"What are we doing here?" I asked, sensing I would not like the answer.
"At the top of the tower, there is a weapon. The Blade of Time. The first to retrieve it and bring it back to me wins the contest," she said. "But take care if you find it. Even touching the blade will wound you permanently. No magic would heal you."
"Is it that sharp?" I asked, not understanding.
Her dark eyes creased at the corners. "A touch of the blade scrambles your time, sending each tiny piece to the infinite space of your timeline. To be cut by it is to die for all eternity."
"I won't touch it then," I said, then glanced around. "Where is my opponent?"
Neva regarded me flatly. "On the other side, ready to enter the tower as we speak."
"Then why am I still here?" I asked.
"I told you the challenge, didn't I?" She laughed.
Feeling tricked, I cursed in Russian and sprinted towards the Shard of Time. It was further away than I first thought. Once I rounded Neva's hut, a field of broken, black metal lay in the way. The jagged surfaces appeared sharp enough to wound, so I moved carefully through the field.
Halfway there, I realized I'd forgotten to ask about Voltaire. She'd said he had taken his place, so maybe he was watching the other side to make sure my opponent didn't cheat. Of course, Neva had given no rules to abide by, except how we might win the contest.
A ring of raised metal taller than I could jump blocked my way. The top had uneven, serrated edges. I circled around until I found a gap to slip through. Past the barrier, I glanced back only to realize the gap had closed. Further down the line, I saw a new passage through the ring and shuddered with the realization that I could have been smashed.
I reached the base of the tower out of breath. The surface shifted like the scales of a snake. I was wondering how I might ascend the monolith when Voltaire appeared as if by magic from a passage I hadn't noticed before.
"Bonjour, Katerina," he said soberly.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said. "I thought you would be somewhere else, observing."
"My place is here," he said. "Come, we shouldn't delay. I will show you where to go."
He led me into the tower, which held no darkness, as if it were made of light. I touched the wall to find it was strangely warm and hard as a diamond. Right inside was a small room. Voltaire placed his hand into a hole on the wall. A section lifted, revealing a gap. He waved me off when I moved towards it.
"That's not for you," he said grimly, then moved into the space. As soon as his feet passed onto the threshold, another section of wall opposite Voltaire's location lifted silently, revealing a gate that led deeper into the tower.
"Adieu, friend. Hopefully I will see you soon," I said, then started to slip into the passage, but something kept me back. I paused and leaned my head into the room.
"Go, Katerina, don't delay. Much rests on your success," he said, waving his hand at me in a shooing motion.
"Why haven't you moved? I see some thought lurking on your brow," I said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing you should worry yourself about. Make haste, you Russian fiend," he said, putting up a brave smile.
"What's wrong? What has Neva done to you?" I asked.
"She's done nothing. It's the Shard's fault. But I've said too much. Go now. Better you don't know," he said.
I crossed my arms. "I'm staying right here until you tell me."
He closed his eyes, squeezed his lips together, and then spoke. "Fine. Remember you wanted to know. I cannot move from this location unless you bring the weapon down and free me by placing it into that hole I placed my hand. If you try to leave without doing so first, the tower will crush me."
"You shouldn't have," I said.
"Princess," he said, "you know as well as I that I had to agree. You put yourself at risk, so I must do the same. Enough talk. Win this contest. For I surely do not wish to die."
I gave him a courtly curtsey, deep and filled with honor. I caught his wry smile as I slipped out of the room.
The passage led me in a meandering way, at times slightly upward, but mostly it seemed I was circling without purpose. A dreadful haste filled my chest, pressing me onward. I hurried through the winding passage, hands slapping against the warm walls.
A yawing expanse opened before me. The passage exited from the interior. The metal-gray surface of the planetoid lay far below. I struggled to reverse my momentum and jammed my hand backwards, trying to catch hold, succeeding in only ripping my fingernail on an edge.
At the last moment, when I was sure I would fall, I yanked with my sorcery, dragging myself backwards to tumble onto the hard surface.
"Merde."
I would have to be more careful. In my headlong rush to the top, I'd almost thrown myself from the Shard.
At first, I thought the passage was a dead end. Except outside, to the right and left, thin ledges clung to the outer edge. There wasn't much more than a couple of inches to place my boots on. As I watched, the surface shifted, rectangular sections moving outward, then shifting impossibly to the side before slipping back in as if nothing had been there in the first place.
I rapped my knuckles against the metal. How could it be so hard and yet move with supple grace? I sensed Neva hadn't been completely honest about the danger of this place.
If I had to shimmy around the outside of the tower using evasive handholds, I wanted to make sure that I was headed in the correct direction.
With one hand on either ledge, I closed my eyes and tried to access the prophecies. They'd been dormant, hiding, but when I reached for them, the sudden explosion of power inside my head knocked me on my rear.
Usually, I experienced the prophecies as vague phrases, meant to confuse as much as explain. This time, powerful visuals sequenced through my head.
Three butterflies going through metamorphosis.
Twins climbing a black mountain.
A puzzle box spinning wildly as it changed.
The shadow of death escaping a locked room.
A massive field of light being sucked into a hole.
These images etched themselves in my thoughts. Except they weren't linear. Not a story, from one point to another. It was as if they'd been written on origami paper and folded into ever changing shapes, the images reversing order, mixing, transforming.
When I recovered, I knew the proper path went to the left. After mustering my courage, I slipped out onto the ledge. Using handholds that appeared briefly, I sidestepped around the outside.
The surface of the Shard was warm, but the wind was icy cold. I shivered and pressed myself forward so no wind could find purchase and peel me off the ledge.
After a good thirty feet, I made it to a new passage. I paused to rub life back into my tired forearms.
Steps went up into the gloomy interior. Halfway up, the passage shifted. I realized the walls were closing like a wet shirt being wrung out with a tight fist.
I scrambled back onto the ledge moments before the passage disappeared into a featureless black wall. Frustrated, I tried to move back around, but the ledge only went for a few feet. The rest had disappeared back into the tower.
The Shard had trapped me on a tiny ledge. If the remaining section disappeared into the surface, I would fall to my death, shattering against the knifelike protrusions below.
I spied a handhold above me. It looked like a foot-long miscut piece of black building material sticking out the side. Another protrusion was above the first one. In fact, I saw a progression of them going up to what I hoped was a way back into the interior.
I lacked upper body strength, but the sheer terror of clinging to the side of a massive monolith gave me enough energy to pull myself up until I could hook my arm around the protrusion. Then I grabbed the second one with my left hand and scrambled up until I was perched on the two and clinging to a third.
When the section beneath my left boot began to slide back into the Shard, I abandoned my restful pose and reached for the
next handhold. This continued for another fifteen or twenty protrusions, until I reached the next level. The constant effort drained my strength until my arms were quivering.
I didn't think I could go any longer when I fell into the passage going into the interior. Laying on my back, I massaged the life back into my forearms.
It occurred to me as I lay there that the patterns I had thus far encountered seemed purposeful, less random, as if some intelligence was leading me up the Shard. This worried more than comforted me.
Time was my enemy, so I started moving again, well before I was ready. The inner passages proved as frustrating as my journey around the outside. Frequently, I found splits, but when I went down one or the other, the passage would start to close, forcing me to run back to the other.
A few times, the passage closed behind me, sending me rushing forward, my boots ringing dully against the strange metal. It felt like I was being herded upward.
When I came to an inner chamber, I couldn't make out what I saw. The only analogy my brain could comprehend was that it was the inner workings of a clock—stop pins, hammers, hooks, and click springs—working furiously across the walls. But the motion had life to it, like a mound of ants upended and scattered across the surfaces of the room. The tiny melodic ticking sounded like sand rubbed against itself.
Watching it work—them work—made me itch as if tiny legs were crawling up the inside of my trousers.
I would have run through the room if I could, but the center of the room was a huge pit with no way across. The gap was at least twenty feet, an impossible distance for me to jump, even if I had a good running start.
Retreat seemed like the logical action, until I heard the taletell sound of the passage closing behind me. Somehow, I knew that I was being forced to cross the gap.
The tiny gear creatures on the walls changed their harmonious tune. Suddenly, an unearthly whine pierced my skull. The vibration steadily increased until I thought I might vomit.
With no more consideration of my plan than the vague hope that it might work, I sprinted to the gap and leapt. The space seemed to widen as I flew through the air. I would land well short of my target.
As my arc descended, I called my magic and imagined it as a giant hand pulling me across the gap. The sudden acceleration gave me whiplash. I hit the edge at my thighs and tumbled over into a heap.
I wasn't sure what hurt worse, the slicing pain through my temples or the bruised meat of my thighs where I'd hit the side. The walls continued their dirge, so I scrambled out on hands and knees until I was far enough from the room that my head didn't want to implode.
After a minute, and with considerable effort, I pushed forward, though I wanted to sit and rest.
I passed through another few levels, traveling ever upward. Though I didn't know how, maybe the prophecies, I began to get a feel for the timing of when the passages might close, or open.
When I had a tight feeling in my gut, I waited at a blank section of wall. Miraculously, it opened after a minute, letting me through. The passage led me back outside to a ledge. The height staggered me with vertigo, forcing me to put my hand on the wall for support.
Features of the landscape, far below, were dulled by the distance. The curvature of the planetoid was severe. My earlier thought of being an ant on a cannonball was reinforced.
The swirling winds tossed my ponytail around my face. I squeezed my arms against my chest for warmth. Despite the blast furnace glow of the clouds, it was frighteningly cold.
Leaning out, I saw that despite my efforts, I'd only climbed up a quarter of the Shard. The remaining distance was depressing, especially as I realized I had no obvious way forward.
Then I noticed something odd at the ledge by my feet. Two sets of fingers clung to the edge. A person was hanging there.
It was my opponent. A man by his broad shoulders and short ponytail. He wore a Hussar's jacket and a rapier hung by his side.
I smirked, thinking about how I had the advantage of climbing with my rapier since it could be retracted, while his would catch on edges and threaten to dislodge him.
My opponent sensed that I was standing above him by the turning of his head, though he hadn't room enough to look up without endangering his precarious position.
What chance that I was placed in this position. I could eliminate my competition, leaving me with a greater chance of success. If my opponent weren't alive, then my task would be much easier. I had no intention of being Neva's guardian for the next ten centuries.
It was a hard decision. Killing another was not a choice easily made, but better this one man than the millions that would die if Otherland was allowed to invade. He would do the same to me if positions were reversed.
"Greetings," I said in Russian, "and my humblest apologies, for I must bid you farewell."
I raised my boot above his fingers and prepared to stamp down hard, right as my opponent shouted something into the cold winds battering the Shard.
Chapter Ten
His words failed to reach my ears amid the cacophony of whistling winds. What did they matter? He and I were enemies. Better I not hear him, so his words couldn't haunt me from the afterlife.
I raised my boot higher. I should get on with it. Stamp hard and move on.
Yet, I couldn't. No, "couldn't" wasn't the right word. I could do it. There was a hard, unyielding place in my soul that could easily stomp down on those defenseless fingers.
The question was: should I stomp down? I knew not the circumstances of this man's life. Did he choose to attend this contest, or was he forced? Or did that matter at all?
Then the wind died for a brief spell, and I heard the man's cries. I knew that voice. It sung through my soul.
Immediately, I dropped to my knees and grabbed his sleeves, yanking him upward. Together, we pulled him onto the ledge. He scrambled up and collapsed on his back. He was breathing heavily.
"Pavel, my son," I said, wrapping my arms around him.
Pavel sat up after I was done smothering him in a hug. He had aged considerably since I'd seen him last. Streaks of gray threaded his long locks. He was his father's son, handsome, with a bit of melancholy in his hazel eyes. I'd always thought him an artist trapped in a soldier's body.
"Mother?" he asked, confusion on his brow. "You look so young?"
"Standing on a sky-kissing monolith at the end of the multiverse and you're surprised at my youthful appearance?" I asked.
His mouth twisted slightly, a brief anger that faded quickly, then turned into a hesitant smile that didn't reach his eyes. My son's hand went slowly towards his rapier, then stopped at his thigh.
"How do I know it's you?" he asked. "The emperor told me you were dead."
"That should tell you a thing or two about him, that he would use your pain to draw you closer to him," I said.
His face blossomed crimson. "That's not what that's about, Mother. He's not a great man, but he's holding things together as well as he can with all the changes." His face drew to a point. "At least I stayed to try and make things better, rather than run off to play in new lands."
"I didn't run off," I said. "I was exiled. I've spent the last few years looking over my shoulder expecting assassins, and sometimes I've found them there."
"I know," said Pavel. "Remember, I sent you letters to warn you."
He shook his head. "Why are you on their side? Don't you understand what's going on?"
"Yes, I do, very much," I said. "The god Veles wants to enslave humanity, destroy our universe as he did his own."
My son's lips curled in a sneer. "That's what you think is going on? Don't believe their lies. You know what the truth is in your heart."
I opened my mouth to retort, when I sensed a shifting in the Shard. After grabbing Pavel's hand, I dragged him down the passage. The way closed ahead, and before we could turn back, the exit began to contract. We were going to get smashed.
A passage opened up, seconds before the place we were standing would
n't exist, and we threw ourselves forward. The walls continued to shift, forcing us through the maze of passages and dead ends. Despite the stakes of our headlong rush, I couldn't help but enjoy my son's warm fingers entwined with my own.
This lasted for what seemed like an hour. Then, when I heard no more shifting in my head, I knew we had been given a reprieve.
"I feel like a wayward lamb being nipped at by dogs," said Pavel, tapping on the hard walls with his fingertips.
"Enjoy the rest while you can, I don't know how long it'll last," I said.
We kept moving, in case staying still was what brought on the collapsing of passages.
"What should we do now?" asked Pavel.
"I assume you mean about the contest. I suppose at some point we'll have to decide how to finish it. We can have our own contest if we make it to the top," I said. "But for a while, can we just talk?"
He nodded after a moment of thought. That delay worried me that he might try to ambush me at some point.
"Why did you betray your country?" asked Pavel, lips quivering with anger.
"I did not betray Russia. She betrayed me," I said. "It is for the better that it happened this way. America and its democratic governance is the future of our world."
He winced at my words.
"Mother, can you do magic?" he asked after a time.
I hesitated before answering. If we had to cross blades, I wanted every advantage I could get. "A little."
"Do you know any others that can do magic? Even a little?" he asked with a smirk.
"No," I said, "but my dealings are limited. I do not know many people."
"Have you asked yourself why that is? Why you can do magic, but others can't?" he asked, the corners of his lips curling upward in victory.
"March to the point, Pavel. We don't have time for games here," I said, nodding towards the ominous black walls of the Shard.
Nightfell Games (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 5) Page 8
