by YS Pascal
“Kriskringla,” I erupted, flashing a warm smile and waving my “staff”.
“At the behest of the vizier.”
The guard frowned, then looked down and spoke into a gold medallion hanging on his chest. A comm device, obviously, but awfully advanced for this awful place. That didn’t bode well—medieval values with modern technology? And we only armed…with our arms?
We stood anxiously in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again, and, unlatching an enormous set of iron keys from his belt, unlocked the doors to let us in. “Gunner will see you now.”
I smiled, and led the guys into the castle foyer. As the door closed behind us, leaving us isolated in the empty lobby, Spud whispered, “Gunner is the Valkyrie of War.”
My smile disappeared. “And I don’t like being a sitting duck. Let’s get moving. Robert, where’s the royal court and this vizier guy?
Robert stood in the foyer with a confused expression as we tried to pull him to one side into the shadows. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been here before,” I groaned.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, it doesn’t look famellya,” he returned, as a giant plume of smoke erupted in the middle of the entrance hall.
“In here, hurry,” Spud whispered as I spied a seven-foot woman with Medusa hair and a Xena body appearing inside the mist. Grabbing Robert, I dragged him through the doorway, and signaled to Spud to close the door.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a long hallway on the other side of the small room, and no other way out. Orange smoke started to seep in through the doorjamb. Could Gunner be far behind?
We ran. And ran, and ran. I thought we’d run far enough to be back out in the city of Azgaror, but the hall still surrounded us, with no visible exit. Fortunately, as we looked back, we saw no wisps of smoke coming our way. We slowed down and trotted towards a dimly lit cave far off in the distance.
In the center of the cave was a large pit, several yards across. Perhaps a way out? I ventured towards its edge, leaning over to peek inside. My scream caught in my throat. Only a few yards below us were worm-riddled carcasses, stinking of putrefaction, extending their skeletal arms up towards us, bones clacking as they moved, their eye sockets oozing blood and pus. Their mouths were open, chipped and stained teeth coated with sludge, crying out to us without making a sound.
“I expect their larynges have dissolved, rotted away,” Spud said from behind me. “We are staring into the maws of Hades.”
A whimper from Robert. Hey, man, I hear you.
“Well,” I said after a deep breath, “I don’t recommend we exit this way.”
“Indeed not,” Spud agreed. “If I recall, soon after Gunner’s smoke wisps cleared, I saw an aperture in the ceiling above us. Twenty or thirty yards back. I propose we revisit that part of the hallway.”
I nodded. I couldn’t get out of this hellish cave fast enough.
“There it is.” Spud gestured at the hole over our heads. We’re all skinny, but even we wouldn’t be able to squeeze through an opening that size. The light from above shone down on us, teasing us with its warmth. “Perhaps Robert could micro—“
“A door I didn’t see before!” cried Robert, pointing to a 4-foot wooden portal on the side wall by our feet.
“Now there we can fit.” I clapped our guide on the shoulder. “Good show. Just let me make sure we don’t have any more dead souls hiding in there first.”
The door creaked open to reveal another hallway, this one about five feet in height. We’d have to crouch, but otherwise the coast seemed clear. We set off in the new direction, our eyes peeled for company, and crossroads.
Once again, it seemed as if we were walking for miles before we reached the terminus. Another wooden door. I looked at my companions and shrugged. “May as well.”
The room beyond was palatial. Ornate furniture, decorations, marble floors, travertine walls, velvet curtains, gold vases, very Versailles.
“Norse myths place Heaven and Hell in close proximity,” Spud lectured unnecessarily. “I have found that paradigm reflects life.”
Before I could roll my eyes, a female voice resonated through the room. “You are impostors!”
Gunner. Damn.
We turned to see the Valkyrie of War towering over us, her flowing robes cascading over a very muscular torso, the sharpness of her expression only surpassed by the sharpness of her spear.
“And impersonating a Valkyrie is a crime,” she boomed, “punishable by excruciating death!”
Maybe we should’ve opted for that pit after all…
* * *
Gunner waved her spear and we found ourselves wrapped tightly in the clutches of a giant boa constrictor. I could feel Robert’s heart beating faster and faster as the snake tightened its grip. Spud and I both went into Catascope 101 mode, gulping in as much air as we could to push back against the boa’s compression. That would only buy us a few seconds, though. We had to think fast.
“The Vizier!” I shouted, gasping.
The boa stopped contracting. Gunner bent down to meet my eyes. “Yes?”
“We’re his guests,” I croaked, “You must not kill us before we have fulfilled his mission.”
“Mission? What mission?”
Good. She bit. “Um, take us to him, and then we can tell you. If we lie, you can execute us before his eyes and preserve your honor.” God, I hope the Vizier has a heart. Even if not, we might have enough time to plan an esc—
The room disappeared in a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared, we were in a, a library? Floor to ceiling around us were thousands, millions of books, books as far as the eye could see. I was hoping we’d see some curtain I could open for “the great reveal”, but we were surrounded by nothing but books. In a myriad of sizes, colors, and languages. Oh, yes, and the boa.
Gunner seemed content to stand by us and wait. I used the time to scan our environs for possible routes of egress. Did any of the books trigger a hidden door or window? Were those big volumes heavy enough to use as shields—or weapons?
Spud must have been making the same calculations. I saw him flick his eyes toward a shelf a few feet to our side. I’ll be damned—Milton. In English. Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Here in this alien brane. Oh, no, I was starting to rhyme, too. Was Spud was betting those two books could open a portal out of here? Considering our limited options, not a bad bet.
Spud nodded and together we each inhaled an enormous breath, sticking out our chests and enlarging the boa’s circumference. On the count of three, we both exhaled explosively, sucking in our guts and dropping down to the ground, sliding out from under the boa’s spiral prison and rolling on the floor onto our feet. We each leapt for a Milton volume, grabbed one, and opened it, hoping for a trapdoor release. And—nothing. Alas, poor William! Where be your escape route now?
“They’re just books,” said a familiar voice. “Though I would never deign to malign masterpieces of literature with the adverb ‘just’. Still, I must commend you for your survival skills—at least to date.”
I looked up to see the familiar balding pate, wire-rimmed glasses, and hint of a sneer. Theodore Benedict. Sporting floor-length, colorful gilded robes.
Gunner aimed her staff at the Zygfed terrorist leader and announced, “Ladies, the Vizier of Az.”
Theodore Benedict, The Zygan Federation’s Number One “Most Wanted”! And us without our Ergals.
Doomed.
Chapter 7
Pandora’s Balks
“They’re here, I beg you to approve, the spell that will this curse remove,” came the high-pitched whine. I spun around to see Robert pointing his index finger in our direction.
“You traitor!” I clenched my jaw. And my fists.
Benedict chuckled, “It all depends on your perspective, Rush. Robert will get what he has earned. Anesidora?” He gestured at a petite young woman who steppe
d out from behind the colossal Valkyrie. Her long brown curls framed beautiful features and teased the shoulders of her sparkling gown.
The woman smiled and touched the ring on her middle finger. Wasn’t that the band-shaped Ergal we’d, uh, collected from Gary’s body? The one Benedict reclaimed on his planet ship? Apparently. Robert was surrounded by a cocoon of bright light, which flared and then faded. Where the tall, handsome young man had been standing was now, once again, a small frog.
“Hey!” Frog Robert croaked.
Benedict wagged his own index finger. “Now, don’t be ungrateful. At least you’re not rhyming any more.”
Before Benedict could finish his sentence, the boa opened his jaws and swallowed the frog in one gulp. I swallowed a gasp.
Benedict sighed and continued. “Catascope 101, Lesson 5”: Never let your guard down.”
Spud, white as the lovely brunette’s gown, watched the lump travel down the snake’s gullet and then disappear in its coils.
I was shaking in anger. “If I had Marlin’s Geryon, I’d—“
“I’m sure you would,” Benedict said, as he turned to Gunner, “but now that you mention it. Gunner, do send my thanks to the old fossil for his alert, will you.” Facing us again, Benedict winked, “Always good to have a Plan B, no?”
Spud’s gaze had lingered on the boa, but he now favored Benedict with an icy glare. “Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s. In deepest consequence,” he growled, fury dripping from his voice.
Benedict continued to smile. “As I said, it’s all a matter of perspective.” He reached over and gently squeezed the brunette’s smooth hand.
Spud’s eyes fell on the young woman, and, still frowning, he asked, “Anesidora? As in the mythical, er, philanthropist?”
“Right again, Escott. May I introduce the two of you to Anesidora Benedict. My mother.”
I caught my breath. Benedict’s mother? Was this the woman for whom Benedict had sacrificed his membership in Zygan Intelligence, and in the Zygan Federation itself? The woman whose neurocache Agriarctos and I had been forced to rescue from the Zygan Federation’s Registered Anastasial Memory chamber on Benedict’s orders?
“Good to see you again, Shiloh,” Anesidora said, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. “I never had a chance to properly thank you for reuniting me with my son. Perhaps I can return the favor to you some day.”
Spud interrupted, his eyes widening on noting Anesidora’s ring. Benedict’s Ergal! “How did you get the Ergal across to this brane?” he demanded.
“It’s not a Zygan Ergal, Escott,” Benedict confided. “It does not wither away if you travel beyond Zygfed’s prison walls. There is technology in the multiverse that far surpasses the Omega Archon’s. Pity you won’t have a chance to observe it.”
“Your verdict, Vizier?” Gunner boomed, impatient.
Benedict’s hand slowly extended to form a gesture of ‘thumbs down’. I froze, my eyes meeting Spud’s. Why the hell was he smiling?
“Thumbs down means Benedict will not throw us to the lions,” Spud whispered. “Modern reviewers have it backwards. Thumbs up is the one to fear.”
“Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief, as a frowning Gunner tapped her staff on the stone floor and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Let us ourselves X-fan to my salon,” Benedict urged, “Plionarctos the Ursan will brew us a blissful tea, and I will proffer some of the answers I am certain you seek.”
My brow furrowed as well. This seemed a little too easy. Remember Catascope 101, Lesson 8. Keep an eye out for the other shoe.
* * *
Theodore Benedict’s Lair, Valholler—present day
With help from Anesidora’s Ergal ring, we M-fanned into a spacious room, lined by walls of glass that looked out onto a panorama of green hills nudging azure seas. Didn’t seem to be a part of the topography of gloomy Azgaror, that’s for sure. Much more a Pacific Islands or Mediterranean look.
The light of two suns reflected off of three moons in the pink sky. The brightness was a blinding contrast to the oppressive gray of the village, and the terrifying twilight of that bramble forest.
Benedict motioned for us to take a seat on a fluffy beige couch. Spud sat stiffly on its edge, but I welcomed its softness and lounged back in the cushions. No point in making the visible point to Benedict that we didn’t trust him. I managed a quick glance around to establish my environment. The room was filled with art, sculptures, paintings, modern and ancient, all beautiful. Richly woven carpets on the polished marble floor. I could see no easy exits, however, unless some of those floor-to-ceiling glass panels were in fact doors. Or breakable.
My not-favorite Ursan, Plionarctos, M-fanned with a tray of appetizers, followed by—yes!—Agriarctos, our disguised friend Wart, bringing in tea.
“Thank you,” I said to both Ursans as they served us, putting a hint more sincerity into my gratitudinal gaze at the former colleague who had saved our lives, perhaps more than once. “Nice to see some of the old crowd again.” I took a sip of the gentle brew and added, “Where’s the rest of your staff?”
Benedict waved a hand at the panorama beyond the window, pointing at the three moons in the rosy sky. “This planet in fact only has two moons. Our ship adds a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ to the mise en scene,” he grinned. “And I can pop in every now and then to ensure their ambitions remain focused on their tasks and not on each other.”
“And…and Nephil Stratum?”
“All in due time,” Benedict said, waving the Ursans away. He snapped his fingers as they X-fanned and we were surrounded by the soothing sounds of—
“Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring,” Spud chimed in.
“Conducted by Copland himself,” Benedict said. “While I admire the technical skill of the baroque masters, their work cannot capture the grandeur of the compositions of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.”
“I’ll bet he loves Wagner,” I muttered to Spud.
It was Benedict who chuckled. “Not really, my dear, there is such a thing as ‘over the top’.” He took a few swigs of his tea as, smiling, he waved his fingers to the music. An expression of sadness crossed his face. “Humanity has so many divine gifts it can share with the universe. Pity it cannot conquer its demons.”
I flashed an image of NoOne, before I tossed back, “Physician, heal thyself, Benedict?”
“One must play the cards one is dealt, Rush, and at the level of your opponent, or else you will soon not have anyone with whom to play. That, by the way, became your brother’s curse.”
His words hit me smack in the gut. “Is John here? Do you know where he is? Did he,” I hesitated, “make it to Level Three?”
“He made it to the heaven he imagined. But a soul cannot survive for long in a vacuum.”
I softened my tone. “Please. We came here on our own because we thought he was in trouble. He worked with you. Can’t you help us?”
Smiling again, Benedict swallowed one of the appetizers. “Never thought I’d hear that question from a catascope.”
“We’re not catascopes in this brane. And we won’t turn you in to the Omega Archon.”
Benedict laughed. “Your naiveté is always amusing, Rush. I have no need to fear the Omega Archon. When it’s time, King Odius will lend me the Valkyries to pay back my many favors. We will return to Zygfed and the Valkyries will make short order of Zygfed’s fusible King.”
The terrorist rinsed his mouth with a sip of tea and then put down his cup. “But, no, Rush, I cannot help you.”
Another punch. Why was Benedict staring at my waist?
“He said cannot, not may not,” Spud interjected. “I would venture his Somalderis, Nephil Stratum has failed at the quest to rescue John. You’re wearing the only Somalderis here that can.”
“Exactly, Escott. Nephil Stratum’s tender tendrils have kept your brother alive in his brane, but there
is not enough energy in his prison purgatory for her to return him to this brane. That’ll be your task, if you survive.”
I looked first at Spud and then at Benedict. “I’ll survive. We’ll survive. Just tell me where he is and I’ll go get him.” My eyes fell on Anesidora’s ring. “It would help if I borrowed an Ergal.”
The beautiful woman shook her head. “Impossible. But I will assist with your crossing,” she said softly, “if you’ll be kind enough to deliver a gift.” In her delicate hands M-fanned an exquisite amphora, a delicate vase, its narrow neck stoppered by a giant sparkling ruby.
Spud laid a warning hand on my arm, but I brushed it away. “I’ll do anything to rescue John. Anything,” I whispered, before turning to Benedict, and adding, “I’m in.”
“Excellent,” Benedict glowed, “then let us take action--right after dinner.” He waved his hand and the music changed again, “Synthetic filet mignon always tastes better with a soupçon of Strauss.”
I had a hard time containing my excitement. For three years, I’d feared that I’d never see John again. And now, in a few hours, as in my happiest childhood moments, I’d be at his side.
Spud’s attempts to whisper in my ear were becoming annoying. Benedict’s beef was with the Omega Archon. We were off-duty in this brane, and we didn’t seem to be a target. In fact, we were being regaled like honored guests, with a meal fit for a king.
“It’s the least we can do to be polite,” I returned in a low voice. “And besides, it’s a free dinner, not a free lunch.”
* * *
Dinner ended up seeming endless to me—and, in a nod to Spud, unnecessary. We had to humor Benedict (I don’t mind space opera, but I am so not a Strauss fan) but, after years of waiting, I was eager only to reach John. Spud and Benedict spent much of the meal arguing about Plato’s metaphysics, while I just poked at the food on my plate and pretended to listen to Anesidora’s hospital stories from her days as a nurse. I hadn’t seen my brother since I was fifteen. Would I be meeting the brave, strong, fighter that had so inspired me and my siblings? Or would my glimpse of him be fleeting as he hovered at death’s door?
