Dressed in this world's clothes, John was almost ready to face what he knew would be a difficult day.
Before leaving the second floor, however, John got his wrist watch from where he'd left it on the dresser only two days ago -- by this world's time. After that, crossed the upstairs hall to have another look at himself in the bathroom mirror. A good look.
Yes. Like the last two times he'd returned from Stil-de-grain, he needed a haircut -- the style of the other place longer than the way he wore his hair here.
He'd have to do what he did before: get in the Mazda and hustle across the breadth of Kansas City to a barber shop where he'd be unlikely to be recognized, in that way prevent questions about how his hair had grown so long over just one weekend.
His plans made, John thumped down the stairs, returning to the living room to find Platinia still curled up where he'd left her, her dark hair spilled about her head.
Asleep, she looked like a pretty ... child.
Suddenly, John was lonely. A feeling he'd had since coming to Kansas City last summer. This time, as lonesome as he'd been at the time of his parents accident.
Somehow, looking down at the sleeping Platinia made him feel even more depressed than usual, the girl serving as a reminder of his insularity.
John had another thought. What was he to do with Platinia once she woke up?
John had changed clothes. Something Platinia couldn't do because she had nothing to wear except what she had on.
The responsibilities John had undertaken by bringing Platinia to his world were beginning to dawn on him. He must have been out of his mind in that tower room in Hero castle, to think he was in love with Platinia! To be convinced that the only thing he could do was bring her to this world!
Nothing was quite "right" about the other place, of course. He'd known that. But nothing quite as wrong as dragging the forlorn Platinia home with him.
No help for that now. He had brought her here and he must do his best by her until he could get her back to her own "reality."
First, he'd need to go clothes shopping for Platinia. Buy her dresses ... sweaters ... blouses ... socks and shoes. To say nothing of underwear ............
Damn! Bringing Platinia here was like a boy dragging a piece of meat at the end of a string so that the "lost puppy" would follow him home, kids never thinking of feeding the dog and taking it for "walks."
John looked at his watch. Eight o'clock.
A half-hour would take him to a barber shop south of the river, forty-five minutes for a haircut, and another half-hour to get back. Plenty of time after that to drive to Metro North Mall in time for its ten o'clock opening.
Platinia was asleep. No sense waking her. He'd leave her a note to tell her where he'd gone ....
Not a note.
Platinia couldn't read.
John shook his head. There was no denying that he was stuck with her for now, needing to let time pass to insure Platinia's safety when she "landed" in that tower room in Hero Castle.
There was nothing else to do, then, but wake the girl and tell her where he was going.
An explanation that wasn't going to be easy. Without the "translation magic" of the other world's light -- Platinia knowing but a few words of English -- it would be even more difficult to communicate with the silent girl here in John's world. On the other hand, since Platinia didn't have much of a vocabulary in her own tongue ..........
Standing, sidling between the coffee table and the divan, John bent down to shake Platinia's shoulder, getting a sleepy grunt from the girl. He shook harder, Platinia opening her dark eyes, fluttered them in an effort to focus.
Awake at last, she tried to sit up -- but failed.
Band Sickness. Affecting Platinia more than "heavy gravity" John.
She tried to sit up again, making it this time, that frightened look telling him she'd figured out where she was.
"I've got to leave now," he said as gently as he could. "To get you some clothes."
No response.
"I must leave, but I'll be back after awhile."
"Lea-ve?" She knew the word; was just having trouble making her tongue work.
"To get you some more clothes to wear. Shoes." John pointed. "Do you have a favorite color?"
She shook her head.
"OK. I'll get you something."
"Home," she said in her tiny voice, looking as sad as she was small.
"I'll get you home. But it will be a few days. To make sure you'll be safe there."
She nodded winsomely. Seemed to accept that she must stay in John's world for some time..
First things first. Helping to get the girl on her feet, half-carrying her up the stairs to second, he showed her the bathroom; drew her a warm bath, the girl pulling back in terror when he'd first turned on the water, then seemingly fascinated to see water gush from the spout. He'd explained how to let the water out after she was through. And with a couple of embarrassing demonstrations, got the purpose of the stool across to her. Also the use of toilet paper, people in her world using sponges attached to a stick, the sponge part washed in a bucket of water inside what passed for outhouses. How did you explain an "in house" to a young girl who'd never seen one?
He'd showed her his bedroom. Told her she could go there after her bath and get some more rest. Got his robe for her to wear.
And that was the best he could do before his shopping trip.
First the barber. Followed by a trip to the vet's boarding place to retrieve one highly indignant Persian cat named Cream.
The last task -- clothes shopping for a girl he hardly knew -- the most daunting of all!
* * * * *
Chapter 5
A sound and Platinia was awake. Lying there, she did not know where she was. Only that it must be up-light because she could see the room. The walls a color. Blue.
Walls should be of stone, or of mud and straw, or of wood. She had never seen colored walls ... except in King Yarro's palace in Stil-de-grain. But this was not the palace.
The air was warm but dry. There were smells of ... she did not know the smells.
She was lying on a wide, deep bed. Lying on fine-woven covers. She had slept ... but was ... so tired.
Then, as if a curtain had been pulled back inside her mind, she knew where she was, her heart racing! She was in bed in the other-world house of the Mage, John-Lyon. On the bed, for she had been too tired after washing to get beneath the blankets.
Suddenly, she knew the sound she had heard! It was the closing of the door. She had heard it once before. When the Mage had left her. The same sound could only mean the Mage, John-Lyon had returned!
Platinia's body felt ... chained down.
Her thoughts ... she did not know her thoughts. And that was the most terrifying thing of all!
Trying to move caused her to remember that she had Band Sickness.
As a test, she strained to lift her hand, an unseen weight pushing her hand down again.
The first time she had Band Sickness, she thought she was dying. But she was not. She had learned that Band Sickness, though terrible, did not kill. With time, got better.
As the door sound faded from her sleepy mind, Platinia thought about all the things she did not know. Starting with her childhood -- Platinia picking flowers under the green sky of Malachite. She did have a sharp remembrance of the robed priests of Stil-de-grain taking her away to be the sacrifice of Tenebrae!
Platinia shuddered. What had always been a terror in the night was being chained in the small, dark room in Fulgur's temple. Locked away because she had been chosen to be the sacrifice of Tenebrae, Lord of the dark. She had been made his princess, to be tortured, eventually to be sacrificed to strengthen Fulgur, Lord of light.
It was in that temple room, in the dark, tortured, raped, chained up, that she had learned a secret -- though at that time she did not know the secret's name. That she could use her mind to pick through another's thoughts to strengthen those she wished. If someone in h
er presence was happy, she could make them ... glad. If sad, make them feel more bad. Sometimes, she could make a priest who wished to rape and torture her to choose rape only, the lesser of the agonies.
Such a small defense. But all she had against the terror.
Then, wonder of wonders, the soldiers of King Yarro had come to Fulgur's temple to slaughter all the priests and steal Platinia away! This was because King Yarro suspected she was an etherial -- that was the name for her mind's poor power -- Yarro wishing to control her to make her strengthen his pleasures.
He had also raped her -- by herself -- and with others.
But had not hurt her as much as the priests had hurt her.
Later, also learning of her power, the old Mage of Stil-de-grain, Melcor, had come to Yarro's palace on Xanthin island and stolen her away.
But the Mage had been killed by the falling of a ceiling stone at the time of the coming to her world of John-Lyon.
Materializing in the tower room like a ghost that takes on flesh, finding the golden Mage-Crystal of the newly crushed Melcor, putting on the Crystal, John-Lyon had become the new Mage of Stil-de-grain, John-Lyon now owning Platinia.
Platinia hated men! She hated the priests who'd raped and tortured her! She hated King Yarro, the king hurting her to make her serve him! She hated Melcor who broke her to his well. And she hated John-Lyon! Hated any man who knew she had the power of an etherial!
If she, alone, knew her secret, she would be safe.
Lying there, caught between sleep and wakefulness, Platinia heard another noise.
Soon, John-Lyon would climb the steps. Finding her so weak, would this be the time he raped her?
True, John-Lyon had not hurt her -- yet. But because all men of power had hurt her after learning of her secret, she had tried to kill him many times, each time failing. She had learned he could be hurt, though. She had also learned that, if hurt enough, a Mage could die.
Melcor had died from a falling stone. John-Lyon had almost died when she'd slipped into his room at night to stab him!
Though the young Mage had not died, all said he almost did. Golden had said it. Coluth had said it. Everyone had said that.
No one knew she was the one who stabbed John-Lyon.
She had set other traps for the Mage, but he had escaped.
At last, something had happened to her that had never happened before. Instead of fearing such a powerful Mage, she found she felt ... warm ... and safe when he was in the room. Felt sad and cold when he was not. She did not understand these feelings and she did not understand them now. She had never had such feelings for a man. Never! Men were dangerous. Men hurt her to make her do any evil thing they wished!
Was this because she felt that John-Lyon did not know her secret after all, that she was an etherial; that she could make his pleasures strong?
Thinking and thinking, she could not take the chance that John-Lyon did not know her secret, making him dangerous enough for her to kill ... except she no longer wished to kill him.
At the last, John-Lyon losing his golden Crystal, the old Mage, Pfnaravin, had locked John-Lyon in a strong iron cage.
Pfnaravin was an old and powerful Mage who knew many things. For instance, he knew that Zwicia had Crystal power.
Did Pfnaravin know Platinia was an etherial? If so, she was in terrible danger! She could not have two Mages controlling her. The only safe thing to do was kill them both!
Since John-Lyon was in the cage -- helpless without his Crystal -- it was best that she kill him when she could, Platinia bringing a cutting knife from the kitchen to stab the Mage through the iron bars of his cage. But, slipping up in the dark to do that, she had seen Coluth and his men take John-Lyon from the cage.
Then, the men were running, John-Lyon leading, one fire stone torch to show the way. Running to escape Pfnaravin's soldiers.
Platinia knew where the Mage would go. He would go to the tower room. He would go there so he could return to his own world -- the frightening world where she was now!
Knowing the castle better than John-Lyon, she had reached the tower room before he and the other men. Hiding in the shadows, she had seen the young Mage -- who, without his magic Crystal, was a Mage no longer -- order the men to block the hallway. Had seen the sailors hook a rope through the roof so that all could climb.
Now that she was closer, she recognized the men. One was Golden. Another was Coluth, captain of the Roamer, now the admiral. Others were Coluth's sailors from his ship.
After the rest had climbed the rope, John-Lyon had gone to the secret place within the wall. Had taken something out. A strange something Platinia had never seen.
Whatever it was the Mage had taken out, this was her time to kill John-Lyon. Though he was leaving, he could come back to hurt her any time he liked. Even without his golden Crystal, he had great power!
Slipping from the shadows, holding the knife behind her, John-Lyon was very much surprised to find her there, saying he had not seen her in the room's shadows. While he spoke, she was wondering how she could stab her knife into his body so that he would die.
At last, thinking of a way to do that, she had thrown herself in the Mage's arms, in turn, circling him with her arms, ready to plunge the knife into his back when ....
When ... searching in the Mage's mind ... she could tell that the Mage ... cared ... for her. As she had come to ... care ... for him. Surely, if he cared for her, he would not harm her. Those were her thoughts. (To make certain of his caring, she had then strengthened this caring in his mind.)
It was then that John-Lyon kissed her, the kiss making her ... dizzy. It was as if the Mage had reached into her mind to strengthen her caring for the Mage.
Platinia had never felt such a thing. Such a ... hunger ... for the Mage!
After that, she had thought the Mage would carry her up the rope -- the Mage stronger than any other man -- so they could escape from Pfnaravin like the rest. But John-Lyon did not do that. Instead, he talked of the thing he had taken from the secret hiding place. The ... machine. And before Platinia could quiet her mind to think, he was twisting and twisting the machine's ... handle ... at the same time, having Platinia wrap her arms around his waist.
Then she had felt it. The transformation fluid. Running up her arms. Entering her head so that her hair stood on end.
There was a crack! And she found herself lying in silence in that small space, unable to move -- the Mage beside her.
They were in the Mage's frightening world! A world of Band Sickness!
The great weight of her body pinning her to the floor, she was afraid again, like she used to be! Afraid of the power of John-Lyon in his own world! For here, his power was greater; her mind power, weaker.
Exiting the Mage-hole, though she was as tired as death, she had tried to use her etherial power to pick through the Mage's mind. To strengthen those thoughts of ... caring.
But could not do it!
In this foreign world ... there was no ... magic.
Now, she heard footsteps! On the stairs! The Mage was coming!
Should she pretend to be asleep? Would it matter if she could fool him into believing that she was?
She was so weak. Could hardly move. But must be ready. She must not show how weak she had become.
With a great effort, she sat up. By using both arms, dragged each leg over the side of the bed, sitting there, her feet too short to touch the floor. Trembling, she pulled her robe around her, dirty as it was. For she had nothing else to wear.
Had she understood the Mage to say he would bring her another robe? She was not sure.
"You're awake."
He had come though the door, already recovered from Band Sickness. The tall young Mage; his smile gentle on his lips; his strange green eyes flashing through her body like arrows in the heart!
She nodded. A great difficulty.
"I think you'll like what I ... you. Some .... And ...."
She was not understanding everything. Only some
words. Little words.
In the Mage's arms were ... bundles wrapped in cloth ... yet not cloth, the non-cloth thin and smooth like she had never seen.
John-Lyon, tearing the cloth, was taking ... things ... from the bundle, things of cloth she did not understand. Cloth in bright colors. Pretty ... like flutterbys.
"First, you put on these," he said, in words small enough for her to understand them all.
Looking up at him, he looked ... she did not know how he looked. He looked ... frightened? Like after a great ... confusion.
"After that, you slip on this ...."
He was holding up what looked like the bottom of a robe.
"And this goes on top."
He took out another piece of cloth.
"I also got you some ...."
By this time, he had put down the cloth and taken out something else.
Yes! She knew what they were. Shoes.
She had been right about the Mage saying he would get her robes to wear, these ... clothes ... this world's robes, strange though they were.
Platinia could breathe again. Could rest her mind. For the Mage had not come to torture her or even rape her. At least, not now.
The trouble of the moment was to understand about the robe-parts.
Later, she would have time to do something to be safe. What, she did not know.
* * * * *
Chapter 6
Pushing his way through student crowded halls after his last class of that Tuesday morning -- the second day after his Band Sickness return -- John was exhausted. All he felt like doing was slipping into his cubical of an office and collapsing, John sharing the narrow space with Paul.
Paul Hamilton. A big voiced, bear of a man. Department chairman to the quintet of Social Scientists featuring Hamilton, Lyon, and the forgettables.
Trying not to stagger down the hall, John keyed himself into the office and slumped into his dark-stained swivel chair.
Ellen Under The Stairs Page 3
