“King Maelich,” Ymitoth’s booming voice interrupted the conversation.
The boisterous crowd accompanying the old soldier cheered in response. Before Maelich could even turn to look at them, he was being hefted up amid chants of, “King, king, king…” The joy he saw on each face in the crowd seemed misplaced among the carnage surrounding them. Celebrating the slaughter of unarmed men, women, and even children was something he could not condone. If Maulom’s warnings proved correct, he would lead his Shaiwah to war. But this would be the last village his people would sack.
Chapter 45
The Hidden Tower
“Havenstahl,” Perrin gasped as Dirk and his men led Perrin’s small force around a conical peak.
Of course, it was not Havenstahl at all. The buildings, towers, and battlements bared little resemblance to the city where she grew up, but it had the same essence. The massive city stretched toward a lavender sky streaked with sharp yellow clouds. It sat atop a steadily rising hill just like the greatest city of men, but the spires were crooked and constantly shifting. Even the hill it sat upon seemed to lower toward them rather than remaining still while they marched up the incline toward it. The stones—which looked nothing like stones at all—were pink one moment, blue the next, and then orange a moment later. The rays of a green sun reflected off whatever color the stones happened to be until the sun melted into a dull bronze. Nothing seemed constant.
“I have never had the pleasure of looking upon your fair city, highness,” Dirk called back, “but I assure you this is not that place.”
“Of course it ain’t,” Glord agreed, “but this place has the same feel as the city I miss during the quiet times when my mind has cause to wander.”
Dirk smiled over his shoulder at them, “I would love to see it someday. I wonder if it would leave me feeling the same nostalgia for my city.”
“What do you call this place?” Ycharaz asked.
“Home,” Dirk replied.
“No,” Perrin interjected, “he means, what is this city’s name?”
Dirk halted the group and guided his horse up to Perrin. “Home is the only thing I have ever called it. What would you call it?”
Perrin shrugged.
“I know it must seem strange to you, but things here lack elaborate descriptors. This is home for us. That is the only name we need,” Dirk smiled.
“Would it not be named for your house like Havenstahl?” Glord asked.
Dirk’s eye showed a spark of recognition. “I see. You speak of ownership. We are all one here. No one owns anything. Now that you are here, you may call this home if you would like, be one with us. Everything belongs to everyone, and nothing belongs to anyone.”
Glord looked at Perrin, and they both shook their heads.
This forced a dry chuckle from their guide. “Come,” he said. “Our queen is far wiser than I. There is no doubt she will have answers you find less queer.”
The city remained mysterious. Roads shifted from bricks to dirt to grass to glass to substances none of the small group from Havenstahl had ever seen. These same roads were equally inconsistent in their direction. At one moment they traveled steadily upward, while in the next they descended without a noticeable change in the road itself. At times they even seemed to be upside down, hanging from rather than standing upon the surface beneath them—the back of the group looking up at the front of the group, while the front of the group looked down upon the tail. Walls and buildings behaved similarly. The group would round the bent walls of a building only to see it standing yards before them.
By the time Dirk halted Perrin’s group before a tall gate that had looked to be constructed of metal bars right up until they stood immediately before it, the rest of his group had taken other paths. Only he remained with the small contingent from Havenstahl. “Here we are,” Dirk smiled at them.
Perrin reached out to touch one of the gate’s bars—which appeared flimsy like some kind of cloth—only to touch the solid wood of a door. It did not appear to be painted, stained, or treated with any type of coating, but it cast a golden glow. It vibrated beneath her hand as it shifted from what looked and felt like wood to pitted stone before vanishing completely.
Dirk led the group into a vast, dark chamber stretching out from the opening where first a gate and then a door had been. Ganodin shot a look at Perrin and shook his head as he gripped his axe tighter. Halogren wore a similar look. As Perrin glanced around at the rest of her group, it seemed none of them much liked what they were walking into. She felt no different about it, but the hope she might learn something which would get her closer to Geillan sparkled far brighter in her heart than any trepidation about walking into a dark castle hall on horseback following a man none of them knew.
The dark room filled Perrin with an odd sense of familiarity. Its floors and walls were smooth brick. Unlike the rest of the city, these did not shift or change but remained constant. The vast hall was empty aside from one chair which also remained constant. The paintings along the wall were the same. When she focused on the image of a fallon at the front of the room, it finally occurred to her why the place seemed so familiar. She was standing in the throne room at Havenstahl. She was not really, of course, but the hall resembled her home so completely she may as well have been.
A woman materialized on the throne. She wore no crown on her head and only a simple gray frock to cover her form, but there was something regal about her countenance. Perrin could not help but stare as there was something about the woman that was at least as familiar as the room surrounding her.
The woman suddenly rose and bent to one knee, “Perrin, queen of Havenstahl, welcome to my home. I pray this room makes you feel comfortable and welcome.”
Perrin’s eyes narrowed. “This place is so far from any of the known world. How could you possibly know who I am or from where I came?” she asked.
“This is some kind of trickery,” Glord scowled as he shifted uneasily in his saddle. “This one must be some kind of witch.”
“Are you a witch?” Perrin asked.
The woman stood and offered a warm smile as she replied, “I am no witch, nor am I any form of magician. Of course, I have been called both those things by folks who hail from similar lands as you. It no doubt will not surprise you to learn I have even been called far worse. Some of the monikers men from the land beyond the Lake have blessed me with are earned. Some are unfair designations born of simple minds. I am merely a soul seeking knowledge, nothing more and nothing less. You may call me Antopy if you wish. If you do not wish to call me by name, feel free to call me witch or magician or monster, or anything else. Regardless of what I am called, I still am.”
“Glord is right,” Darg piped up. “She’s a witch. We should go.”
Antopy’s smile remained unfettered, “You are free to leave at any time. No one will hinder you. However, I think it would be wise if you remained for at least a short time. Rest. Eat. Gain back your strength. You have journeyed a great distance, but the road before you remains vast.”
“You still have not answered my question,” Perrin complained. “How do you know of me, my city, or my journey? Whether witch, magician, or monster, I would still like to know from where you gain this great knowledge.”
“There is no simple answer to that question. Knowing is not something one learns. It simply is. For example, take your newfound skill at swinging around that sword and killing things. That is something you learned. At this point in your training, you are a novice, an apprentice to Glord perhaps, but you could someday be an expert. Your body would respond more by instinct than cognizant thought. Knowing is not like that at all. When my essence leaves this physical form, I will still be as much the pupil as when first I arrived in this place. I will never be an expert,” the woman’s expression was so kind and welcoming, it bordered on frustrating as she said a whole lot of nothing as far as Perrin was concerned.
“Fine,” Perrin shook her head. “I may someday be an expe
rt with my sword, and you will always be a pupil of a witch. I would still like to know how you know all these things.”
Antopy ignored the slight seeming to float above simple things like frustration and insults as she continued, “The knowledge of everything is accessible to all. One need only open themselves up to receive it. I am no wiser than any of you. I simply allow the glory of Coeptus to exist within me. As individual and unique as we all may be, we all are one. I know you, your story, as well as I know my own. You could know these things too, but that is not your path. You will fight your enemies, battling against what you do not want rather than simply allowing and inviting the outcome you seek. You are common in that regard, but your path leads only to sadness.”
Ycharaz leapt down from his horse and approached Antopy. He had only been half paying attention to her story as he examined the room surrounding him. He dipped to one knee in front of her and said, “Please forgive us, fair queen of this place we only know as home since it has no name, but we are all crude soldiers, warriors on a quest to free an innocent soul imprisoned by a wicked force with power so vast it is beyond our understanding. Though my queen feigns patience, she seeks to be back to the trail with the benefit of whatever knowledge of our adversary and these foreign lands we travel you can provide. If it is not too much to ask, would you please speak plainly to us?”
“A diplomat with a sword,” Antopy chuckled. “Please forgive me. I fear I have spent so much time detached from the concerns and yearnings of the physical, I have forgotten what it is like to live under the rules you impose on yourselves on the other side of Ouloos. This place is different than the place you call home. There you are bound by rules crafted by gods to bring order. Things must be how they must be, or they cannot be. I just cannot imagine how. Here, anything is possible. The rules which guide and shape your lives simply do not exist here. Of course, the same way darkness remains in the form of shadows despite the blazing sun, order can exist in this place. This rooms resembles the throne room in Havenstahl because I willed it so. I hoped it would make you feel more comfortable after traveling through the inconsistency of this place. I know it must be troubling for all of you, this lack of order. We do not find it troubling it all. We celebrate the infinite possibilities. Here, anyone can be or do anything simply by wanting it to be. The same was once possible in the lands in which you dwell. They called it magic, twisting and bending the rules to suit your will. That is opposite to what we do here. Here we apply rules to bend the chaos to our will.”
Perrin’s head spun as she listed to Antopy drone on. Some of it sounded like things Maelich had said, but even more of it made little enough sense she thought the old witch might be insane. Regardless of the woman’s level of sanity, Perrin did not have time to talk in circles with her. “Ycharaz has a silver tongue. I lack that quality. My son has been stolen by Kallum. I do not know how that is possible, as my husband destroyed the beast and scattered him to the wind. It seems he managed to pull himself together, as my child’s abductors were definitely his priests. The place where he resides exists somewhere in this horribly inconsistent place of which you seem to know so much. Can you help me find my son or not?”
“It was not Kallum who stole your precious Geillan,” Antopy replied as she motioned for Ycharaz to rise. “Ijilv, the great hawk, holds him. I am afraid I cannot explain why he did such a thing. He has never actively engaged in the dramas between his siblings. In this act, he has certainly engaged. However, I do not know his desired result.”
“Ijilv?” Perrin gasped. “That’s impossible. He helped Maelich destroy Kallum.”
“The gods pretend to be complicated, even wish they really were,” Antopy shook her head, “but they are so very simple. Each of them—good or bad depending on where on Ouloos you were born into the physical—seek only to be worshipped. They thrive on it, even gain strength from it. That was what made Kallum so much more powerful than his kin. Most of the world where you live worshipped the tyrant. Brerto bent his knee living under the illusion the two were equals, Kaldumahn and Moshat hid from his wrath working like spies in the night to oppose him, while Ijilv and,” she paused, “there seemed another, but I cannot recall. No matter, the rest hid away, completely refusing to engage until Ijilv aided the lad of the Lake in destroying Kallum.”
“Another?” Perrin’s head cocked to the side. “I know the names of all the gods. There are and have ever been only five.”
“I know the same, but somehow it seems inaccurate,” Antopy replied. “Nevertheless, that will remain a mystery unsolved, a story for another time. Based on your eagerness to put foot to trail, we have no time to explore this feeling. For now, we should focus on your son. I fear your path will not lead where you hope, but I know you will not be swayed. Ijilv holds him in a tower that once sat at the edge of time and was ruled by a powerful wizard named Merkhal. He is the one who broke my fair brother, Hagen. Again, a story for another time. Since taking your son, he has hidden the tower away. I can tell you where it once was, but I do not know where it has gone.”
“Hagen is your brother?” Perrin’s jaw hung slack. It made sense. She had not realized it until just then but speaking with Antopy did bear a striking resemblance to speaking with the old healer she had grown so fond of throughout her life. “Is he a witch too?”
“If you consider me a witch, then yes,” Antopy laughed. “We were born in a small village outside of Havenstahl. Our father was a sculptor, and our mother was an adept in the mysteries of Coeptus. They both taught us the beauty in knowledge and our connection to all things. Nobody called us witches then, nor did anyone call the act of allowing miraculous things to take place in the physical world magic. We simply allowed knowledge to come to us. We allowed things to be. Merkhal changed that. He was wicked, bending the rules to benefit himself and hurt others, and Kallum used him to terrorize those he felt did not worship him with enough vigor. My brother opposed Merkhal. The battle nearly destroyed him. When Kallum proclaimed there would be no more magic on Ouloos, Hagen was all too eager to heed the command. As you can see, I was not.”
Perrin’s brow dipped toward her nose as she considered these ideas. “Hagen is so old. How could he be your brother? And magic? I have seen him concoct healing elixirs out of plants and herbs, but I would not consider any of it to be unnatural.”
“He does look old now, does he not? And I appear young enough to be your contemporary,” the witch replied. “I assure you I am far older than you. In fact, I am Hagen’s elder by five summers. As old as he may appear to you, believe me, he is far older. Both of us have haunted this place for hundreds of summers. My brother has submitted to the rules of that place where you live. It was his battle with Merkhal when he broke. Prior to that, he appeared as youthful as I. Now he probably looks like a beaten old man.”
“Impossible,” Perrin scoffed.
Antopy shrugged, “Knowledge is knowledge. Whether you believe it or not, you now have it.”
The idea of debating this woman who knew so much about so many things seemed fruitless. Whether or not Perrin believed the things she said, she had no way to disprove them. There was no way the kind old man she grew up admiring and even learning from was hundreds of summers old, but she had no evidence to the contrary. What did it matter? The more time she spent away from the only thing on Ouloos which mattered to her, the less things like proving her point meant. Finding Geillan was all she cared about anymore. Hagen could be hundreds of years old, or Antopy could be lying through her teeth. Either way, Geillan would still be lost.
“Fine,” she finally said. “Will you take me to this tower at the edge of time?”
“Not even if I could find it,” Antopy’s smile was no less friendly than it had been as she declined Perrin’s request. “The mission offers little for me to learn. Your journey is your own. Dirk will accompany you. He has not been with us long and has never stood at the edge of Ouloos to stare off into the great expanse. There is much he can learn. You will remain here
as long as you like and depart when you are ready.”
Before the queen of Havenstahl could offer up complaint, Antopy vanished the same way she had arrived. One moment she was there and the next she was not. “Well, that was little help,” Perrin sighed.
“On the contrary, you have learned much,” Dirk piped up.
“Nothing useful,” Darg countered. “A map, or at least directions, to that tower would have been helpful. Knowing who owns it now or who owned it then does nothing to help us find it.”
“Aye,” Glord agreed. “And I’ve known Hagen for most of my life. Knowing how old he may or may not be makes no difference.”
“You are all men of action,” Dirk smiled. “That fact is helpful in the lands from whence you came. It will be less useful here. My hope is traveling through this place will open your minds to the endless possibility this physical existence presents.”
There was so much more Perrin wished to say, but none of it seemed relevant. Dirk would be helpful on their journey. At least he knew the lands they would travel as much as anyone could know a place so inconsistent. Darg’s idea of a map suddenly seemed very silly. What would that map look like? Mountains and rivers and skies flipped and flopped. Roads appeared and disappeared at random, sometimes shifting before her very eyes. Any map would need to be equally fluid, and thus completely useless.
“Three days,” she said quietly. “We will remain here for three days, rest, and gather our strength. Then Dirk will guide us through this queer place.”
Chapter 46
The Girl Who Knows Everything
The world around Cialia seemed unfinished. Half trees covered in grass or weeds—or anything but leaves—grew out of fields of actual leaves not littered about but growing out of the ground where grass might be. A waterfall hundreds of feet high poured deeply until the water ran out, and then it poured back up from the pool it had emptied into. A scarra walked by on two legs smiling as he tugged at the collar of a bright red jacket and puffed at a pipe. Somehow, the strangest thing about it had been the smile. A scarra might slobber, howl, or growl, but she had never seen one smile.
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