Chapter 14

 

The darkness closed around Blagan like a dragon’s mouth. He turned to look behind him at the open doorway and realised with no real surprise that it was gone. He stood by himself in complete and utter darkness. He couldn’t hear anything either. He sighed loudly and theatrically. I guess, being hundreds of years old and evil to the core you have to amuse yourself somehow, he thought darkly. Might as well put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

He started moving, and slowly the darkness started to fade, like was emerging from a mist. A large room with a high vaulted ceiling slowly appeared in front of him.

He blinked. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

The room was a vault filled with piles of treasure so large and shiny they were almost blinding. He could see chalices of silver and gold, gleaming weapons with gem-encrusted hilts, suits of armour, fancy jewellery and every heaps and heaps of silver, gold, truesilver and gemstones of every conceivable shape and colour.

Blagan’s jaw dropped. He actually started drooling. Then he ran forward to dive into the biggest of the treasure piles. But instead of landing in a heap of coins he fell sprawling on a cold, hard stone floor. What, by Thor’s Beard, was going on here? He looked up, seeing the treasure pile a few feet in front of him. He’d missed it. How had he done that? He’d hurled himself right at it! He leapt for it again – and then he saw what was going on. The heap shimmered and moved, reappearing just out of his reach. He scrambled up and ran straight at the mound, but it split and shifted out of his reach. He dived again and again, but always the valuables moved, just enough so he could never touch them.

So much gold, and yet he couldn’t hold one single coin in his hands! It was like his worst nightmare!

Cold realisation slammed into him. This was a nightmare! He was inside the Emperor’s castle, being taunted by a clever illusion designed to infuriate and humiliate.

“Bastard!” Blagan snarled, closing his hands into fists. He shut his eyes tight. And then he started walking forward, confident that he wouldn’t run into anything because the piles just kept moving out of his way. He walked and walked, and only when he felt he had moved past the boundaries of the room did he open his eyes.

He found himself standing in a long corridor lit with flickering torches. The vault of treasure was gone, as though it had never been. Blagan swore again.

 

Blake entered the almost tangible darkness. He paused for a second, wondering what to do, But then he started putting one foot in front of the other, just like Blagan had, and the mist began to part around him, revealing his new surroundings. He blinked, seeing his own house in front of him, the lopsided old property in Granville that he rented with three other blokes. It looked like it always had, a bit shabby with long grass out the front because no-one could be bothered moving it. The front windows were covered with bed-sheets because no-one owned any curtains.

There was a large pile of trash out the front. Someone must have been kicked out, Blake thought as he approached the rubbish pile. Some of that crap looked familiar. He recognised those pillows, that old sway-backed bed, those car magazines strewn across the footpath.

That’s my stuff! he thought in dismay. They’ve chucked all my things out on the footpath, and half the neighbourhood’s gone through them!

Bags of his clothes had been cut open and only the oldest of things left behind. Boxes of his magazines had been ransacked, only the wrinkliest volumes remaining. He didn’t even want to think about what had happened to his computer, DVDs and CDs!

The front door opened and one of his room-mates came out, a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.

“Blake mate!” he cried in surprise

“Davo!” Blake cried.

“Sorry about your stuff – we had to shift it out. When you didn’t come back we thought you’d ditched on us! So we rented your room out.”

Blake opened his mouth to explain that he hadn’t run off, but no words came out. How could he possibly explain? Davo certainly wouldn’t believe him. He knelt down to go through his belongings and realised there was nothing left he wanted to keep. Miserably he turned, deciding to head back to his parents’ place – and suddenly he was there, staring at the small but neat fibro house he’d grown up in. There was a group of people standing out the front, all in black, sombre and sad. A small blonde woman was crying and a taller man was holding her, patting her on the back.

“It’s been six months, Emily. You have to let him go.”

“I can’t, Bruce. I just can’t. Until they find his body he’s not dead. He’s just gone away somewhere.”

Blake felt sick. How could he have ever thought no-one would care about him disappearing for months on end? Of course his parents would worry! “Hey – I’m right here!” Blake cried, running towards them. “I’m right here!”

They looked up in shock. “Blake?” his mother gasped. “Blake? Is – is that really you?”

“Yes! It’s me! I’m back!”

His mother grabbed him. “What happened to you? Where did you go? Why didn’t you call?”

Blake staggered beneath the machine-gun fire of questions. He opened his mouth, trying to find an explanation, but nothing came. How could he tell them the truth? No-one would believe him! Where was Kiara? She’d be able to help him with a spell, wouldn’t she?

Suddenly, his brain finally caught up with him.

He wasn’t home yet!

The last thing he remembered was walking through the front doors of the Emperor’s castle. He hadn’t even spoken to the big dude or passed through a mirror. This was just an illusion.

Blake shut his eyes tight, and slowly the questions faded into silence. He waited for a few more seconds, and then opened his eyes.

He stood in a long corridor, lit with torches. That’s more like it, he thought. Bloody Emperor, toying with my emotions like that. I sure hope Guillermo can kill him!

 

Kiara stepped into the darkness. She cast a light spell but nothing happened. She gulped, realising that she had to continue on blind. So she extended her hands out in front and began to walk carefully forward.

The darkness lifted, revealing the blurred outline of a house. It was her house! The big brick mansion she lived in with her parents, her doctor father and pharmacist mother. Overjoyed she ran up to the front door and banged on it. “Dad, Mum! I’m home, I’m home!” she cried.

The front door opened and she stumbled into the embrace of both parents. “Oh Kiara, Kiara! We were worried sick!” cried her mother, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Where have you been?”

Kiara managed to extricate herself. She stepped back, lifted her hands and cast up a Persuade spell. It seemed to work –she could feel the mana flow from her to engulf her folks. She took a deep breath and told them the truth, that she had been sucked into a Magick mirror at Sue’s place and spat out in alternate dimension.

Her parents’ overjoyed expression faded into confusion.

“A what? A Magick mirror?” asked her father. “What nonsense is this? What really happened?”

You’re supposed to believe me, Kiara thought in dismay. I just cast a spell over you!

“And what was that nonsense with your hands?” asked her mother. “Please,” She took her daughter’s fingers, squeezing them tightly, “tell us the truth.” She started to escort Kiara up the stairs towards her room.

Why didn’t my spell work? Kiara thought miserably. Did the Magick really stay behind? Or … or was everything a dream?

Her mother led her into her old room, which looked exactly the way she’d left it, with her uni things spread out across her desk, her clothes hanging over the back of her desk. “Kiara, we’re so glad to have you back. But you need to sit down and take some time. We’ll come back soon to hear your story.” She backed out of the room and closed the door. Kiara could hear them whispering outside.

Kiara pressed her ear against the wood.

“She sounded like she’d been brainwashed! We might have to send her to hospital,” said her mother.

“Of course we need to send her to hospital,” her father agreed. “She’s been through something awful, but what? She is so confused she can’t tell us.”

Kiara turned the door handle to follow them out – and realised the door was locked.

Her parents had trapped her in her room!

She pounded on the door in desperation, but they were already hurrying down the stairs. She lifted her hands and cast an Unlock spell at the door, but it didn’t work either. What was going on here? Mana existed here, just not the language of Magick! There was no reason for it not to work! She tried to remember what had happened just after her return and realised that she couldn’t.

Because it hadn’t happened it!

“Oh I’m so stupid!” she said out loud, and pounded her head with a pair of clenched fists. “I only just stepped through the front doors of the castle!”

Kiara closed her eyes and extended her hands. She started to walk forward and didn’t stop until she was sure she had walked past the boundary of her room. She opened her eyes and saw that she now stood in a long passage lit with torches.

Even though she was still inside the Emperor’s castle, she heaved a sigh of relief. She still had her Magick. There was still a chance of making her parents believe and avoiding being locked in her room while they called the men in white coats.

 

Kyanne stepped from the darkness into a large underground cavern lit with patches of glowing fungus. Cave lizards scuttled through them and in a hollow below lay a small cluster of moss-roofed houses. Neat gardens of mushrooms had been laid out around them and they looked very homely.

But they weren’t. Kyanne knew exactly what evil those peaceful little dwellings concealed. This was part of Svartalfheim, the original home of the shadow elves, located deep in the Underground beneath Scandinavia. This was the little village she had grown up in. But why was she here all of a sudden?

Kyanne walked down into the hollow and cautiously approached her house. This was obviously some sort of test.

The front door of her house was open. She stepped inside and smelled the air. It stank of death. Looking around she noticed a body on the floor, a garrotte still pulled tightly around its throat. Kyanne knelt beside it and rolled it over.

It was her own mother.

Kyanne drew back a shocked breath and stepped back – just as a shadow flickered in one corner of her eye. She turned as a dark figure leapt out of hiding, trying to slip a garrotte around her throat!

With a snarl Kyanne yanked a dagger from her belt and thrust it into her attacker’s ribs, driving it deep into his heart. The assassin gave a hiss and slumped to the ground. Kyanne took a deep breath to calm herself and checked the body.

It was Karisse, her own younger sister. She had killed their mother and just tried to kill her! Why? Shadow elves assassinated each other all the time for power, money and family position. But Kyanne’s family had none of that. They were poor villagers – another one of the reasons why Kyanne had left. She had wanted to find her own place in the world. But Karisse had elected to remain behind, following in her mother’s footsteps and joining the clergy.

Perhaps that was why Karisse had tried to kill her. One of the requirements for moving up through the clerical ranks was proving your loyalty by destroying something you loved.

Kyanne’s head spun. She couldn’t believe that she was the last member of her family. All she had to do was roll the bodies into the mushroom garden and the fungi would do the rest, consuming and hiding them within hours.

But she didn’t want this little house in the deep Underground. She wanted to travel. In fact she wanted to journey to the Science Earth, where the colour of her skin and hair wouldn’t instantly condemn her as an evil elf. Hadn’t she just been about to help a party confront the Emperor of the Undead and his wizard Albiroth?

Yes, she had just entered his castle!

This wasn’t real at all! It was just a clever illusion and her mother and sister were still alive! She mightn’t have gotten along with them, but she still experienced a flood of relief at the realisation.

Kyanne closed her eyes, got up and started walking. She didn’t stop until she thought she had left the little house behind. When she opened her eyes she saw a passage lined with torches. She cursed, annoyed that she had been fooled. She should have been smarter than that.

 

Sue emerged from the darkness to a very familiar store. Scarcely had she taken two steps when the manager came rushing out. “Sue, where have you been? Your shift’s about to start! Come on, Les hasn’t shown up again and Kelly’s sick.”

Sue groaned. Why did she always have to take up other people’s slack? I’ll be so glad when I can finish my course and can look for a real job, she thought miserably as she followed the manager into the hot, greasy kitchen area. When she first started it used to smell good but now it made her feel ill. She couldn’t even eat here any more.

She headed to the front counter were a long line was already waiting impatiently. Her uniform was uncomfortably tight around her chest, like always, the cap holding her thick wealth of curls in already making her head sweat and itch. She ached to throw it off. But she couldn’t, not while there was so much food around.

“What can I get you?” she asked the first person, a fat woman in a ridiculously tight singlet top and pink short-shorts that showed far too much of her dimpled thighs. She was holding the pudgy hand of an eight year old girl also in an ill-fitting singlet and shorts.

“I want chips!” the kid proclaimed.

“Gimme a large burger meal, a large pack of nuggets and a kid’s meal.”

“What kind of drink would you like?”

“Make ‘em both Cokes.”

What kind of mother gives their eight year old kid Coke? Sue wondered as she bustled off to get their order. But of course she had to nod and smile as she delivered them their food.

“Hey, where’s my toy?” the little girl cried. “I’m s’posed to get a toy! Gimme my toy, lady!”

“Sorry!” Sue raced off to fetch it. What she really wanted to do was pick that fat little brat up and stuff her head-first into the nearest garbage can.

Her next customers were a group of teenage boys in backwards caps and trousers so low they were practically waddling along like ducks. But they didn’t think they looked like idiots. They thought they were cool as they swaggered sniggering up to the counter and regarded Sue like she was their dog to order about.

“Gissa three a those big burger meals an’ make it quick, mama,” declared the tallest, presumably their leader.

Mama? Sue rolled her eyes and scurried off to do their budding. She started bringing out the portions of their meals.

“Make sure my burger ain’t got any a that green stuff – pickles, I think they’s called.

“I wanta large fries wiv mine!”

“My drink’s gotta be lemonade – coke giss me headaches.”

Sue wanted to tear all her curls out.

“Kin I get’n extra large fries wiv mine?”

“I want’n apple pie wiv mine.”

“Hey frecks – wot time you git off work? Meet me down in the carpark!”

Sue wandered down behind the deep fryer and counted to ten. Why on Earth did she have to put up with this rubbish? Oh, maybe because one of the conditions for keeping her Newtown flat was to maintain regular employment! Her parents would never have allowed her to rent it out otherwise. She’d tried for other jobs, but the local take away franchise was the only one that had accepted her. Thus four nights per week she slaved over a hot stove to please spoiled, obnoxious teenagers. No wonder she never told her friends what she really did for a living. It was far too embarrassing.

She collected the boys’ various orders and waited five minutes for them to finish arguing over who owed what. She imagined herself holding an AK 47 and blowing them all away. She doubted anyone would miss them.

When I get back I’m looking for a better job, she thought. Then she froze, realisation hitting her like a douse of ice-water.

When I get back!

She hadn’t even gotten back yet! This was all some horrible dream! She was still in the Emperor’s palace, waiting to see him.

Sue turned to face the boys at the counter. “Pimple-face, get a job. Fat-arse, pull your pants up before someone runs a bicycle up your backside. And knuckle-head – turn your cap around before all your IQ points run out of the back of your head.” She pulled her hairnet off and shook her massive wealth of strawberry blonde curls all over the place, sending them flying everywhere. “Would you like hair with that?” She closed her eyes, turned on her heel and stalked from the kitchen. She kept her eyes closed until she was sure she had moved a considerable distance, and then she opened them.

She stood in a long torch-lit corridor. “Thank God for that!” she said out loud.

 

Aelfstan vowed to be strong. He vowed not to let whatever unholy forces lurking within the Emperor’s castle corrupt his soul. Thus when he walked out of the dark mist he almost saw the torch-filled passage straight away. But then he remembered how the pleasant the Artificers had been. Perhaps not all undead were as bad as he had been led to believe.

Aelfstan blinked. There was a tall figure standing in front of him, clad in tattered black leather; a sleeveless jerkin worn open and trousers. What skin Aelfstan could see was covered with tattoos that seemed to move constantly.

A pale-skinned, broad-cheeked face glared disdainfully down at him. It was pierced in numerous places, and a long blonde braid trailed down its back.

Aelfstan couldn’t believe his eyes. He was looking at Stormwalker the dark half of his god! Naturally he fell to his knees in awe.

But Stormwalker did not look impressed and folded his muscular arms across his chest.

“I’m so sorry, my Lord, but my journey has taken me here, right into the middle of the Empire of the Undead, and in order to continue I’ve had to associate with one of the vilest undead creatures of all – a lich lord!”

“Do you want to know why I don’t like undead?” Stormwalker asked softly.

“Because they are unnatural, without reflection,” Aelfstan explained.

“Ruthan is a good priest, but tends to embellish the truth somewhat. No, the truth is far simpler, Aelfstan. When I kill someone, I like them to stay dead. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Aelfstan gaped.

Stormwalker pointed a clawed finger at him. “You can associate with whomever you like. You can even trust those creatures. But you cannot become one of them. When you feel the weight of your years upon you, and death is nipping at your heels, you will come to me. If you try to stall death in any way you will truly feel my wrath.”

With that, the dark half was gone and Aelfstan was left kneeling in the passage. Slowly he climbed to his feet. Was this where he was supposed to be? Had his god really visited him, or had he just been an illusion, created by the evil Emperor?

But he knew, deep down, that he had just seen the truth. His lord could be benevolent and loving, but he could also be vengeful and evil, as he had just witnessed. After all, he was the God of Mirrors as well as Storms.

Aelfstan started walking.

 

Damon stepped from the mist and into a brightly lit office. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. What was he doing here?

“Ah good, you’re not late,” declared a loud, deep voice.

Damon blinked again, focussing on his father. He was standing in front of him in an expensive, perfectly tailored three-piece suit, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. “Everything’s ready for you to start.” He grabbed one of Damon’s arms.

Damon realised he was wearing a white shirt and a blue tie. As he allowed his father to pull him along he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck. He lifted a hand, realising that his hair had been cut into a conservative short-back-and-sides style. When the heck did this happen? he wondered in confusion.

“I’m glad you’ve finally decided to wake up to yourself and join the family business,” his father continued as he led Damon into a small, windowless room, one wall lined with little boxes. “I was beginning to despair of you ever growing out of that long-haired Goth nonsense of yours. Now, this is the mail-room, where you’ll be starting.” He spread his hands to encompass the little room. “I know it’s a bit small and quiet, but you can bring a radio in for company. And if you do a good job you won’t be here for long, no more than a few months. Then you can move up to the copy room. You know I started in a mailroom when I was just sixteen, even younger than you.”

“Yes sir.” Damon looked miserably around the room that he knew would very soon start feeling like a prison.

“I worked hard to become the man I am today, and if you work hard, you’ll soon be where I am, a successful businessman.”

“Yes sir,” Damon said again. He declined to mention how many little people his father had stomped into the ground on the way up. Damon didn’t think he could be that ruthless. He was far too sensitive. He even wrote mournful poems and was working on a story about his gaming character, Damocles Swiftfoot.

Damocles Swiftfoot! Where was he? Did he follow me through? Reality came crashing down on Damon as he remembered that he’d just walked through the entrance of the Emperor’s castle. He wasn’t supposed to be standing with his father in a poky little mailroom, wearing an oversized shirt, a stupid necktie and a bad haircut!

“I’m sorry Dad, but this isn’t for me. You know that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to see the Emperor of the Undead.” He spun around, closed his eyes, and walked out of the mailroom.

“You come back here right now you irresponsible little idiot!” his father thundered, but Damon kept walking. His father’s voice faded into silence and the young man opened his eyes.

He was standing in a long corridor lit with torches.

Damon actually sagged against a wall and mopped his long hair out of his eyes. Thank goodness I’m not working for my Dad after all, he thought. When I get back I’m telling him I’m not going to work for him, ever! And I’m quitting that damn business course he forced me into and doing the arts degree I want! Even if he kicks me out of home I don’t care! I’m sure to get enough money out of this adventure to fund my own way!

 

Damocles entered the mist and stepped out into a grim little cell with damp, mouldy stone walls. A row of glowing bars stretched across in front of him and he stopped in dismay, recognising enchanted iron designed to sap all his Magick powers.

“Oh no!” he gasped out loud, realising that he was trapped.

“At last!” cried a triumphant voice, and a horribly familiar figure in a gleaming white surplice appeared. Bishop Victoris, in full ceremonial regalia, stood outside the cell, clutching his staff with the bejewelled cross on the end. “I have finally ensnared you, you vile demon spawn!”

“No!” cried Damocles.

“Oh yes. And this time you will not escape. Your funeral pyre is being prepared right outside as we speak, and in a few minutes you will go to meet your evil maker! No more will you spread your malevolent contagion upon the world!” The Bishop threw back his head and laughed.

“I’m not a horrible demon!” Damocles cried. “I’m just a shapeshifter!”

“You are a perverted being who deserves to die! Men are men and women are women! They cannot become each other!” Victoris thrust forward a quivering finger. “For daring to cross such sacred boundaries you must die!”

“’Daring to cross’?” Damocles gasped, appalled by the priest’s absolute idiocy. “All shapeshifters are hermaphrodites! It’s how we survive! We can’t help what we are!”

Victoris’ brows lowered menacingly. “Then all shapeshifters must die.” He stepped back. “Guards! Come and fetch this demon!”

Two church knights in shiny white armour appeared and stomped towards him.

I must escape, Damon thought. I need to see the Emperor of the Undead so I can escape this horrible world!

Wait a minute, he thought as the soldiers unlocked the cell door. He backed up against the cell’s back wall. I’m on my way to see him right now, aren’t I? Stupid! He smacked himself in the head with a clenched fist.

The soldiers reached for him and he closed his eyes. Then he stepped forward and started walking. He felt a rush of wind behind him, as though two pairs of armoured hands had just missed him, and then nothing.

He took a few more steps and opened his eyes.

He was standing in a hall of flickering torches in sconces.

“Stupid,” he growled at himself again, for falling for that illusion.

 

Guillermo was the last through. He entered the darkness and could feel some nasty Seventh Circle illusionary Magick battering at his senses. But he had worked long and hard at keeping all the doors to his mind closed and locked. When he stepped out of the black fog it was straight into the corridor where the rest of the party was standing, looking at each other in bewilderment.

 

* * * *