence, when the captain spoke again.

  “Elmund! Haul and wind, mate!”

  “Aye, lady, aye!” he spat and walked on to the stern.

  Joth watched him go and caught Eilyth looking at him too. He met her eyes and read disapproval there, or perhaps caution. He could not be certain which, but he broke contact and moved to the prow and looked out at the unbelievable spectacle of the world beneath him bathed in the golden light of sunset. Eilyth did
not have to approve of everything, he thought. This matter doesn’t even concern her; it’s about that bastard making such a spectacle and drawing his blade and making threats and then walking about as though he’s the bloody cock of the walk and looking at us like we’re nothing. Calling him a “bloody dirtworm,” whatever the implications of that were meant to be. It did not sit easily with Joth—any of it.

  The captain was looking back at the men working on both sides of the airship hauling in the draglines. One man would brace his feet against the ship and then haul at the line while his comrade wound the reel and set the brake, and they were working in unison now hauling the ship down toward where the grapples had made purchase in the earth below. They were chanting something, it was helping them keep rhythm and pace, but Joth was too far away to make out the words for the wind. He looked out ahead of him over the edge of the bow and saw the ground coming closer slowly and steadily as the ship was hauled in by the draglines. The captain looked over the edge once the lines had been reeled in to a certain point and then made one final adjustment with the bronze lever at the column and the ship hummed with a pulse of energy that Joth felt as the deck vibrated and the ship began to fall like a feather, swaying against the draglines that tethered it and sinking down to the surface. “Bowlines!” she commanded.