Ellen Under The Stairs (11 page)

"How wide are the bands?" she asked,
settling back on the bench.

"I don't know exactly. Since this
world is pancake flat, there's no horizon line, making it possible
to see for great distances. At least until the evening fog sets
in."

"And you said its foggy every
night?

"Every night. And every night it drips
rain. Never what you'd call a downpour. Moisture collects on the
iron dome above -- say the natives -- and drips down at
night.

"No sun."

"Or stars or moon." John shook his
head. "Though it's still hard for me to take it all in, I've come
to think like the locals: that this is a flat world with an iron
dome for a sky. That day and night are produced, not by the
planet's rotation like on earth, but by a huge, dazzling Crystal
that revolves at the world's center, the Crystal turning slowly,
the light from the Gem reflecting off the dome. When the black half
of the magic ball rotates up, the dome turns dark and it's
nighttime. The Crystal's location in what's called
Eyeland."

"Anybody claim to have been
there?"

"Eyeland?" She nodded. "No one I've
met. There was a young man named Golden, who I got to know. A
minstrel with pretensions of being king of Malachite. Anyway, he
used to sing sometimes, his songs, like those of Greek minstrels,
reflecting the legends of this world. From bits and pieces of the
folklore of the place, I gather that something's very wrong about
Eyeland. Extremely heavy gravity. Radiation. Something."

"I wish Paul could see this," Ellen
said in a hushed voice. "I miss him. and the children." Given the
strangeness of the cross-world experience, it would have been
difficult for anyone not to feel a little homesick, John told
himself. He was missing Cream, for God sake!

"They don't miss you."

"What?" A wary look. The way she used
to appear before the light-magic here began to cure her.

"You're forgetting about the time
differential. To us, days -- weeks -- have passed. To them, only
minutes -- maybe seconds. Paul is still asleep. Your mother is
looking after the children, snug in their beds. By the time I get
you back, almost no time will have passed. If fact, I've begun to
think it works both ways. That time spent in our world doesn't
count for much time passing here. Why this should be, I don't know.
When you factor in magic, anything's possible."

"And you think I'll stay healthy after
I return? I keep thinking of the legend of Shangri-la. About the
girl who was young until she tried to leave that mountain kingdom.
Only to become her true age -- growing old --
overnight."

"How do you feel? Right
now?"

"Fine. Except for being ... so far
from home. As for tonight, I don't know. I slip back at night. But
I'm better day by day. I guess, when I'm completely well after dark
I'll be ready to return."

"And if, for some reason, you to slip
back to illness, there's always another trip to this world for
renewal."

"A hard way to go at a
cure."

"The passage between worlds takes it
out of you. But less so, the more you come.

"As for the way you are now, I've
never seen you looking better."

A noise! Coming down the path, John on
guard against unexpected entrances. He'd had too many nasty
surprises in this world to take anything for granted.

A ... slavey. Approaching
timidly.

"You want to see me? Come
closer."

She did. This, the young
soubrette.

"Tell me."

"It is ... a man," the girl whispered,
eyes on her shoes in the presence of the Mage.

"Go on."

"Asking to enter."

"Hero castle?"

Nod.

"Do you know who?"

"A soldier said, the Navy
Head."

"The Admiral?" Stil-de-grain had lost
its navy in the latest war with Malachite. "Admiral
Coluth?"

John hardly dared hope it
was the old captain of the
Roamer
, a merchant ship where he'd
first met Coluth, the
Roamer's
captain becoming his friend. Following the naval
disaster in which the old Navy Head had been killed, John had
appointed Coluth Admiral. Put him in charge of rebuilding the
fleet, Coluth a man to trust in a shape-shifting world.

"I think ... that is the
name."

Coluth. First Leet. Then Coluth -- if
the girl was right. Better and better! Nothing like having friends
to guard your back!

"Ask the soldier if it is Coluth.
Remember the name?"

Nod.

"If it's Admiral Coluth, have him
directed here. We'll wait for him."

"Nod."

"Get going."

Nod.

"Now, please."

Finding she had not been frozen in
place by the frightful Mage, the girl turned and fled down the
walk.

John wanted to smile, but didn't.
Smiling wasn't what was required of Crystal-Mages. Displaying a
sunny personality was one of the things that could get you killed
in this power-worshiping world!

They waited, Ellen taking in the
garden and sky, John eager to see Coluth, one of only a few people
he could trust completely.

Footsteps.

Then Coluth, coming down the path, his
skin roughened by a life at sea, brown hair fading to
gray.

John stood as Coluth stopped to
salute, the Navy Head still looking strange to John, dressed as he
was in his Admiral's tunic instead of in the brown leather jerkin
worn by merchant seamen.

"It's good to see you, old friend,"
John said, trying his best to add authority to the warmth he felt
for the man.

"Yes." With a wide grin. Coluth was
also the one person who, knowing John was a Crystal Mage, could
still treat him like a regular man. "When the messenger bird came
and Gagar made it speak, it was my greatest wish that the message
be true. That you had come back."

"You've come from Xanthin?"

"As fast as possible."

"What's the situation
there?"

"Same as always. Except that the king
is getting older. Stronger." Couth smiled. Ever since the death of
Yarro I, Coluth had taken charge of the king's young son, Yarro
II.

"May I present Ellen," John said,
uncertain about how to explain Ellen's presence. "She's been ...
not herself." What an inconvenience to be unable to use words like
"ill" to people who knew nothing of these things!

Coluth frowned, unsure of what was
expected of him, turning again to John. "I am to announce the
king's pleasure that you have returned, great Mage." More reciting
than announcing. "He says you are most welcome and asks that you
come to Xanthin, to the palace, where you will be honored as befits
your status."

John turned to Ellen. "Do you feel up
to a trip? We could take our time. Stay as long as necessary at
inns along the way if you tire."

"I'm ready. Maybe not quite up to
travel in the early morning, but ...." What she meant was that, as
soon as the light was strong enough, she was herself
again.

"If there is some difficulty," Coluth
said, trying to understand, "additional troops are guarding this
place, ready to be an escort. Also, members of my crew are with me.
Others command the cable boat at the Tartrazine. I have a ship at
Canarin, ready to ferry you to Xanthin island. All has been made
ready."

"You have done well. After we get off
the mountain, Ellen will need the smoothest riding pony cart there
is."

"It shall be done. I will send a
runner ahead to arrange transport."

"Ellen, you're going to see the island
capital of Stil-de-grain."

"About time," she said, pretending to
sulk.

Assuming their luck continued to hold,
John thought, but didn't say.

* * * * *

Platinia was awake, her eyes blinking
in the light of a single torch. Was she still dreaming that the
Mage, John-Lyon had disappeared into the frightening other
world?

Reality returning, she realized she
was in her room. No ... Zwicia's room, the old woman in the other
bed, making the growling sound of angry cats. Snoring, was what
that sound was called.

Almost awake, Platinia was clothed in
her sleep tunic, the small girl covered by a light cloth against
the castle damp. Above her, the wall torch flickered shadows on her
narrow bed. She would not sleep without a lighted torch. Ever since
she escaped from the torturing priest in Fulgur's temple. As the
princess of the dark, the priests had chained her to the wall in
the dark torment room. If she had her way, she would never again be
in darkness!

Across the small room was a rough wood
table and small chair, the room's only furnishings, the table used
by Zwicia for crystal gazing.

The young Mage said he and the woman
would go back to the other world. But they did not.

Platinia could not think about that
since she was so fearful in her mind. It was the other world that
made her so afraid. Though she did not have the powers of a Mage in
any world, in that strange other place she lost her little control
over others. In her own world, she could see into people's minds;
could make stronger their feelings. A little. Even the feelings of
the green eyed Mage, John-Lyon.

It was not so long ago that she
realized -- in spite of her very great fear of him -- that she was
in love with John-Lyon. After that, finding concern for her in his
mind, she had strengthened that feeling until the Mage had come to
love her in return. That was in the tower room, the Mage then
taking her to his other world.

A world without magic!

A world of crushing Band Sickness
where she had been afraid! Afraid of the strangeness of that world!
Fear-struck because she had lost even her little control over the
Mage. Was again, afraid of John-Lyon -- that he would hurt her. For
she could not make him love her any more. Not in his magic-less
world.

So in her fear, in her not knowing
what to do, she had run away.

Left alone, first putting on the too
big coat the Mage had brought to her, she had gone out the door to
run down the lane through the trees, coming to a wide street of
hardened stone. On that street were metal carts: racing back and
forth at dizzying speed! She had not know what to do Had just stood
there like someone struck by a Mage bolt.

It was then that a man had stopped his
metal cart beside her, a bald man, leaning out to talk to her. An
old man with a short, white beard. He had asked her to enter his
cart, Platinia doing that to sit beside him on a padded
bench.

The man reaching across her to pull
shut the door, looking kind, he had asked where she wished to go.
When she said she did not know, he said he was going "down town."
Asked if she would like to go there, too. Not knowing what to say,
she said yes.

Then they had gone fast. Fast!
Platinia had shut her eyes so she would not know how
fast.

After a long, noisy time of rushing
and swishing and other terrifying noises all around them, the
cart-- the man called the cart a car -- had stopped.

Though there was still much noise of
passing ... cars ... and other sounds, Platinia opened her eyes to
look out, seeing long lines of people walking by. Men. Women. But
no children. Old. Younger. All in foreign clothing. A great many
people. Of different colors. Most white. Some brown. And beyond
them, as she looked out of the glass that went around the car, tall
buildings. Tall. Tall!

Like she had never seen before. All
with windows you could see through. Up. Up!

The man then said they were down
town.

The man had explained to her how to
open the car door, Platinia doing that and getting out.

The man and his ... car ... then
turned to roll down a long tunnel going under a big
building.

And Platinia was standing all alone.
Alone, but surrounded by so many others. Old. Young. Crippled. All
rich. Many brown men. One, a yellow man! They were walking past.
This way. That way. More people than she had ever seen before. More
than on the streets of Xanthin!

And cars and cars in the wide, wide
road. And people and people on the far side of it. No people
sitting. No people standing. All people walking.

So, she walked, too.

There were men and woman everywhere.
Going with Platinia. Coming toward her. Dressed in bright colors.
Some with hats. There were more people down the crossing streets as
far as she could see. And always, looking overhead, buildings.
Buildings.

At last, walking this way and that,
following crowds of people, waiting with them, crossing streets
when, by some magic, the cars going by had stopped, Platinia became
tired. And hungry. So hungry that, when she passed certain
buildings, she was aware of the smell of food.