The Tower of Endless Worlds (8 page)

“You will have to trust me,” said Liam.

“No,” said Arran. Liam spun, anger flashing in his eyes. “This has cost too much. I need to know where we are going, or else I cannot go on at all.”

Liam stared at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded. “Very well. We are going to the Crimson Plain.”

Arran blinked. “Why? The Crimson Plain is at the edge of the world. What is there? Are we to run so far that even the winged demons cannot find us?” 

“No,” said Liam. “Arran…the Tower of Endless Worlds stands in the Crimson Plain.”

Arran’s hands tightened against his reins. “What? That is a cursed place. Marugon’s guns came from the Tower. And the Crimson Plain is a haunt for ghouls and devils. Why are we taking the King there? There is nothing there but death.”

“Because,” said Liam, his voice a rasp. “Because I plan to take the King through the Tower and to Earth.” 

Arran’s temper flared. “Earth? Why would you take the King to such a hellish place? Marugon went there, Sir Liam Mastere, and he returned with guns and liquid flame and the other hell-machines! Have you betrayed us to our enemies?”

Sir Liam’s hands twitched towards the hilts of his Sacred Blades. “No! I have given everything to the cause of the King.”

“I lost my brother!” said Arran. 

“I lost as much as you!” said Liam, his voice rising to a shout. 

They glared at each other for a long moment.

Liam calmed. “Think, young Knight. I told you of the Prophecy of Alastarius, did I not?”

Arran managed a nod. 

“Alastarius Prophesied that this boy, Lithon Scepteris, could save our world from Marugon.” Liam sighed. “Alastarius told me this moments before Goth-Mar-Dan, the king of the winged demons, killed him.”

“How do you know this?” said Arran. “Alastarius disappeared before the fall of Carlisan.” 

“I was at Castle Bastion when it fell. I saw Alastarius betrayed. I saw Goth-Mar-Dan kill him,” said Liam, his face stony. “But Alastarius made one more Prophecy before Goth-Mar-Dan tore out his heart. Alastarius said he would return from the grave, that Lithon would find a way to bring him back. Alastarius was the greatest of the White Council. He could have defeated Marugon, if not for the betrayal. But if Lithon does not live, then Alastarius cannot return, and our world is…”

“I understand that!” said Arran. “But why are we taking the King to the hell that is this other world, this Earth?” 

“Because,” said Liam. “Marugon heard the Prophecy as well. Once he learns that Lithon lives, he will look for the King. But Marugon will never think to look for the King on Earth. He will scour our world from one end to another…but he will not find the King.”

Arran sagged. “But how are we to keep the King safe on Earth? We have seen the horrors of the guns. What other nightmares might this world have produced?”

“Many,” said Liam. He paused. “But I do not think it is a world entirely of horrors, Arran. Marugon’s gunmen have more than guns. They have meat that is free of disease and keeps for years. They have cloaks and mantles of strange cloth, light as silk, yet warm as the heaviest fur. And they have medicines that fight putrefied wounds and deadly plagues. I think these things came through the Tower, as well. Perhaps there are wonders on Earth to match the horrors, Arran. We will find a way to keep the King safe there.”

“Maybe,” said Arran. “But the Crimson Plain is two thousand miles from Carlisan, on the other side of the nations. We have not even covered a third of that distance, and there are only eleven of us left. How are we to get the King to the Tower of Endless Worlds, let alone take him to Earth?”

“We shall find a way,” said Liam. “The true gods will protect us.”

“They have protected us so well already, after all,” said Arran.

Liam glared. “Our cause is just. We will find a way.”

“We should make a way,” said Arran.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Arran licked his lips. “Marugon’s gunmen have destroyed half our world with their weapons. Our Sacred Blades cannot stand against the power of the guns! If…”

Liam’s countenance hardened. “Do not say it!”

“If we take up the guns, kill a few of the gunmen and claim their weapons, perhaps we can turn the tide!” said Arran. “The gunmen are untrained peasant louts. Think of what a trained and anointed Knight could do with guns in hand. Sir Liam, we could…”

“No!” The King started to cry. A few of the other Knights glanced their way.

“But…” said Arran.

“No!” Liam chopped an armored hand through the air. “No! Do not think of it, do not consider it! Those guns are wicked things, a dark power that destroys and ravages! They are too powerful for mortal hands to wield. You have seen the wanton slaughter. Look at the corruption they have brought to Marugon’s soldiers. Look at the destruction they have rained upon the nations! I beg of you, Arran, speak not again of using a gun. The temptation will gnaw at your mind until it destroys you, until you become as wretched and evil as Marugon himself.”

“But we need a way to fight back!” said Arran. “Our swords are useless against their guns.” 

“So be it,” said Liam. “I would die with the hilt of a Sacred Blade in my fingers, rather than the greasy handle of a smoking gun.”

“Even at the cost of the King’s life?” said Arran.

The two Knights stared at each other. At last Sir Liam flicked his reins and started his horse forward. “If you take up a gun, Arran, I will kill you myself.”

Arran fell silent.

Chapter 8 - The Winged Shadow

Anno Domini 2002

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wester.” Markham sat in one of the lounge chairs, a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“A good afternoon to you,” said Simon, humming to himself. He crossed to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”

“It really is.” Markham took a sip from his mug. “You seem unusually chipper today.” 

Simon snorted. “Are you saying I’m usually cranky?”

Markham grinned. “You’re crankier than my first ex-wife.” 

Simon blinked. “Oh.” 

Markham laughed. “You are too serious for a young man. Enjoy yourself a bit more. I tell the same to Ms. Coldridge. She never listens, though.”

“Um.”  Simon’s date had gone quite well last night. He had found very few people who could match insults with him. Katrina Coldridge was tough and smart. Simon found himself liking her, even if he was a bit afraid of her. “She doesn’t seem the type to relax.”

Markham winked. “Not that you would know, though. Right?”

“Um. Right.” 

“The Senator wants to see you in a few minutes,” said Markham. “Something about a speech. You can wait outside his office.” He winked. “Or in Ms. Coldridge’s office.”

Simon set the coffee mug back on the counter. “Um. I think I’ll wait outside the Senator’s office.” 

Markham grinned. “Have a good day, Mr. Wester.” 

Simon managed to nod. He hadn’t considered the office gossip his date with Katrina might cause. On the other hand, Markham seemed the sort to tease everyone.

He put the matter out of his mind and walked down the little hallway to Wycliffe’s office. Three chairs and a small end table sat across from the door. Simon sat down and stared at the wall. 

He did feel good, despite Markham’s teasing. Perhaps he should relax a bit more often. He had spent the last few years working like a madman, going weeks without talking to anyone but his mother, his teachers, and his advisor Dr. Francis. That couldn’t have been good for him.

Simon snorted. He could relax after he finished his dissertation. Speaking of which, he had reading to do for his classes. Might as well put the time waiting for Wycliffe to good use. He cracked open his briefcase and pulled out a book.

White light flashed under Wycliffe’s door. 

Simon blinked. He had to get more sleep. His eyes were starting to go.

The light flashed again. 

Simon lowered his book and shrugged. Maybe Wycliffe had a campaign contributor in there and was taking pictures. 

Except Wycliffe didn’t have campaign contributors. He paid for everything himself.

The light flashed again, brighter than before, and Simon thought he heard a muffled curse through the door. The hair on his neck stood up. Wycliffe had just increased security. Did that mean someone was in there right now, trying to harm the Senator?

Simon stood up. Perhaps he should go get Markham, or find security, but the thought of dealing with the bearded thugs chilled him. Simon dithered for a moment, then decided to knock. 

He stepped forward and raised his hand. 

He heard Wycliffe’s voice through the door. “I ask you again. Tell me! How did you come here?”  An odd groan leaked through the door, like plastic rubbing against plastic. Again came a flash of white light, and Wycliffe’s voice rose in resonance and intensity. “Tell me!” The door shuddered and the light flashed. “Tell me now, I command it, how did you come here?” The light flashed, so bright it cast shadows against the wall. 

What was going on in there?

A low voice rumbled. “Can you not compel him?”

“No,” said Wycliffe. “The protections surrounding his spirit are too strong. Lord Marugon might be able to breach them. I cannot. I have not the necessary skill with the Voice.”

“He must be told of this,” said the rumbling voice. 

“We will, in time,” said Wycliffe. “Marugon currently is occupied with the conquest of Carlisan. He has been out of touch for several months, and I expect him to remain out of touch for several more. Besides, this is not urgent.”  He laughed. “This fellow has some skill, apparently sufficient to repel my Voice, but not enough to threaten me, and certainly not enough to threaten Marugon.”

“Nevertheless, he is a danger,” said the deep voice. “Lord Marugon must be told.”

“You’re likely right,” said Wycliffe. “Very well. Keep him confined for now. We’ll hand him over to Marugon once he returns.”

“As you wish,” said the rumbling voice. Simon heard the sound of a fist striking flesh. “Up!” 

Simon spun and dropped back into the chair. He grabbed his book and raised it just as the door opened. 

Two of the slouching security men appeared, holding a man in a black uniform by the arms. It was the strange man Simon had seen yesterday, the man he had given ten dollars. The ragged man gave Simon a stricken look, and then the security thugs hustled him down the hall, their heavy leather jackets creaking. Simon watched them go, a dozen questions churning in his mind. 

Senator Wycliffe stepped out into the hall, hands in his suit coat pockets. His gaze fell on Simon, and his eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. 

“Um…Senator,” said Simon. Fear tugged at his gut. “You wanted to see me. About the speech?” 

“Oh. Of course,” said Wycliffe. “Sorry for the delay.”

“Ah…what was that all about?” said Simon.

Wycliffe sighed. “A spy, believe it or not.”

Simon blinked. “A spy? You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” said Wycliffe. “A spy for the Green Party. It seems they dislike my stance on developing Alaska’s oil resources, and so sent that enthusiastic young fellow to rifle through my desk. Fortunately, he was caught, and the security men are escorting him from the premises.” 

“Oh,” said Simon.

Wycliffe grinned. “A good thing I hired the new security firm, eh? Their methods are a little unorthodox, I’ll agree, but they’re remarkably effective.”

“Which firm, sir? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them before,” said Simon.

“Oh? Goth Marson Private Security, out of Springfield. You’ll have to meet Goth sometime. He’s really a remarkable fellow. Well! Sorry to bore you with my problems.”

Simon shook his head. He hoped he looked calm. “No, not at all.”

“Well, come inside. Let’s talk.” Simon followed Wycliffe into the office. Wycliffe sat in his desk chair and grinned. “Sit, sit! I’m not going to keep you standing.”

Simon sat and rifled through his briefcase. “Ah…here’s the speech, sir.”

Wycliffe took the speech. “Short. Good. Brevity…”

“…is the very soul of good writing,” said Simon. “Dr. Francis always says the same thing.” 

“Wise woman,” said Wycliffe. He paged through the speech, chuckling from time to time. Simon sat and sweated Until Wycliffe tossed the speech onto his desk. “Not bad, Mr. Wester. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Simon. 

Wycliffe leaned back in his chair. “I’m having a press conference tomorrow at ten. I’ll need you there, of course.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Mmm.”  Wycliffe nodded. “Very good. I’m glad you came to work for me, Mr. Wester. I have great things in mind for the future, great things, and you’ve gotten in on the ground floor.”

Simon felt a bit uncomfortable. “Thank you.” 

Wycliffe waved a hand. “Well, I’ve work to attend to, and I’ve no doubt you do as well. I’ll see you later, Mr. Wester.”

Simon nodded and went back into the lobby. He turned the corner, went to his office, and sat down to work. Yet he could not concentrate. What had he overheard in Wycliffe’s office? The face of the thin man, with the haunted eyes and spade-shaped beard, kept reappearing in his thoughts. Simon tried to focus on his current project, a list of radio stations that had agreed to run ads for Senator Wycliffe’s programs. Yet he could not focus.

Simon slapped the desk. “It’s none of my business!”

“What business?”

Simon almost jumped out of his chair. Katrina stood in the door, leaning against the frame. She grinned. “Did I scare you?”

“What…um, no, not at all,” said Simon.

Katrina snorted. “Bullshit. You just about had a heart attack. Admit it.”

“Fine, fine,” said Simon. “You startled me. Happy?”

She dropped into his guest chair. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” said Simon. “It’s…”

“Well? Out with it,” said Katrina.

Simon glared at her. “Imperious, aren’t we?”

She scooted the chair closer and put her feet up on his desk. “Always have been.”

Simon looked at her high-heeled boots and snorted. “Infuriating woman.”

She titled her head to the side. “Now that’s a compliment, you know.”

“It…” Simon shook his head and laughed. “Fine. You win. What can I do for you?”

Katrina raised an eyebrow. “I can’t even stop by to say hello?”

Simon waved his hand. “Hello.”

“That’s better,” said Katrina. “What is eating you? You look like you just saw a goddamn ghost.”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe I did. Two of the slouching security people grabbed some guy. Senator Wycliffe said he was a spy from the Green Party. But he…”

“What is it?” said Katrina. 

“I saw him yesterday when I came to pick you up,” said Simon. “He seemed…confused. Lost. Like an immigrant who’d just arrived in the country and could only speak bad English. He asked me for a ride, and I told him about the bus stops. It was like he had never heard of a bus before.”

Katrina shrugged. “Maybe it was all an act.”

“I don’t know. He seemed sincere,” said Simon.

“Maybe he picked you as a mark,” said Katrina. “You are sort of gullible.” 

Simon glared at her. “Gullible enough to take you out for dinner?”

Katrina grinned. “Not bad, college boy. Speaking of which, my mom's going to see a movie tomorrow night with a bunch of her friends. I have nothing to do. Want to go to dinner again?”

“Oh, so I’m better than nothing?” said Simon. 

Katrina smirked. “It’s good to see you have a healthy self-image.”

“Pop psychology,” said Simon. “Fine! I know a nice little restaurant a couple miles from here. We’ll go there?”

“Sure. Give me directions and I’ll meet you.” 

Simon scrawled down a map and handed it to her. He watched as she read it. “What, nothing to criticize? Not even my handwriting?”

“That could use some improvement,” said Katrina. She smiled, stood up, and tucked the map into a jacket pocket. “See you at five.”

Simon watched her go and looked away with a grimace when he found himself ogling her backside. “What have I gotten myself into?” 

###

Two weeks later he stood before the door to the apartment Katrina shared with her mother. 

“I still think it’s a waste of time,” said Simon. 

Katrina snorted. She looked caught between amusement and exasperation. “Says you. What good is reading poetry by some guy a thousand years dead?”

“Two thousand,” said Simon, fingering the textbook under his arm. “We’ve been over this before.” 

“Pardon me. Two thousand, then,” said Katrina. “Still think it’s a waste of time.” 

He pointed at the adventure novel she had been reading during lunch. “That’s the waste of time, I’d say. Popular trash. Why not read something more meaningful? I mean, you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, college boy?”

“Um.” Simon felt his foot in his mouth. “Well…you’ve got this image…”

“You’re calling me stupid,” said Katrina.

“No!” said Simon. “You’ve act like…you know, the ‘tough working girl from Chicago’. You cultivate that, I think. And…you’re smarter than that. I mean, you don’t spend all your time watching TV and playing pinball games over the Internet. You do read, even if it’s stuff like…”

Katrina rolled her eyes. “I get your point already. God, you can be such a snob.”

Simon blinked. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Katrina smirked. “Turnabout’s fair play, eh? I’ll tell you. You think anyone who didn’t go to college has to be stupid.” 

“I don’t think that,” said Simon, crossing his arms. “It just happens to be true, most of the time.”

“That so? You know what? I went to college for a semester.”

Simon frowned. “Really. Where?”

“University of Constantina. Waste of time, I’ll tell you. Stupidest classes ever. ‘Intro To American Literature’. The professor was a blowhole. My God, I’ve never been so bored in my life. I spent most my time drinking and smoking.” 

“Oh,” said Simon. “So you flunked out, then?”

“I did not!” said Katrina. “I got a B average. But it was a waste of time. What good did knowing about some dead guys do me? Nothing, not a thing in the real world when the rent’s due and you need to buy food.”

“It’s…” Simon groped for words. They had already gone over a dozen variants of the same discussion on their dates. “It’s not about applicability. It’s about wanting to…to know, and a quest for knowledge…”

“I’d rather quest for rent money,” said Katrina. 

The door swung open, and Simon jumped. An obese elderly woman in a floral-print dress stood in the doorway. Her face looked like white dough, and stringy hair hung down the sides of her face. A cigarette smoldered between her lips. 

“Katrina. You can come in, you know.” The old woman blinked a few times, her watery eyes focusing on Simon. “Well. So you’re the young man Katrina’s been spending so much time with.”

“Um.” Simon tried to think of something to say. He stuck out his hand. “Simon Wester, ma’am.” 

She ignored him. “He looks like a pencil neck, Katrina. You can do better.”

“Mother,” said Katrina. “You’re not being polite.”

Katrina's mother stepped towards Simon. “You give my daughter any grief, and I’ll break your neck. Understand?”

Simon bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Katrina, come in after you’re finished with him. It’s getting late. The crazies will come out.” The old woman turned, lumbered back into the apartment, and slammed the door shut. 

“Charming woman,” said Simon. He winced at the slip of his tongue.

“She’s…a little protective,” said Katrina. “I’ve had some bad relationships. And some very bad boyfriends. Sorry if she startled you. She can be cranky.”