“And now darkness gathers – a quiet, contagious darkness, rooted in the history of our two worlds.”

SYLAS STEPPED INTO THE warm sunlight. They were on the grassy bank of another small stream, which flowed haphazardly between rocks on its way towards the river. Beyond it, another gushing rivulet emerged from between the lustrous leaves of a giant ivy plant, which lay like a cloak over rocks and stones and scaled the garden wall to its very top. Further ahead flowed another stream and then another, each carving its own unique path between bright mossy banks, green rocks and beautiful plants, bushes and trees. Occasionally two streams would meet and form a deep, slow-moving brook or a rippling pool, only to part again further down the slope and resume their playful journey through the garden. Between the leaves and trunks Sylas could just make out the river’s edge, frothing under the deluge of water.

“This is Mr Zhi’s favourite part,” said Filimaya over the sound of rushing water.

Sylas looked at her in surprise. “He’s been here?”

“Oh yes, but many years ago, before the war,” she replied, starting to walk up the bank towards a piece of thick, mossy timber that bridged the first stream.

Sylas walked hurriedly behind her. “So was he a Bringer too?”

“He may be the most important of them all.”

“Why?”

She laughed. “Well, that’s difficult to say. I suppose when he looks at our two worlds he sees connections where others see barriers and differences. That’s a very marvellous thing, particularly in someone from the Other. No doubt it’s partly because he has spent so much time in both worlds, but it’s also more than that – it’s a special... vision that he has.”

Sylas frowned. “In what way?”

“Well, Mr Zhi would say that the connections between the worlds are all about you,” said Filimaya, sweeping her hand across the garden. “Look at these plants, these trees, these streams – aren’t they like those you know from the Other?”

Sylas looked around him. “Yes… but there is a difference. Everything’s brighter and – I don’t know – fresher.”

“Well, yes, certainly there are differences, but only the ones you’d expect. We don’t have machines or cars or factories and we never have – just imagine what a difference that has made to the living things in our world. What you see are simply your own plants, fish, trees – all natural things – allowed to grow as Nature intended.”

He looked again at the broad leaves and the thick, lush undergrowth. It was hard to believe that these bounteous plants were those that he knew from his own world, but they were all oddly familiar. Larger and greener, yes; but he knew their shapes and scents.

“OK, so the machines then – surely that’s a difference between the two worlds, not a connection?”

Filimaya stepped off the mossy log and started to walk towards a pool of water, beckoning to Sylas to follow her.

“Yes, they are a difference, but Mr Zhi would say that there is a connection at the heart of that difference. Where you have machines and technology, we have magic. Not the magic of your storybooks and fairy tales, but magic that is as important to us as your technology is to you: magic that warms us at night and brings in our crops; magic that raises buildings and powers towns; magic too that forges nations and then brings them down. Magic in our world, as technology in yours, is used by some to communicate, to educate and to heal, and by others to increase their power and to vanquish their enemies.”

Sylas had reached the edge of the pool and he stood staring into the crystal-clear water, trying to absorb what Filimaya was saying. A shoal of silvery fish entered from one of the streams and swam slowly round the bank, finally circling in the shallows at their feet, drawing as close to Filimaya as they could.

“Well, I can’t think of anything in my world that’s as wonderful as this garden, or the Aquium, or the light in the mill house.”

Filimaya raised an eyebrow. “That’s only because you are used to your kind of miracle, Sylas. To us, cars are carriages with invisible horses, light bulbs are lanterns without flames and aeroplanes, well, they are magic indeed. Don’t you think that your mother would call her science a thing of wonder, a kind of magic?”

Sylas thought for a moment. “Yes, she would.”

“And the two are more closely linked than you might think. Kimiyya is the foundation of alchemy, which in your world has been developed into chemistry – the science of substances and how they react to each other.”

He frowned. “But you made Kimiyya sound like such a bad thing – are you saying chemistry is bad?”

Filimaya smiled. “Well, it certainly can be bad. There, in the Other, science is used in ways that are good and useful, but also in ways that can be harmful and destructive. It’s the same here with the Three Ways, but they are perhaps not used with the same care. Too often, far too often, they are used for evil.”

Drawing her silver hair over her shoulder, she leaned a little over the pool and peered down at the fish, which swam excitedly beneath her gaze. Sylas leaned in too, watching the fish of many different kinds, all swimming together in a shoal.

“Mr Zhi used to say that we were quite wrong to refer to your world as the ‘Other’,” continued Filimaya. “He said we should think of it more as a reflection of our own world. Like your face staring back on the surface of this pool – you know it’s yours, but you also accept that it’s different from the one you can touch. Have you ever noticed that things in Nature often fall into two complete opposites? Light and dark; hot and cold; life and death?”

Sylas thought for a moment. “No, I hadn’t, but it seems kind of obvious.”

“It’s obvious because it’s natural to us – it’s the way the world works: good and evil, male and female, fire and water. Essenfayle teaches us about the connections between all things, and even these things – these opposites – are no exception. Just as winter cannot exist without summer, and there can be no death without life, there’s something that connects all opposites. Indeed the connections between these things may be the most important of all. When your world is asleep under the moon, ours is awake under the sun; when your world is in the full bloom of summer, ours is paling in its winter.”

Sylas blinked. “So it’s night-time in my world right now?”

Filimaya nodded.

“And when the bell brought me here… I didn’t sleep until morning – but it was already morning?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “That’s why you were so tired last night.”

He puffed out a lungful of air. “That’s... weird.”

Filimaya laughed. “Weird, yes, but wonderful too,” she said. “The discovery of the Other led to an age of wonder, a time when the true nature of the world seemed to be within our grasp. There was not one way into the Other, but hundreds. There were not only Bringers, but travellers from our world too. It was a time when your world learned much of what it knows about magic, and our world – or at least our part of it – learned so many things about yours.”

Sylas shook his head as he tried to imagine what he was hearing. “But if there were loads of people going this way and that, surely we’d know about it? I mean, not everyone’s going to keep quiet.”

“I’m not sure that everyone did keep quiet in those early years. Certainly some of our magic was seen by people who shouldn’t have seen it. A number of unscrupulous displays of magic passed into your myths and legends and, in some cases, they led to entire schools of magical study in your world. I’ve already mentioned your world’s alchemy, which developed from Kimiyya and later became your chemistry; and what you call telepathy and necromancy are probably a corruption of Druindil, the way of communing. But those indiscretions soon died out when the Merisi appeared.”

She stood up and gestured for him to follow her to the edge of the clearing. They emerged on to a gravel pathway that led towards a small wooden building in the dimmest, most shaded corner of the garden.

“What did the Merisi do?”

“They were wise, and restrained, and careful. They followed a great Eastern philosopher named Merisu, who first taught of the two worlds. While our ancestors were excited by their discoveries in the Other, from the very beginning the Merisi were cautious, warning of the dangers of too much haste. At the heart of their beliefs was a conviction that it was up to them to ensure that the way between the worlds was used wisely. They shared their texts with us and offered us their teachings, and in return they asked that we strictly control our explorations of the Other. Indeed soon it was ruled that no one from your world – no one other than a member of the Merisi – was to be brought into ours. It was left to them to choose those best suited to make the journey, to ensure that they were properly prepared and to make sure that their findings were properly recorded. And so the first true Bringers came to us. From that point on they were to be summoned every ten years on the summer solstice.”

A flooded woodland meadow lay in their path and Filimaya stepped on to a raised walkway, that passed over the glistening surface. She moved lightly, as though the grass and earth beneath her feet and the wind playing about her robes were aiding her every motion, easing her passage through the garden. At that moment, with all that she had told him flooding his mind, revealing things of mystery and possibility beyond anything he had dreamed about, Sylas thought that she looked truly magical. He followed closely behind, keen not to miss a word.

“And what did the Bringers do when they were here?” he asked.

“They were brilliant researchers for your world and teachers to ours. Bringers were honoured members of our society, lecturing in our schools, speaking to our communities, giving counsel to our leaders. And while they did all this they learned from us, studying our beliefs, our customs, our magic; noting their most important findings in their book of learning...”

Sylas’s eyes widened. “The Samarok?” he asked breathlessly.

Filimaya smiled. “Yes, the Samarok.”

Sylas pulled the book from under his arm and stared at it with new wonder. This was it? The single record of all that learning? How could Mr Zhi have entrusted him with something so important?

“Let us stop here, Sylas.”

Filimaya had paused at the end of the walkway. Ahead of them stood the wooden building, which Sylas could now see was little more than a ramshackle hut, accessed by some crooked stone steps. At first he thought it had no windows, but as he looked up, he saw two panes of glass set into the sloping roof, one on each side of a smoking chimney.

“I think you have heard quite enough of my voice for now,” she said, her eyes lingering on the Samarok. “But I hope I’ve answered some of your questions.”

Suddenly they heard the slow creak of a door swinging on aged hinges. A set of long white whiskers emerged from the doorway of the hut. It was Fathray, the ancient gentleman from the Say-So.

“Ah, there you are,” wheezed the wizened old man, squinting into the light. “Come on then, Filimaya, hand him over – he’s mine now!”

Filimaya smiled fondly at him. “Of course, Fathray. But just remember, watch your language.”

“Why, what can you mean?” retorted Fathray with a twinkle in his eye.

She raised her eyebrows. “Just choose your words with a mind to your audience,” she said. “We’re not all scribes, you know. If you can’t count the syllables on the fingers of one hand, don’t say it!”

Fathray raised his great fluffy eyebrows. “Ah, my dear Filimaya, always so par-si-mon-i-ous,” he said with a mischievous grin, counting out the syllables with his long fingers. “Well, if Sylas listens as pers-pic-a-cious-ly as I expect, we’ll be just fine, no matter how lengthy our con-fab-u-la-tions!”

Filimaya laughed. “Your thumb doesn’t count, Fathray.”

He knitted his eyebrows. “Ah well, that’s why I’m a man of words and not numbers!”

He gave a grin of very few teeth, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness.

Filimaya put a hand on Sylas’s shoulder. “Go on,” she said encouragingly. “Fathray’s going to show you a whole new world.”

Sylas glanced doubtfully at the ramshackle building. “Another world? In there?”

She smiled. “Oh yes,” she said.

 

 

The Slithen shifted from shadow to shadow through the deserted streets, slithering beneath canopies, through nets and between crates until it reached the fish market. There it crawled under an empty stall and waited, scanning the desolate street, sniffing the air.

A horrifying, bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence, echoing from the walls, ringing from the cobbled street. The Slithen shuddered and eyed its source: the vast pillared building with stone steps at its entrance and, above, a giant inscription in red lettering and a black, skull-like face, its eyes glaring down, seeing all. Slowly, reluctantly, the Slithen climbed out from its hiding place and rose on unsteady legs. Drawing a long, rasping breath, it stepped out in the direction of the Lord’s Chamber.

It had taken no more than five steps when it saw the first movement. Silent but swift, two large shadows glided from the rear of the dark edifice and prowled out on to the white stone. The creatures launched themselves off the steps and landed on all fours on the cobbles. With a chilling snarl, they rose to their full height, looming above the cowering Slithen.

One of the Ghor lowered its grizzled head and glared at the stinking creature with its half-human eyes. “You dare approach the Lord’s Chamber?”

It shrank into itself, pulling its webbed hands into its chest, lowering its head between its sloping shoulders. “I have information,” it gurgled between clenched teeth. “Information about the S-S-Suhl.”

The other guard closed its huge black claw round the Slithen’s neck and tightened it until the creature began to gasp, its gills flaring wide.

“What could a snivelling trail of slime like you tell us that we do not already know?” it snarled, extending its neck until its sharp, discoloured teeth grazed the Slithen’s cheek.

The Slithen tried to straighten, lifting its head a little. “I know lots-s-s,” it rasped proudly, opening a clenched hand to reveal the creased, grimy remains of the documents it had stolen from the boat.

The Ghor leaned in and peered at them, then let out a loud, scoffing bark. “They could be anything! There’s more filth on them than ink!” It slapped them out of the Slithen’s hand.

The creature yelped with pain and then cried: “I know where they’re hiding the boy!”

The two dark figures shifted. The grip around the Slithen’s neck loosened.

“What do you know of a boy?”

The Slithen pulled itself up still further. “I’ll not be telling mutts-s-s like you,” it hissed. “I want to s-s-speak to Thoth. Take me inside.”

The two guards exchanged a glance, then let out a low, growling chuckle.

“As you wish…” grunted the larger of the two.

It grasped the wretched creature round its neck and dragged it towards the steps. It took the entire flight in one bound while the Slithen’s spindly legs slapped the sharp edges of the stone, making it squeal. The guard simply closed its grip until the shrieks died away. It drew the miserable beast through the imposing doorway of the Lord’s Chamber, then trailed the limp body down a long, torch-lit corridor. At the end it paused next to two gigantic bronze doors.

It gathered itself for a moment, then knocked.

“What is it?” came a smooth, female voice from beyond.

“An informer, my Lady,” barked the guard, glancing down at the dying Slithen in its claws. “It claims it knows where the child is.”

There was a brief silence.

“Enter,” called the woman.

The guard pushed on the door and it swung open to reveal a huge chamber with high ceilings, supported by rows of columns like those on the front of the building, though these were beautifully decorated with symbols and hieroglyphs. The majority of the marble floor was filled with long lines of chairs, leaving a single aisle in the centre, which stretched from the doors to the far end of the hall. There, a giant red banner hung from the ceiling and from between the folds of the fabric glared an immense empty face, its hollow eyes seemingly fixed upon the strange scene beneath.

A bloodied figure knelt on a raised dais of stone, whimpering quietly. It was the wretched wagoner who had unwittingly driven Sylas and Simia through the town. He was flanked by two black, hunched Ghorhund bearing thick silver collars, their bared teeth just inches from his neck. Behind stood a woman, resplendent in her black and crimson gown, the whites of her beautiful tapering eyes clearly visible against her ebony skin.

“Bring him here,” she purred.

The guard strode forward, lifting the prisoner high into the air so as not to dirty the polished marble. When it reached the dais, it dropped the Slithen unceremoniously on the floor.

“It says it’ll only speak to Thoth...” it growled.

The Slithen’s eyes widened in terror and it shook its head, trying in vain to speak.

“Will it indeed?” said the woman, arching a narrow eyebrow. She tilted her pretty oval face to one side and smiled. She leaned over the cowering Slithen. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear creature, but Thoth is not here.”

She waited for it to respond, but it was still struggling to find its voice. When it said nothing, she lowered herself still further, extended one of her small hands and lifted its slimy chin.

“Though I suppose that, as I am Scarpia, Magruman of Gheroth, I could almost be said to speak for Thoth.” Her mouth widened into a gentle, beautiful smile. “Indeed some would say that you are as good as looking at him right now. They would say that this is his voice; that this–” she reached down and began stroking its grime-coated head – “is his hand, comforting you; that this–” she motioned to the nearest Ghorhund, which immediately stepped to her side – “is his dear pet. And I am quite certain that they would say that these are his teeth that you feel about your neck.”

The Ghorhund seized the terrified Slithen round its throat.

Calmly, Scarpia rose, wiping her hand on the Ghorhund’s ruffled mane. Her face suddenly hardened and her black eyes flared.

“Now tell me everything you know.”