by Kyle Belote
Anguish washed through her, realizing the veracity of his statements. Though a monster, psychotic, his honesty made him more forthright than Judas had ever been. Her master was supposed to protect her, a solemn vow when he pulled her into this world, and he failed.
Utterly.
“How many times?” her shaky whisper shattered the brittle silence. The rest of the sentence went unvoiced. Rolling to her back, she scrutinized Judas, recognizing it pained him to tell her how many times she died.
“Thirty-eight times,” he finally said. The fire hissed in the stretching silence between them. “I’ve never heard of anyone going that many times without succumbing to madness. I died eleven times before I figured it out. But that was a long time ago…”
“You possessed training.” A child commanded more discipline than her; she was just beginning to tap into her abilities. There was so much she didn’t know, and Judas was less than forthcoming with instruction. Julie saw guilt dance across his face, his azure eyes full of sorrow and compassion.
“You don’t realize how sorry I am,” he said. “It is my fault for dragging you through the Corridor. We should have circumvented it or, at least, let me take the lead. I should have protected you!” he said, his eyes watering.
“Yes, you should have. But you didn’t!” she snapped, her dander rising. “Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”
Ire flashed in his eyes at her cursing, but he let it go. She had the right to be angry and mentioning it would only make it worse. “As helpless as you,” he countered softly. “While you were detained, Ms. Pleasure ensnared me.”
Julie’s face paled. “There are two of them?”
“She made me watch your torture,” he explained, his voice bitter. “The hardest thing I have ever done and I never want to do it again. You have no idea the unfathomable remorse I harbor for not being there. I can never forgive myself.”
Judas failed her. He had said before the Corridor remained silent to him, having mastered its cruelties. Had that been a lie? An idle boast? Or did he tell the truth, his helplessness equivalent to hers? With a tender stretch, she called her essence. Her magic responded instantly, and she reached out, sensing Judas emotions. He spoke the truth; she discerned his guilt beyond all doubt, but legitimacy did not sway the fact that he jeopardized her wellbeing. Beneath his sorrow, almost undetectable, interred doubt. Julie couldn’t decipher the focus of his dubiety. Incertitude aside, she found his failure unforgivable.
“Why?”
“Why what?” he asked, unable to look her in the eye.
“Why rescue me at all or let it go on for so long?” She shot to her feet, bellowing. “Why did he promise to set me free that last time?” Anger gushed from her, explosive, powerful. A surge of her essence crackled. “I could have gone insane from what he did to me! Have you no remorse? Have you no heart!” Her head swam, the intoxicating effects of the magic nearly made her sway.
The wrath made her feel unstoppable, therapeutic, as it had in the dungeon.
“You didn’t know, did you?” he muttered. “You couldn’t remember what I told you.” His eyes moved to Julie’s shaking hands, watching her fight for control.
Her chest heaved. “What are you talking about?”
He looked her in the eye. “I told you the Corridor would test you in ways you never thought possible. I warned you, blatantly, but you didn’t remember. I hoped that after a few times, you would remember.” He shook his head in sorrow, burying his face in his hands. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she yelled. “I don’t give a shit that you are sorry; sorry doesn’t help me. What about the rods jammed into my fingers? The skin flayed from my arms? I will live with those images for the rest of my life! You warned me? Blatantly? Obviously, it wasn’t enough because I didn’t get it!”
Her head hurt, a dull ache rising with each heart beat into a pulsing throb. The pain spread from her temples and came to rest behind her eyes.
“The warning I gave you,” Judas intoned faintly. “You asked if there was anything that could destroy you and I said, ‘No, it cannot destroy your body; but if you let it get in your mind, you’ll shatter like glass. Magic is in the power of the mind as is this place.’ I also said, ‘The most important advice I could give you is to believe what your soul tells you about this place, not your eyes. This place is all about the power of your mind and your ability to see through the perceived realities and lies.’ I figured you would see through the perceived reality.”
“That’s just asinine!” she screamed. Despite her hunger and her coursing rage, mental and physical exhaustion overcame her. Even though her displeasure focused on Judas, she noticed his honesty. He didn’t hold anything back. Mr. Pleasure’s proverb returned, even though hurt by her master’s failure, it was insubstantial to what she suffered.
Leaving supper and the argument behind, she returned to her blankets, curling up with her back to Judas and the fire. With her face away, she let the silent tears come, both of sorrow and relief. Her entire journey shook the fragile faith she placed in her master, rending whatever bond they tried to establish.
She desperately yearned to belong, a part of something greater than herself. Judas opened the door of possibilities, attempted to guide and protect her, the later proved counterproductive, least of which almost fatal. A wedge manifested in their relationship. She thought she had found purpose with him, but now she saw her flawed belief. She still loved aspects of him, his genteel nature, his gentle, guiding hand. Perhaps love was too strong of a word. But he filled the role of a father because gods only knew what happened to her real parents. Is it possible to care for someone and not trust them? She distinguished the difference between loving someone and hating what they do. Again, in silence, she envied his children. Despite his faults, he was a great man, her cornerstone, mentor, friend.
Her master.
A master’s role delicately balanced being a guide through murky, untested waters, and as a protector against enemies that lurked beyond her vision. He failed what it meant to be a master, leaving her defenseless. Julie lacked power and the cognitive faculties to deal with the abhorrent tribulations here. What lay beyond this tiny strip of land straddling the Abyss? What new horror would rise from the darkness?
Fatigue overcame her, and she courted sleep’s embrace.
Even in her dreams, she couldn’t escape. Judas’ inflicted pain did not compare to Mr. Pleasure, but the wound Judas levied rent her soul. The fault did not rest with her, and the blame did not lean solely on Judas’ shoulders, but she wanted someone to blame, and he proved the easiest scapegoat. The voice hiding in the shadows of her mind blamed Judas, its lambasting brontide in her dreams. The stronger the voice spoke, the more it whittled away her mental barriers. The voice poised and doubt strangulated her, inescapable.
I don’t belong here. I am not the one prophesied. Why can’t anyone see it but me?
But Julie couldn’t flee her misgivings or the voice even in her dreams. As she slept, the tenebrous voice soothed her with oily words, and Mr. Pleasure face plagued her mind, his leering smile hovering close.
Sunrise brought relief, liberated from sneers of guilty pleasures. Her head throbbed from dehydration. The sun burned strangely bright, and the fire turned to fine ashes. Fresh, light dew graced the dried earth.
Julie rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Though clothed in fresh robes, the early morning chill warned her to remain in her blankets. Her breath formed a noticeable wisp. She shook her head, her hair splaying about her shoulders then stifled the yawn as she stood. Judas normally had breakfast prepared, his cheerful voice agitating her, but only silence prevailed. He still slumbered; Judas always rose before her.
She traipsed past the fire pit and nudged him. “Judas,” she said quietly. He did not stir. “Judas!” she said a little louder, this time shaking him. In the stillness, she eyed him for a moment and realized his chest did not rise. “JUDAS!”
She rolled him on his back, his azure eyes open and distant, cloudy and veiled. He stared into the world beyond, the Underworld. His pale skin was cold to the touch. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew the truth.
All her repressed emotions crashed against her, a tidal wave breaching the shore. She sobbed heavily. Knowing that he encroached the autumn years of his life, she hadn’t realized his time was so near. Hot, glistening trails marred her face, cutting rivulets of dirt and dust, droplets smattering her hands and splashing her dead master’s face. She hugged his chest as if their lives intertwined the span of her years, domesticated, familial. She did not want to believe.
How could this happen? she thought. He was fine last night. What am I going to do now? I have no guide! I’m not ready.
She wondered if guilt had killed him in his sleep. She stayed there for another minute or an eternity, she couldn’t tell which. What did it matter? How long she stayed, she could never recall.
A hand clutched her shoulder, jarring her out of revery, and for a moment she thought Mr. Pleasure had come for her again, that it was all a test. In a panic, she spun, flinging the arm off her shoulder, drawing her wand, ready to eviscerate. She pointed her wand at the intruder, only to see … the same man who also lay on the ground.
“Get up, child.” his stern, urgent voice commanded.
“Who are … What … How–?”
“I said get up!” he thundered, his hands shaking her body.
Her eyes snapped open and the nightmare faded.
***
Chapter 35 : Out Of The Corridor
Judas curled up in his blankets. Julie had been asleep for at least an hour. She stirred fitfully. Her dreams haunted, and would be for some time to come. When he was not worrying about her, his thoughts returned to Ms. Pleasure’s dungeon. He swallowed hard.
Julie’s sharp anger had been biting, her words scathing, and her gaze vehement. She utterly detested him, and he couldn’t blame her. He wished it wasn’t so but wishes never manifested. Julie’s life had been in mortal peril more times than he cared to admit, nearly dying minutes after they met, but to be fair, they were hunting him, not her. Someone attempted her life in Dlad City, leaving her for dead. And now the Corridor tried to claim her sanity which was just as permanent as death.
The warlock wanted to comfort her, but he realized that would only drive a wider rift between them. She needed her angst, the only thing she could control. There were occasions when she ranted that Judas took offense to, but he bit back his retorts as to not impair reconciliation between them.
His guilt for dragging her through the Corridor burrowed deep, festering. He should have rendered more protection and guidance. She was an infant in magical terms, couldn’t defend herself or discern any part of this enchanting world. The grip of unbelievable remorse pawed him, chastising himself for risking her well-being. If anything happened to her, especially mentally, he could never forgive himself. The thought of him being responsible for her madness revolted him if dementia ever took root.
Setting his role of master aside, Judas tried to empathize, as a parent. He remembered fond fantasies about watching his child sleep at night, worrying that nothing harrowing befell them, but never got the chance. He experienced the emotive punch to the gut as he slipped into those shoes once again, pretending for a brief moment that Julie was his daughter. The blame and dishonor intensified. No amount of penitence would ever be enough.
He felt sickened by his actions or lack thereof.
Inexcusable.
Judas, overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions, fervently hoped the mental wounds would heal with time and distance; it was too early to tell. She endured severities at Mr. Pleasure’s hands, scarred for the rest of her life. Eventually, slumber attended the aggrieved warlock.
He awoke to crushing despair, his worst suspicion taking shape. The malevolent glee vibrating through his body was not his own. Xilor was nigh to completing the task he languished to finish. Unfortunately, the Corridor distorted time, and Judas sensed either the aftermath of Xilor’s achievement or a premonition of imminent fruition.
He bolted upright, flinging his blanket aside. Without the aid of his wand, he called upon his essence, the camp tucking neatly away on its own. Hurried steps carried him to Julie’s side, but he faltered as he neared. Brows knitted as he scrutinized her. She spoke in her visiting nightmare. Curiosity nagged at him. He gently stretched out, caressing her subconsciousness, much like he did when she arrived.
What he saw turned his stomach. She faced another trial. The effects went beyond her waking mind and attacked her in a subconscious state. Judas, unsure how long she experienced the barrage, shook her.
“Get up, child!”
His vision swam, seeing her corporeal form and the phantasm simultaneously. She floundered, wanting to stay in the delusion, enduring the torture.
“I said get up!” he shouted, shaking her.
Her eyes snapped open, her hands holding her forehead. The link between them remained a few heartbeats longer before fading and the sudden pain she suffered echoed through him, a sharp stab through his forehead. He eased the anguish with the aid of his conjury and soothed Julie’s away.
“What’s going on?” she said, groggily. “You died…”
“Never mind that,” he said urgently. “We must leave, now!” Tension riddled his posture.
“What’s going on?”
“The Corridor is affecting you while you slept; it is no longer safe for you to remain. I interrupted whatever it was attempting to do. We must leave now; something is wrong. Time is against us, and we must make one more stop before our destination.”
“How do you know something is wrong? How are we getting out of here?” She wiped tears away from her face.
“The place is many things,” he began, choosing his words carefully but delivering them in a rush. “Two parts of a whole, a testing ground and also a focal point. When something of great magnitude happens in the world, it may not be perceived by those that are close by, but here, strong surges reverberate within the Corridor. Though time bends differently for us here than those on the outside, something is happening now, as we speak, or may have already happened or soon will. Whichever the case, it is throwing the chaotic harmony of the Corridor out of consistency with itself. Over time, it will reach a state of tranquility, but for now, the instability isn’t tenable. We need to leave.”
“I don’t understand.” Julie shook her head.
“Think of it this way: the world is a pond, and a pebble dropped in causes ripples hardly noticed by a duck floating nearby. Inside the Corridor, they are perceived as massive waves, and they can destroy things in its path, namely us. As far as us getting out, do you remember me telling you that magic is all about the power of the mind?”
She nodded.
“That’s how we get out. You are supposed to achieve your passage out on your own, in your own time, but celerity is required. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good.” He slung his pack on his back and Julie mirrored him. “I am overriding this place’s hold over you. I want to tell you how to gain the achievement of getting out, but it’s best if you learned yourself. In time, you will see a repeating relationship between your tests and the key to success,” Judas promised.
She shook her head. “I have no intention of returning!”
Judas snatched up her arm and began walking away from the camp. “You will have to ultimately, whether you plan to or not.”
The familiar cold tingle of teleportation washed over both of them, but they did not teleport. The air shimmered, shook noticeably, fighting against the warlock’s conjury and intent. After a few moments, Judas broke through and stepped forward, still herding Julie by the arm. The oppressive presence faded away, and a foreign landscape greeted the pair.
“We must be away,” he intoned. “We must hurry to the Swamp of Sorrow and then to Wizard’s Pass. Something terri
ble is amiss, I fear.”
Taking her hand, the cool effects and fog of teleportation settled over them. In a blink of an eye, they were moving once again–faster than thought.
***
Chapter 36 : Gryzlaud Palace
A nondescript pine box floated in the air, mired by grime and dirt, stained by its interment. Sidjuous’ flowing locks were matted with sweat, his supercilious face flushed as he marched towards the mirror, the box preceding him like a vanguard. He muttered an incantation and the box settled on the floor.
“So you have returned,” Xilor intoned, a touch of amusement entered his voice. Sidjuous’ face faltered, having expected a gush of encomium.
The Betrayer stepped away from the mirror, sliding back and out of view, his blue eyes watching Sidjuous with indifference. He did not dislike the man, but he had no cause to call him a friend. Sidjuous was the least of his worries.
“I dispatched the trolls who toiled there, Master,” Sid said with a flourishing bow.
To this, the mirror said nothing. The arrival of Xilor’s other apprentice in the commodious room made it seem all the more confining, restrictive. The Betrayer kept quiet, hoping to keep Xilor’s scrutiny at bay.
“Open it,” the eyes commanded.
Sidjuous stretched out his hand, summoning his essence in silence, in the hopes of calling forth his power without incantation. Nearly all Xilor’s apprentices were adept at Rumigul; only one far exceeded all others: Krurik. Even the Betrayer could manage some small acts without incantation or wand, but the current task far exceeded his abilities. The same could be said of Sidjuous now. Upon failure, Sid pulled out his wand and muttered the incantation.
