The Tower of Endless Worlds (14 page)

“Oh,” said Ally. She thought for a moment. “That’s a good thing.”

Liam laughed. “Yes, I would say so.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Ally. “You’ll need help to take care of the baby.”

“I will,” said Liam. “I don’t have much experience with children. It’s nothing short of a miracle that I’ve managed to take care of him so long.”

“Do you have children of your own?” said Ally.

Liam looked away. “No.” He felt Ally’s stare. “I…not anymore.”

He remembered Princess Anna, screaming as the bullets plunged into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” said Ally.

“Are you strong enough to walk?” said Liam, slinging Lithon over his back. Ally nodded. “Then we should…”

A gurgling laugh rose into the air.

Liam yanked out a Sacred Blade. “Get behind me!” Ally scurried behind his legs. One of the soldiers crawled across the ground, staring up at him. Liam’s strike hadn’t killed him.

“I’ll give you the mercy of death,” said Liam, “but it’s more than you deserve.”

The soldier managed another laugh, blood dripping from his wounds. “You old bastard. You don’t know. I heard you. You’re going to the Tower. You’ll die.”

“I think not,” said Liam. 

The gunman whimpered. “You’ll see. There are ghouls out at night, I’ve seen them. Ghouls and worse things.” 

“Hardly my concern,” said Liam. “I shall reach the Tower before nightfall.”

The gunman snorted. “They come from the Tower, old bastard. And lots of other things come out of the Tower. Winged things, things that crawl, things that dig, things with a thousand legs and nine eyes.” He began to shudder, tears beading in his eyes. “They come out of the Tower. You’ll see. Kill me, kill me, please, don’t leave me for them…”

Liam’s sword stabbed down and put the soldier out of his misery. Lithon began to cry, and Ally stared up at him with her deep dark eyes. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” said Liam.

Ally nodded. 

“Then let’s go,” said Liam. He looked at the sky, dim even at noon. “We’ll want to reach the Tower’s gates before dark.” 

###

“Almost there,” said Liam. “We’re almost there.”

Ally said nothing. She had not spoken more than a dozen words in the last five hours. Liam wondered what horrors the young child had seen. 

He could well guess.

He looked up at the horizon. The Tower filled the sky, its arched black windows like eyes into an endless void. Statues of gargoyles, imps, demons, angels, griffins, devils, dragons, and countless other creatures stood on its parapets and flying buttresses. Liam could not shake the feeling that they watched him. 

He shuddered and looked away. Lithon was a small child, but his weight dug into Liam’s shoulders and back. He wiped more sweat from his brow with trembling fingers.

He was an old man. An old man, and an exhausted one. How much longer would his strength last? 

“Almost there,” he repeated, more to himself than Ally.

Ally said nothing. 

He saw a vast arched opening, a hundred feet tall, at the base of the Tower. A broad flight of black granite stairs led up to the door. Liam and Ally started up the steps, Liam's worn boots clicking against the cold stone. Ally’s bare feet made not a whisper of sound. 

“Once inside, we’ll stop for some food and water,” said Liam. “We can rest a bit, and then…”

A piercing wail rose from the grim plains. Liam turned, his Sacred Blades flashing into his hands. Another howling wail rose up, followed by three more.

“What in the name of the gods is that?” said Liam.

Ally looked at him. “The ghouls.” 

It was almost full dark. A faint green radiance shone from the windows and the parapets of the Tower. Another hideous wail pierced the night. Liam glimpsed dark shapes writhing at the base of the steps. 

Ally blinked. “I think we should run.”

Liam whirled and tore up the steps to the great door, Ally keeping pace besides him. Liam risked a glance over his shoulder. Dark shapes loped their way up the stairs. In the dim light, he could not make out details, but what he saw chilled him. 

“Hurry!” said Liam. 

They sprinted through the gates. 

Chapter 13 -  The Door To The Tower

Anno Domini 2003

Simon could not believe that Conmager stood upon his porch.

Yet there he was. Conmager looked healthier, less desperate than the wild-eyed man Simon had met six months ago.

Simon shook his head. “I was sure they would kill you.”

Conmager’s thin lips twitched. “They almost did. So, I did the only thing I could do. I came back to Chicago.”

Simon sputtered. “What? You…came back here, with those things chasing you? Are you insane?”

“Quite probably,” said Conmager. “But I was a thief and a highwayman before the Master took me as one of his apprentices. Sometimes the only way to throw off the hunters is to go to the place of the greatest danger.” He shrugged. “This city is the place of the greatest danger for me. So they do not search for me here. Instead, they seek for me in the great city of angels.”

Simon frowned. “You mean LA?” 

Conmager nodded. “Yes. Los Angeles. They look for me there, amongst its teeming crowds.”  He grinned. “They will not find me there.”

Simon hissed. “Get in here. I don’t want anyone to see you.”  He grabbed Conmager’s arm and pulled him inside. 

“You are right,” said Conmager, brushing snow from his sleeves. Simon slammed the door and locked it. “I can only stay for a brief time.” 

“I won’t stop you,” said Simon. “Why are you here at all? I told you to go and never come back.”

“I must see something,” said Conmager. “Get your coat.”

“My coat?” said Simon. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Quite true,” said Conmager. “We are just going to the trees behind your house. However, it is cold. You will want your coat.” 

Simon spread his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll get my coat.”  Simon pulled his coat from the hall closet and wrapped it around him. “Let me get my boots quick. They’re upstairs.”

Conmager nodded. “As you wish. Hurry, though. I am pressed for time.”

Simon hurried upstairs. He looked at the phone on the table at the end of the hall. He could call the police. Conmager would never know until they arrived. Simon bit his lip, doubt and hesitation battling within him. Why had Conmager come back?

The memory winged thing crashed through his mind. No matter what theories or explanations he devised about Conmager, they all foundered on his memory of the winged creature. He could not explain that. Simon retrieved his boots from his room, shoved them on his feet, and stomped back downstairs. 

Conmager leaned against the wall, staring into the shadowy dining room. If he knew of Simon’s doubt, his face gave no indication. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Simon scratched his chin. “I don’t understand. What could you possibly want to see in the woods?”

A sad half-smile tugged at Conmager’s lips. “I do not understand myself, Simon Wester of Chicago. Let us go and see.”

Simon led him through the kitchen and out the back door. He flipped on the porch light, its glow playing over the snow-filled driveway. Simon would have to shovel the drive again tomorrow, assuming Conmager didn’t get him killed. 

“There,” said Conmager, his voice a scratchy whisper. “There.”

“What is it?” said Simon. 

“It is as I thought,” said Conmager. “Those woods. How long have they stood there?”

Simon blinked. “The trees? You want to know how old the woods are? Don’t tell me you came here to ask about the trees behind my backyard.”

Conmager grabbed his arm. “It is important.”

Simon slid away from his grip. “Fine. The trees are…old. I don’t know for sure how old. I think they’re old growth, some of the forest left over from pre-Columbian America.” He shrugged. “All I know for sure is that they’re older than the city.” 

“Older than the city,” said Conmager. “And how old is the city?”

“About a hundred and fifty years old, more or less,” said Simon.

Conmager shook his head. “A century and a half. The great cities of my world…my nation were a thousand years old. Yet they are tiny compared to Chicago and the city of angels and the Isle of Manhattan. A young country, this is. And yet so vast.”

“Fascinating,” said Simon, “but this is neither the time nor the place for a lengthy historical discussion. What’s so important about the trees?” 

“I am almost sure.”  Conmager started down the porch steps. “Come with me.”

“What?” said Simon. He followed Conmager, grabbing at the railing to keep from slipping. “I am not tramping through the woods in twenty degree weather during a snowstorm.” Conmager marched into the backyard, floundering through the snow. Simon growled, cursed himself as a fool, and followed Conmager. 

The light from the porch faded as they drew closer to the trees, but the dim city glow reflecting off the snow provided enough light to see. Conmager started down the steep slope to the trees, snow slipping and sliding past his shoes. Simon found his own path down the slope, grabbing at the ground for purchase. 

“You mind telling me what you’re looking for?” said Simon. 

Conmager stopped at the edge of the trees. “As I have said, I do not know. But it is close.” He strode down a narrow, snow-choked path between the thick old trunks. Simon followed, clutching at the trunks and branches to keep his balance.

Shadows lay over the old woods, mingling with gleaming white snow. Patches of the purple night sky showed between the tangled branches. Simon floundered along, the cold air biting at his nose. He wished he had brought a hat.

The path ended in a clearing, and Conmager stopped, staring at the ground. Simon almost crashed into him. “What? What is it? Did you find…it, whatever it is?”

Conmager raised his eyes and gazed into the clearing. His breath rose in short puffs. “Can you not see it?”

Simon looked back and forth. He saw nothing but bare trees and snowy ground. “See what?”

“The door,” said Conmager. “Ah, I was right. The Master was right. How much did he know? How much could he have known? But he had the gift of Prophecy, of foreseeing.”

“What are you talking about?” said Simon. 

“Can you not see it?” said Conmager, gesturing at the empty air. 

Simon almost screamed in frustration. “I can’t see a thing. What were saying before? Something about a door? Oh, I get it. You must be one of those UFO cultists or something. Let me guess. The door’s going to open, and it’ll take you up to a spaceship, and then you’ll get seventy-two virgins or something for all eternity?”

Conmager blinked. “Not to my knowledge, no.” He snapped his gloved fingers. “But I forget. You cannot see it. You have not the gift. I shall try to make things more…visible for you.” 

He stepped forward and raised his arms, head lowered. His fingers traced odd patterns in the air, and he mumbled a long string of phrases. Simon stared at him. Was this some bizarre joke?

“This is ridiculous,” said Simon. “I’m going back…”

A pale white light bathed the clearing, seeming to spring from the earth. 

Simon gaped. 

A dark square appeared in the center of the clearing. Simon could see the trees through it, yet it seemed solid and real. It looked like a massive door built from green-veined black marble. Odd symbols had been carved in patterns across the stone door, and a faint light shimmered and sparked around its edges. Conmager smacked his hands together, and the door flickered and vanished. 

“What…what…what was that?” said Simon, tongue tangling around his teeth.

Conmager wiped sweat from his brow. “Exhausting.”

“What? No, the thing that looked like a door,” said Simon. “What was that?”

“A door,” said Conmager. 

“To where?” said Simon.

Conmager stared at the empty snow. “A door to the Tower.”

“The Tower?” said Simon. He blinked in confusion. “What Tower? You don’t mean the Sears Tower or something?”

“No,” said Conmager. “The Tower of Endless Worlds. The Master was right. Indeed, I saw it with my own eyes when I followed the caravan through the Tower’s perils. The gallery ended in five doors. Wycliffe only uses one. The other doors have to open somewhere.”

Simon shook his head. “This has to be a scam of some sort. That’s the only explanation. That…that door was a hologram or something. Next you’ll want all my credit card numbers and the numbers to my bank account.”

Conmager didn’t blink. “You saw the winged one. Explain how that is a scam.”

The memory of the winged thing surged through him, and a ghost of the fear tugged at his stomach.

“You know I am not lying to you,” said Conmager, his voice quiet. “I have not told you everything, it is true, but neither have I told you lies.”

Simon stared into the woods. He thought of the day, months ago, when he had seen Conmager hiding in the parking lot behind Katrina’s building. “I’ve tried to convince myself a thousand times that you’re a con artist. I’ve almost done it, too. But I keep remembering the winged thing.”

“Those who see the winged ones do not easily forget them,” said Conmager. 

Simon snorted. “Yeah, I can agree.” He waved his hand at the empty clearing. “So, you said you wanted to see something, right? Well, you’ve seen it. Now what?”

Conmager sighed, his breath rolling up from his mouth. “Simon Wester. I must ask a favor of you.” 

Simon flinched. “What?”

Conmager’s eyes were solemn. “It is of vast importance. The fate of many lives may hinge on this.”

Simon took a step back. “It’s my van you’re driving around the country. I already took a huge risk helping you before. I can’t do so again.” 

“You must,” said Conmager. “If you do not, millions of people may die.”

Simon glared. “Maybe, but you haven’t told me much, have you? Never told me a lie, but not all the truth? Then you can tell me more, if you want my help.”

Conmager slumped. “Perhaps you are right.”

“Let’s go back in, at least,” said Simon. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Might I beg some food of you?” said Conmager. “I have not had the opportunity to eat today.” 

“I’ll cook something,” said Simon.

###

Simon hit the power button on the microwave. “You don’t look as starved as you did, but you still look half a famine victim.”

Conmager sat the kitchen table with a sigh. “I had not eaten well for years before I came to your nation. Truly, Simon Wester, your nation is a land of bounty.”

“It is.”  The microwave beeped, and Simon pulled out a bowl of beef stew and set it before Conmager. “Here. Eat up. There’s more in the fridge.”

“Thank you.” Conmager took his spoon and attacked the stew. 

Simon watched him. “Now. Why should I help you?”

Conmager took a long drink of water. “I told you I had come from a distant nation. Do you remember?” Simon nodded. “That was true. I did come from a far nation. I did not tell you quite how far, though.”

“So where did you come from?” said Simon.

“I was born in the city of Carlisan, greatest of the seven High Kingdoms,” said Conmager, “though I was of little birth, and survived as a thief and a highwayman in my youth and young manhood.”

Simon took a bowl of leftover noodles from the fridge and sat down. “I thought you seemed like a con artist.”

Conmager half-smiled. “I had a shadowy youth, but it has served me well. I learned much of men and their hearts and their ways. Nations and customs may differ, but men are often greedy and stupid, no matter where you go. This knowledge that has enabled me to survive in your strange land. But I digress. Carlisan is a farther nation than you know.” 

“Where is it?” said Simon. “I’ve never heard of it. Some place in Africa?”  

Conmager shook his head. “No. It…is on another world, Simon Wester.”

"Another world?" said Simon. 

“Another world, one so far that the distances cannot be reckoned,” said Conmager. 

“Another world. Right,” said Simon. “And how did you get here? Flying saucer? Rocket ship? Hitch a ride on the Starship Enterprise?” 

“No,” said Conmager. “I, and others far darker, found our way to your world, to Earth, through the Tower of Endless Worlds.”

Simon tried to laugh, but Conmager looked so serious. “What is that? It sounds like a Japanese theme park.”

Conmager shook his head. “It stands far northwest of Carlisan, on a great expanse of ghoul-haunted wasteland called the Crimson Plain. It is a long journey to reach the Tower. One must pass through the lands of Narramore, then through the great forest of northern Rindl. Then the road goes over the Mountains of Rindl, across the whispering ruins of the Forgotten Vales, and through the canyons and cliffs of the Broken Mountains.” His eyes were distant, as if seeing old memories. “And then there is the Crimson Plain, with the ghouls and the wraiths that haunt it after dark.” His voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “And then the Tower, in all its horrible glory, like the black finger of a marble god. It is huge, Simon Wester, greater than even the mightiest skyscraper of Chicago or the city of angels. And terrible. So terrible.”

Simon leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Sounds like this Tower affected you.”

Conmager scooped up another spoonful of stew. “I have a good memory, but even I forget things from time to time. Yet I cannot forget the Tower. I cannot. It is etched into my mind, every buttress, every arch, every statue. It is…not something that mortal eyes should ever see.”

“Okay,” said Simon. “Okay. So you got here through this Tower thing. Why did you come?”

Conmager fiddled with the spoon. “Because I had no other choice.”

“Ah,” said Simon. “That clears things up.”

Conmager pierced him with a stare. “You must understand. My world is different from yours. In your world technology and science reign supreme. This technology is a two-edged sword, I think. It has done much good, from what I have seen. It has destroyed many diseases, and the people of your nation are taller and stronger and live longer. Yet it has done great evil. I have seen much evil here, and I have read about worse things done. In my world, it is different.”

Simon snorted. “I suppose your world’s some sort of anti-technology Luddite utopia?” 

Conmager frowned. “I do not know what that is. My world does not have the technology, the machines, the industries. We live…we lived, rather, in a different time, the way your ancestors might have lived eight or nine hundred years past. Peasants farm the fields and live in their villages. The lords and the kings rule from their castles. The Knights fight against the darkness and guard the High Kingdoms, while the Wizards keep the dark forces at bay. At least, that was the way it was.”