Ellen Under The Stairs (30 page)

Speculation. But given the eventual
shortage of Mage-Crystals, maybe an important one. Should Realgar
try for "all the marbles," for instance, it might not matter to the
defense of Stil-de-grain for Helianthin to have this world's only
working disk. Provided it couldn't produce much
Crystal-force.

So much for that topic.

"What about you, Zwicia? Has your
Weird-Disk shown any danger lurking around the corner?"

Oinking her head up from her trough,
Zwicia fluttered her eyes and hands. "No see'a. No
see'a."

"Anything about Pfnaravin?"

"No see'a! No see'a!"

"Thank you, Zwicia." No sense
agitating the old woman with more questions. Particularly, since
her answers were usually unintelligible. "No see'a," would have to
do for the present.

"My plan is to return home with
Ellen," John announced, to no one's particularly surprise. It
wasn't the first time John had returned to Hero Castle for the
purpose of taking the static-electric "bridge" between worlds. "The
reason I asked about the absence of Crystal power is that, while
I'm gone, the only working Crystals will be in the hands of
Helianthin, and, maybe, of Cryo of Cinnabar. That's assuming that
Auro is out of the picture for good. Since Mages seem to think
their Crystals give them license to take over the world, I think it
would be a good idea to let them believe that my Crystal is still
operative. By the way, I've loaned my Disk to Golden in hopes, as a
badge of authority, it will help him overthrow his
uncle"

Nods all around.

"There will still be magic in the
light. Fire stone magic. Healing magic. Language translation --
that kind of thing. All beneficial. Though Zwicia's Disk can be
helpful -- at least hasn't been harmful -- Bandworld may be better
off without Crystal Magic."

"May I ask, great Mage, will you
return?" Coluth. Raw boned as ever. His weathered skin looking
smoother in interior light.

"I ... don't know."

"We would all welcome you."

"Thank you. And when I've returned to
my own world I'll miss the lot of you. I have more friends here
than at home." Something of a revelation, even to John. About the
only friend John had at home was Paul, John's feelings for Ellen
complicating even that limited friendship. He would miss these
people.

"You will go this day?" Golden. Always
with a direct question. Dark sober eyes. Black hair cropped closer
than Stil-de-grain style: the short hair of the serious
athletic.

"That's the plan. Zwica to stay here
at Hero Castle. Platinia, as well. Coluth to continue bringing the
navy up to speed. Without Crystal-Magic, the regular military is
more important than ever.

"And you, Golden, do what you must to
unseat Lithoid. I think everyone in the Bands would sleep better if
you were king of Malachite. Just don't get yourself
killed."

"As you say," Golden answered,
whatever that might mean. John had never quite figured out the
multi-talented youth, not that he had to.

"Since it falls to me to strengthen
the navy," Coluth said, "might I ask the secret of the magic of the
fire stone ship?"

"I've given that a lot of thought,
Coluth. And I think it's better if no ideas from my world are
allowed to take root here."

An answer that didn't please the
Admiral. "This world was started by the ideas of the Hero," Coluth
countered, knowing John well enough that he could argue -- a
little. "It was the Hero who, in the long ago, went to your world
and returned with all this knowledge." Coluth waved his hands at
the room, meaning the medieval ideas that underpinned
Bandworld.

"I know. But I think that was a
special case. To add additional information from my world would
speed up what should be the natural development of this land. A
dangerous thing to do in unforseen ways." John wasn't exactly sure
what he'd just said, but thought the principal was right. Put guns
in the hands of children and disaster was sure to
follow.

Coluth bowed, at least seeming to
understand.

"I have great confidence in all of you
to run your affairs just fine without me. Then, again, I may
return, if only to see how well you're doing."

"We will look forward to that day,"
said Golden.

Ellen, taking no part in the
conversation, was none-the-less smiling, Ellen entirely well now.
John's only concern was that, back in their world, Band magic might
fail. A small worry, though. Nothing he'd accomplished here in the
past had "evaporated" on his return to his own world.

So ended the meal. Everything of
importance discussed. Time to go.

"I'll say goodbye here. At least for
now," John's meaning clear; that they were not to follow him to the
tower room.

Everyone at the table
bowed.

Sidling along the trestle, the others
doing the same, John's people -- for that was who they were --
formed a double line of honor for John and Ellen to walk
through.

And the two of them were off, first to
pass the fire stone warming pit, then through the long, tapestry
bedecked room, and into a twisting passageway, John to keep going
up as the best way to stay on track, always up.

John had learned more about the
castle's halls, however, enough to find the tower room without
getting lost -- more than a couple of times.

* * * * *

Down-light upon them, Platinia,
dressed in black to blend with the shadows between newly lighted
torches, backed away with no one noticing, to follow the Mage and
the woman.

* * * * *

Though John was interested to see if
he could find the tower, he made himself walk at Ellen's leisurely
pace. Was she still weak from Band Sickness?

"I'll be glad to get home," Ellen
said, going slower still. "But I'd like a last look at Xanthin. My
tour of the city was interrupted, as you'll remember."

"Never should have let you out of my
sight," John grumped.

"A medieval city. A functioning
medieval city," she purred, as if she hadn't heard his
complaint.

"And that's one problem I haven't
solved," John admitted.

"What?"

"How this legendary hero in the 'long
ago,' journeyed from the tower room in this castle, returning later
with the medieval ideas on which this civilization is
built."

"I don't think I follow
you."

"If he left from the tower room, he'd
have ended up under the stairs in my house. Or rather, in the place
where the house was later constructed. Much later. When he arrived,
the site of my future house must have been in open, Indian country.
He couldn't have materialized in stone age America. No way he could
have gotten from there to medieval Europe."

"Easy," Ellen said. "There has to be
another exit point to our world. One coming out some place
else."

"Why didn't I think of that," John
said, chagrined.

"Because you've had too much to do.
Too much to worry about. Me, for instance. And the people of
Stil-de-grain."

She was giving him an out for his
stupidity. Better take it. "Maybe."

"Back to the important topic," she
said, smiling up at him in the fire stone light as they passed
another of the corridor torches, blue eyes flashing, gold hair
mirroring the saffron light. "There's got to be a place where I can
get a last look at Xanthin down the hill."

"There is. If only I can remember how
to get there. I know there's a door that exits to a battlement. An
observation point, would be my guess. Used for the appraisal of an
attacking army. Even if I can't find the door, it shouldn't take
more than twenty minutes to get back on track."

"Well worth getting lost," Ellen
enthused.

And he was off down a side corridor,
one he thought he remembered blundering into on a previous "romp"
through the twisted turns of the castle's corridors.

Yes. There was the door. At the end of
the short hall.

The bar-way stopping them, after some
strain, he was able to drag back the heavy, oak slab, the two of
them stepping through the casement to find themselves on a narrow
walkway; no barricade to prevent someone from taking a four story
plunge to the Castle's stone courtyard.

John had a flash of insight. The
former caretaker of Hero Castle was an old, blind man named
Chryses. Who, according to Platinia, fell to his death off the
castle wall, this the perfect spot for an accident like
that.

Taking Ellen's hand, John made sure
that, in her 'medieval' enthusiasm, she didn't get too close to the
edge.

* * * * *

Now was Platinia's time! Chryses knew
she was an Etherial. And so Chryses must die before he hurt her,
like every man who'd known of her special, strengthening powers had
hurt her. It was here that, picking through his mind, she had found
... weariness ... with life. Strengthening that feeling until it
became despair, the old, blind man had walked off this
ledge.

Platinia was sorry. But she had to
protect herself from those who knew about her power.

This time, she would search through
the mind of Ellen, this woman too much in the Mage's mind. Find the
bad feelings there, about herself, about the world. Strengthening
those feelings, Platinia would get the woman to jump off,
too.

Concentrating, Platinia began to pick
through the woman's mind, the woman talking on and on about the
city below. How ... charming ... it was. How ...
historical.

Frantically, Platinia looked for
"dark" thoughts. Looked hard.

But found none.

The woman was completely happy. Happy
to be well. Happy to be here. Happy to be going home.

With no bad thoughts to build into
deadly ones, Platinia was helpless, Platinia giving up trying to
make the woman feel so bad this Ellen would ... jump.

Drawing back, Platinia would have to
find some other way to keep the Mage from leaving. To make the Mage
love her.

* * * * *

"Had enough?" John asked, after what
seemed to him to be forever.

"Never! But ... I'm ready to go back."
She sighed. "Is it possible, what they said at dinner?"

"What?"

"That you will return here some
day?"

"Maybe."

"Could a girl hitch a ride, if you
do?"

"After what you've been through
here?"

"I know that's true. But, knocked out
as I was, I didn't suffer. Mostly, I had a great time. And I'm
cured to boot."

* * * * *

Tears wetting her eyes, Platinia drew
back. Turned. Ran on mouse-quiet feet to get to the room above
before John-Lyon and the woman came there.

* * * * *

Round and round, rising, John led
Ellen to the tower, the two of them entering that musty room with
the shattered ceiling. Careful not to slip on its mossy floor, John
went to the hiding place in the wall, pulling back the secret,
stone door to take out the old, hand cranked Van de
graff.

"Stand here beside me, Ellen," he
said. "As close as you can. We both must get charged up to make the
jump."

Shadows beneath the stone table hiding
her where she lay -- her robe dirty from the wet-dust floor and
with green stains where she had crushed the floor's moss --
Platinia had one more chance to keep the love of John-Lyon of the
green, green eyes. To do that, she concentrated with all her heart
and mind on strengthening his love, such strengthening working
before, Platinia making John-Lyon love her. Kiss her.

Building. Building his love
....

Unexpectedly, John-Lyon took the woman
into his arms and kissed her, the woman returning his kiss
....

* * * * *

"You were right," Ellen said,
breathing hard but stepping back. "This place changes you. Nothing
here is the same as at home. We love each other now. You love me.
And I love you. Love you for more than bringing me here where I've
gotten back my health, gotten back my life. I can never thank you
enough. But once we're back home, we'll return to normal. We'll be
friends again."

Easy for you to say, John thought ...
but, of course, didn't say.

* * * * *

Platinia had lost again. Lost ...
everything.

Turning her face away, she could not
keep from listening to the whirring machine as it made
transformation fluid.

Finally to hear nothing ... even
Platnia's sobs choked to silence by the round stone
room.

###

John G. Stockmyer is an individual whose
irrepressible creativity has manifested itself in many ways: as a
poet, teacher, produced playwright, author, co-owner of an
educational materials business, creator of a time-machine
simulator, and, more recently, as a podcaster and producer of
eBooks. During his career he has received awards for scholarship,
numerous teaching awards and, as a writer, was a Thorpe Menn
finalist.