by W. C. Conner
“Something light,” she said. “An apple will do. I’m afraid my anxiety would cause my stomach to reject anything more.”
As Roland handed her an apple, Allen’s tent flap pushed open and both Roland and Caron gasped, for there stood Wil, exactly as each of them remembered him.
“How… How were you able to escape the Forest?” Roland asked. “We were told you could not even walk as far as the borders, yet now I see you as solid and as real as ever I have.” He reached out and touched the avatar to reassure himself that what he was seeing was solid and not an apparition.
Wil smiled. “I am real, Roland,” he said.
Caron cocked her head in wonder. Had she not been told by Wil that this was an avatar, she would have been willing to swear upon the graves of all her ancestors that the wizard she loved was standing with them. She looked toward Patrick whose mouth opened in astonishment, then closed in determination.
“It is time,” the corrupted wizard said harshly. “My mistress awaits you.”
As Caron and the avatar who was Wil approached the glowing column, the first golden shafts of morning sun could be seen peeking between the low hills to the east.
Wil’s last thought before they stepped into the darkness of Styxis’s world echoed strongly in her head.
Believe!
42
The boundary between the worlds was far from solid and Caron felt only a slight rippling movement against her skin as they stepped through it. The effect was that of walking through a thin slice of water the exact temperature of their skin yet emerging dry upon the other side.
Once on the other side, she stopped, for before her was the nightmare into which she had fallen after having been hit by Styxis’s bolt of magic on the battlefield at Blackstone. Though there were no sluggish pools of vaporous acids and poisons, the ground was still boggy with a fetid smell of rot and death, and everywhere she looked stunted and sickly plants competed for space and food, fighting for existence in this most inhospitable of places. As she looked around, the thought came to her that even here, even in this forsaken place, life would not be denied. If life could happen, it would happen.
I don’t suppose these struggling plants exist here because of the power of growth and love just on the other side of that tenuous wall? she wondered. She looked up to find the avatar grinning at her.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, Caron,” he said. Caron looked at him in shock.
“You ARE Wil,” she said.
He winked. “I am, indeed,” he replied, “just as I told you I would be.”
“I never imagined,” she said. “I thought you’d be... different somehow.”
“You thought I’d be sort of like me and sort of like Allen?”
“Well, yes. But this... You told me to believe just before we stepped through the boundary into this horrible place,” she said, “or the real you did, anyhow. Well, now I truly do believe.”
Wil smiled as he looked around. “I don’t see any road signs directing us to Styxis,” he said. “Do your powers of seeing work in this foul place?”
Caron looked about herself as Wil had and shook her head. “No, I...” she began but was stopped as her eyes lost their focus and a massive fortress filled her vision. Her sight rushed rapidly toward it and then through the gates to where Styxis sat upon a tall chair fashioned from the bones and scales of demons.
“Blackstone,” she muttered. “She awaits us at Blackstone.”
Wil looked sharply. “That cannot be,” he said. “She is banished for eternity from our world.”
“It is not our world,” Caron said. “It is hers.”
“Then this is where Greyleige first saw his fortress,” Wil realized aloud. “She showed it to him and had him build his tower at the locus of her power in this black mirror world.”
Caron’s eyes had refocused by that time and she looked to Wil with anguish written clearly on her face. “We’ve got to travel an awfully long way to see her,” she said. “Somehow I thought we’d be stepping right into her throne room or whatever it is that I saw just now.”
“That is unfortunate on the one hand,” he said, smiling mischievously, “for it was my hope that this could be concluded quickly. But on the other hand, it means that you and I will have that much more time together, and that is always desirable to my mind.” He paused as he looked to the left and right of the road before them. “Since this appears to be a mirror world of ours in many ways, do you suppose Blackstone will be to our left or to our right?”
“It is to our right,” Caron said without thinking. “That is where I saw it, in exactly the opposite direction from where it would be in our world.” She looked over at Wil. “That’s a long ways from here and we’re going to have to walk the entire way.”
Wil nodded. “And we’re going to have to figure out what’s fit to eat and drink,” he said. “I don’t see anything that looks like it wouldn’t poison us.”
As he finished speaking, they became aware of a clattering sound from the road to their left and a carriage drawn by two beasts appeared from the mist. While well constructed, the coach was nevertheless evil in appearance. Heavily built of some sort of dull black wood with long spikes projecting outward all about, it looked more like a mace to be swung by some giant than a conveyance of any sort. Instead of windows, there were only small portholes not much larger than their heads.
The draft creatures had flat faces with small brutish eyes that showed none of the intelligence and awareness of the horses Caron and Wil were familiar with, though they did bear a faint resemblance to them otherwise. Heavily muscled and stocky in appearance, they were covered with scales as was the creature that sat at the front of the coach. It held the reins in one hand while in the other was a flail tipped with small steel barbs. The hides of the draft animals showed that it had already been used liberally. The carriage came to a halt beside them.
“What luck,” Wil said wryly. “We won’t have to walk after all.”
Clambering down from the board upon which it sat, the driver opened the door and indicated that the two of them should enter. Wil’s hand squeezed Caron’s reassuringly for just an instant while he helped her up into the carriage. As he settled himself onto the narrow seat opposite her, the sickening sound of the flail tearing at flesh outside was followed by the bellowing of the draft animals as the carriage lurched into motion.
They rode without speaking for the first hour. Only the crunch and rattle of the coach and the grunting and bellowing of the draft creatures as the driver whipped them with the flail broke the silence. They saw no other life during that time, although there were occasional signs that life of some sort existed.
The swamp eventually gave out to a landscape of dark and twisted trees on low hills with strangling vines and grasses growing in and around them. Here, at last, they spotted movement of creatures, most of which were small; no larger than rabbits, but malicious and aggressive toward anything that came near. Clearly, this world reflected the character of the demoness who ruled it.
Or did she, perhaps, reflect the world which had produced her? Caron tilted her head in contemplation at that thought.
There were none of the dark and evil creatures that had threatened her in her nightmare after the confrontation at Blackstone. Turning from the small window, she looked over at Wil who, like her, was watching the land through which they were passing with interest. “So this is where Greyleige summoned his magics from?” she asked.
He nodded. “Much of the evil magic he collected had already been summoned in tiny bits and pieces by those who preceded him, but he is the one who opened a portal between our worlds that allowed Styxis a point of entry. He created a weakness in the boundary through which she could travel.”
“Why didn’t she return sooner after he was destroyed?” Caron asked.
“At first, she did not have a point of entry because the collected evil that became the darkness was dispersed thinly around the world. It wasn
’t until Gregory collected enough of it in his zeal to aid the people of Wisdom that there was a sufficient center of evil to draw her to it.”
“Poor Gregory,” Caron said quietly. “He wanted so badly to do good.”
“He did. Unfortunately, when his collected darkness drew Styxis back here, she found something still existed that she thought had been destroyed. It was something that she had become aware of back when she was toying with Greyleige; something that she coveted.”
Caron looked at Wil who stared out at the slowly passing scenery. “You?” she asked.
He nodded. “Me.”
43
Roland stood for several minutes looking at the point in the column where Caron had disappeared with Wil. Finally, after a brief glance at Patrick who was standing to the side of their entry point, he turned and walked to the embers of the previous night’s fire. After adding more wood and coaxing it to a warming blaze, he removed a pot from the supplies Caron had brought, filled it with a bit of water and a large handful of milled grains, and set it over the fire to boil. Taking an apple from one of the small, burlap bags that had been tied to the donkey’s pack frame, he sat down to eat it at his leisure while he waited for the cereal to cook.
All this time, he had studiously avoided looking at Patrick who, he could tell from the corners of his eyes as he worked, still stood stoically to the side of the column, his arms crossed on his chest. Unlike most wizards, who tended toward average to small frames, Patrick was a large and robust, darkly handsome man with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Had Roland not known he was a wizard, he would have taken him for a soldier of the kind that served in the elite fighting units in his own army.
After finishing the apple, he tossed the core into the bushes and stood up. The cereal was bubbling large, heavy bubbles as Roland poked at it to be certain it was fully cooked. Lifting the pot away from the fire, he took two wooden bowls from the pack and filled each with the hot cereal.
Patrick looked toward Roland with a guarded expression as he approached with the bowl of cereal in one hand and an apple in the other. Without comment, Roland held them out for the wizard who hesitated a long moment before reaching out and taking them, also without comment. As Roland turned to walk back to the fire, Patrick sat himself down cross-legged on the ground to eat in silence.
When he had finished, Roland retrieved the bowl from the wizard who still sat on the ground ignoring Roland other than to look toward his hand as it picked up the bowl and spoon to return it to his side of the road.
After washing out the pan and bowls, Roland also sat down cross-legged, facing the wizard across from him. It was a cold morning and the fire helped chase the chill from his bones.
“I wonder how long they are likely to be gone?” he said as if to himself. He spoke loudly enough for Patrick to hear, but without directing the question specifically to him.
After several moments during which it appeared the wizard was considering whether or not to answer, he finally spoke. “It will not be done quickly for they must travel a long ways from where they entered her world.”
“How far?” Roland asked, now directing the question directly to the wizard.
“Her fortress is in the same place as Blackstone is from here,” Patrick replied.
“That is a journey of several weeks,” Roland said, the shock clear in his voice. “Are you to wait here that entire time?”
“Of course,” Patrick said. “To do other than that would mean an agonizing death.”
“And what did your mistress intend for you to eat while you guard her back door?” Roland asked.
“She expects me to do what I must to survive.”
Roland shook his head in disgust. “If their journey takes as long as it does on this side of the boundary, it will be more than a month before they return.” He looked around at the encampment. “I am going to return to town. You are welcome to whatever you need here while I’m gone. If we’re going to have to wait that long for them to get back, I’m going to see to it that I’m more comfortable than this.”
With that, he saddled his horse and gathered both Caron’s horse and the donkey behind him. He stopped on the road in front of Patrick who by now had gained his feet.
“Should she reappear before I return, I charge you to see she comes to no harm.” The look in the wizard’s eyes as Roland stared coldly down at him was one of haunted acceptance. It was enough for Roland, however, and he spurred his horse to a trot, drawing the other two along with him.
Two days later, Patrick looked up from where he sat beside the fire as Roland rode back into the encampment. Close behind him rode a dozen mounted soldiers and a large wagon bearing several townspeople along with Thisbe, Angela, baby Alexander, and a mountain of supplies.
Patrick stood up and looked toward Allen’s tent in which he had been sleeping the past two nights, wondering if he had left anything in there that would indicate he had been using it before remembering that he had brought nothing with him.
As Patrick started toward the road to return to his assigned post beside the column, Roland stopped his horse between him and the road. “Allen’s tent is yours to use until his return,” he said. “That you have been made a tool of the demoness is no reason you should suffer from the cold and hunger. I suspect whatever discomfort you suffer here will be nothing compared to what awaits you when your task is completed.”
“You have no idea,” Patrick said, looking glum. He sat back down before the fire and watched as the others clambered off the wagon. His eyes were drawn to Angela as she carried the baby over to the fire and sat down opposite him, but they darted quickly away when she glanced toward him – a glance filled with disgust and anger.
After carrying Angela’s bag as well as her own into the tent that had been used previously by Caron and Roland, Thisbe joined Angela before the fire. She stood with her back to it, her hands behind her to warm them, and looked at the column as it swayed slowly as if caught in some sort of unseen, unfelt breeze.
“It is really very pretty,” she mused after a bit. “I wonder what it is about it that makes me feel so uncomfortable.”
“It is because it makes us feel that side of ourselves we don’t care to admit exists,” Patrick said without looking up.
Both of the women looked at him curiously. This was the turncoat wizard who had sold out his brothers to Styxis; the one who would have caused the annihilation of the Wisdom wizards had it not been for Allen’s interception of his thought message to his mistress. He had been turned, yet he sounded sad and defeated and hopeless.
Angela felt a touch of pity as she looked at him, for here was what was left of a man who had aspired to something noble, something worthwhile, something of which he could be proud. For the first time she realized that he was a handsome man. Had he not been tainted by the touch of Styxis, she would have found him attractive.
“Is there nothing you can do to change?” she asked.
He shook his head, then looked up at Angela and colored as he saw the pity in her eyes. “I am under a compulsion which I freely accepted,” he said.
“Perhaps Wil could help you when he returns.”
“The man who went with Caron will never return,” Patrick responded. “That man was lost the moment he stepped through the wall between our worlds.”
With that statement, Patrick felt himself yanked roughly to his feet by Roland who had come up quietly behind him as they talked. “Take the tent and get back on your own side of the road, traitor,” Roland said quietly, his teeth clenched tightly. “And you’d best pray that you are mistaken, for if anything happens to Wilton, you will wish for Styxis’s anger rather than mine.”
Releasing him so roughly that Patrick almost ended up stepping into the fire, Roland strode away.
Angela watched as the disgraced wizard pulled the tent stakes and moved it across the highway, the resignation obvious in his bearing. He looked up as he pounded the last stake into place with a rock and found Angela
standing before him with a small pot in her hand.
“There are some embers in here that you can use to start your own fire,” she said. “And you might as well keep the pot for now. We have more than we need.” With that, she turned and walked back across the road, unaware of the look of determination that crossed the wizard’s face as she departed.
44
They had been pushed into the single small room of a hovel that they assumed passed for an inn after several long, bumpy days of travel without stopping for rest. Caron stood and rubbed her backside as she looked around the room. A crude basket containing some sort of food had been left for them along with a jug of poorly brewed ale, but it sat neglected on the floor for the moment.
“That carriage was harder on me than an entire day in the saddle,” she said. She looked over to where Wil sat staring toward the door as if he was trying to discern what was on the other side.
“Since we left that swamp, the scenery has changed quite a lot, hasn’t it?” she said, trying to draw Wil into some sort of conversation. “Even though everything seems touched by shades of gray, still it has its own beauty. It looks much like a charcoal drawing done by a master illustrator.” Again, Wil did not speak.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.
“I’m listening,” he said at last.
“To what are you listening?” she said, the exasperation heard in her voice. “It doesn’t appear that you are listening to me.” He looked over to her.
“I was listening to the earth,” he said. “There is a hint of a spring that has never before been in this cursed place. Who knows, perhaps our coming here will be the corruption for this world that Styxis was for ours.”
“How can we corrupt that which is already corrupted?” Caron asked.
“To Styxis, this place is not corrupted. Evil is pure here. It is love and caring that is a corruption of the evil from which this world was made,” Wil answered. “She does not think of herself as evil, after all. To her, that which we call evil is normal, it is just the way life is. She does not understand caring, sharing or compassion.”
