by C. A. Gray
Very slowly, Peter could see again. The illumination was backwards somehow, like the negative of a photograph. Then there was an image – thousands of them, all below, around, and above them, closer and fading infinitely into the distant darkness beyond. They were all images of the same face, like a recursive reflection. It was dead, bloodless, disembodied – but unmistakably human.
Peter’s voice choked in his throat. He had never seen it before, and yet somehow he knew that face. He felt as if he had known it all his life.
“Sargon.”
Chapter 29
Lily and Cole burst out the door of the Commuter Station into the main halls. There was no reason to creep along inside the secret passageway now.
Achen was much taller and faster than they were, and he led the way through the corridors, as Lily and Cole took the stairs two at a time up to the main hallway of the castle.
“Do we know where he is?” Lily demanded. She did not need to specify that she meant Isdemus.
“Here,” came a voice just as they rounded a corner, and they all stopped short.
Isdemus wore robes that seemed to be made of quicksilver, as if he were dressed in moonbeams. He grasped his walking stick so tightly that his knuckles were white – it appeared he had only just returned to the castle himself. Dan, Sully, and Jael were behind him. All of them looked worried.
“Fides Dignus just told us what happened,” said Sully to Achen. “Did you find where Peter went?”
“To Oaxaca, Mexico, but they were already gone by the time we arrived,” said Achen.
“There was somebody else with him, too,” Lily added, and she told the company what she had learned from the teenage girl at Monte Alban.
“It was Kane,” said Jael immediately, sounding sick. She and Dan exchanged a knowing look. “It had to be.”
“Why Kane?” said Cole, sounding confused. “Even if it was Kane, that would be good news, right? That way Pete wouldn’t be alone?”
The Watchers ignored the question, and Dan pulled a leather pouch out of the pocket of his trousers with a significant look in Isdemus’s direction. He withdrew a silver coin from the pouch, rubbed it and dropped it back inside, keeping his hands wrapped firmly around the leather as if he were waiting for something to happen.
“Don’t bother,” said Jael. “The last thing Kane will want to do is tell us their location. Not until he gets what he wants.”
“Can somebody please tell us what’s going on?” Lily demanded. “Why do you think Kane is with Peter, and why wouldn’t he want to call for help?”
“We don’t have time to explain right now,” said Isdemus. Returning Dan’s significant expression, he pulled a tuppence coin from the folds of his own robes, identical to the one he had given Peter. He dropped it on the carpet in front of them, and Dan kicked it off the fabric, so that it lay flat against the cold stones.
“Don’t want anything catching fire,” Dan explained to no one in particular.
Cole balled his fists at his sides and Lily said mutinously, “I think they’re torturing us on purpose.”
Isdemus turned to Achen. “Round up whoever you can,” he said.
Achen bowed slightly and disappeared with a crack.
Then Isdemus turned to Lily and Cole, as if he had not heard Cole’s previous comment. “We won’t have long before Peter calls for help, so you must pay very close attention to what I’m about to teach you. All our lives may depend on it.”
Lily’s mouth fell open and she followed Isdemus’s gaze to the coin. “You mean somehow Peter can use that coin –”
“Shh, don’t interrupt him,” said Jael crossly, and folded her arms across her chest.
Isdemus opened one palm towards Sully. “Your dagger, please.”
Without hesitation, Sully withdrew a shiny silver dagger, marked with Celtic engravings. Isdemus took it by the hilt, and before anyone could stop him, he sliced a long gash in his own forearm. Lily let out a small yelp and plastered both hands over her mouth automatically. Cole also cried out. Even Dan and Jael looked surprised.
“Now,” said Isdemus, “Cole.”
“What?” Cole said, startled, watching bright red blood gush from the wound.
“Repeat after me,” he said. “Stad fola.”
“What?” Cole stammered, “I don’t understand what you want me to –”
“Stad fola,” Isdemus repeated patiently, his gaze never leaving Cole’s face.
“Say it, for Heaven’s sake!” Jael snapped.
“Stad fola!” Cole cried.
“Don’t look at my face when you say it, look at the wound,” said Isdemus. “Stad fola.”
“Stad fola! Stad fola!” He sounded almost hysterical, but he stopped and began to breathe normally when he saw the blood congeal before his eyes, and a clot formed almost instantly. Suddenly the fear melted away, and Cole looked up at Isdemus’s face in wide-eyed wonder. “Wow…” Then he added, almost timidly, “Did I do that?”
“Yes, you did.” Isdemus smiled at him, but his expression was still tense, his eyes darting in the direction of the coin on the floor every few seconds. It was still stone cold. “Now for the rest of the way: leigheas craiceann.”
Cole’s mouth fell open, and Isdemus repeated it several more times before he could even attempt the words. “Leg-hees… cray-ce-ann…” After several false starts, Cole’s face fell and he said, “Forget it, I can’t do it…”
“We can’t forget it because our leader is wounded, so you’d better heal him before we attempt a rescue mission!” Jael snapped.
“Jael,” Dan muttered under his breath reproachfully. “Give him a break, he’s just a kid…”
“I am not a kid!” Cole bristled, “I can do this!” Then he took a deep breath and uttered, “Leigheas craiceann!”
Instantly the scab on Isdemus’s forearm evaporated and in its place blossomed pink new flesh like a baby’s bottom, contrasting strangely with the wrinkles surrounding it.
“Look at that!” Cole cried, and elbowed Lily, eager for approval. “Did you see that?”
“I saw,” she said, swallowing hard. “Good job.”
“Now remember those words,” said Isdemus to Cole sternly. “Repeat them in your head over and over until you could say them in your sleep. Tune out everything else. If you can’t remember the rest, at least remember the word leigheas. It means heal in the Ancient Tongue, and when we get to the Fata Morgana, I guarantee some of us are going to need that skill. Do you understand?”
Cole’s eyes widened and he nodded so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Yes, sir!” Then he closed his eyes and began to mutter, “Leigheas, leigheas…”
“Now,” Isdemus turned to Lily. Then he pointed at the coin, which still lay cold at their feet. “You have used your gift before at least once, but I doubt you remember.”
Lily stared at him, confused. “When?”
“The night of your parents’ murders. The robbers never saw you even though you were standing in plain view. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember!” Lily cried, shocked, “but they didn’t see me because there was a nimbus blocking me! I’ll never forget, he looked like a faun...”
“Remember, Miss Portman,” said Isdemus, “the nimbi are either invisible or else they take a physical form and they glow, which as you all know is quite shocking. Those robbers, however, did not see anything.”
Her mouth fell open. “So what –”
“You must have spoken the Ancient Tongue, and that is how you protected yourself.”
“So you did what Pete did, Lily!” Cole cried. “You spoke the Ancient Tongue before you ever knew how!”
Lily gaped at Isdemus. “What did I say?”
“You probably said something very similar to what I am about to teach you. Repeat after me: maighnéad chruthú ó bhoinn.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She jerked a finger in Cole’s direction and said accusingly, “His was a lot easier than that! You’re tell
ing me I said that when I was six?”
Isdemus regarded her patiently. “I do not choose the gifts. I merely recognize them.”
“What am I trying to do, anyway?”
“Create an electromagnetic field around the coin,” he replied. “Essentially you are going to turn it into a magnet.”
“What good is a magnet going to do…”
Jael opened her mouth to snap at Lily that she was being insubordinate, but Dan put a hand on her arm to stop her. Then he said to Lily in a much gentler tone than she would have used, “If Isdemus says it’ll help, it’ll help. Trust him.”
Lily shot Dan a reproachful look, but took a deep breath and turned toward the coin, closing her eyes. “Fine,” she said.
“Eyes open,” said Isdemus gently. “Focus on your target.”
She opened her eyes again and said perfectly on the first try, “Maighnéad chruthú ó bhoinn.” Instantly the coin flew into her hand with such force that she actually said, “Ow!” She started to try to pry it off, and then said more earnestly, “No really, ow… OW!”
Isdemus cried in a tone of ringing authority, “Réimse scaoileadh!” The coin fell from Lily’s palm not a moment too soon. It was glowing white-hot.
“Wait, what’s happening?” Cole demanded, pointing at the coin as Lily rubbed her palm and winced.
“Peter’s calling for help,” said Dan with relief, as if he almost hadn’t expected it until that moment.
“Now I know where he is, too,” said Sully, stepping forward as one by one the Watchers laid hands on his shoulders and arms, or whatever part of him they could reach. “Everybody ready?”
“Wait,” said Isdemus. “Achen!”
There were three cracks in a row like a car backfiring, and Achen appeared with one of the nimbi the teens had seen guarding the gate to Carlion, the one called Bellator, and the lithe elvin creature called Verum.
“Excellent,” said Isdemus. “Can you three get a reading on that location?” he said, pointing at the coin.
“Of course,” said Achen, and they disappeared with three more cracks, as quickly as they had come.
“What’s happening?” Cole hissed to Lily, who shrugged at him, wide-eyed, and grabbed onto Sully’s sleeve, since that seemed to be the thing to do.
“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Jael said for everyone.
“Then here we go,” said Sully.
With a lurch, the castle disappeared.
***
Peter had never been so terrified in his life. It was as if his brain had stopped communicating with the rest of his body. He could not move.
On either side of Peter, the penumbra took a step back. He had barely noticed that they had been standing so close in the first place.
“So this is the famous Child of the Prophecy?” Sargon’s words were like shards of glass, cutting through the silence. Despite the distortion, Peter could still hear his disdain. “You are Peter Stewart?”
Peter could not find his voice to answer.
“Say something!” Brock managed to croak.
In lieu of a reply, Peter stood up, willing his knees to support him.
“There has been a mistake,” Sargon said, not to Peter, but to the penumbra. “I expected a warrior. You have brought me a child.”
“It is him, your lordship,” wheezed a troll near Peter. “You must see the resemblance to Arthur Pendragon –”
“He is unworthy of such attention,” said Sargon dismissively. “Kill him.”
Bruce shouted something that Peter didn’t register, just as three of the penumbra began to close in on him.
Peter cried, “Wait!” Then he looked back at Bruce and Brock, and started babbling, hardly knowing what he was saying. “It was me. I… collapsed the wave function! I reversed entropy, I stopped time… I broke the rules! So I have to be the Child of the Prophecy, because Isdemus says nobody has done that since the dawn of time, and I don’t know what that means, but he seemed to think it was significant…”
The penumbra froze, watching their lord’s reaction to this revelation in order to determine their next move.
“Peter!” Bruce moaned, “What are you doing?”
“Isdemus?” said Sargon, mildly interested now. “Who is Isdemus?”
“He’s the head of the Watchers! I heard the prophecy and it... it has to be me, because I’m the only descendent of Arthur in the right generation, born under the sign of the Taijitu –”
“Peter, shut up!” Bruce cried, and began to look around the forcefield wildly for some means of escape.
“You have to let them go,” Peter plunged on, “It’s me you want! And here I am!”
“Allow your enemy to walk away, and he may live to kill you another day,” Sargon recited in a sing-song tone, a smile spreading across his bloodless face. “Oh, no, Peter. No one will escape tonight.”
Peter thought wildly and seized upon the first idea that popped into his head. “But you need witnesses!” he cried. “You want some surviving witnesses to your victory over the Child of the Prophecy, don’t you? You can kill me, but let them escape to tell the Watchers they’ve lost their champion…”
Beside him, Bruce had waited long enough. He suddenly bellowed, “Chruthú fótóns!”
Involuntarily Peter turned at the subsequent flash of light, which was much larger this time than the previous. In the sudden burst of illumination, he could see that his dad’s arms were outstretched upward this time, and he lay sprawled on his back from the impact.
“Kill them all!” Sargon ordered.
For a split second, Peter saw Kane begin to fight furiously with the penumbra that surrounded him. Then Peter felt himself slam to the ground. He looked up into the ruby red eyes of a penumbra with fangs like daggers, which he saw for only an instant before the creature sank them into Peter’s flesh.
He almost went blind with the pain, but could barely localize it – it seemed to rip across his body and into his brain, so dulling his senses that it took him several seconds to recognize the deafening sound at close range, and several more to realize that it was the sound of his own scream.
From a distance as if across a chasm, he heard Bruce shout again, “Chruthú fótóns!” and there was an explosion. It was a flash of light, but it also sounded like shattering glass. He felt as if the penumbra on top of him was peeling his muscles from his bones. When his vision snapped back into focus again, through the searing pain he slowly began to register what he saw.
Shards of mirrors. Mirrors?
Suddenly it made sense in the dull recesses of Peter’s mind: the strange sense of infinity inside the walls of the castle, Sargon’s reflection diminishing recursively, appearing everywhere...
The castle was made of mirrors.
Shards of mirrors, falling. From the sky. He watched them, glittering like icicles. They were silver. So pretty. Thousands of silver daggers, plunging down.
The thought gave Peter a jolt. His eyes lolled to the side and he saw Bruce lying unconscious beneath the hole he had blown in the top of the forcefield a moment before, through which he had projected his stream of photons at the mirrors up above. The silver daggers screamed towards his prone body, even as the crystalline voice all around them shouted orders and the fanged creature stopped peeling Peter’s flesh from his body to look in horror at his own approaching demise.
Before he knew what was happening, Peter was shouting something. He didn’t know what.
“Stad!”
Then it was over.
He was surrounded by green, green grass, greener than emeralds, in a glade surrounded by uncannily still trees. The pool stood in the middle, waiting for him, projecting a rainbow of colors. Peter felt compelled towards them, and the images blossomed into view as he approached.
They contrasted starkly with the peaceful meadow. In each image, his own body was unrecognizable. He could hardly tell which damage had been inflicted by the penumbra lying dead on top of his own corpse, and which had been im
paled by the thousands of tiny mirrored daggers. A stream of filtered light came through where the roof had been. He could identify Bruce, Brock, and Kane only by their positions in the fortress. Otherwise, they were mutilated beyond recognition.
Peter ran frantically towards the next image, and the next. He skipped the infinite variations between orange and yellow, yellow and green, green and blue entirely, knowing that the color he wanted would be at the end, the unlikeliest of all…
There it was, so pale a shade of lavender that it was almost not there. In it, there was no hole in the castle roof, no filtered light from the world beyond – all was mirror, all reflected Sargon’s face. His dad was still flat on his back, but conscious. Brock cowered, but remained in one piece. Kane fought with the three penumbra nearest him, on his feet. Peter was still a bloody mess, completely helpless beneath the creature that feasted on his flesh. He vaguely remembered the pain, but he felt strangely detached from his body in this place, as if it were no more an essential part of him than the clothes he wore.
He traversed the distance from the emerald green grass to the pool from which the rainbow emanated in one long stride, found the place from which the pale lavender image emanated, and dove in.
Then he was screaming again.
Chapter 30
Peter had never been in so much pain in all his life. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he registered the fact that the shards of glass had reversed their descent, and returned to the roof of the strange structure, where they had been before. He saw movement in his periphery and knew that his dad had sat up to watch in wonder.
With a great effort, Peter moved his good arm and grappled uselessly with the penumbra on top of him, but he knew he was much too weak to stand a chance against it. Unable even to get a grasp, his hand fell limp by the waistband of his trousers, where it came to rest on the outside of one of his pockets. Beneath it, his fingers closed upon a bulky, irregular shape…
The pouch!
The words came through his muddled thoughts with a strange clarity, like a ray of hope. With what felt like an almost heroic surge of strength, Peter managed to move his good arm just enough to plunge his fingers into his pocket, and inside the leather pouch. His fingers felt clumsy and awkward, but with an effort, he eventually managed to clutch the coin inside the pouch between his forefinger and thumb, and slid one over the other feebly. The coin responded to his touch almost instantly, growing hotter than the inside of a furnace. He opened his mouth in a different kind of scream, this time high-pitched and sharp, as the heat scalded the fingerprints off the pads of his fingers.
