The Indivisible and the Void

by D M Wozniak

  She shakes her head, her bangs parting and revealing a furrowed brow. “I do not know his name, your grace.”

  “You have my word,” I reassure her.

  “He never told me, your grace,” she insists. “I would tell you if I knew.”

  “How could you not know who he was?” I ask in disbelief. “What did he look like?”

  Her body trembles in my hands. “I know you will not believe, your grace.”

  “Try me.”

  “His face was always covered in a haze. It made me feel dizzy, just looking at him.”

  Anna’s words from this morning fill my mind.

  “He would do things to me, your grace. Use his powers to make me feel things. Some of it was...painful.”

  A cloud always hung about his face. It made him blurry.

  My hands have been grasping her too tightly, so I consciously remove them and grasp the stone wall in front of me instead. My vision spins anew, but this time I know that it’s not the redcurrent wine at work.

  “Can you take me to him?” I say.

  She tilts her head, leaning in next to me. “I do not know where he lives, your grace.”

  “But where did you—”

  She understands the intent of my words. “He always brought me to his laboratory.”

  I shake my head. “That’s impossible. The university laboratory is under my control. Only I have the key, and it is scryed with voidance. I would know if someone broke in.”

  Chimeline looks confused, whispering, “He had his own key, your grace.”

  “Well, it’s just down the road,” I answer. “On the university campus. We could go there now and you can show me—”

  I stop talking, once I realize what I am doing. I am back on the hunt, whether it be by moonlight or sunlight.

  Looking sideways at her, I anticipate her reaction to be one of disappointment or annoyance. I am observant enough to understand that my needs are completely different than what she had expected to provide. But she seems confused as ever—the reaction I was least expecting.

  “Your grace, his laboratory is not nearby,” she says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s well past the First Ring, off Xi Bay Road. There’s a barn there, near the river. It’s quite hidden.”

  I grasp the wall even tighter to prevent myself from falling down.

  Off Xi Bay Road, past the First Ring.

  That’s where Marine went. And it’s practically where I was this morning. I was so close. There must be a rogue laboratory that a student of mine had set up. From what Chimeline says, it is hidden and near the river, which must be why I never ran into it during my search. Maybe a ship had docked there.

  “Do you remember the way?” I ask her.

  She nods, but her face is now covered in fear.

  Letting go of the wall, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I ask myself if I am in the correct frame of mind to do this. Am I sober enough? Am I detached of all emotion? The world is no longer spinning. But this seems like madness. I could turn around, take Chimeline into my home, and the two of us can go on this journey tomorrow.

  But how will I be able to sleep? How will I be able to do anything, until this place is found?

  The problem is, it will take all night to even reach this rouge lab.

  Unless I improvise.

  I open my eyes and look directly downward, past the low wall and sheer cliff. Far below, the street crew is working on rinsing away the manure. Their two horses pull a cart-full of water. It’s easily a fall to the death for an ordinary person.

  But I am no ordinary person.

  I slowly climb up onto the thick ledge made of stone, and reach out my hand to Chimeline.

  “Trust me,” I tell her.

  Her dark-brown eyes are wide, reflecting the moonlight. I am not sure what she’s more afraid of—what I am proposing now, or going back to the place where she was hurt.

  “Not all voiders are evil,” I tell her. “I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  Her hesitancy is palpable, so I search for more convincing words.

  “Chimeline, you said that you can help me forget her. But that’s not what I need from you. I need your help in finding her.”

  The young girl vacillates, alternating her gaze between me and the moon. But then, she nods firmly.

  “Thank you.”

  She climbs up and we stand carefully, together. She tries not to look down at the dizzying heights.

  “Grab onto me tightly,” I tell her, as I wrap my left arm around her narrow waist, bringing her into me. But in my right, I grasp the voidstone. My head fills with a cacophony of voices as I bring my power to bear, and the moonlit world disappears.

  We jump off of the ledge.

  The Laboratory

  We fell at least a hundred feet before I slowed our decent by packing the air below us. Chimeline kept asking how I did it and I used the analogy of stuffing a pillow with too many goose feathers.

  The street washers wouldn’t take my gold for the horses. They saw what I did and were not used to the public display of voidance. It was probably the first time they had ever witnessed such a thing. One of them even sank to his knees, making an effulgency gesture. I promised to return their horses by sunup, and I plan on following through with that promise.

  A slender path wound through the darkness, just beyond the grove of pines where I had fallen asleep earlier. If I had walked a few hundred feet more during my frantic, mid-day search, I might have seen it: a horse trail that exited off the graveled Xi Bay Road, trampled weeds leading into the thin forest. On the trunk of one pine, four deep gouges exuded white, dried sap, like a bear’s claw. This was the marker that Chimeline was looking for.

  “How much farther?” I call out to Chimeline, who rides before me. The path is too narrow for us to ride side-by-side.

  Our horses go slowly—they are old and confused—meant for pulling a wagon-full of water, not carrying people through a forest in the middle of the night. But still, we’ve arrived much sooner than we both expected.

  “A long way, your grace. A halfbell’s trot, but these horses seem incapable of that speed.”

  I utter a groan of impatience before forcing myself to relax. I am in no position for disappointment—my introduction to Chimeline and her revelation is a boon. I am incredibly lucky to even be traveling on this path right now, no matter the speed.

  Above us, the moon sheds light that the trees diffuse—making this forest brighter somehow than the citadel with all its street lamps shining. The pines whisper in the wind.

  The trees eventually thin out, and the pathway opens to an endless field with grasses tall enough to brush my feet. The seeded tips undulate in the breeze like the turquoise waters of Xi Bay, and even their sound reminds me of the gentle lapping of waves upon the beach. I can almost imagine that my horse is swimming in night waters instead of walking over solid ground.

  It reminds me of a much happier time.

  Marine and I honeymooned at Xi Bay. My submaster Mander was stationed there, and had agreed to represent me at the citadel in my absence. His private house on the bluff overlooked the waters. The air smelled of lemons and salt. He left the house staff, pinnace, and rowmen at our disposal. This was right before the war. It was another world, a time when things had not yet fallen apart on so many levels.

  “Do you still love her, your grace?” Chimeline asks me softly.

  I had not even noticed that she had pulled her horse in next to mine. Her black robe falls open, revealing her straddled legs on the saddle. For once, her revealing look is not by design—she is obviously not clothed for this journey.

  A mix of emotions course through me at her question, like the complex winds that blow through the tall grass.

  On one hand, her question shows impudence. I cannot imagine Elrich or Anna asking such a thing. It is not their place. And if they did ask me, I would tear into them well-deservedly.


  Somehow, the question is not insolent coming from Chimeline. Perhaps it’s because her profession lies within the crosshairs of love, or what many men confuse as love. Asking my intimate thoughts on my wife must feel as natural to her as an effulgent questioning if someone is on the way of unwanting.

  I exhale, the rest of me feeling bitter relief.

  Unconsciously, I have wanted to talk about this to someone. Keeping such hopes and fears bottled up is not wise. Emotions are the enemy of a voider. Such things cause a certain pressure, which needs to be released. Even smoking hilma would be a better alternative than harboring this weight.

  The head effulgent had offered his ear for guidance and counseling. I know he is exactly the sort of person I should want to talk to at this moment. Dealing with such problems is his specialty, but I don’t want his self-righteous help. When we passed through the Southern Gate at elevenbell, his temple hummed with the sounds of revelry. I saw his large silhouette holding up a glass of wine, toasting and shouting behind his curtained windows, while a pianist played an upbeat song. I quietly mouthed his slogan secretly back to him, full of irony: Be nothing.

  No. I’d rather talk to a girl from the king’s harem who won’t be so quick to judge.

  “Have you heard of the indivisible?”

  “No, your grace.”

  “It is a voider term. It’s what everything is made of.”

  She nods politely.

  “I used to tell Marine that the two of us were the very nature of love. That true love was something that could not be broken. It was perfect and whole and forever, just like an indivisible.”

  Chimeline studies me, waiting for me to continue.

  “I was wrong,” I say, biting my lip and trying to keep my emotions from spilling over. A slow, controlled trickle is better. Taking a deep breath, I try to simplify such complicated, internal thoughts to this non-voider, though I would struggle to explain them even to myself.

  “When using a voidstone, the power is temporary. The world always goes back to the way it was. Now, I believe it’s the same with love.”

  “How do you mean, your grace?”

  “The nature of the world is chaos. It is made up of more void than indivisibles. The moment love is born, it immediately dies. It unravels into chaos. And you can never get it back, so the only thing you can do is make new love.”

  A white cloud passes over the moon and the shadows disappear.

  “But I never answered your question,” I add. “You asked if I still loved her. I think the answer to that is yes. I think that I will always love her, despite what she did to me, but it is a different sort of love now.”

  “So you do love her, despite what she did to you,” Chimeline says, not seeming surprised. “That’s why you are going after her, isn’t it?”

  I know I should shake my head, but I don’t seem to have the energy. It just hangs there upon my neck like some foreign weight. Instead, I stare out into the night and finally summon the courage to vocalize the words that I have been thinking for quite some time.

  “She’s gone to me, Chimeline. I still need to find her, but it’s to gain answers, not to win her back. There is no such thing as restoration in this life.”

  I look back to her, and I am shocked to see that her eyes are wet in the moonlight.

  “Where I come from,” she says quietly, “we have eleven different words for love. Eleven kinds of love.” She smiles to herself, as she must be remembering her homeland.

  “One for each kind of sand.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Her nose wrinkles in a charming way, as she struggles with the explanation. “It does not translate into the northern tongue, your grace. There is white sand, and black, volcanic sand. There is pink, orange, and coral too. There is sand so fine it is as soft as silk, and then there is course sand which can clean off any grime. There is sand that is made into delicate glass art, and there is sand which is made into cast-stone, to build kingdoms with.”

  She looks me, to make sure I am following her. “The same is with love.”

  The cloud passes, and I see a shimmering reflection in the distance, through an approaching patch of trees.

  “Is that the River Xi?” I ask.

  She nods, and points straight ahead. “Do you see it? The laboratory is stained dark green, so it nearly blends in with the trees. The roof is easier to make out.”

  I am at a loss for words.

  I’m not sure what I had been expecting. Most likely some sort of shed. An amateurish, ramshackle structure, created by someone with limited time, money, and resources.

  But what lies far in front me, secretively within this forest, is easily twice as big as the university laboratory, and it looks just as immaculate.

  It was no student who built this place.

  Once we’re near, I dismount and hitch our horses against a branch of a willow tree next to the riverbank, and they both start drinking immediately. This stretch of the river is at least a hundred feet wide as it passes the citadel, but I cannot see anything in the darkness. Besides, the willows droop into the water at the river’s edge, blocking our view.

  The ground is muddy and well-trodden—it looks like someone had tethered horses here before. Because Chimeline is barefoot, I carry her to the immense front door of the barn, but not before we see three shallow graves. They’re on the side of the barn, away from the river, and they’re unmarked. Not a stone or bouquet decorates them—only the mounds of dirt give them away.

  “Do you know who’s buried there?” I ask Chimeline as I set her down.

  “Three of my sisters who came before me,” she answers. “They were not as lucky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looks straight ahead at the door. She’s purposely not staring in the direction of the graves, nor me.

  After it’s evident that she’s not going to answer, I switch my attention to the door. Chimeline was right—a padlock secures it, but it’s just standard smithware, probably meant to keep out any local hunters or fishermen who happened to come across this place in the woods.

  Using my voidstone, I easily dismantle it by twisting the wooden beam it’s mounted against.

  Once that’s done, I slide the door open—it glides easily on an oiled rail up above—and we both cautiously step inside the pitch blackness.

  Within a few steps, she screams out loud and puts her arms around me.

  But it’s just small forest birds, taking flight.

  I frown in the darkness, wondering why birds would be in here. But then I see, far up ahead, a section of roof is entirely missing. A large square where the moonlight shines through, casting angular blueish light against the walls and floor. The silhouette of a cat runs across a ceiling beam, and jumps out.

  Chimeline looks around fearfully. But soon it’s obvious that we’re the only ones here besides the creatures of the forest, and they will do us no harm. She finds a large oil lamp hanging on the inside wall, lights it, and hands it to me.

  When I raise it up over my head, I inhale sharply.

  This can’t be.

  A fully-functioning laboratory lies before me, and it rivals the university’s in every way.

  The barn seems to be sectioned into dozens of opened rooms, each devoted to a unique experiment in mid-design.

  The one immediately to our left is empty, except for chains and cuffs that dangle from the tall ceiling, and a drain in the floor underneath them, which must go outside. A raven perches upon one of the open cuffs, silently eying us. The other cuff moves in the darkness—a second bird must have recently taken flight, causing it to sway and rattle in place.

  To our right is a mattress made of straw. A large stain decorates the middle of it, black in the lamplight, but somehow I know that it’s dried blood. Chimeline looks at it, and then turns away into my shoulder.

  The next sections become stranger.

  In one, I find an immense box, larger than a man, seemingly made of lead with no doo
rs or windows. I touch my voidstone to be sure—it’s true. I cannot see into it, with or without my voidstone. There are no seams.

  Walking up to it, I try to move it, but it’s immovable and impenetrable. I look at the worn floorboards, and notice that they transition to stone underneath the box, which makes sense. There is no way standard floor joists could support such weight.

  “Do you know what this is?” I ask, turning to Chimeline, and she just shakes her head.

  Across the center aisle, stations are setup with glassware, scales, a large mortar and pestle, a trough plumbed from the outside, and an oven at least twice as large as the one we have at the university. A cylindrical, mechanical device rests on a metal tripod. Glinting in the lamplight, it resembles a spy-glass—the kind a ship captain might use—although it’s nearly ten times the size.

  Next to this is a room that looks like it belongs in the king’s armory. Swords, javelins, breastplates, helmets. Hanging from the wall, they glimmer in the lamplight.

  “You did not know about this place, your grace?”

  I reach out with my hand to touch the breast plate, and notice that it’s warm.

  How is that even possible?

  “Your grace?”

  “No,” I answer distantly.

  “But do you know what all of this is for?”

  I keep walking in disbelief, and she follows me.

  The next section contains maps of the Southern Kingdom and Xi Bay. And books, some which I have been looking for in my library for quite some time. I figured they had been misplaced. Students always leave them around, instead of filing them back where they belong. Others I have never seen before.

  Xian Islands and their Native Fauna.

  Poisons of the Archipelago.

  Conditional Ruptures and Voideath.

  Blackscar.

  A History of the Effulgency.

  “Your grace—”

  “Yes,” I snap, cutting her off as my anger gets the better of me. “I know what this place is for. It’s for death and suffering.”