The Stair Of Time (Book 2)

by William Woodward

  Andaris nodded thoughtfully, feeling somehow disconnected from it all, wholly unfazed by the fear he heard in Ashel’s voice. Why should that be, he wondered? Something that frightens Ashel should terrify me. And then he understood. It was because he wasn’t in the least bit surprised. It was as if Ashel had explained all this to him before, and yet he knew he hadn’t. He felt woozy. This is the way it always happens, he thought.

  “Andaris?”

  He was so close to touching something that was always there but just out of reach.

  “Andaris!”

  That cut through the fog. “What?” he snapped, irritated at having been interrupted at such a crucial moment.

  “Are you feeling all right? You look a bit pasty.”

  “I’m fine,” he replied.

  “Hmm. Indeed.”

  In truth, he strongly suspected that he was anything but fine. He felt so strange, like this was all just part of some overly immersive fever dream. A question popped into his mind, surprising him with its insistence.

  “So it’s not only places you’ve been to that you can see?” he blurted.

  “Well…no,” Ashel answered, obviously puzzled by his behavior. “It certainly helps, but no, not if your imagination is keen. The window will find the place that most closely matches what you are picturing. There are so many to choose from that, odds are, it will find at least a close facsimile.”

  “Do you mind if I try again?”

  Another long pause, this one more calculating than calculated. “Be my guest, Andaris. This is one of the reasons I summoned you. To see how adept you are. But be advised, it can become…addictive.”

  Something in his tone suggested he spoke from experience.

  Andaris closed his eyes, slowly forming an image in his mind. He saw a great golden desert stretching beneath a cobalt sky, three moons huddled conspiratorially against the horizon. A crystalline city appeared in the foreground. It was surrounded by kaleidoscopic patterns of color and light, fourteen rings rotating to the left and right, a great glittering spectacle of impossible proportions.

  His imagination strained for more detail. He could now see the city had hundreds, if not thousands, of towers. Most were crystalline in structure, while others were wrought of jade, ivory and even onyx. Some of the rings, continuing to rotate in their preordained directions, began turning perpendicular to the mind’s eye, so that now a kaleidoscope sphere surrounded the city.

  And so it was, to the swelling chorus of crystalline angels, that the entire thing lifted into the sky, blazing like a second sun, rainbows of light shining and refracting, each cast a different direction, each a mirror unto itself.

  Andaris set the image firmly in his mind, making sure everything was in place, a painter finishing the final strokes before unveiling his or her masterpiece. Then he slowly, almost reluctantly, opened his eyes.

  And very nearly fell to his knees, for what he saw and heard in the window made his vision seem trite by comparison. The angels sang with soul-piercing intensity, so beautiful and terrible that he covered his ears. The city shone with violent light, so beautiful and terrible that he squeezed shut his eyes. This time it was too real to bear. His imagination was set ablaze, consuming all that it touched. Closed eyes and ears made no difference. There was no escape. It was all-encompassing. Soon he would be consumed. Another second and he—

  And just like that, it was gone, sound and light sent back from whence they came.

  In the beginning, there was only darkness. Into this void there came a voice, sounding far away and inconsequential it said, “You may lower your hands, Andaris.”

  He strained to obey, but could not.

  “I said, lower your hands.”

  At last, he managed to do as the voice instructed. And, upon opening his eyes, found that it was good. The window was once again ‘blessedly dark.’ He made sure not to visualize anything else, lest its surface spark anew.

  “That was quite remarkable, Andaris. I had no idea that such a place could exist. Not in a hundred years would I have come up with anything like that. The question is, did it exist before you thought of it? I think so. But I must admit, on this count I am not entirely certain. And if it didn’t before, does it now? Of course, it would be wise not to ponder the matter too long. After all, these are the sorts of questions that drive philosophers to drink.”

  Ashel sighed. “Ah well, what’s one to do? You know, I had a hunch you would prove useful in this regard. Ofttimes, imagination is sacrificed on the altar of intellect. Your mind is remarkably unencumbered by the ravages of intellect, Andaris. Not overburdened like mine, sunken into long-established channels of logic and function.”

  A wavery, partially transparent representation of the wizard materialized two feet in front of him. Unlike desk Ashel, this was a fully realized representation, including not just sound but movement.

  Ethereal Ashel shook his head with a sardonic half-smile and looked up at the ceiling. “How terribly interesting. If the word weren’t so overused, I’d say ironic. In fact, I suppose I just did. The horizon of his mind remains unobstructed by even the least of the many great storehouses of knowledge, creating an uninterrupted line of sight between the inner eye and its creation.”

  He looked back to Andaris. “Understand? No rigid doctrines to limit what’s possible. All that glorious empty space allowing the flower of your imagination to sprout and grow any which way it chooses. Free of those pesky blockages, there are no paths of least resistance, so it goes wherever fancy takes it, and there flourishes. So I’d hoped it would be, and so it is. How marvelous. Rodan be praised.”

  During the course of Ashel’s pontificating, Andaris had begun to get his bearings back. Enough, at least, to articulate another question. “So…what exactly is it that you want me to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing beneath knitted brow.

  “Why, I’m cut to the quick, Andaris. To think, after everything we’ve been through and you don’t trust me. What an utterly disappointing turn of events. If you hurry, you might be able to twist the blade a bit deeper before it steals my life’s breath.”

  Andaris groaned. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, the half-truth bitter on his tongue. “It’s just that it seems odd for you to need me to…what? Find new worlds for you to view with my unobstructed imagination? For what purpose? To do or learn what?”

  “How wonderfully simplistic of you, my friend. That is only a very small part of what I wish. But not now. Maybe not ever. I just wanted to see if what I had envisioned was possible. Surely, after what you just experienced, you can understand? And don’t worry, if I desire your assistance in the future, it won’t be for anything too diabolical.

  I know you and Gaven believe I’ve gone mad. But from your low vantage, how can you tell? To a peasant, the stars are but points of light. The truth is, I’m more sane now than ever. What you perceive as madness, is merely my excitement at having finally found something about which to be passionate. The truth is, your presumption and lack of faith injures me so that…I no longer choose to honor you with this fully active representation of myself. You’ll just have to make do with the static version.”

  And with that, ethereal Ashel vanished.

  “Did it ever occur to you that it takes energy to be theatrical, a word that for most is synonymous with goodwill and cheer? And yet your tongue somehow turns it into an insult. Why be boring if you don’t have to, Andaris? What harm is there in that? If one has the ability to put the spring in a step and the sparkle in an eye, why not? But clearly, sadly, my efforts are wasted on you.”

  Andaris couldn’t believe his ears. The wizard actually sounded hurt. Feeling a tad guilty, he walked from the window to the desk, the static, opaque Ashel seeming even more absurd than before, like a cardboard cutout.

  “Okay. I’m…sorry,” he said. And a part of him actually was, at least a little. The part that prayed he was wrong about Ashel, that prayed this wasn’t all just some elaborate manipulation inte
nded to make him do Rodan knew what. The part that didn’t think his hurt tone was nothing more than good acting, a distraction to throw him off the scent. “Be as theatrical as you like and I won’t say a word. Provided, you answer my question.”

  “No. That is to say, I would like to, but it is forbidden. For now, anyway.”

  “Forbidden? Forbidden by who?”

  “It’s whom. And I can’t say. That is also forbidden. But rest assured, Andaris, it is all for the greater good. One day you will understand and you and Gaven will thank me, bestow upon me your devotion in return for my benevolence.”

  Something definitely was not right here. Was it possible that Ashel was lying and didn’t even know it? Now there was a terrifying thought. Someone with that much power and influence suffering a psychotic break could be disastrous.

  “Fine!” Andaris spat, nerves suddenly strung tight. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long! I mean, if the carrot rots before the mule even gets a nibble, it loses its power to motivate, doesn’t it? Not to mention the loss of intrigue. What will the carrot taste like? Will it be as crunchy and delicious as it looks, as…orange? What will happen if I eat the whole thing? Will another appear to replace it? And if so, what will that one taste like?”

  During the course of this uncharacteristic outburst, Andaris felt like a spectator in his own mind, wondering with growing mortification what bizarre thing he would say next.

  “How terribly eccentric of you, my young friend. First simplistic, and now eccentric. What a chameleon you have become. ‘What’s the world coming to?’ the old men ask. And I tell you, I honestly do not know. It’s funny when you think about it, Andaris. All those years of searching for insanity in others, and at last you find it peering back at you, snaggle-toothed and furnace-eyed, from your own reflection.”

  Ashel’s voice now dripped with sarcasm, sounding completely different from just moments before. Sarcasm and something far less wholesome. “Don’t get me wrong, Andaris. I’m grateful. After all, it’s quite entertaining, isn’t it? No doubt I’ll be chuckling about it for days to come. I can hear myself now: Oh how I wish my young friend would pay me another visit so he could regale me with more of his delightful carrot metaphors!”

  “Young friend?” Andaris asked, opting to let the rest pass. “You’re not much older than I, Ashel. Oh First Wizard of the Four Civilized Kingdoms. Or has your head swelled so that you’ve forgotten?”

  Stop provoking him! he told himself. But he couldn’t seem to help it.

  “Why oh why must everyone take me so literally?” Ashel replied, his bemoaning tone suggesting that his good character had endured countless such assaults—cruel arrows cast by his fellow man, flying unerringly from the hands of fools to the hearts of the misunderstood, i.e. the genius, the recluse, the misanthrope.

  “Obviously, I’m not referring to numerical age,” he went on, “but rather the maturity and wisdom which comes with long, hard-won experience.”

  “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

  Stop provoking him! he told himself again.

  “Enough!” Andaris shouted, having to force the word out, addressing himself as much as Ashel. “It doesn’t matter. Never mind!”

  “No more wordplay? And just when you were starting to get the sense of it. I mean, I was actually beginning to enjoy myself. And, stranger still, your company. Usually you’re so mundane, so predictable, that I can feel the many kingdoms of my mind rise up in revolt, demanding freedom from the endless monotony. You will receive no succor from me I tell them. Clamor all you like. If I must endure the vacuous drudgery of his company, then so must you!

  And now, just when I least expect it, you wow me with a glimmer of spirit and even wit. Such a promising start, and then you go and ruin it with an unfair jab followed by an even more unfair proclamation. Callous, cold, unfeeling creatures are my friends. Hardly seems fair, and yet what can I do?”

  Andaris waited several seconds before responding. When he was relatively sure that he had regained control of himself, he gritted his teeth and, with an immense effort said, “So is that it? Are you done?”

  Ashel seemed surprised, and maybe even a little impressed.

  Andaris felt the urge to argue slip away, cast aside like a heavy cloak on a hot day. He hadn’t realized just how thick and suffocating it had become until it was gone. He could breathe again. It was amazing how much better he felt, so much lighter and clearheaded. But wrung out, as weary as a wounded soldier after a ten mile march.

  So what exactly happened? he thought. Did Ashel do something to make me react like that, or is it this place? Could it be affecting him, too?

  “Forgive the delay, Andaris. I was busy licking my wounds. I’m sure you understand, considering how deep they go. So anyway, as I was saying, or rather thinking, if our wordplay is truly at an end, then there is but one thing left to do.”

  “Go on.”

  “If you open the center drawer of the desk, you will find what you seek. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it is. Just open the drawer, take what’s inside, and leave. I ask for nothing in return, except for perhaps a bit of goodwill from you and Gaven. I only hope that after what I have given you, you will look upon me less harshly in the future, and not be so quick to judge that which you do not understand.”

  “So what’s in the drawer, Ashel?”

  “I must go now, Andaris. There is much to do and little time. I wish you the best of luck with your coming adventure, and somewhat envy you your path, for unlike mine, it is broad and level.”

  “But what about Mandie? You said my pathetic digging had come to an end. Have you uncovered something?”

  “Not yet,” came the now distant reply. “But do not lose hope. I will eventually. I always do. There are many stones that remain unturned. I assure you, Andaris, I will not rest until I have searched beneath them all. And nor should you. Indeed, considering what lay ahead, you may uncover something before I. Laotswend is rife with ancient knowledge ripe for the picking. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a cure for Mandie, a portal back to your world, and an elixir of eternal life all in the same afternoon!

  Take care of yourself, Andaris, and tell Gaven not to worry, all is not as it seems. Things will right themselves soon enough. The wheels are turning inexorably forward, inevitably backwards, and infuriatingly to the sides. Farewell for now, my friend. I will be watching. Farewell….”

  “Must you be so cryptic, Ashel? Is there really nothing more you can say?”

  At first he gave no reply, and then with the faintest of whispers said, “Remember to heed the call of the red hawk, and to count the moonless sky thrice before a fall. In prophecy there is a voice that cries out to be heard, drowning beneath the weight of eons. Listen for this voice, Andaris. It will guide you. Listen and be afraid, for providence is a cruel taskmaster—a mistress not to be scorned. The nations shall bow before thee, and at your side I shall preside, eternal, relentless, and bursting with righteous might. Ever it was and ever it shall be again….”

  Andaris shook his head, attempting to clear it of the refuse that had just been deposited. Apparently, the answer was, “No.”

  Soon after, he stepped around to the other side of the desk, pleased to discover that the cutout of Ashel was gone. For a time, he just stood there, peering down at the two brass handles protruding from the drawer face, twin frowns seeming to mock his own. Several minutes passed before he worked up the nerve to reach down and grasp the handles. When nothing untoward occurred—like him being knocked flat by an electrical shock, or the handles twisting into serpents, he took a steadying breath and pulled.

  There was a keyhole in the center of the drawer face, but the drawer was not locked. Indeed, it pulled smoothly, gliding on wheels rather than blocks. Andaris braced himself, frown graduating into a full-fledged grimace, but again nothing happened. In the center of the drawer sat a wooden box, deeply polished mahogany with brass corners, a design carved into the ce
nter of its lid—a circle within a circle bisected by a vertical line.

  The hair on Andaris’ neck raised. “The Lenoy,” he whispered. And then, with a hand that trembled ever so slightly, he opened the box. Inside were several pieces of parchment, one stacked atop the other. He handled them carefully, for they were ancient, and like so much of what he’d unearthed in the archives, looked as if they might fall to dust at the slightest touch.

  Maps, he thought. But maps of what?

  He couldn’t read the writing or the symbols, yet the illustrations seemed clear enough. Each page represented a different level of a city, the entirety of which had been built underground. Each level was joined by a flight of stairs. Andaris felt an internal click when his eyes fell upon the last page, the bottom page. His vision blurred, the writing and symbols swimming before his eyes, the page becoming fluid and dark. Feeling faint, he looked away.

  When he looked back, he found he was able to read the title of the page, the one that appeared atop every page beside the same embossed symbol—a circle within a circle bisected by a vertical line. Atop every page and on the box, too.

  “Laotswend,” he whispered, feeling his blood surge with something akin to prophetic memory. “The symbol is a seal. Laotswend’s seal.” Once more, the letters began to swim. He watched as long as he could, and then closed his eyes against a sudden wave of nausea.

  When he opened them again, the words were as illegible as before, each comprised of strange, alien characters. An image began to form in his mind, an image of a race of people whose lives were defined by endless contradiction. They stood before him, enigmatic and proud, defiant eyes daring him to understand. It all seemed so familiar, yet remained utterly incomprehensible, hidden behind a veil of time too thick to pierce. A part of him recognized it, some deep hidden part, but it was nothing that he could grasp—at least not now. He’d felt the same while staring at the symbol above that archway.