The Reach Between Worlds (The Arclight Saga, Book 1) (26 page)

Friends and Enemies

The crowd was thick as oil and twice as hard to push through. There were people from all walks of life, but the majority were residents of the lower city. The Midway was the only thing stopping them from pressing against the tower itself.

With the thousands of bodies and hundreds of small fires, it was actually quite warm. Taro stepped over sleeping children and shimmied past chattering old-timers.

“Do yeh reckon it’ll be soon?” an old Helian man said to another.

“Suppose so. Dawn’s not far off,” the man responded.

Near the Midway was a sight that chilled Taro’s blood. Magister Ross sat with her hands utterly destroyed, and her feet shackled to a heavy iron block.

Nearby were Veldheim and Sullen, each chained up but mostly unharmed. Sullen had his mechanical arm removed and a group of children were playing with, poking at the Midway and sending ripples in the energy field. Each of the magisters had cuffs on their wrists identical to those that Vexis had in her cell.

Ross’ clothes were shredded, her skin was bruised and bloody, and the glass of her spectacles was lodged in the skin around her eye. Bloody rocks lay around her, and once in a while an onlooker would lob another in her direction.

It was exactly the horror of what had happened to her that struck Taro so hard, but rather the elation on the faces of the people involved. He wondered why they didn’t just kill her and be done with it, but as Ross was positioned to face the tower, Taro suspected that Vexis wanted her to see the Arclight when it activated.

Ross was alive, but seemed to have grown numb to the pain and didn’t even twitch when a stone struck her back. As Taro neared, he circled around and their eyes met. Cut into the flesh of her forehead was the world ‘IMPERATOR.’ He wasn’t sure if she couldn’t see him through her bloody eyes, or if she chose not to acknowledge him, in either case she didn’t say a word. In either case, freeing her and the other magisters was impossible.

A crackle rumbled through the air like a bolt of lightning. At first, Taro thought it was something striking the Midway, but people began pointing towards the top of the Magisterium. The ice on the tip cracked and slid down the sides. The entire tower seemed to tremble and the triangular crystal plates at the top glowed from the inside.

Yellow fire erupted from the Arclight. The force was so great it shook the buildings beneath and forced Taro onto his back.

The Arclight shined with the white-hot brilliance of the sun. It felt different than ordinary light; there was a static charge to it that permeated deep into his skin.

Many years ago, Taro had grown accustomed to the discomfort caused by his prosthetic. When the light touched him, the pain dissolved like water washing away sand.

After getting over the initial shell-shock, the crowd burst into cheering and applause. Taro glanced at Ross, whose bruises and cuts disappeared in seconds.

Arclight’s fire receded and the city was dark once again. Perhaps it was just a test?

Taro’s aurom warmed against his chest as he passed through the Midway.

Other than the warders at the main gate, the courtyard seemed empty. Any confrontation would alert Vexis to his presence, so he kept his head low and snuck past the fountains and frozen garden arches towards the side of the tower.

“I should be surprised to see you alive,” a voice called to Taro. He froze like a statue and tilted his eyes towards an icy park bench. On it sat Mr. Mathan. He looked different. His clothes were ruffled and cheeks were slick, but what stood out more than anything else was the absence of a cigar.

Mathan didn’t make any provocative actions. Actually, he seemed positively indifferent. He was clenching something small between his fingers. It was a picture of someone, but his finger covered most of the image.

“It was foolish of you to come here,” Mathan said. “But I understand why you would.”

“You’re not...?”

“Going to stop you?” Mathan grinned slightly and shook his head. “No.”

Once again the Arclight exploded overhead for a brief moment before flickering out like snuffed candle.

“It won’t be long now.” Mathan glanced sideways at the crowds outside the Midway. “Poor devils. They have no idea what’s coming.”

“So we were right, then? She’s going to use the Arclight to kill them?” Taro said.

Mathan seemed surprised by this. “You’re more observant than Dennith and I.” He chuckled to himself. “Can you believe I actually believed her? There was a time when nothing got past me. When it’s ready, everything outside will be struck down.”

“Then why are you out here?”

Mathan briefly glanced at the photo in his hands. It was of a boy. “The only person that matters is safe.”

“My sister isn’t,” Taro countered.

“On the contrary, she’s safe and sound inside the tower.”

“Why didn’t you send her back to Ashwick like we agreed?”

“Halric wanted her. He said it was for ‘insurance,’ but didn’t care to elaborate. I truly apologize for my hand in all this.” He looked up at the sky. “I hope my imminent death can be a pittance for it.”

“I have a better pittance: help me get inside.”

Mathan searched his pocket and pulled out a cigar box. It was empty. “Damn. The last pitiful hour of my life and I can’t even get a decent smoke.”

“I need your help,” Taro said, growing annoyed by his obtuseness.

“You don’t really expect to be able to stop her, do you?”

“I sure as hell am gonna try. Will you help me?” He stared into Mathan’s eyes. “Do you want a million deaths on your conscience?”

Mathan stood with some difficulty and brushed the snow off his pants leg. He tucked the photo into his vest pocket. “I’ll help you get inside and point you to the right direction. What you do after that is your business.”

Mathan ushered him to follow, and they made their way to the main gate. The warders nodded to Mathan and opened the doors.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the inner layout of the tower,” Mathan said. “Vexis mentioned that the entrance to the Arclight chamber was in the Conservatorium. Does that make any sense to you?”

“I’ve been to the Cons a hundred times and never seen any door.”

“It’s obscured by magic.” Mathan checked his pocket watch. “The Arclight will be repaired by sunrise. That leaves you a little less than two hours.”

They passed a few sets of warders, none of which attempted to stop them.

“How many warders are working for her?” Taro whispered.

“A hundred or so, most were killed early on. Their loyalty to her is tenuous at best, but it would be wise to stay clear of them.”

When they were past the next set of warders, and in the curved hallway behind the Curia, Taro pointed to a grate on the wall. Ven showed it to him many months earlier. “There’s a maintenance shaft in there that will get us to the Cons quicker.”

“There’s no us,” Mathan said.

“I can’t do this alone,” Taro pleaded.

For the first since Taro could remember, Mathan didn’t look intimidating. He didn’t look imposing. He looked old. “I can’t go crawling around through air ducts. I’ve got no magic, all I’ve got is money, and I don’t think Vexis will take a bribe. I’ll do my best to divert the guards for you, at least.”

Taro sighed, yanked the grate off the wall, and climbed inside. The narrow crawlspace led over a pack of sputtering wheel-cranks and to a ladder that seemed to go up forever. It would be forty floors of climbing, and that was assuming it was a straight shot and that none of the pathways decided to change along the way.

When he placed one foot against the first rung of the ladder, he heard a clank against the wall. It was the grate being re-attached. At first Taro didn’t pay it any mind, but soon after he heard talking.

Sikes’ voice was slow and deliberate. “All alone? That’s very unfortunate for you.”

“Mr. Sikes. I was wondering when Vexis would let you out of your cage,” Mathan said. Taro’s first instinct was to intervene, but Mathan tapped on the grate with his fingers. “Go on.”

Sikes thought Mathan was talking to him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he answered.

Mathan scoffed. “What do you want me to do? Apologize?”

“You used me,” Sikes said, practically snarling.

“Of course I used you. Did you think I was acting out of the kindness of my heart, you stupid boy?”

Taro peaked through the grate and saw that Sikes had Mathan by the fabric of his vest.

“Go ahead,” Mathan said defiantly. “I’m not going to die groveling on my knees. You should be thanking me. A piece of Helian garbage rising to the rank of artificer is impressive. Like a circus chimp dressed up in a uniform.”

“Shut up!”

The entire maintenance shaft trembled as something struck the wall outside. Mathan groaned for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by choking laughter.

“I said shut up!” Sikes repeated.

“You know the best part? In a few minutes all of the Helians outside will fry like bacon. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Sikes hesitated, and his tone grew more concerned than accusatory. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, she hasn’t told you? That’s marvelous. When the Arclight is repaired, everyone outside of this building will burn. And the Helians outside get front-row seats.”

“You’re lying. You just want me to let you live.”

“I would never lower myself in such a way. You are beneath me. If you were on fire, I wouldn’t stop to piss on you.” Mathan backed against the wall and felt at something in his back right pocket. He fished it out, and found that it was a lone bent cigar. “Dear sweet gods, yes.” He broke the end with his bare fingers and lit it. The first puff he took was manic, like a man who’d wandered through the desert finally taking his first drink.

Mathan stepped towards Sikes and blew a puff of smoke in his face. “Go ahead and kill me. See if it does you any good. In the end you’ll be just as poor, just as feeble, and just as helpless as ever.”

Sikes’ templar flared like a furnace, and Taro scampered towards the ladder. He didn’t need to watch to know what was coming next. The walls shook with every blow, and went on much past the point where Mathan would’ve been a bloody mess against the wall.

The shaking eventually stopped, but the climb to the fortieth floor was not a silent one. The sound was faint, almost inaudible at first, but soon drowned out everything else. It was the whimpering cry of a Helian boy.

Breaking the Illusion

The door to the Conservatorium creaked off its hinges, and cool mountain air wafted into the hall. Taro cautiously stepped inside onto the grass and the door disappeared behind him.

It was quiet. Not the usual quite of the Cons, which was often punctuated with the tweeting of birds and the rustle of leaves. This was an eerie quiet. The trees before him were thrust apart as if a tornado had blown past, creating a perfectly straight path through the forest.

The enchantment on the walls and ceiling flickered, and dry leaves crunched underfoot as he stepped towards the clearing. The normally neat, tilled earth was thrown up and torn petals and stems were strewn across the ground. Beside the shredded flowers was Antherion’s body. Thick bluish-green blood trickled from huge cuts across his massive chest and the arch of his wings. The wounds were so deep Taro thought the dragon was dead until he saw his chest heave.

“Taro.” Antherion’s voice was one part surprise, one part relief.

Taro looked over Antherion’s side in more detail. His fist-sized scales were torn and gnarled, and the flesh underneath was lacerated. The slices were clean, almost surgical.

“Vexis did this to you,” Taro said.

Antherion wheezed and clenched his teeth. “Her powers have grown more hideous since we last met.”

“She came here before?” Taro asked, then quickly answered his own question. “The day she killed Magister Briggs.”

Antherion tilted his head towards the sky. The enchantment overhead crackled and warped. “I feared the worst.”

“Most of the artificers are alive.”

“Are they here?”

“Just me. I had a magister with me, but we got separated.”

Antherion stretched his body and winced like a rush of pain washed over him.

“Don’t try to move.” Taro brushed his hand over the dragon’s snout.

“It’s too late for me. You must go.”

“I can’t leave, I need to get to the Arclight. Which way is it?”

Antherion pointed his tail west of the mountains. “Twenty yards in that direction.”

There was nothing but a field of grass for at least fifty yards.

“I don’t understand,” Taro said.

“This room is much smaller than it appears. We use it as a greenhouse, but it is in fact here to obscure the location of the Arclight.”

Antherion closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. His words grew progressively quieter until Taro strained to hear him over the wind.

“Walk straight. Follow the setting sun, don’t stop, and don’t turn away. Remember that the end is an illusion.” His final breath left him and his body went still. All at once, shadows slithered across his scales.

Taro backed away. Slowly at first, but as the realization of what was about to spawn entered his mind, it became a flat run punctuated by frantic glances over his shoulder. If the death of a human could pull an apparition from the Reach, Taro didn’t want to see what spawned from a creature as ancient and powerful as a dragon.

Taro fumbled over a mossy rock-face, panting and trying to put as much distance between him and Antherion as possible. The rocks ended in a sharp transition; one step he was standing in the forest, the next he was knee-deep in swamp muck. The bog before him teamed with varieties of small life: bullfrogs croaked, snakes slithered across the surface, and the foggy air was thick with mosquitos. Giant roots of craggy trees twisted through the bog like a maze, and mushrooms sprouted from every inch of the slimy water.

Taro tried desperately to find a dry patch to walk on. His shoe and sock filled with muck, and he could feel every creep and slither across his legs.

Two miles in, he was lost. Whether from the gases rising from the bog, or the fact that he could no longer make out the sun, he wasn’t sure he was going in the right direction.

What finally set him straight was a roar in the distance. It felt like someone reached into his heart and squeezed.

The enchantment crackled and the true shape of the room came into view. For a split second, Taro saw the creature pursuing him. It had seven legs, three of which stuck out of its back. Beside these were tendrils with tiny teeth on the ends that lashed like whips, and its mouth was a dripping cluster of razor-sharp black teeth.

The bog ended at a sheer cliff. Water flowed down the edges, and the lands below seemed to go on for hundreds of miles. Antherion told him not to turn, but Taro couldn’t find a way to continue. His legs were soaking wet, the cliff was slippery, and climbing down wasn’t an option.

The trees creaked and cracked as the creature lurched closer to the cliff.

“This isn’t real,” Taro said to himself. “There is no cliff. There is no drop.” Taro hovered his foot over the ledge, but pulled back when it didn’t touch anything. “It’s not real,” he repeated.

The creature lunged at him, and this time Taro didn’t hesitate. He jumped. The feeling of falling hundreds of feet shook through his body. The ground rushed towards him, but when he struck it, the grass and trees melted away into a solid stone floor.

Taro managed to roll over. From this angle he could see the true make of the Conservatorium. The room took up the entire floor, and ridges covered in detailed magistry lined the ceiling and projected the images below. In the center was a clear barrier where the enchantment ended. It was like clear sky-colored glass, and on the other side the creature ran across the cliff side, staring down at where Taro had fallen.

On the far end of the chamber were four prongs coming from a triangular recess in the floor. When Taro stood on it, a stone pedestal rose waist-level to him.

“Welcome,” a voice called from the pedestal. “Please state your destination verbally, or enter it on the console before you.”

“The Arclight?” Taro said as if it were a question.

The platform clicked, separated, and lifted into the air.