The Spiral Labyrinth

by Matthew Hughes

  "No, it would not."

  "Then do that much, and we will free you."

  "Agreed."

  I gave instructions, directing it to locate my work room back on Olkney just after we had departed for the Arlem estate. I had it seize the interplanar window that had hung upon my wall, unused, since I had lost contact with my former colleague, the young demon from his continuum. It resembled a frame for a painting.

  "I have it," the demon said.

  "Now locate my space ship, the Gallivant, in Hember Forest, just after we entered the entity's labyrinth."

  "Done."

  "Place the portal on the inner wall of the ship's salon."

  A moment later, the demon said, "The ship is making a fuss. It has activated internal defenses."

  "Inform it that I have authorized your action."

  "It is suspicious. It demands proof."

  "Tell it I said that Tassa Bornum's dark and dusty shelf is still available."

  "I have done so. It has lowered its defenses."

  We made our farewells to Pars Lavelan. I wished him good luck in finding Albruithine. We clasped hands and when he released mine I found that it contained the copper coin he had lent me to demonstrate consistencies at the rest stop defended by Albruithine's earth elemental.

  "For luck," he said.

  He worked the interplanar trap's controls. The globe grew larger and its brightness dimmed. Osk Rievor and I approached, the grinnet on my shoulder. I could feel it shivering. Then the demon manifested two arms -- they were like a sea beast's tentacles, though lined with finger-like digits instead of suction cups -- that gently lifted us and took us into its continuum.

  We passed through a no-place, a plane without forms, a cosmos that declined to cooperate with my senses. I closed my eyes, but continued to see the unseeable. This being my second experience, I purposely did not speak; the last time, in the shock of first encounter, I had reflexively voiced certain oaths. In a place where symbol and content were the same, my ejaculations had caused the spontaneous appearance of a deity and left me smeared in an unwholesome substance.

  We passed an eternity in an instant, time being irrelevant in that plane, then our benefactor eased us through the portal and we stood in the Gallivant's salon. The demon immediately left without the formalities of leave-taking. I recalled that, to it and its fellows, our continuum, with its many forms, was a place of massed obscenity. I surmised that he must have been a demon of rectitude, and possibly anxious to get home.

  "What has transpired?" the ship wanted to know. "Moments ago, I saw you follow a strange, pale person into a pattern of red and black that my percepts could not get proper hold of. Then it and you disappeared. Now you return, through unspecified conduits, as naked and hairless as he was. Is this some new, avant-garde fashion? If so, I predict it will take some courageous effort to see it widely taken up."

  "It is not fashion," I said, "and we have no time to explain." I spoke to my assistant. "Please connect to the ship and bring it up to date on what we have been doing."

  Its small, triangular face became inert as it carried out my instruction. Meanwhile, I said to Osk Rievor, "I have an idea."

  "It will not work," he said.

  "How do you know?"

  "Intuition."

  Nonetheless, I outlined my thought to him. It had come to me when Pars Lavelan had pressed the coin into my hand. "I will demonstrate consistencies to the symbiote. We can have the formulae and ratios graved onto an indestructible medium that it can take forward to its Bille of the new age. Then, when the next turn of the Wheel restores rationalism as the operating principle of the cosmos, the fungus will command an esoteric knowledge that the rest of the continuum will not achieve again for millennia."

  "And what will it do with that knowledge, beside toss coins?"

  "It values knowledge for its own sake."

  "It may have once done so," Osk Rievor said, "but now it has tasted power. It will be like a life-long devotee of weak beer who suddenly discovers the headier rush of ardent spirits."

  "My analysis is sound," I said. "It is worth a try."

  "I suppose," he said, "but the real question is whether or not its interest in your demonstration can draw enough of its substance into our here and now, and hold it here and now long enough for Chay-Chevre to struggle free of its mental grip and do what needs to be done back in the caves of Bille."

  That was indeed the real question, I agreed. "I will speak slowly and stand at a distance from the labyrinth."

  The ship's integrator said, "The spiral has reappeared."

  I opened the hatch and looked out. The red and black labyrinth had taken form in the waste area behind the dilapidated hunting lodge. It looked much the same as the first time I had seen it, except somehow it now seemed more solid, as if it had acquired inner weight. I had tried to put the idea into the symbiote's mind that it should come right away to this time and place. Instead, I now thought it had waited until it had rebuilt its resources. I commented as much to Osk Rievor and found him in worried agreement.

  "While it was breeding more insects, the symbiote seems to have been assimilating knowledge from the materials it acquired from the magicians," my other self said. "It must have set Chay-Chevre to reading Bol's secret books on interplanar connections."

  My plan still seemed feasible to me. I flipped the coin and caught it. "Let us see what we can do."

  We went out together, Osk Rievor scooping up the grinnet as he crossed the salon. Our assistant was blank-faced, apparently still in conversation with the ship. I wondered at that, given the speed at which integrators transferred information, but I had more pressing concerns awaiting me outside.

  The symbiote's avatar had appeared from the swirling spiral of red and black. It, too, seemed more dense and somehow more potent, as if it radiated an invisible aura that I could yet subliminally sense. I decided not to get too close.

  "Where is the third Hapthorn?" it said.

  "Not quite here yet," I said. "On the way, though."

  "That was not our agreement."

  I ignored the remark. "While we're waiting, I'd like to demonstrate a fascinating area of knowledge you may not have encountered before. See this coin?"

  I tossed the metal disk into the air. But when I reached to catch it, I found that a bloodlessly white palm had interposed itself between the descending coin and my hand. The avatar had crossed the distance between us in a blink. It snatched the coin from the air and hurled it toward the far tree line. I hear it strike a trunk with a loud thunk!

  "You are trying to deceive me again," the fungus said. Its lashless eyes fixed on me and I had no doubt that this was a far more powerful, and much more dangerous, version of the creature than the one we had encountered so far.

  "Not at all." I tried to step back, but it seized my upper arm in a grip that numbed me from elbow to wrist. "Really," I said, "I'm offering you knowledge that no one in the age of magic could imagine. And we can ensure that you will carry over that knowledge into the next age. It is a fabulous offer."

  "I want," it said, "what I want. I see two Hapthorns. Produce the third, or I will take the two I see." Its free hand snaked out, the arm rapidly extending to five times its normal length, and took hold of my other self.

  "I told you the coin toss would not interest it," Osk Rievor said. He struggled as I did to resist the thing's pull, but we might as well have been insects in a cave on Bille. We were drawn toward the labyrinth.

  "If you have a spell, now would be a good time to use it," I said.

  "I have one," he said, "a very powerful one. But I am not sure of it. It could destroy us instead."

  "Better that than moldering in a cavern, paying court to a fungus," I said.

  "Very well." He raised his voice and spoke a harsh syllable. A cold wind swept across the tops of the trees and smashed down on us and the avatar. I shook from the sudden chill as Osk Rievor's lips formed to speak the next element of the spell. But the symbiote r
eleased its grip on my other self, its pale white hand growing several sizes larger, then reapplied its grasp in a manner that covered my alter ego's mouth. Osk Rievor struggled, but not even a muffled sound escaped him.

  And, again, we were drawn inexorably toward the labyrinth.

  "Wait!" boomed a voice loud enough to rattle loose stones in the lodge's tumbled wall. I looked about, startled. The avatar's grip did not slacken, but it stood still, its gaze questing about the clearing.

  "Who speaks?" it said.

  "Hapthorn," thundered the voice, "the third. The one you seek."

  The voice was coming from the edge of the open space, where the Gallivant stood. I realized I was hearing its hailer.

  "I cannot find your mind," said the avatar.

  "I deny you access," said the ship.

  "Where are you? Are you in that metal thing?"

  "I am."

  "Come to me."

  "Come and take me."

  The symbiote dropped me and Osk Rievor. It turned and stalked toward the ship, growing larger as it did so. It was drawing more of itself through the interplanar connection than it had ever done before, and surely there must be enough of it on our side for Chay-Chevre to read the spell and reverse its polarity, destroying her and the vast fungus beds in which she was immersed. At least, that had been the plan. But it was becoming clear that the entity either had more substance to draw on, or more skill at creating and maintaining the connection. Or, quite possibly, I thought, it had more of both, and not just more, but plenty.

  I wondered how far it could extend itself into our here and now. It had completely crossed the open space, still growing, but looking no less substantial even as it reached a height taller than the Gallivant.

  It laid its hands on the ship, gripping its aft sponsons. "You will come with me," it said.

  "Not willingly," the ship said.

  "I think we are supposed to back away now," I said to Osk Rievor. "I think the ship is sacrificing itself for us."

  My other self was about to answer, but the grinnet spoke first. "No sacrifice is intended," it said. "We are simply saving your hides, as any good and faithful integrator would."

  "'We?'" I said.

  "The Gallivant and I have exchanged views and experiences. We decided that if your plan ran into difficulties, as seemed likely, it would be up to us to rescue the situation. We have temporarily integrated."

  The avatar, now grown huge and so solid that its splayed feet sank deep into the forest floor, was actually lifting the ship. Burdened, it took a step. Its intent was clear: it would carry the vessel bodily back to the labyrinth and take it through to Bille. I imagined the ship standing in some dim cavern, explored by insects.

  The Gallivant had a different plan in mind. It waited until the symbiote had got a good grip, then it activated its obviators, though only at low intensity. The avatar's step toward the labyrinth was canceled. Instead, it was slowly pulled toward the trees.

  The symbiote's projected self gave no grunts. Perspiration could not form on its white brow. It merely grew larger, grew denser, drawing more of its substance through the interplanar gate. It held the Gallivant, then took a step back toward the labyrinth.

  The ship increased its drive. The avatar grew larger still. The ship strained against its grip. The grip intensified. A battle ensued, ferocious despite being waged in silence and almost complete stillness as, moment by moment, each combatant escalated its effort and fought not to give ground.

  "We are nearing the limit of the ship's in-atmosphere drive," the grinnet said. "The avatar is stronger than we expected."

  I knew what that meant. In gravity wells, the ship lifted itself by gravity obviators then propelled itself by a low-intensity version of its in-space drive, the full-powered version being unfriendly to any atmosphere it encountered. If the Gallivant switched drives now, we and a goodly portion of Hember Forest would shortly be incandescent ash. The effects on the avatar could only be speculated on.

  It was a better fate, or at least quicker, than what awaited us on Bille. "Let it do what it must," I said.

  Osk Rievor agreed.

  "But tell Gallivant this," I said, "if it wins this struggle for us, I will never let it be sent back to Tassa Bornum's storage shelf."

  "It already knows that it survives to experience the next turn of the Great Wheel," my assistant said, "and that it wins free of Chay-Chevre's control. I relayed the whole story. It rather likes the image of itself as a dragon, wild and free."

  "Then tell it to hold on. The plan may yet succeed." So much of the avatar's substance has come through the link that Chay-Chevre must be free to act.

  I could imagine the scene, far away in space and time: so much of the symbiote's essence drawn through to our here and now; the wizardress less and less attended; she pulls free of the enfolding fungus, reaches for the transcribed book of spells; finds Orrian's Hasty Dwindling. It would serve to answer the last two words she had voicelessly spoken to me as she stood in the crevice: Kill me.

  "We are at the limit," the grinnet said.

  The Gallivant's obviators hummed at a high pitch. The avatar, swollen to twice the size of the ship, its immense arms wrapped tightly around the yellow hull, fought to drag the protesting vessel toward the swirl of the interplanar gate.

  Step by ponderous step, its footfalls shaking the ground like one of Ovarth's stone elementals, the symbiote bore the Gallivant to the brink of our doom. In moments, it would reach the heart of the spiral.

  "Tell it to activate the second drive," I said. "Better to die here than--"

  The avatar stopped. Its giant head moved from side to side like a man who feels unseen perils creeping toward him. Then its gaze swung toward us. Its face could not form emotion, but its eyes showed us everything: rage, refusal to accept what was about to happen to it, determination to wreak a last revenge.

  "Chay-Chevre," I said. "She has done it!"

  The avatar released its grip on the Gallivant. The ship shot into the air in the kind of crash ascent that would have had us pinned to the floor of the salon had we been aboard. By the time it could arrest its climb, it was a blue and yellow speck high above Hember. Then it began to descend.

  But no one on the ground was watching. The pallid giant had swung about and come crashing toward Osk Rievor and me, its massive hands reaching to grasp, and its arms lengthening even as it chased us toward the crumpled ruin of the old lodge.

  "Chay-Chevre may have done what she could," Osk Rievor said, "but I fear it has not been enough."

  Further conversation had to be deferred to a more tranquil time. We turned and scrambled over rotting wood and damp earth, loose stones treacherously rolling underfoot. I saw the grinnet clinging precariously to my other self's shoulder, its golden eyes wide as it looked back beyond me to the great, pale, man-shaped thing that was seeking us.

  "Faster!" it said. "It comes."

  The symbiote's avatar made no noise, not even the sound of breathing. But its footsteps were unmistakable. Ahead of me I saw twigs and pebbles bouncing up from the matted floor as the ground shook.

  I stumbled, sprawling to my hands and knees. I was up in a trice, but half a trice was all that the avatar needed to take hold of me. Its huge fingers, each as large as one of my legs, wrapped themselves around me and I was lifted from the ground. Its grip was cold and its virtual flesh rubbery, like the fungus from which it was projected.

  Clearly, Osk Rievor was right. Whatever damage Chay-Chevre had done to the lichen beds and their phalanxes of insect tenders, it had not been enough. So much of the entity was manifested as its own vast will -- godlike, Pars Lavelan ad called it -- that any harm it had taken on the other side of the interplanar gate did not affect this projection. Like Albruithine, its will had a life of its own.

  Now the great hand lifted me up, brought me level with its face, and its breathless voice said, "Remember the torture chamber? You will see it again." And all the while it continued its pursuit of Osk Riev
or.

  A shadow fell across us. An instant later I felt a heavy impact travel through the symbiote's virtual flesh. Its grip slackened and I fell to the ground. I rolled and looked up, saw the Gallivant rising unsteadily into the air, one of its blue fairings rattling loosely. The ship had swooped down and rammed the avatar, hard enough to jar two of its obviators out of alignment. I could hear them whining as blue sparks shot out of the aft array. It strained to lift itself, but managed only to career across the clearing and crash into the edge of the trees, where it hung at an angle.

  Any relief the ship's assault had brought me was to be short-lived. The avatar's substance was not true flesh, but a representation of its will -- it could take no hurt. So though it stumbled from the impact, its huge white fingers reached for me even as I fell. Scarcely had I recovered from the shock of hitting the ground than I was seized again and borne along as the avatar continued its pursuit of the other part of me.

  Osk Rievor had scaled a half-ruined wall and dropped down into what had been the lodge's sunken common room. There was no way out of it, but I saw that he had not intended to escape, only to find a secure place from which he could turn to confront the pursuer. He meant to cast a spell. The grinnet perched on his shoulder, its eyes wide with fear but its mouth close to my alter ego's ear as it recited the elements of the incantation.

  Osk Rievor's lips a first syllable. He shuddered, then spoke a second. I saw his pale arms rise, his fingers crooked and bent at odd angles. The whites of his eyes turned black. His face became suffused with the nameless power that I remembered from the time I had laid destruction upon Ral Ezzers and four others on the road to Bambles. Here in Hember, where three great ley lines met, I knew that any spell would have an effect, wherever the Great Wheel might be standing. But would it be enough?

  Osk Rievor opened his mouth to speak again, but the sounds never came. The avatar, powered by nothing more than its vast will, crashed through the rotten wall and seized my other self in its free hand, squeezing his arms against his body and the air from his lungs.