“Right. And I give you leave to drug as many other people as you want, so that you can wander around their minds while they sleep. Just stop doing it to me. Okay?”
Eustace’s face fell. “But you do it so well!”
Eira waved him away absently. “How long was I asleep?”
“It’s been a few hours. There was quite a long stretch of nothingness between the funny colours and the fireball of doom. Luckily, I bought a book. Which you burned.”
Eira groaned at the thought of all the things to do that would have filled up the space she had so recently cleared on her desk in the time she’d been away. There was only one thing a leader could do when confronted again with the responsibilities of their position.
“Go get some fireproof clothing, Eustace. Let’s go again.”
What a line that was.
19
Far, far away, where the air was thin, and jagged mountain peaks pierced the sky, a troll stood, leaning heavily against the open window ledge of the ancient, crumbling castle that was, for now, her home. Under the light of a fat, full moon whose light cast long shadows and echoed in her rhinestone eyes, the troll stood silent, listening to the night. Past the wails of the whistling winds that cut through the passes and crevasses of these broken hills, there was very little sound from below, and the troll couldn’t help but be slightly disturbed by this. Down there, where the pass opened out onto a wide plateau, thousands of creatures of the Northlands were stationed, rubbing shoulders in the limited space against mortal enemies from both their own species and others.. and yet it was quiet. Orc tribes who hated and raided each other at any given opportunity were camped within a stone’s throw of their nemeses, yet they were all sitting pretty, running drills and resolutely not killing each other. The coalition of vampires, far more used to their home comforts and preying on the weak in the night, were living quite happily in the shanty town they had built on the far side of the pass, feasting harmlessly off a rotating cycle of blood donors and mingling freely with all of the creatures they considered ‘lesser’ than themselves, which was all of the creatures that existed. The Jabberwocks, whose numbers could not claim to touch that of the orcs but who were none the less fearsome for their scarcity, were less easily satiated, but though they stalked through the pass angrily, resenting the agreements they had made to refrain from attacking their allies, they too kept their word, pacified by the thought of much food to come. Occasionally their shrieks pierced through the night and reached the ears of the listening troll, but though they were shrieks of rage, it was of a malevolence contained.
How had Keithus done it? The troll wondered this often. Even thought she had been at the wizard’s side during his many ventures into the natural domains of the Mirrorworld’s cruellest creatures and characters, there to watch him walk out again not only with his skin but with pledges of allegiance.. she still had trouble believing that he had actually pulled it off. More than once she’d wondered if he hadn’t somehow been using his magic to blinker his subjects, to pull their heartstrings in the directions that he wanted them to hang, but she tried not to think too long on that subject. Either way, for months the wizard had been recruiting the creatures and races of the Northlands, successfully amassing a force of incredible size that threatened to fall apart with every passing moment but somehow never seemed to get around to it. He wasn’t even actively involved; he had left the fairly important minutiae of actually constructing a coherent force to the troll and her subjects, and they’d performed well, given the natural advantage of a tough, bulky frame that even a Jabberwock would think twice about picking a fight with. As leader of the trolls of the Northlands, this troll had somehow found herself general of an army the likes of which had never been seen, living in the wizard’s castle, keeping an impossible peace and overseeing construction work on the magnificent wall of mirrored glass that her people were building at the north edge of the pass, a monstrosity that would, when complete, serve as their passage to a land they would destroy in vengeance.
Well, she would, at least. Most of Keithus’s army thought only of bloodlust, but this troll’s cause was a far more personal one. That, of course, had been how he’d gotten her on side, when he’d come to her early on..
“Queen of trolls,” the wizard said, bowing before her as she sat on her stone throne in the royal cave, and looking remarkably at ease for a man whose life depending on the whims of the monarch whom he now addressed. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Cease formalities, wizard. Why have you come before me?”
“As you wish. I have come, Kimberlite, to tell you a story, and ask something of you. In that order.”
“Really.” In spite of herself, she was piqued. The daring that this man had shown in coming before her was borderline suicidal, given that it had been made clear many years ago that any humans who dared to trespass in her domain would be taken for a prospector, and never seen again. She leaned forward, studying him carefully. Though she made no claims to be an expert in the subtleties that thrived beneath the skin of more squishy beings, she thought that she could see a hint of madness about this one’s eyes, which stood as portals to a vacant depth from which he had evicted his sanity. His demeanour said otherwise; he wore his self-possession like a shroud, not flinching from her granite stare, standing tall even as he was hemmed in by the heavily armoured trolls of her personal escort. Yes, perhaps he was mad, but since he’d come all this way, she could at least humour the antic.
“Very well,” she said, leaning back. “Tell your tale. But be warned; if I am not satisfied, it will not go well for you.”
“Fair enough,” the wizard said, unfazed. “Well then, to prologue.. this story is a tragic tale of star-crossed love.” He cleared his throat. “It is, of course, fairly common knowledge even amongst humans that the upper classes of troll culture are known by the rarity of their gemstone content. Those who have rare pigment protect their lineage fiercely, and none more so than the royal diamond line of the northern trolls, who have rarely taken a match outside of their own in their long history. But though the diamond comes with the royal seat, that is its only obligation; a troll’s love life remains entirely their own, and if a diamond troll were to fall in love with a troll of, shall we say, less shiny stock, then though it would be taboo, it would break no rules.”
“This, then, is the story of young king Diamond, and how he met a woman by the name of Kimberlite. Vivacious, intelligent, and generally quite remarkable, Kimberlite was marred only by her complete absence of rare gems. Yet she would come to hold Diamond, or at least his heart; the two were instantly smitten, in the best traditions of romance, and they married within the year. Kimberlite ascended to the position of queen of all trolls, officially becoming part of the royal family. But though Diamond, a caring and compassionate leader, had an infinite supply of love for his wife, his subjects did not; they initially considered her a usurped to the royal line, a seductive temptress of lowly stock whose corruption of the king might forever taint the precious nature of the royal line.
And yet, over time, these thoughts faded. It was always abundantly clear that the king and queen loved each other very much, and it takes a harder heart than most trolls possess to be opposed to such strong and obvious affection. Over the many peaceful and prosperous decades of Diamond’s rule, opinion thus gently trended in the opposite direction, with the trolls of the Northlands coming to revere their queen as much as they did their king.
“Alas; it could not last, for disaster struck. Fifty years past from this day, prospectors from the city of Portruss, who had heard tales of the diamond troll, came to the Northlands, armed with a troll’s worst nightmare; the pickaxe. Though men of ill repute, they were driven by the thought of unparalleled riches, and made use of mankind’s base cunning to outwit the royal defences and attack king Diamond in his private quarters. The individual might of one troll was not enough to see off a determined group of prospectors, and in d
ue course life was extinguished from the rightful king. They took his body, and were already tearing up the trail on their way home by the time anyone realised anything was amiss.
Upon piecing together what had happened, the queen flew into a terrible rage, and personally led the small army of trolls that set out on the trail of the fleeing prospectors. The men could not outrun a force so driven by rage and despair, and were duly annihilated when the troll force caught up. Alas, their efforts were in vain, for what they found was not Diamond’s corpse, but only his cache of the rare, worthless gems that humans held in such regard. Diamond’s stone form had been broken and shattered, abandoned in pieces along the way, and thus was the rightful king denied a true grave.
Legend has it that Kimberlite took but one diamond of her love’s remains, and returned to the mountains, her rage engulfed by despair. Yet she lived on; childless, she was the end of this royal line, the last hope of trollkind, queen under a mountain of regret. Though her heartbreak would end, and she would continue to be a revered leader of trolls, her dissatisfaction with the paltry vengeance that she had enacted against those who had destroyed her love would only grow, and become a bitter, all-consuming, unconsummated thirst for revenge. Yet she would not leave her mountain; such was her tragedy.”
The wizard spread his hands sarcastically, awaiting applause that he knew would not come. In the silence of the chamber, Kimberlite stared at him, carefully planning her reaction. Hearing the sad story of her life told back to her by, of all things, a human, was a jarring and surreal experience, especially given the detail which he had somehow come by. What possible cause could he have, to taunt the queen of trolls with history when he was of the species that had perpetrated it? Gripping the arms of her throne so tightly that she thought they might crack, she leaned forwards. “You said you would ask something of me, wizard,” she rumbled, her displeasure leaking into her tone. “Well, ask it now, and ask it well, for your life depends on your next words.”
“Oh I will,” the wizard said, fearless still. “It was not my intent to anger you with your own story, Kimberlite, but to demonstrate that we are of a kin. I too have lost a lot, by the hand of the same creatures that ruined you. For as long as I know, the people of Portruss have been tearing their way through the lives of others with no care for the consequences and the destruction they leave behind. I say, no more; I intend to illustrate their folly to them, to take revenge as you have wished to for so long. I ask then, that you join with me; one man alone can do but little, but I intend to build a great army, and shatter Portruss from living memory. For that, I need help. Come out from under your mountain, follow me, and I will promise you all the vengeance that it is in your power to enact. I am targeting the Viaggiatori, but the rest of that city is of no worth to me. Help me, and I will leave them to you.”
The mere memory of Keithus’s words, powered by the spiralling architecture of his rage, sent a shiver down Kimberlite’s spine. She had known then that, for all his madness, this wizard would be true to his word. Whatever had been done to him, it had left him driven, consumed by a desire for revenge, and though his priorities seemed to have evolved more abstractly beyond that in the time since, presumably as a result of his continuing insanity, she did not doubt his intent for Portruss. She had decided right then and there that she would follow him, and that decision had led her here, where she stood steward of an impossible army that would descend upon and destroy Portruss as soon as the great mirror was ready. Her thirst for vengeance had grown alongside the wizard’s madness, beating in tandem with her heart. She would tear people limb from limb until she either felt suitably avenged or ran out of people, and that would be that. Portruss would fall.. and then..
And then what? That was what she kept coming back to, the thing that gave her pause. She had no answer to that question, only the silence of the plateau. Down there, and despite perhaps not having the best of intentions, Keithus has nonetheless managed to break boundaries, settle old grudges, and bring the people of the north together in such a way that had never been seen before. He didn’t seem to give a damn about it, seeing his creation as a means to a single particular bloody end, but the fact remained that, down below, for the first time ever, monster faced down monster and decided not to fight. It was miraculous. It was full of potential. It was not something Kimberlite could ignore, because deep beneath her mountains of vengeance, the sheltered part of her heart that held the memory of King Diamond was screaming. She tried to crush it, and though she did manage to silence it, it always came back. That was the thing about diamonds. Only another diamond could destroy it, and now, there were no more diamonds left.
She shook her great stone head, dismissing the difficult thoughts. Destruction and vengeance, those were the things that mattered. She had come too far to back out now. She would not dare try to change the plan. She looked down again at Keithus’s great army, and now saw only the instruments of annihilation. Yes, the time was at hand. Dia would be avenged. That was all that mattered.
Elsewhere in the night, Marcus was in the progress of waking up with a yell. Startled from the sudden shock of a strange dream in which he had woken to find himself attacked by a large man with a knife, he flailed against the darkness, narrowly avoided cracking his head against the undercarriage of the coach, and lay back, disoriented. After a few moments, his mind settled back into his body, and the confused recollection of his false awakening faded, overwritten by a more physical complaint from his bladder. Groaning sleepily, he rolled out from under the coach, and had staggered to his feet before he realised that something was very wrong.
It was the ground. The ground on which he had been lying, on which he’d still believed himself to be standing, was in fact several metres further down than he’d expected it to be. Were that not problematic enough, it also appeared to be rolling past at a brisk walking pace. Carefully, intent on exploring this unexpected situation to the fullest before freaking out, Marcus leant down and felt at the ground, or rather the absence of ground, upon which he was stood. He met invisible resistance that felt a lot like grass. Were it not for the undeniable counter-evidence of his vision, he could almost believe that he was stood in a mossy field, surrounded – he checked – by the rest of the camp. The coach was parked as he’d last seen it, unconcerned. Around him lay the sleeping forms of Musk, Kendra and the Assassin. Everything was perfectly normal, apart from the part that wasn’t.
Marcus stepped back carefully until he bumped up against the coach, and was relieved when this instance of physical contact with a similarly airborne entity did not dispel the illusion and restore the usual thraldoms of the laws of physics. Gripping tightly to this single solid entity in a world that had just revealed itself to be far less tangible than he’d been led to believe, he caught a glimpse through the window of the figure sleeping inside, and was surprised to see that it was Lucin, not Fervesce. The short man was heavily encumbered with duvets, and sleeping like a baby – that was to say, sucking his thumb, weeping softly and calling out for either his mother or more money. Marcus wasn’t sure which, and though it would undoubtedly have been fascinating to find out, he was at that moment more concerned with the absence of the man who was said to have incredible psychic powers, because it seemed like that might be relevant to the situation at hand.
Gently, gradually, he let go of the coach, and stood in space for a moment. Around him he could hear the faint whistle of the wind, but as he stood he realised that he couldn’t actually feel it on him. He took a few more steps, towards the edge of the camp, and then paused abruptly with one foot in the air as he realised that taking even one more step away from the centre might release him from his charmed scenario and send him plummeting into the patch of gnarly-looking swamp that they were currently floating over. He backpedalled very quickly until he bumped up against the coach again, and stood in frozen horror, trying not to listen to the shrill voice in his mind that was complaining loudly about the sheer impossibility of literally e
verything that was happening.
“Why don’t you climb on up here, son?” asked a quiet, crumbly voice from somewhere above his left ear. Marcus recognised it; it had left a message in his head not so long ago.
“Fervesce? Is that you up there?”
“Indeed it is,” the voice said, from atop the coach. “Come on up, enjoy the view.”
With care, Marcus found a foothold on the side of the vehicle, and pulled himself up. On the roof, he found the old man resting languidly amidst a small mountain of bedding, propped up by what luggage had not been removed. In the light of a little lamp, Marcus saw the man’s eyes turn to him and his face split into a grin. “Hello,” he said.
“You’re awake?” Marcus asked. “I mean.. not to be rude, but..”
“Yes,” Fervesce nodded, “I am awake. I usually sleep a lot during the day – well, I usually sleep a lot if my Talent is going to be needed, but even when it isn’t I much prefer the night. Relaxing.”
“You’re doing... this?” Marcus asked with a hopeless gesture around himself.
“Yes,” Fervesce said. “I do hope it didn’t terrify you too much to wake up in the midst of it.”
“I was alright,” Marcus blatantly obfuscated, “I’ve experienced plenty of crazy lately.”
Fervesce chuckled. “I’m sure you have.. This is a very different place to Earth, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been to Earth?”
“Of course I have,” Fervesce said, “I’m a Viaggiatori.”
“Oh, yeah,” Marcus said, feeling stupid. “Sorry. I thought.. you said it like..”
“Like I know it well?” Fervesce asked. “I do. I am, like you, an earthling. I know,” he added, as Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle at the word, “it amuses me too. I’ve always tried to spread usage of Terran, and sometimes Gaian, but oddly enough my fellows don’t seem to care very much for my more romantic self-descriptions. They tend to just go with immigrant, which I’ve never cared for.”
Mirrorworld Page 25
