by Colin Ososki
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Silence was the texture of not just the air but the folds of time as Milo took the first steps into such darkness. It was the emptiest kind of nothing. Outstretching his hand, Milo only saw more nothing. Before long, he found himself looking at what looked like another entrance. It was still dark, like a blur through fog, but it was real. Milo rushed forwards towards it, despite most of his energy being drained by the second. When he came near, he realized it was an entrance to a large opening, a pocket inside the mountain. He stepped inside without thinking.
There was a shimmer of a moonlight without there being any visible way of light getting in, and there in the center of the pocket, standing atop a mound of ash was a living dragon. It measured two hundred feet tall with wings at least three hundred, and a blanket of thick, silver scales covering its body that struck against the darkness like blood against ice. The gruesome vibrations returned to Milo in a sickening wave, causing him to shudder upon his fourth step. He fell to his knees. He was going to vomit again, but there was nothing left in his body. Without looking up he could feel the stare of the dragon burning his back. It was like the organs of the wall striking his mental structure, killing his functioning brain slowly. But the dragon was worse, it killed his might and every ounce of confidence.
The dragon had not moved. Milo took a brave breath, ignoring the slowing of his own blood, and rose, standing again on two legs again. The dragon began to move for the first time since Milo had entered its presence. It raised its neck, its long feathered feelers drifting about under his jaw.
The dragon stood with its neck arched upward, peering down toward Milo. The gold in the iris of its eyes met Milo’s. It shook him, killed him, but he spoke, “What are you?” His voice echoed through the dark, sounding so small compared to the breath of the dragon. The dragon let out a snort and lowered its head towards Milo.
Moments passed in silence. Then a sound reached into Milo’s mind, a voice that bellowed louder than he thought was possible. Leave. The voice, although loud, was thin, and didn’t sound so beastly.
Are you the dragon? Milo asked.
No. The voice was traversing in Milo’s head, and he was tempting to turn but did not dare leave the dragon from his sight. You’ve awakened it.
What do you mean? Milo gripped his sword. Who are you?
I am what you seek. But you are in the wrong place.
Milo felt a sliver of rage. The wrong place? What have I awakened?
This beast will destroy life. If you stay here you will die and you can’t help anyone. You must leave so you can save life. It’s already awake, we can’t kill it here.
Leave? Milo gripped his sword tighter.
I will help you.
The dragon rose. Milo raised his sword, feeling a more intense rage. The dragon stretched its jaw and bellowed the most harrowing, most terrible, and most distressing sound Milo had ever heard. His face shuddered, ears pounding, and he felt compelled to fall to his knees a second time. It was the sound of the mightiest beast he’d ever known, and the sound of fire.
But the dragon’s attention left Milo, and it raised its head upward. At the very ceiling of the cavern, the rocks split and light came crashing through. Rocks were falling to the ground where Milo stood, and he cowered under his arms. Through his arms he watched as the dragon climbed higher in the cavern, with hardly any effort from its massive wings. It rose and reached the gaping crack of blinding light, soaring through it effortlessly, almost without sound.
Milo, quickly. The voice came again, this time, very close. Milo’s peripheral vision caught a flash of white light, and he turned. In front of him was a mirror of the cave, a view of the sky, of the stars, and of Riddley’s house, all at once. Step forward. The voice demanded.
-----
Lyrah had been distant from her usual method of traversing, currently drifting slowly and cautiously. The town of Hallowmere was silent and covered in a mist of painful snow coming down. The houses were spread far apart, and seemed to be in an unnatural formation, unlike the rows and columns of Salem. The wind howled in a cycle between louder than loud and an eerie calm. Lyrah never liked wind. She pulled her hood up over her head and began forward.
There was some paint on the houses that still wore some color, but most of the town had faded to a grey. Hallowmere was supposed to be colorful.
A voice split through the air from behind her, “are you lost?” It was not very deep, although raspy, and came in a tone that sent a chill through Lyrah’s body. She stopped, slowly turned. A man stood beside a wooden porch; he wore a grey suit and a grey hat. It wasn’t a fancy hat, like the parliament wore, it was older. But Lyrah could tell from his half-lit face and the way he stood that the man wasn’t as old as the clothes. He repeated his question, “you lost?”
“No,” said Lyrah. She stood still, keeping her eyes wide and focused. “Not lost.”
“No?” the man inquired. He lifted his arm from his resting position against the porch and stood tall. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Lyrah. “Positive.” She slid one of her feet back a bit. “Can I help you sir?”
“No,” said the man, pulling out a pipe from his suit pocket. “The help to be wanted is mine.”
“Why would I want your help? I don’t know who you are.”
“Yes you do,” the man said, now lighting the pipe. “You know exactly who I am.”
Lyrah slid her foot back farther. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen you before in my life. I wouldn’t know you.”
“My name is Luscious Matter.” Smoke trailed from his lips. “I would say I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t say so for you, Lyrah.”
“How do you know me?” she asked.
“You would understand very well,” said Luscious, ignoring her question, “that the situation we’re all in is very dangerous.”
Have I heard that name before? Mr. Matter? Lyrah questioned to herself, began thinking of a way to run. “I’m very aware,” she said.
“Then you know you’ll be needing the help of a man who knows dangerous people.” Luscious picked the pipe out of his mouth and cleanly tossed it aside without looking. It landed in the snow, smoke still coming about. “Bad pipe,” said Luscious, throwing his eye off to the side and drawing another pipe from the same pocket, identical to the other. “I won’t follow you, Lyrah. I just wanted to chat.”
Lyrah took a step back. “I think I’ll be going now.”
“I trust you’ll think about this,” said Luscious, drawing a finger, “and yes, you have most definitely heard that name before.” He let out a laugh that sounded more like a howl, and Lyrah’s eyes grew wider, but quickly narrowed. She turned and sprinted, bolted across the town.
She turned back just once, and saw that the man named Matter was nowhere in sight. The stood against a burnt out lamp post and remained still, regained her breath. She did not dare make too many loud thoughts. When she eventually looked up, Lyrah spotted something in the mist, a silhouette.
“Rezzifer!” she shouted. It was Rezzifer, trekking down the snow drift between the houses. At first he made no action. Lyrah called to him again, and he turned. Lyrah came forward, reaching him, even though he still made little movement. “Rezzifer, what are you doing here?”
He spoke with less energy than usual, “it’s a mess back there,” he said. “We’re done.”
“The lake is gone, how did you get across? What happened to the rebels?”
“I got across before the ice fell.” Rezzifer let out a sneeze. “I heard they killed Mr. Charlie, but there’s not much of us left.”
“He’s dead?”
“Think so.” Rezzifer looked up for the first time since they talked, his face was cut and bloody. There was a nasty tear on one of his paws, but he seemed to be ignoring all pain. “Havensheil is gone, though.”
“Gone?”
“It’s leveled now, and anything that was left is being ran through right now by the rest of the de
vils.” Rezzifer’s tone shifted, he was less calm. “The rebel’s will be regrouping at the spot in the plains.”
“I guess that’s where I’m going,” said Lyrah. “Have you heard anything about Milo?”
“Nothing,” Rezzifer said. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you all right?” asked Lyrah.
“I’ll be fine,” said Rezzifer, but Lyrah could tell there was something different about him. “You don’t need to worry about me.” He began to walk forward.
“Rezzifer?” asked Lyrah. He simply raised his head back, towards her. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
Rezzifer was sure of himself. “I’m going North. There’s some things I need to do, I’ll be on my own for a while.”
Lyrah was disheartened, but she accepted it. “Alright,” she said. “Will I see you soon?”
“I’ll be back around before long,” said Rezzifer. He began to walk into the North wind.
DAYLIGHT
Milo sat at the old wooden table in the afternoon light. They were in a room on the third floor of Ridley’s house, where everything was decorated blue and gold. Just seven hours ago he had stood in the face of a living dragon.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” said Milo. Riddley came into the room and handed Milo a concealed letter.
Riddley said, “It’s from Doctor Arthur Artimus.” He then left Milo alone.
Dear Milo,
I'm sorry for what has happened here. Pæraleth is in great trouble. I know, we haven’t talked much before. Hell, I’m not even sure if you know anything about me. Unfortunately, I cannot explain what I need to explain in a mere letter, but I am letting you know that someday I will find you so that I can in person. I am currently in a new location, a secret one, for as you know, Salem is gone. I understand this was unfortunate for your father too. Everything has changed.
You are special, Milo. We need you in this, so we need you to be strong. Sorry that this letter is so vague and untimely, but things will be cleared up soon, I pronounce it.
Artimus
p.s. Stay close to Lyrah.
Milo heard another knock. It was Lyrah, peeking around the corner. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Milo. “I got a letter from Artimus.”
“What does it say?” asked Lyrah, sitting down next to him.
“He says he can’t tell us where he is, but he thinks everything will be resolved soon.” Milo set the letter down on the table in front of him and looked at Lyrah. “What do you think?”
“I think everything is going to be all right,” she said. “But it’s not over.” Lyrah walked over to the door on the far side of the room. She opened it, revealing a balcony overlooking the plains. Milo stood and followed her outside. They stood watching the horizon as the sun stood high in the middle of the sky, casting warmth on everything.
“So you figured it out?” Lyrah asked.
“Figure what out?”
“The snow globe,” she said.
Milo smiled, “it’s attracted to metal. You knew?”
“When I gave it to you, yes.” She held it in her hand. Milo hadn’t noticed until now.
Milo knew she was right. Eventually, everything would be all right. But he saw something in her. There was so much for them to talk about, so many things Milo wanted to discuss. He thought of his sword, and the cloak that he wore still from the previous day. He thought of the door he saw in his dream. He thought of the window he encountered in the cave, of the instant travel back to Riddley’s, of the dragon, and of the calamities to come. Milo looked now at the scar on Lyrah’s face. I won’t ask.
“Lyrah, do you see that?” Milo asked. Lyrah looked at him, confused. “There,” said Milo, and he pointed out towards the horizon, where a massive wall stood, hundreds of feet high.
