Kip & Shadow

by David Pietrandrea

  “It’s mercury,” Kip whispered. “Pure mercury encased in the metal.”

  Shadow studied it, watching the gray metal flow with its alien motion as it slithered into the flames, finding the bedrock below before it evaporated. Then something else was born.

  A delicate pinpoint of light rose from the degraded metal, no more than a whisper. It bobbed lazily upwards floating between Kip and Shadow, winking like a star.

  “It’s the anima of mercury. The animating principle of it. It’s been released.”

  It was Shadow’s turn to whisper. “Catch it, Kip. Catch it.”

  Kip reached into his bag and pulled out an empty vial. He brought his hands up like he was chasing a firefly, cupping them around the small light. Gently letting it find its own way, he nudged it towards the open mouth of the vial. It filled the glass vessel with its light, expanding into its new home as Kip quickly corked the top.

  The two marveled at the small thing and knew it held some meaning. Surely it would be revealed to them. As his friend watched, Kip thought he saw a sliver of purple cut across the blue of his eye again. It moved so quickly he wondered if he’d even seen it.

  Rather than putting the vial back in his bag, Kip tucked it into his pocket. He was met with a splinter of pain as his palm brushed against a sharp object. Carefully he pulled it out. It was the shard of Sulfur Glass he’d hurriedly stowed there.

  Kip turned it in his hand, ignoring the tear of blood that dripped to the ground. The glass was an inert black surface. It caught the light in the tunnel with its oily sheen.

  He held it up to his eye, peering into an ebony mirror. Maybe it would show him an echo of the world he’d come from, or the final sight before it had shattered, the torment of Lord Blackmoor over the well.

  At first there was nothing. It was like looking through a darkened window, trying to spy the abandoned interior inside. Slowly, images began to gather. They knitted together from strands of light.

  See now, the world you left behind.

  And he did see. The vision came to him, unfurling black smoke that danced and slithered into shape.

  He was in his well, only moving upwards instead of down. He sped out of it, past his laboratory, through the hearth, pulling back to a familiar world. The tower of Alchemy House appeared and then the image sped outwards, showing the street corner where it sat, cloaked in darkness. It looked decrepit, robbed of something that had been there before.

  Then Kip saw the branches pushing outwards, escaping from every shingle and windowpane. They cracked the sidewalk as they were birthed from his basement and laboratory. The shadow of trees were cast over everything, twisted limbs that cracked through paving stones, and snaked around lampposts, choking out their light. He imagined the well bubbling like a cauldron, brewing up the ashen limbs that now groped like fingers, always searching.

  But what were they searching for?

  There was a sound like a wind moving through an open door, and Kip felt the chill that came with it.

  “Tell me what you see, boy,” a voice said in the darkness.

  Kip jumped to his feet and spun around to face it.

  Two red glints appeared across the chasm of the mine. They bobbed like fireflies as the figure walked forward. Kip didn’t need to see who it was, the voice was forever imprinted into his mind; Lord Francis Blackmoor.

  “Is that the world now, the one spied through your glass? Or is this the real one? One of them is a dream, boy.”

  “You’re still limping on, Blackmoor?”

  Is there a smile beneath the red eyes?

  “I left last night, before the tolling of that accursed bell. I crept through the forest while it slept. Anything to get away from Vorax and his Shadows. Whatever he did to me, it continues. This place is feeding on me. Why are you untouched by it?”

  The magician waved his hand, not wanting an answer.

  “No matter.”

  His voice was filtered through the magic, warping it into an inhuman sound. The light from the mine shone on his face now, highlighting the deep wrinkles and wasting that Vorax had left behind.

  “Do you like my handiwork, Master Kip?” he said, gesturing to the cavern below. It reacted to his presence, turning a deep red. “I mined the depths looking for answers, laying open the flesh of the Pale World. I should have known you’d come along.

  “You move from one dark place to the next, don’t you? Crawling on your belly back to your basement, or this approximation. Anything to slink back to safety.”

  His red eyes pulsed as he spoke, the light growing stronger.

  “You’re a murderer. Who cares what you think,” Kip said. “I ought to kill you right now.”

  The magician laughed at that, far too amused.

  “From all the way over there?”

  The magician stretched his hands out, palms up, his fingers curled into claws. The mine began to close, thrashing with light as it filled in. Sparks shot up from the depths, bouncing off stone and leaving comet tails of color. A bridge formed between them, the stone turning to a dead gray again. The last bit of the cavern closed around them with the finality of a slammed door. They were in the darkness again, except for Blackmoor’s glowing red eyes.

  “You think you could contend with me? Fairfield and Britten might have a different opinion. All their knowledge and experience couldn’t save them. It’s one thing to have learned, and quite another to have practiced. A book is a weak rebuttal to a knife.

  “Vorax tasked us with finding the Soul of All Things, each in our own manner. So work your little parlor tricks, boy. I have other designs on this place.”

  The red blazed.

  “Designs that don’t include you.”

  Blackmoor thrust a fist out and hammered the wall to his right. A grinding sound came from where his knuckles met the stone and he began to recite an incantation, his breathy mumbling echoing in the closeness of the tunnel.

  Shadow ran between Kip’s legs, his shape rippling in the darkness, and charged towards Blackmoor. The magician didn’t move. He didn’t see the world around him.

  Shadow jumped, his clawed fingers stretching towards his prey, a black mass roiling around him.

  A column of stone punched out from the wall and knocked Shadow off balance. He hit the opposite side of the tunnel with a thud and slid down the wall. Shards of stone crisscrossed in front of Blackmoor, dilating to a narrow opening, leaving only his laughing face exposed. He’d made a wall between them. Kip’s side was in constant motion, the stone rippling like a living thing. Fissures formed under Kip’s feet as some tectonic shift occurred.

  The tunnel closed around Kip and Shadow as Blackmoor watched.

  “Buried alive,” he said, smiling. “Can you die in the Pale World, or will you be entombed here?”

  The barrier of stone he was behind closed completely, his red eyes and trailing laughter the last thing to disappear.

  Kip had no time to think. He shuffled through his bag, his mind racing but finding no answers. A column of stone punched down from the ceiling and he darted out of the way, a hair’s breadth from having his head caved in.

  The only light was the soft glow of Shadow’s eyes. He’d scampered back to Kip’s feet.

  “What do we do?” his friend asked.

  Kip didn’t know. How could he possibly know.

  A wall of stone hit has back and slid him forward just as the opposite wall moved towards them.

  Shadow expanded again, darting around the shrinking cavern as he tried to push back against it.

  With a sudden crack beneath their feet, Kip felt the rush of something cold. Beyond cold, it was nearly frozen. Icy water rushed over his feet and quickly climbed to his ankles. He reached down and dipped his finger in the liquid and then brought it to his tongue.

  Salt water.

  A mad hope overtook him.

  Kip shuffled through his bag in the dark, the water now at his thighs.

  “I need to call the water forward. I need t
o strengthen it,” he said.

  Shadow seemed less convinced.

  “The water seems pretty strong already.”

  Not strong enough.

  A mason jar brushed against his searching hand and he gripped it, feeling the familiar edges. Pulling it out, he removed the cap, as a strong and familiar odor hit him. There was no time for measurements or caution. He tilted the jar, spilling the contents into his hand and then dusted the mixture around him in a circle.

  A flare of blue light moved outward, like a ripple from a stone dropped in still water. The whirlpool around them exploded with a new force, spinning them in their ever-shrinking cavern. Kip put his hands up and pushed back against the lowering ceiling as the water reached his neck.

  The strengthened water punched a hole in the rock below with another loud crack. The water level began to drop, tugging at them as it tried to pull them with it. Kip reached into his bag again, finding the pockets sewn into the walls of the bag, and found what he was looking for.

  It was a small hardened ball, no bigger than a marble. Solidified oxygen.

  Kip shouted to Shadow over the tumult.

  “Do you need oxygen to live?”

  “Nah!” his friend replied, as if he’d been offered nothing more than a cup of tea.

  “Okay!”

  Kip tucked his arms into the loops of his bag, securing it onto his back, then popped the ball into his mouth. As soon as it hit his saliva it began to fizz, the bubbles racing across his tongue and down his throat, some flying up his nose.

  “Let’s go!” he said, his voice a bubbling distortion.

  The water tugged at him furiously, the larger hole creating a vortex that wanted to drag him under. Letting go of the rocks that had nearly encased him, he let the water take him down.

  Kip was thrown into a frigid world of pitch black. The water rushed into his ears and stung his skin as it battered him, spinning him in circles until he lost all direction. He heard the muffled sound of the tunnel’s final collapse above and felt a wave of bubbles wash over him as the cavern expelled its final breath.

  In a panic, he looked for any sign of Shadow and then spotted his orb-eyes, bouncing like two jellyfish in the dark. They came closer. A tiny pawed hand tugged at Kip’s sleeve. Shadow had picked a direction and who was Kip to argue? Salt water meant the sea, and if the sea had gotten in, there would have to be a way for it to get out.

  A trail of fizzing bubbles streamed from Kip’s mouth and nose as he kicked forward, his eyes on Shadow.

  He didn’t dare look down; didn’t dare contemplate the open space below and what might be in it. Giant creatures of the deep sea filled his mind, their needle teeth and dead eyes coming towards him, their patience as they waited for new prey.

  Sea monsters to attack Enos’s bottled ships.

  Kip swam forward, his mind on his arms and kicking legs.

  How long would solidified oxygen last? He couldn’t remember how long it had bubbled and boiled in his experiments, always so safe and controlled. It had never had a living thing sucking at it for life.

  The current that had pushed into the cavern now looped around and moved in the opposite direction, an inhale turning into an exhale. They followed the breath, all feeling leaving Kip’s limbs. His bag scrapped along the rocky ceiling above him and he imagined he could still hear the rumble of collapsing stone as Blackmoor’s magic filled in the tunnel.

  The oxygen ball had shrunken to the smallest tablet as it bounced around inside his mouth. The bubbles were coming in starts and fits now. Soon it would be used up.

  Shadow swam ahead, slowly expanding the distance between them.

  Then it appeared, not a monster or leviathan, but the outline of Enos. He floated ahead of Kip, untouched by the water as he occupied some different space. Kip could see his pale sad eyes, still not looking at him, never making contact. He wanted to scream at him, to demand his attention, but all he did was expel more oxygen, the last bits of the tablet turning to a paste in his mouth.

  He lurched forward, feeling the oxygen evaporate.

  He swam through Enos, a darker shade in the darkness. His oxygen-starved brain offered many thoughts, all presented in swirl. He could stay right here, wrapped in Enos’s skin. Maybe he would become a part of him, here in this pitch black world.

  We could follow this tide to the floating library of Antilla.

  Small hands pushed against Kip’s back and propelled him forward. Were they approaching sunlight or was it the panicked rush of his brain, winding down? His head throbbed now as if he could feel every bit of blood pumping through it.

  Even now he didn’t want to leave Enos.

  He heard Shadow’s watery voice in his ear.

  “Hold on, Kip.”

  Hold on.

  14

  Kip’s hands shook, but Enos’s stayed steady.

  Enos worked quickly, flipping the black tie back and forth, looping and threading it, his arms around Kip.

  It was Kip’s Initiation Day, the time to stand in front of all his peers and be recognized.

  Or be rejected.

  Enos turned Kip’s white pressed-collar up and then folded it back down with sharp creases.

  What had they talked about?

  Are you nervous?

  Yes. I hate how nervous I am. I’m ready, Enos. I’ve prepared for this moment for five years.

  That’s why you’re nervous. Pretend it’s just a spontaneous event you’re going to, unplanned.

  Yes, we decided to go at the last minute. We’re choosing to go.

  Exactly.

  And we’re the youngest people there. We’re the bright young things.

  Of course we are.

  The clock in the parlor chimed. It was time to go. They’d take a hansom to Brixton and then on to Academy Tower. They’d talk to magicians and alchemists from all over the world. Then Kip would stand in front of them all to be judged. He’d wear a mask of inoffensive politeness, trying his best to dazzle and impress. Would it be enough?

  It will be enough.

  Yes?

  Yes, because you’ll be there and I’ll be there. That’s enough. It’s like swimming, you never forget.

  But Kip hated swimming.

  The water was so cold.

  There was a still pool at the base of a mountain range. It was like a sheet of glass, unbroken, reflecting the sloping rocks above and the gray sky beyond. Small bubbles started roiling the surface, sending ripples across the water to lap against dark rocks.

  Then an explosion of water.

  Kip shot to the surface and sucked in air. It burned his lungs like fire as he tried to inhale each gulping breath, barely pausing to exhale. Shadow surfaced next to him, his body nearly invisible in the water. He circled his friend and then helped him to the water’s edge.

  They both rested there, their eyes dazzled by the light.

  “Thank you, Shadow,” Kip said, still short of breath.

  Shadow responded with a firm smack on his back, helpfully trying to expel more water.

  Kip pulled himself up and sat on the bank. He looked back up at the mountain range. It plummeted down to the pool so suddenly that it looked unnatural.

  They must have passed directly through the mountain. He shuddered to think of all that earth and stone above them.

  Kip stood and looked for the horizon. There was a shallow stream that ran from the pool and snaked over the ground. They followed it.

  The shapes of seagulls moved over head, gliding in wide circles. There was no form to them, nothing more than a shadow against a cloudy sky. Any sound they made was a distant echo.

  They came over a rise, leaving the stream as it burrowed beneath a rocky hill, going where they couldn’t follow.

  They looked down on a flat landscape, nearly monochromatic. Kip thought he was looking at a desert, but then saw a sweep of black sand rushing towards gray water.

  They had a reached an ocean, if something with no tides could be called an ocean
. It was a vast plane of still water.

  Kip had read that the horizon disappeared after twelve miles, but this world again defied logic. There was no drop-off to the ocean, it simply continued.

  Shadow ran forward to splash in the water, his small paws leaving scattershot footprints in the sand. He bounded into the water with a dull splash then, screeching, ran back out.

  “Cold!” he yelped.

  Kip suddenly wanted to feel the sand between his toes. He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, then walked forward onto the black sand. His pale toes sank into it as a chill ran through his body.

  He tied his shoes together by their laces and then slung them over his shoulder. With one hand cupped over his brow, he searched the beach, looking for any signs of life, any clue as to where their path was leading them.

  Squinting into the distance, he saw a shape through the haze. A hulking black-gray thing on the shoreline. With no other point on the horizon, they walked towards it.

  As they moved closer, the black shape revealed itself in the fog. It was the remnant of a shipwreck, a mast and sail sinking below the surface. The tattered canvas waved like semaphore signals. The hull was spread wide like a broken ribcage, a hole where organs should have been. Water moved in and out of the cavern.

  Kip spotted a faint hint of tracks in the sand. He followed them up the beach. They seemed tenuous, like everything else in the Pale World. Everything struggled to be real.

  Two shapes huddled together on the beach. From a distance, it looked like more wreckage from the ship, washed to shore and left to rot, but as Kip and Shadow approached they could see two human forms.

  Amelia Britten and Stephen Fairfield.

  They were both wet. Their damp hair lay matted against their faces and their clothes clung to their bodies. A thin trickle of water continued to move over them, snaking from the tops of their heads and finding its way down to the ground where it pooled in small black puddles.

  Britten sat on a gnarled piece of driftwood, looking as if she had merged with it. She was hunched over and peering down at the sand, where she traced a shape. Her finger ran in circles, forming some complex pattern over and over.