The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three (22 page)

“They are here, our comrades in misfortune. Can you feel them, Max?”

“I don’t feel a thing. Who are ‘they’? You mean those ghosts?”

“What ghosts?” said Juffin.

“Well, those transparent, shimmering shadows by the water. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You see them in a peculiar way. I see them completely differently. Rather, I don’t see them at all. You and I interpret the same phenomenon in two different
ways. Perhaps it’s all for the better. How many ‘ghosts’ do you see?”

“Let me count.” I counted. “Seventeen.”

“That’s correct. Seventeen. Ten definitely can find the way back; the others will have to take their chances. Look, Gugimagon, they treated you with the Crystal of Memory in the
Refuge for the Mad. Hand it over. These guys could use some right now.”

“Take it,” said Gugimagon, handing Juffin a dark, shiny object that looked like a piece of anthracite. “Why do you care so much about them? What difference does it make
what’s going to happen to those Shadows? They don’t belong to your people.”

“Of course they don’t. They’re not even from Echo, not even from the outskirts of the World, except for one woman from Tulan. Magicians only know what they were doing here.
Okay, I need to divide the Crystal of Memory into seventeen pieces: ten larger ones and seven smaller ones. Let’s see if I can make a good wiseman’s apprentice.” Juffin began to
tap the dark stone rhythmically. “Done. There you go, folks!”

He tossed the dark pieces of crystal into the sea. I saw the glowing transparent figures start to move. Something resembling hands stretched toward the pieces that were slowly sinking to the
bottom of the sea.

“Try to get back to your homes, people,” said Juffin with surprising tenderness. “And try to remember at least something of this story. The memory of it might help you later,
when you enter the Corridor between Worlds of your own accord—if you ever do. Now I’m going to open the Door for you.”

He raised his hand and, with visible effort, drew a large rectangle in the air. It looked like he was cutting very thick fabric with a very dull knife: the corners took the greatest amount of
effort. At last, he succeeded. I saw the contours of the rectangle glowing with a pale reddish light.

The seventeen ghostly creatures rushed toward Juffin, one after another. They vanished once they touched the glowing outline of the invisible Door. Less than a minute later, everything was
finished. Juffin sat down again by the remains of Gugimagon. The giant’s game was definitely over: he looked less and less like a living person. But Juffin didn’t pay any attention to
him. He turned to me and smiled a disarming smile.

“Long, long ago,” he said, “when I was a very young lad, the same thing happened to me. Someone like this fellow here”—he nodded in the direction of
Gugimagon’s immobile body—“stole my spirit. A small part of it—I was lucky. Naturally, back then, I didn’t realize what had happened. On the outside, I remained an
ordinary boy. No one would have thought of taking me to the Refuge for the Mad. Something was missing, though I didn’t realize it. I was very young and didn’t know what other people
felt. I thought the emptiness I felt inside was a regular human feeling, that life felt empty, stupid, and cheerless for everyone else, too. I couldn’t muster a genuine interest in anything.
It all seemed pointless: boring and gloomy days that all looked alike, nights without dreams, and a weariness that seemed endless.

“I wandered around, miserable, my eyes dull and unseeing. They saw nothing but my own reflection in a million mirrors, and the reflection made me sick. I’m speaking metaphorically,
Max. There are no words to describe just how horrible I felt. The worst part was that there was a piece of me that still remembered it could be otherwise. It pained me, and the pain was unconscious
and indescribable. This went on until old Sheriff Mackie Ainti offered me a position as his deputy. Now I realize that the first thing he did when he got to know me a little better was to go to
Xumgat, find that little piece of me that was missing, and probably kick someone’s butt while he was at it. He released my spirit from captivity. And then I knew the taste of true life
again.”

Juffin lay on his back, stretched his legs, and put his hands behind his head. He sighed, it seemed, not so much from physical relaxation but from the emotions that filled him.

He continued. “That night I was on the nightshift at the House by the Road. It was my second nightshift—or was it my third one? I dozed off in the armchair and then suddenly woke up.
I jumped as though I’d been stung. The wind had opened the window, and I realized that beyond it were beautiful things like raindrops and the smell of wet leaves of the shott tree. It was as
magnificent as some purple sunrise at the opposite end of the Universe.

“I jumped out the window and took a walk through the city. I crossed every single bridge—do you remember how many bridges there are in Kettari, Max? I drank some horrible drink in an
all-night tavern, amazed at its taste. I touched everything I could get my hands on, just to make sure it was real . . . or that I was real. And it was true: that night I finally became
‘real’ again and almost went crazy from the sensation. I am still ecstatic about the fact of my own existence and the existence of every single blade of grass under my feet. I have
something to compare it to because I can’t forget the time that I lived among all of this and felt almost nothing.

“Then I got a grip on myself and returned to work. That sly fox Mackie reprimanded me for hours for my spontaneous leave of absence. Now I realize that he was reprimanding me so I
wouldn’t go insane from happiness—although I’m not sure he chose the most efficient method.”

Juffin smiled dreamily, as though the reprimand from Mackie Ainti, the old sheriff of Kettari, had been the most delightful event in his life. And maybe it had been, in a sense.

“So now you . . . you sort of paid back the debt?” I said.

“You got it!” said Juffin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. You can’t imagine how happy I am now, thinking about those poor souls. Maybe some of them have
even gone mad with the fullness of sensation, the sudden return of feelings. It’s the most charming form of madness, if I do say so myself.”

“I think I understand,” I said. “When I ended up on the path of the Tipfinger, got lost in my World and forgot myself, and then began to remember again, slowly, step by step .
. . It probably wasn’t exactly the same, but still . . .”

“Yes,” said Juffin, nodding. “All stories about finding yourself are, in essence, one and the same story. Of course you know what I’m talking about. You of all people
should know.”

He turned to Gugimagon and put his hand on the old man’s pale forehead. “I hope you listened carefully. I could have told the story to my colleague later, but I wanted you to know
what happened to those you’ve been stealing strength from. One might say it’s pointless to preach to someone who’s about to die, but no one really knows what happens to those who
die in Xumgat. It may not be real death, but that’s what you’re counting on, right? If I could choose where to die, that’s where I’d choose to die, too.”

Gugimagon didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell if he’d heard anything of what Juffin had been saying. The boss shook his head in disbelief and turned back to me. “This is all
fine and dandy, but you and I should get out of here. I’m beginning to feel homesick.”

“Me too, but how am I supposed to get out of here if you don’t let me dig out of my own grave?”

“Easy. I’ll simply open our Door right at the bottom of your grave, as you call it. What a terrible term you’ve chosen!”

“Comes with the outfit,” I said. “It’s my Mantle of Death. I have to wear it all the time, and it affects my outlook.”

“Well, well,” said Juffin, getting up. “It’s best for you to close your eyes. It makes it easier for me to open the Door and will protect you from unnecessary
stress.”

I submitted and closed my eyes, but even through my eyelids I could see the straight lines glowing with the now familiar reddish light. Juffin was probably cutting the fabric of space with the
metaphysical counterpart of a blunt knife again.

Then the absolute coldness of the Corridor between Worlds embraced me, and one of the myriad glowing dots was the Door to Echo, right into my bedroom on the Street of Old Coins.

Try to stay here for a moment, Max. This was Juffin’s call, no doubt about it. I was surprised. I had thought that there wasn’t room for anything in this absolute emptiness, even for
Silent Speech. I wanted to reply but couldn’t, just like in those distant times when I had only begun to master the basics of Silent Speech.

Don’t try to answer. First, you don’t yet know how to do it here. Second, it takes a lot of strength, which you don’t have at the moment, Juffin continued. Try staying here
until you see me. I think you can do it. If you can’t, no big deal. In that case, just allow our World to take you. I just wanted you to see how people die in Xumgat. It’s not every day
that you see this.

I had no idea how I could “stay” in this place. The Door to my bedroom on the Street of Old Coins was ready to let me in—or, rather, it was ready to take me away from here.
Inhabited Worlds usually won’t let an inexperienced traveler hang out on their thresholds for long. They are as impatient as angry mothers who pull their disobedient offspring by the scruff
of the neck.

“May I wait for Juffin?” I said in an indecisive tone.

I had never tried to speak out loud in this mysterious place, so I was scared of my own voice and the long reverberation, which wasn’t so much a sound as a strange sensation in my body.
Yet I was positive that this silly monologue might be a good way to bargain with . . . I don’t know . . . whomever. I mustered my will and added, “I have to stay here a little longer. I
want to.”

My wheedling worked, for better or for worse. I was free. The Door to my World still loomed ahead, but its pull had abated.

“Thank you,” I said, just in case. I thought a little courtesy wouldn’t hurt.

Then I saw Juffin. He was very near, although when you’re in the Corridor between Worlds, familiar terms like “near” and “far” are meaningless. Still, it seemed I
could touch him if I dared stretch out my hand. Yet . . . Heck, I wasn’t sure I even had hands. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could do was watch.

Juffin’s body seemed huge and shining. The longer I looked at him, the larger and brighter his outlines became. Beside him glimmered some shapeless clump. I realized it was Gugimagon, the
formidable traveler between Worlds, the local Freddy Krueger. It occurred to me that he must already be dead: only a dead man could remain so small and dim in this place.

Then something incomprehensible happened. I thought I saw Juffin scoop up his captive with enormous hands that he then rubbed together, grinding the rarified matter of the body. Then he
carefully shook the remains off his hands. Mesmerized, I watched how millions of shiny specks of dust poured into the emptiness. They disappeared but were not extinguished. I couldn’t explain
why, but I knew that these particles continued to exist a strange, indescribable existence.

Juffin was now very close to me—so close, in fact, that he pushed me in the chest so hard that I crashed onto my own bed, just barely missing the rack of video gear.

“Sorry, boy. I think I overdid it a tad. Did you hurt yourself?” said Juffin. He was sitting on the window ledge. His predatory profile stood out against the window—a perfect
profile to put on a coin.

“Is that it?” I said, smiling a silly smile. “Are we home? Everything’s over?”

“Well, not everything, praise be the Magicians,” said Juffin. “Our lives aren’t over, for example. They go on, which may call for a little celebration. I suggest we head
to the House by the Bridge and free Sir Shurf from his incarceration. He hasn’t had a wink of sleep, and he hasn’t been having as much fun as we have.”

“Of course,” I said, jumping up. Then I made a face. “I’d rather change first. I’m all covered in this darn sand.”

“You’ll change when you get home,” said Juffin. “Let’s go, Max. You’ll need more than just a change. You’ll need a bath, and while you’re
splashing in your four bathing pools, I’ll start watching a movie, and poor Shurf will have to stay in his cell until noon, at least. In other words, cleaning up will have to wait.
That’s an order.”