QHW, Day 5: Towers

27. 5. 1897
Yesterday late at night, the gate has finally succeeded in connecting to a new world. We ventured through earlier today.

We emerged into a room within a man-made (or mayhap I'd better say entity-made) megastructure. A thin tower that stretches upwards and downwards as far as the eye can see, with a single large room taking up every storey. The walls are built of large blocks of grey stone, with many tall slits that serve both as windows and doors to the outside. The floors are connected by a spiral staircase running on the outside of the tower.

There are more towers clustered everywhere around this one. All constructed in a similar manner, though the architectural features differ from one to another. Some are merely several paces of empty space apart.

There is only darkness both above and below. No sky nor ground. The only light comes from the air itself, the source of which seems to be some form of an airborne plankton-like substance. I brought back samples for Dr. Zimmermann, but it seems harmless to humans, so masks should not be necessary on subsequent visits. Dr. Strauss has also noticed some larger floating organisms, though they fled before we could capture any.

We have explored several floors up and down from the gate room, but so far everything has been empty save for several patches of moss and fungi I also took samples of. Tomorrow, we will return with equipment to traverse the frankly terrifying void between towers and see if we don't have more luck in one of the neighbouring structures.

27. 5. 1897
Yesterday late at night, the gate has finally succeeded in connecting to a new world. We ventured through earlier today.

We emerged into a room within a man-made (or mayhap I'd better say entity-made) megastructure. A thin tower that stretches upwards and downwards as far as the eye can see, with a single large room taking up every storey. The walls are built of large blocks of grey stone, with many tall slits that serve both as windows and doors to the outside. The floors are connected by a spiral staircase running on the outside of the tower.

There are more towers clustered everywhere around this one. All constructed in a similar manner, though the architectural features differ from one to another. Some are merely several paces of empty space apart.

There is only darkness both above and below. No sky nor ground. The only light comes from the air itself, the source of which seems to be some form of an airborne plankton-like substance. I brought back samples for Dr. Zimmermann, but it seems harmless to humans, so masks should not be necessary on subsequent visits. Dr. Strauss has also noticed some larger floating organisms, though they fled before we could capture any.

We have explored several floors up and down from the gate room, but so far everything has been empty save for several patches of moss and fungi I also took samples of. Tomorrow, we will return with equipment to traverse the frankly terrifying void between towers and see if we don't have more luck in one of the neighbouring structures.

29. 5. 1897 (likely)
I have noticed my previous entries only now. We have just returned from our initial exploration of the tower, which was apparently repeated for the third time.

I have send for Dr. Zimmermann. We need to discuss the possible causes and likely ramifications of this post haste.

Dr. Strauss has argued for immediate sealing of the gate, but I don't want to act prematurely. It is unknown whether we could re-establish the connection later.

We will leave that decision for tomorrow and the whole team.

27. 5. 1897
Yesterday late at night, the gate has finally succeeded in connecting to a new world. We ventured through earlier today.

We emerged into a room within a man-made...

...

Slip

The parking lot was mostly empty and drowned in heavy rain, yet I still left the car at the very far end, right next to the fence with only a river beyond. It did mean enduring the sleet as I trekked to the nearby building, but I would rather be hidden from any coincidental meddlesome eyes, and the darkness of heavy clouds and defunct lamps provided for that nicely. I took cover under the small roof above the back entrance and had one last look at the pocket clockwork.

The small hand was pointed at the door and the big hand was nearing twelve. It must be here, though I didn't feel anything except for some strange familiarity with this place. Then again, I wasn't quite at the top of my game. Everything was still so new and a little off - not truly uncomfortable, but different, like a tooth cap you can't stop touching with your tongue.

I couldn't really idle, though, with the readings as urgent as they were. I didn't want to idle.

Picking the lock was easy and I took out a flashlight as I ventured inside. Everything was gloomy and grimy, all sounds drowned out by the insistent rainfall. From what I saw on arrival, this once was a cinema, now rundown and abandoned. A dead place, out of sight of anyone who didn't know what to look for. An ideal place for an incursion.

Then I heard the voices.

Coming from behind the door to my left, they seemed to be chanting. I tried the door handle, and though stiffly, it moved. The room beyond was large and poorly lit by flickering light, its floor strewn with strange shapes. The chanting intensified, accompanied by the sounds of struggle. I attempted to slip through the door without making a sound or drawing attention to myself with abrupt movements, but still the old hinges creaked and I involuntarily cringed and something was really wrong with that scene and I had it on the tip of my proverbial tongue, but-

"Hey you!"

A shape rose up from one of the many seats randomly littering the floor, starting right after me. Then the lights exploded in a crescendo of music and I finally made one more half-step into the room that let me see the threadbare film screen where a cultist just summoned a "demon" in a latex costume.

"I was starting to think you forgot, Robbie," the woman who got up to greet me said.

"Oh, hi. No," I managed, before she threw her arms around my neck and started to kiss me.

Well, that explains the feeling of familiarity with this place. Incited, the memories came flooding in, of this little hideout where I - no, Robert - sometimes went with Kristy to hang out with her rowdy bunch of friends. From the memories I managed to quickly skim through, Kristy was clever and generally fun to be around. Robert had a good taste, though unlike Robert, I wasn't particularly enraptured by the neon green stripe in her hair, nor the piercing currently scratching my tongue.

She pulled away and looked at me questioningly: "Is something wrong?"

I leaned forward for one more quick, reassuring kiss. "No, sorry. I had a few rough days."

"You could've called me," she said, hugging me tight.

"I know, I just needed a while to take stock of, well, everything."

Damn, poor choice of words. She looked me in the eyes, suddenly uncertain and worrying.

"What's happening, Rob?"

Not the time for this! I came here...

"Everything all right, Kristy?"

Dave, I remembered. He always saw Robert as the outsider and rival.

"Everything's just peachy, Dave," I retorted and turned back to Kristy: "My uncle died recently. He made me his heir, and now the family is pretty pissed at me, so I was trying to avoid everyone, I guess. Sorry."

Distract her with a sob story, then get back to work. I came here...

"Oh," she hugged me again. "You could've still called me. Wanna go out and talk about it?"

"No," I offered a smile. "Maybe later. Thanks," I amended quickly to dissuade any further prying.

She dragged me to her cushion and cuddled up as we watched the bad old horror film, but something continued to bother me, and it wasn't my newfound girlfriend nor the squalid, spooky surroundings.

I knew I came here to... to...

I couldn't concentrate. The air was stale and stinky, smelling of old beer and sweat and...

Robert did frequent the parties here, he knew the people and I could chalk up some confused feelings to that, yet I followed the readings, not Robert's memories. I could have made a mistake, maybe? I was missing something obvious, and the acrid air, the loud film and a starting headache from trying too hard to get all the fleeting memories and thoughts in order didn't help.

I had something that might, though.

I reached into my breast pocket for a flask of lishgar. I liked to carry one with me, even if I only rarely used it. The risk of addiction and the sheer price of this stuff made me think twice. I had a new, young, healthy and most importantly completely clean body now, though, and I needed a clear mind. I involuntarily shuddered as I quaffed a small sip.

The film was blaring, but otherwise, everything was so... still.

"Hey, what are you hiding in there?" Kristy grinned at me.

"Nothing particularly tasty," I smiled back and tried to leisurely tuck the potion away, but she was already snatching the flask from my hand.

"Let me be the judge of that, you know I have a cultivated taste," she winked.

I stifled the urge to yank it back. I did not have enough to waste it, but I really did not want to make a scene. The potion was so bitter that she won't drink much, and it can't really harm her with a single dose. I hope.

Sure enough, she swallowed, started to cough and shoved the flask back at me.

"Why in hell would you drink that? That's worse than the rotgut Dave brought that one time!"

"Told you," I said and went to hug her, but then she turned pale and started to scream.

I didn't misread the clockwork. The party was too still. I came here for a reason, but I forgot.

Kristy had fat white worms gnawing through the flesh of her arms.

We both jumped up from the cushion that was crawling with the same worms. My mind cleared as the drug sharpened my focus, and I saw how many people there used to be on the party. The bodies were everywhere. Half-eaten corpses sitting with a slouch, their insides teeming with hatchling grub. Skeletons nearly cleaned of all meat lounging on chairs, the maggots slowly spilling from them to look for another meal. Here and there was somebody still alive, missing limbs or stretches of skin, ignorant of the eggs laid into the bloody holes in their guts or their eye sockets. Dave tried to kiss his girlfriend, but couldn't really do much more than spread some worms over her face, as they have already devoured his lips. She smiled and kissed him back.

Suddenly, I was staring down at the floor, retching. The smell, the sight, lishgar made me take it all in at once and twice as strongly. I squashed some worms that found my boot and tried to centre myself, then heaved again.

"Fuck! What the fuck?! What did you give me? What the fuck was that shit, Robert?!"

Unfortunately for Kristy, lishgar enhanced all forms of perception. Including the sense of pain. She was clawing at her arms, nails digging deep into the open wounds, tearing the worms apart or away.

"It's real," I barely rasped. My throat felt awful and my stomach swayed with each word. "What you see. We have to get out. Get out of here. Quickly."

She wasn't listening. She was taking in everything, too much.

I tried to grab for her arm, but she recoiled, quick and skittish. At least she was paying attention, now.

"We need to run," I said, then seeing her look I added: "Please, you have to trust me."

Lost look in her eyes, she let me take her hand. It was slick with blood, but at least nothing wriggled in the ragged wounds any more. I had to drag her as we moved to the door.

They were all over the ground, but they were just worms. With every step, they squished beneath our boots. I nearly lost my balance when I slipped on an empty beer bottle, and it was Kristy who kept me up, hissing in pain as she strained her wounded arms. I opened the door and slammed it shut again once we were through, crushing even more of the worms. Not that it would matter in the grand scheme of things.

"We'll have to burn all of this. They are everywhere and I don't have anything else that would make sure we stop them before they can get out. I really hope there are no open drains or pipes in here."

"What the- No! Are you insane?!"

"Kristy, I swear this is real. I'm sorry, but it is. The potion we took doesn't make you see things. I mean-"

"I know! I can feel it, no, see it, no, I just- I know it's real!" She gripped me, pupils dilated so wide there was nearly no iris left. "We have to go back. The guys, we can't leave!"

It was really dark in here. I thought I brought a flashlight, but I must have left it somewhere.

"Rob? Robbie!"

"Sorry, I... Sure, let's go back. I didn't... I... Let's go back to the party," I smiled. I had a really ugly taste in my mouth.

My head hurt.

"What? No. No, no no no no!"

Damn, I felt tired and sick and didn't pay enough attention to what I was saying. Kristy had a touch of panic in her voice, now.

"Hey, I'm not feeling all that well tonight," I said, trying for a soothing tone. I should get out of here, figure out what's going on, try to remember more about Kristy, her gang and this place, then come back. "Would you mind if I skipped this evening? I will make it up to you, okay? I will call you tomorrow, I just need to sleep it off."

"You vomited," she said, suddenly. It was starting to get on my nerves that I nearly couldn't see her in the dark. I thought I brought a flashlight, but I must have left it somewhere.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to-"

"Robbie, listen! That drug, you have a little bottle in your pocket? You took it and me too, but you vomited it up. You have to take it again!"

She was just a shadowy silhouette, but her hands were trembling as she clutched mine.

Lishgar? How did she know about it? I had some with me, but if I took it and couldn't even...

I took a good gulp. If I couldn't even remember, something was definitely happening here.

***

With the canister of petrol and other stuff I had in my car, the building was soon up in flames. Limited, controlled flames, I must add, and the heavy rain would limit them further. Enough to scorch everything inside, but not enough to spread. With the dark and stormy night and only old office buildings all around, hopefully no one will call the fire brigade and the fire will have its time to remove all traces of the incursion.

The bodies will be found, and it will be reported as a great tragedy. When we came back, there was nobody left to rescue and save. At least their families will have the memories and some measure of closure.

I sat in my car, intent to keep watch and make sure it is truly over.

Behind me, Kristy was propped on the back seat, her arms patched as best as I could with the first aid kit. I offered to drop her off at the hospital, but she refused. The stitches can wait, she said, and that she wanted to see this through.

But all the action was done and all that was left to do was to wait. I knew the inevitable question will have to come now.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her tone low and hard.

"Normally, I would fear to sound totally crazy saying that," I chuckled, "but there is more to the world than meets the eye. There are things that-"

"No. Who the hell are you?" she repeated, pointed and accusing.

"I... beg your pardon?"

"That! The stuff you gave me, whatever it was, it makes you more aware, doesn't it? I started noticing all the little things. Posture, gestures, expressions. Like right now, my Robbie would never say that."

... Oh.

"So fucking tell me, who are you and what did you do with Robbie?!"

Into the... Spire?

prior | next

 

"What-" Eli and Sharaf spoke up in the same instant.

"Later, later," Mr. Kipfel interrupted them both. As his eyes darted over them, Eli realized she had already seen this exact same expression on his face before, when he had been talking to the djinni.

"Is everything alright?" he asked their jailer.

The armoured jailer grabbed his helmet and took it off. He was black-skinned, bald-shaven and quite young-looking, maybe even close to Eli in age.

"Mostly? There was an activation alert earlier today. Tracker and Dreamwalker went to investigate, came back with some captives for interrogation. I've only heard rumours, but they might've found traces of nanotech. Real, functioning nanotech."

"Really?"

"As I said, I've only heard rumours. But it could actually help you. Most masters are in a meeting with the grandmaster right now, all gathered in the sanctum."

"And the security is on high alert, I presume."

"Thankfully no, there were no omens of imminent danger, so current orders are to prepare several squads to return through the newly activated Gateway and make a thorough sweep of the whole area. You shouldn't dawdle, though. The meeting will probably end soon and the grandmaster might want to lead this mission himself. I also relieved the guard here, so you should be clear at least to the lift."

"What's going on," Sharaf said. "Is he friendly? What is he saying?"

Eli saw confusion spreading over the jailer's face before Mr. Kipfel stepped in: "We really shouldn't dawdle, then. The containment fields, please?"

"Yes," the jailer reached into a pouch on his belt for a card embellished with gold. "This card will get you into the sanctum. Master Arinrin Ajo is currently deep in trance, so she shouldn't find out I stole it and have it blocked, but somebody will notice that the cell fields were deactivated and they will raise alarm, probably sooner rather than later. Nothing I can do about that, so you'd better get moving as soon as I let you out. Ready?"

"Ready as ever," Mr. Kipfel smiled and Eli managed a stern nod when the jailer glanced her way.

He swept the card through a reader at a wall-mounted control panel and the force screens sealing their cells flickered off. Mr. Kipfel confidently strode out of his cell and Sharaf followed close behind, though bemusement was showing on his face. Eli was a bit slower in crossing the boundary of her cell, then unwittingly quickened her pace as she was passing by the jailer. The heavy door slid open as they approached, letting them out into the empty and peaceful hallway.

"Hey," the jailer called out, "the card!"

"Indeed," Mr. Kipfel turned around and snatched it from his hand with a smile. "Thank you."

He glanced down the hall both ways and after a split second of wavering deliberation, went left.

"No," the jailer said, doubt creeping its way into his voice, "the other way."

They did as he told them, but haven't made it more than three steps before the jailer caught up with them.

"Wait a second," he reached out, but let his arm flop back when they stopped. "Do you know what you're doing? I mean, are the implants... Are you sure?"

He sounded very much unsure, himself.

Mr. Kipfel looked him straight in the eye, his voice dead serious. "Of course we are. We wouldn't be here if there was any doubt in our minds. We know what we must do. But you too have a part to play, still. You do know that you have to see your role in this to the very end, right?"

The jailer's face turned grim but purposeful. "Yes, yes I do. You are right and... thank you. I will have the distraction ready in five minutes."

He hesitated, as if there was much more he wanted to let out, but then he turned to go. "I will see you in Heaven. For freedom!"

"For freedom indeed," Mr. Kipfel replied already to his back.

The second the three of them were out of sight, behind a bend in the corridor where the lift was, Sharaf grabbed Mr. Kipfel and pushed him against the wall.

"An explanation would be appropriate right about now," he said.

"Our jailer released us and gave me this access card that should open all the doors that we need opened, apparently," Mr. Kipfel replied in a jovial tone.

"Why did he release us? What kind of a game are you playing here?"

"No game at all," Mr. Kipfel still smiled.

Sharaf was now gripping Mr. Kipfel's coat, until Eli laid her hand on his fist. He glanced her way and let go, stepping back from Mr. Kipfel but still shooting angry glares.

Eli had to swallow first before being able to speak up: "We shouldn't stop moving, if you know where to?" She looked at Mr. Kipfel.

"No, not really. No."

That took both her and Sharaf by surprise. "No?"

"But you are right that we have to keep moving if we want to get away from here, and even though I don't have the faintest idea who that likeable young man was, he provided us with the means for our escape. I suggest we take the lift to the basement and find a back door, preferably unguarded."

Sharaf glowered as Mr. Kipfel leaned to insert the card into a reader by the lift door.

"Who are you?"

Behind them, the young jailer was back. This time, though, he was holding his rifle aimed at them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Kipfel said, sounding aghast. "You would betray your brothers? Didn't we all swear to fight together and if need be even die together, for freedom? And when we're this close, when everything is going according to the plan, you turn against us?!"

Disappointment was practically dripping from his words and he shook his head, never breaking eye contact with the jailer.

"Stop. You are not... You are not one of mine. I've heard you. You were arguing in some weird language, you were fighting. So who are you and where are my people?"

"I don't know what you think you heard, but-"

"Don't," the jailer practically growled and advanced at Mr. Kipfel, who was quick to back off. "Stop lying. You are the off-world captives, aren't you?"

"There's no need to point the rifle at me," Mr. Kipfel said, "I can assure you that-"

"One more lie or blather and I will shoot you," the jailer took another threatening step forward. "Do you even know what you did? If I can't get to my brothers in time, if someone raises an alarm too soon because of you... We all would first take our own life than be subjected to probing, but they will still find the gas bladders during autopsy. They will adjust security, have full-body scans or countermeasures... The others will have to start from scratch. This all will have been in vain!" He sounded as if he was at the very brink of a meltdown.

But he put himself within an arm's reach of Sharaf.

Sharaf leaped forward, knocking the rifle aside. The jailer wasn't fast enough to dodge, but he still reflexively pulled the trigger. Eli felt a blast of heat miss her as a glob of white-hot plasma struck the nearby wall of matte glass, shattering it. Sharp tiny shards flew everywhere.

The jailer lost his gun as Sharaf slammed him through the new hole, into a room with nothing but a few racks of electronics. Some of them seemed damaged by the shot, melted or sparkling, and the whole hall was quickly filling with the acrid smell and smoke of burning plastic. A fire alarm went off.

Eli stared at the rifle lying at her feet. It didn't look that different from any assault rifle you would see in a film. Black, rather boxy but lean, with no blinking lights or glowy parts. Not that she was an expert on any guns, let alone sci-fi ones. She never held a firearm in her whole life so far, and she could've gone without it and be no less happy.

She made herself bend down and pick the rifle up. It was surprisingly heavy.

The jailer, though shaken, managed to break Sharaf's grip and get a few good hits in. It was quickly becoming apparent that Sharaf cannot win this in a straight fight. Both were good in a scuffle, but with his body armour, the jailer could shrug off attacks that made Sharaf grunt in pain. He was forcing Sharaf to fall back, pressing him into the damaged racks.

A larger flood of electric sparks made Sharaf flinch and the jailer's hook got through, driving Sharaf even further off-balance. He failed to block the next knee to the guts, and his defense started to crack after blow after blow after blow. The jailer pounded him into the ground, then turned, bleeding from the nose and many a scrape, panting heavily, face scrunched into a violent grimace.

"Stay back," Eli faltered. The gun was clumsy in her hands and she didn't want to point it at anyone, though she tried.

"My brothers will die a useless, pointless death because of you," the jailer said, glass crunching underfoot.

"It doesn't need to end that way," Mr. Kipfel soothed, "We can help you if you help us."

He crumpled when the jailer punched him.

"Stay back!" Eli repeated as he was already just a stride away. He didn't seem to pay any attention to the rifle in her hands and she knew she wouldn't shoot.

He never touched her.

From behind, an arm slipped under his chin and hauled him down. He struggled, but Sharaf had him on the ground in a sleeper hold. His eyes eventually closed.

"Really glad he didn't put his helmet back on," Sharaf rasped. He pushed the jailer off and stood up, much more slowly than he normally would.

"That was very unpleasant and painful," Mr. Kipfel dusted himself off.

"Are you alright?" Sharaf limped to Eli. His lip was split and a thin trail of blood traced its way from his left ear to his chin.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I should've... I could've..."

"You did good," Sharaf cut her off.

"We all did good," Mr. Kipfel chimed in, "great even!"

Sharaf ignored him, still focusing on Eli. "We need to move, okay? He will be waking up any second and it's a little miracle that this alarm hadn't brought an army on our heads yet."

Eli nodded and glanced at the rifle in her arms.

"Yeah, I will take that," Sharaf smiled.

Mr. Kipfel had already swiped the card to call the elevator, but he stood to the side of the door, and Sharaf did the same on the opposite side. With a soft ding, the door opened and Sharaf barged in, rifle at ready.

"Great God," he muttered.

The cabin was empty, made of glass and apparently travelling along the outside of the building. The view was stunning.

They saw an expanse of tiny houses and crooked alleys, incredibly deep below. The streets were teeming with people and carts and animals of all kinds and maybe even a vehicle here and there. The building was a skyscraper dropped into the middle of a fantasy town, a spire of steel and glass rising high enough to touch the clouds. Its long shadow stretched all the way past the city walls and onto the dry savannah that continued towards the mountains on the horizon, covered in jungle and enormous metallic ruins.

The door of the lift closed softly behind them as they were still admiring the sights. Mr. Kipfel regained his composure first and pressed the button for the underground floors. They started downwards, accompanied by a soft, cheery music.

"I think I might have an idea where we are, now," Mr. Kipfel remarked.

"Well?" Sharaf prompted when no further explanation seemed forthcoming.

"It's a bit of a long and boring story, but the important part is that I know for certain that there is a Gateway under this building. I can explain the rest once we're safe and sound back home."

Eli hit the stop button and the lift came to a sudden halt. There was surprisingly little perceptible deceleration, given how fast the cabin was going and haw abruptly it stopped.

"You can explain right now," she snapped. "We were kidnapped by some paramilitary weirdos with plasma guns, not to even mention the djinni and portals and that stuff. We don't have the faintest inkling about what's going on and you suddenly want to act all tight-lipped when it turns out you do know something after all? Hell no!"

"Very well," Mr. Kipfel relented after a brief pensive silence. "There is an ancient prophecy, dating back to the end of the Atlantian war.

 

When the might of the djinn was broken, when the angels have retreated to their endless sleep and the hollow men all but disappeared, what remained of the great circle of magi that led the Atlantian forces rejoiced and celebrated the final end of their enemy. Yet one of their number, a seer unparalleled in all of history, had rebuked them for their revelry. While the enemy was defeated then, she had seen a far future when a new leader of the fallen would arise, who shall awaken the seven choirs and bring back the glory of the Chrome Everlasting. His coming, she said, would be heralded by the rise of a great tower, a tower like none that the world had ever seen."

 

"Are you saying that this is the tower?"

"No, of course not. But this is the citadel of the Knights of the Tower."

"Who are..."

"Who are watching over the Earths ever since Atlantis had sunk, to take down any forgotten remnants of the old war, but mainly to topple the tower, should it ever emerge. Even though it has been millennia and there's no sign that the prophecy would get fulfilled any time soon, if ever," he shrugged.

Eli exchanged a look with Sharaf.

"That didn't help us at all," she said.

"Which is why I claimed we shouldn't waste our time with explanations in the middle of a daring escape," Mr. Kipfel retorted. "Can we please go now?"

"And it does help us in one way," he continued as Sharaf pressed the destination button again. "We can now be certain that we were really lucky to have only run into a mook, as the true master knights are said to be all gifted with-"

Eli felt the air pressure in the cabin shift and something was suddenly right behind her back. She whirled around, but caught only a split-second glimpse of a tall man grabbing Sharaf by the throat before they both vanished into thin air.

 

prior | next

Out of the Frying Pan

prior | next
 

"What?!"

Mr. Kipfel stood up and approached her, gently putting a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, don't worry. Eli, right? You're just fine. Now that I got rid of the djinni, we can go our separate ways. You can forget about all this and your life doesn't have to be disrupted any further."

Eli shook off his hand and stared at him for a second: "Have you by any chance noticed that we are in the middle of some desert?"

"Of course, we are pretty close to Petra in southern Jordan... Oh."

"Yeah. I should be back home for the dinner at the very latest, mister wizard."

"Well, the good news is that we are not stranded. We shouldn't be more than an hour or two of walk away from civilization."

Eli looked up at the burning Sun and sighed. "What's the bad news, then?"

"Another good news is that you can now truthfully say that you saved the world! Nobody will believe you, but-"

"What is the bad news?"

Mr. Kipfel fidgeted. "You will be late for that dinner tonight. No matter how briskly we walk, I don't think we're catching a flight back home quite as soon as we both would like."

"We teleported here. You can't take us back?"

"No, not really. No."

"The djinni just waved his hand!"

"True, but that was a djinni - very powerful, very dangerous, should have been dead. We're lucky that his transport capsule held out for so long, it must have been lost and out of power for centuries. I'm..."

"...a wizard, yeah. I thought you were an actual wizard. One that can do stuff," Eli grumbled.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"What about the portal? We could walk through to somewhere closer."

"This is the closest Gateway, that's why I've shown him here. I frankly failed to realize you might tag along. My apologies."

"I didn't..." Eli turned away, frustrated. "Mum and dad will be frightened to death when I don't come back."

"You might want to tell them it will take a while."

"And how am I supposed to do that when we're half a world away?!"

"...by phone?"

"Shut up," Eli said and reached into her waist pack. She glared at the phone, angry at this ridiculous situation and unsure of what to say.

Hi mum, guess where I am?

Hi, I'm just calling to tell you that I found a djinni imprisoned in a bottle and let him out. Also that trip we planned for the next year? I've already got it covered.

Mum! Magic is real! I met a wizard! He can't do shit! I'm in Asia now!

"Hi sweetie! What's up? Everything's okay?"

"Hey mum, um..."

"Hey!" somebody shouted.

Eli followed Mr. Kipfel's gaze to a soldier with a sub-machine gun slung over his shoulder. He emerged from behind a nearby rock and was now quickly making his way towards them.

"What are you doing here? Are you lost?" he asked.

"Eli? Are you there?"

"Sorry mum, just a second."

"Hello sir and sorry, we did not really mean to be here," Mr. Kipfel said.

"Oh, you speak Arabic?" the soldier said.

"We do, a little. And we are indeed a bit lost."

"I don't speak Arabic," Eli muttered to herself.

"Sorry?" she heard her mum say. "I didn't catch that."

"Oh no," the soldier smiled at Eli, "I think you Arabic is quite good."

Taken aback, Eli looked at Mr. Kipfel who was just starting to speak again, when the soldier's smile froze as he caught sight of the djinn door.

"What the..." he reached for his gun, but halfway through the motion, a bright flash struck him in the chest and he crumpled on the ground, lifeless.

Eli whirled back to the portal which was now active again, two figures in black stepping out of it, their featureless body armour nearly blending into the even deeper darkness of the door.

Another flash came right for Eli.

It struck her in the stomach and sudden numbness spread from the point of impact, making her legs buckle. She tried to catch herself, but her arms were already clumsy and slow to respond. She slammed into the sandy ground face first, hands awkwardly bent and drooling from a mouth slightly ajar.

"Eli? What was that? Eli! I can't hear you!" the phone was blaring.

She saw as Mr. Kipfel dashed all of two steps before a third flash sent him down, too. There was a crunch of heavy boots on sand, but her vision was already loosing focus and-

***

Occasionally, Eli had scarily lifelike dreams. It didn't happen often, but she remembered times when she woke up on the day of a big exam absolutely convinced that she had already took the test. Other times, she needed to pee and her brain tricked her into dreaming about going to the bathroom. Of course, there often were some weird, dream-like elements, but she couldn't tell those apart right away. The dreams were coherent and convincing enough that she had to sit on her bed for a second and think back if she really had been to the bathroom or if the teacher had flown to the classroom through an open window.

As she was waking up, she knew this was one of those dreams. She'll have to tell her mum that for whatever reason, her brain had made her find a djinni instead of a geocache. If only life was that cool.

She opened her eyes, staring at the painfully bright light fixture. She wasn't in her bed, one of her eyes felt full of sand and she definitely haven't just got a nightful of sleep. It took some effort sitting up, her limbs wobbly and her mind a morass.

She was in a small cell with nothing but this narrow bed, a metallic toilet and a shimmering force screen instead of bars.

"Better not touch the containment field. It's quite painful, if I may say so," she heard Mr. Kipfel from a nearby cell.

"Who would've guessed," she said to herself. It was so easy to let out at least some of the confusion and fear through a petulant tone.

There was a zap followed by muttered cursing from even further down the hallway. Eli stood up from the bed, arm held out to the wall to stabilize herself, and came as close to the screen as she dared, until she could see the soldier in yet another cell, nursing one of his hands.

"As I said, very painful," Mr. Kipfel nodded to himself.

The soldier scowled. "Who are you two? Where are we?"

"No need to try and use English," Mr. Kipfel smiled at the soldier. He was rummaging through his pockets until he found a pen case. "Both me and my young lady companion are comfortable with Arabic and I'm sure it would be easier for you, too. Anyway, I'm afraid I'm not yet sure-"

"I do not speak Arabic," Eli protested, vehemently. Too many things made no sense.

"You do now," Mr. Kipfel said, prodding at the force screen with a pencil, every touch prompting a burst of electric sounds and sparks. "The djinni must have melded you before I arrived. You probably didn't understand him, so he decided to make you understand with a dose of nanites."

"But I don't-"

"The nanites make you speak any language required and make you understand what you hear. Real-time override on the neural impulses between your gyrus frontalis inferior, plica vocalis and organum spirale. It's really quite impressive technology."

"But-"

"Okay, in even more simple terms, you have some translator microbes in your-"

"Shut up for a second! I know what you're talking about, I'm just a little overwhelmed here, if you don't mind."

"My apologies. As I was saying," he turned back to the soldier, "I regrettably don't know who kidnapped us and to where, except that it's obviously a prison too advanced for your Earth. They likely took us back to their base through the Gateway and if I may guess their motives and intentions, they arrived very soon after our opening of the old djinn door, so they were likely alerted and searching for the reason of the seal being broken."

The soldier glared at Mr. Kipfel for a few silent seconds. "I don't know if you're insane or joking, but if I don't report back, people will come looking."

"Very nice but unlikely to help, unless the Jordanian military has been hiding a lot of things from the rest of the world."

"Can you get us out of these cells?"

"Maybe, but it will take time," Mr. Kipfel replied, already searching through his pockets again.

"Can I help?"

"No, not really. No."

"Miss?" Eli startled. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. Yes," she said. "Thank you."

"We will get through this," the soldier continued, "and then we can see about getting you back home, okay?"

She just nodded.

"My name is Sharaf. Nice to meet you."

"Eli. I'm Eli. Nice to meet you too. I mean..." she started to giggle.

"Don't worry Eli, it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Mr. Kipfel suddenly gestured for silence and Eli managed to bite back both laughter and tears. Footsteps were drawing close outside of the heavy door of this cell block. There was a muffled sound of short conversation, then with a faint click, the door opened and slid sideways into the wall. One of the black armoured figures stepped through. Its helmet wouldn't look out of place on some motorbike rider, the dark glass betraying not a hint of a face inside. The figure had a strange and dangerous-looking rifle slung on a strap around its neck, the many other potential weapons hidden in its utility belt notwithstanding. With a hiss of pneumatic propulsion, the door behind it closed and clicked shut.

"Hello there," Mr. Kipfel smiled. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind letting us out of here?"

"Of course. Sorry it took so long."

 

prior | next

The Hunt

Several strings of footprints stretched along a narrow, snow-covered path leading up to the top of the world. Enormous white mountains pierced the serene azure sky, like ancient titans sworn to protect the land from the corrupted civilization. Here the glorious nature which gave birth to Marx and Lenin showed its true might. This was the Earth of yore, untouched by the capitalist filth.

High and higher the footprints lead, into a small cave hidden in the very core of the Himalayas mountains. They continued deep into the cave, where a tunnel twisted and winded through endless stone. Finally, the pathway opened into a heavenly valley, happy to be isolated from the outside world. The footprints made their way downwards, following a small group of men. Slowly, the snow disappeared.

The tiny group travelled through a village full of marvellous far-eastern architecture, past glittering waterfalls and gardens resembling a tiny paradise each, towards a tall temple of jade and precious metals. There most the men stayed, and only two entered the ornamental gates surrounded by six finely crafted statues of Buddha.

In a long nephrite hall with no furniture but a plethora of engravings, they sat down in front of an old monk. Slowly, he stopped humming the mantra of meditation and opened his wise and compassionate eyes. The two men removed their hoods, revealing the respected and self-confident face of the Great and Glorious Leader of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, and the scarred, sombre face of his feared bodyguard, Ivan Gorovits.

"Welcome to my humble abode, comrades," the monk greeted them.

"Blessed be Lenin, who guided us here and shielded us from the rockslides, avalanches and the smart missiles of our enemies! And blessed be you, the most honoured elder of Shangri-La, ancient lore keeper of Shambala, great governor of Tralla-La, O wisest of the wise in Xanadu! I came here with an offering of an alliance between your people and the people of the Soviet Union!" declared the First Among Bolsheviks in a strong and resonant voice, the same voice that had shown the true and right way to the lost masses of the proletariat for many years now.

"Ah, so our anguish is not unfamiliar to you. For two millennia we had lived in utmost joy, embracing the wise words of Tripitaka and Das Kapital, until the fateful yesteryear. A wicked capitalist named Emmanuel Goldstein found our valley, forced his way inside, and tried to seduce us with his lies about private property, huge profit and untold riches brought by capitalism. We now presume he had a malevolent plan to buy our valley and turn it into a theme park for western tourists, but we managed to drive the man out. Capitalism be cursed forever!"

 

A terrible cloud of unprecedented anger descended upon the brow of the old monk. "Yet we are not truly rid of this terrible cancer. We face the accursed abundance, never-ending innovation, unstoppable progress, social decadence and independence, and worst of all, selfish freedom of capitalism. The seed was sown and threatens to bring us to self-destruction unless we act quickly! As the president of the local Communist Party, I was forced to take drastic measures to prevent a civil war in our beloved, backwater valley. We will be thrilled and thankful to join the Soviet Union in exchange for your help."

The Most Beloved Lord and Master of CCCP nodded with deep sorrow. "We know all too well about the trappings of the sly capitalists. The Great Soviet Union, our beloved homeland, was defiled by Goldstein just eighteen months ago. Its happy collective farms were abolished and our people driven to poverty, unemployment and despair. Dark influence of the Enemy is spreading like plague across our lands! We must strike back, we must strike together, we must strike hard! The seed of dissent will not grow if we squash it and all of its ilk in an exemplary bloodshed. I humbly offer to lead the troops of Shangri-La against the foul imperialists, destroying their way of life and driving them out of their vile, resplendent dens."

"Yes," Ivan ventured. "Leader need good men to kill bad capitalists who chase him away from CCCP! Ivan good man and cossacks good men but cannot restore Leader alone. Soviet Union need more people than twelve."

The Illustrious and Irked Leader shushed Ivan and turned back to the old monk. "As I was saying, we need to work together and act quickly to shatter the very spirit of the bourgeoisie!"

"Indeed," the monk replied, reflecting and ruminating. "We ought to work together. However, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I must be assured that you are a worthy ally. First, I shall test your wisdom. Tell me, how many Zen Buddhists does it take to change a light bulb?"

The Wise and Brilliant Leader smiled. "All of them and none, of course, for such is the nature of Zen."

"Great answer and greater still the man who spoke it," the monk nodded.

On some unseen signal, a novice monk appeared along with a white cow. The old monk gave the Leader a sharp look: "Now tell me, does this cow share the truth of Buddha, or does she yet strive to embrace the wholeness of Marxism and Leninism?"

The Best Leader That Ever Lived replied: "Yes!"

"Moo," the cow said, pleased.

"Correct," the old monk bowed in a polite acknowledgement of the superior intellect of the Leader. "Last but not least, I must ask you to describe the sure sign of a CCCP kolkhoz being founded in the middle of the deep Siberian taiga."

"The sound of trees falling in the forest."

"Praise Buddha and Marx! Russian communists are indeed as wise as I was told!" the monk cried out in ecstatic joy.

"Great, then signing a pact is but a formality now, right?" the Leader enquired. "How many masters of ancient and powerful martial arts can you lend us? How many occultists and sorcerers, espers and psykers? Maybe even some conventional weapons? Tanks and troops, a nuclear bomb or two?"

"Not that fast, my esteemed comrade. Enlightenment surely is the most important trait of a man and a communist, but it alone won't win a war. Strength of body is needed, too. I can give you as many troops as your heart desires, once I am sure they will serve side by side with the best of Russian bogatyrs. As per tradition, you ought to succeed in a difficult and dangerous quest before the alliance becomes reality."

The Incredibly Intrepid and Impatient Leader almost started to protest, but the monk continued: "A frightful monster raided our village recently, coming through an extradimensional portal that opened right in this very temple. The casualties suffered were low, nothing that couldn't be compensated for, but on its escape from our defenders, the creature took with itself our most priced possession of all, a life-sized copy of Lenin's mummy. Slay the beast and bring back the mummy of our beloved Father of the Revolution, then we shall know the true strength of your communist conviction and the capitalistic oppression will crumble before our united might!"

The Most Gloomy Leader sighs: "Well, okay then. Can you at least tell me what kind of a monster are we looking for?"

"Most definitely, yes. None have truly seen the beast for it attacked on a moonless night, but we have scrutinized the sacred scrolls and tomes of forbidden knowledge, until we found a passage we believe pertains to this horrific anti-communist thief."

 

The old monk intoneed in a dark voice: "On tienoo äkkiä niin hiljainen ja musta ja mörkö niin kuin vuori tuijottaa, ja jäinen maa on täynnä kammotusta, kun kuustakin pois värit putoaa."

There was a stretch as silence, broken only once the Notably Frustrated Leader asked in a voice that betrayed none of his inner thoughts: "And that's all? Really?"

"Indeed," the monk replied. "Do you believe yourself up to this task, O Most Monumental Master of the Only True and Righteous Philosophy?"

The Resigned yet Resolute Leader whispered something briefly to Ivan. Ivan opened his backpack, taking out the hereditary weapons of his family: an AK-47 covered in notches, one per slain capitalist; his grandfather's collection of grenades and his gas mask; the bulletproof vest his grandmother wore during the Great October Socialist Revolution; a hammer and sickle given to his father by Lenin himself; and finally a massive scimitar of old Russian steel, used by generations of his forefathers. Then he strode to the door: "Ivan go prepare cossacks."

In a minute, the rest of the group that stayed waiting outside of the temple was marshalled, all hardy cossacks of the Tried but Triumphant Leader's personal squad.

"Follow me," the old monk said and all followed him through wide halls of jade, then steep stairs of granite, then narrow tunnels of gneiss, then rickety ladder of pine wood, then dim passageways of caked dust. There in a chamber forgotten for many a millennium, a bluish glowing portal yawned in the mid-air.

The old monk spoke up: "Be careful, brave warriors, for the road you will tread on is violent and may well lead to your death. May the spirit of Lenin guide you to victory!"

But on the faces of the small squad nothing but eager determination could be seen, as behoves a true Soviet comrade. Facing the portal, they all gripped their trusty kalashnikovs.

"For father Lenin, for the Party and for our Great and Glorious Leader!" Ivan exclaimed and the cossacks joined him in a thunderous battle cry. Then one by one, they stepped into the luminous rift. The last to go was Ivan, a wide grin on his heroic face: "Ivan ready to hunt."

After a while, the old monk looked at the Daring and Dashing Leader, who was still standing next to him: "You... won't go?"

"No, of course not. Now, don't take it the wrong way, but it might be a while and I don't particularly fancy sitting here in the cold temple halls the whole time. Do you have a pub or something around here? I could use a bottle of vodka. Or two."

My Dream

Hunger woke me up in the middle of the night. Again.

I slipped out of my bed and quickly, silently dressed. Father was still sound asleep and hopefully will remain so until dawn. I couldn't explain myself if he asked where I was going, so I'd better get back soon and secretly. I caused him enough trouble already.

The whole winter was a blur for me. I had been delirious from fever and my father tended to me the whole time, just like he had had to my mother all the years back. I got better where she didn't and I knew he was all the more happy for that, but it did cost him. He had to neglect the farmstead for me, and though the neighbours helped where they could, it will be a tough year to get through yet.

Even without my rumbling stomach.

I left the cottage and ran up across the garden and hayfield, to the forest above. The sky was clear and the Moon was large, casting deep shadows but also enough light to go by. There was a spring a short walk into the woods where I knew many a critter would come to drink from, so I laid some snares around it.

I caught a rabbit. It was scared, poor thing. Half-choked on the snare, it still tried to shy away from me as I came closer. In a way, I was happy that the other traps were empty. One will have to be enough.

I grabbed it and snapped its neck.

"Look what we have here!" a voice cried out.

"We caught ourselves a poacher," another joined in with a chuckle, and the light of a hooded lantern ran over me and my catch.

I nearly dropped the rabbit, scrambling to my feet. Three men were approaching from deeper in the forest, reins of their horses in hand. They were all wearing red cloaks and had swords on their belts.

A patrol from Rudohrad, the Red Baron's men.

"But a pretty one, for once!" the loud one exclaimed.

"If dirty feet and ruffled hair are your thing, I guess. But wait, I forgot about your wife! Of course you're into that," the tall one nudged him.

I started to speak, but I stuttered, not knowing what to say. I was backing away step by step, but they were already too close and starting to flank me. The forest brook and bramble bushes cut off the rest of my escape routes.

"What shall we do with a pretty poacher, early in the morning," the last one intoned. He wrapped his reins around a tree branch. He didn't smile, just stared at me.

"Please forgive me, Masters. I didn't mean to-"

"Pretty face talks after all! Does she also know how much trouble she's in? Who's woods are we in?" the last one interrupted me, his voice cold and dangerous.

"Let me go, I beg-"

"Who's woods are we in?!"

"The baron's."

"And what didn't you mean to be doing in the Red Baron's woods?"

I felt their stares even as I unwittingly lowered my eyes. "...poaching," I couldn't stifle a whimper, and the loud and tall one laughed at that, hard.

The cold one suddenly drew his sword, one smooth sound of sharp steel on well-oiled leather. I stumbled back and he blocked my way with the blade, forcing me to a tree. He drew close and his sword slipped under my chin.

"Poachers loose their hand, you surely knew that." His breath was surprisingly odourless, but his eyes felt like fire on my skin.

"You wouldn't want that, right?" He let the blade down.

"But it doesn't have to end-" he started to speak, but as he groped me, I punched him, without thinking and hard.

He took a step back and his mates suddenly stopped laughing. There was a droplet of blood on his lower lip. He didn't even say anything, just struck me with the pommel.

There was a split second of numbness, and then my hands slammed into the ground and I was blinking spots out of my eyes. He kicked me in the side, knocking the wind out of me and pushing me over, then kicked me again and again.

"I like it more when they cooperate. This is frankly a bit of a turn-off," I heard the loud one saying over the blood thrumming in my head.

"This time it really was her fault, though," the tall one shrugged.

I felt another kick in my stomach, and it rumbled much harder than ever before.

Then everything went black.

***

I stumbled from the forest half-blinded by tears. Everything was so calm and quiet as I ran towards the village, struggling for breath and suppressing grunts of pain.

Behind the first house, I flung myself at a rainwater barrel. The face staring at me from the dark water was caked in mud and blood. My hands trembled as I started scrubbing and scraping away all the grime, clawing at my own face. I felt nauseous, but no matter how much I wanted to puke myself clean, I could only retch and shiver.

My stomach felt so full and satisfied.

I curled up in the shadow behind the barrel, thinking about my father's serene sleep.

I had to get away.

The soldiers will be missed when they don't return from their patrol in the morning, and others will come to investigate. If I stayed here, they would find out, find me and burn me at the stake, or even worse, claim my father or the whole village was complicit, burn me at the stake and send them away for hard labour. We all knew better than to expect mercy from the Red Baron's men.

But if I disappeared, they would have a culprit to chase and no time to spare for harassing the villagers. Everyone knows I was ill for a long time and weird ever since then, yet my father can still truthfully say he never suspected a thing.

I had to get up, had to get moving.

I went hobbling down the back alleys towards the road, where it encircled the inn and took off over the hills. There was still light and babble pouring out of the windows, though thankfully nobody was outside. Parked at the side of the street, I saw a nomadic wagon like those that comedians and gypsies often used. The horses were still harnessed, as if ready to set out in an instant.

I could barely stand already. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I dashed across the street and climbed into the wagon, waiting for someone to shout out or grab me. But nothing happened.

The inside of the wagon was cramped and dark, full of things I couldn't see that bumped painfully into my head and legs and hips. I found a heap of some clothes or cloth and collapsed on it, burying myself where a chest shielded me from casual glance.

I didn't notice when I dozed off.
 

***

Light was streaming through a tiny window in the side of the wagon, tickling me on the nose. I startled, but then caught myself before I made any noise.

We weren't moving.

Careful, I peaked from behind the chest. The half-open curtain at the back of the wagon was looking out on a snowy forest meadow. I shivered and had to borrow one of the big scarves I was lying on to wrap myself in. I climbed out of the wagon and saw my breath turning to mist. The snow was just a sprinkle, but it had no right to be there, anyway.

The wagon was parked under a massive oak standing alone in the middle of a meadow, with no sign of the horses or the driver, nor any road for that matter. There was just the wind whistling through the branches.

I didn't understand. The solstice was already drawing close and no way could I be asleep for long enough to get up into the mountains.

Then I felt something squishy and wet under my feet, and flinched back. It was a heap of viscera and a dead, disembowelled horse.

My stomach rumbled, painfully, like an empty hole was punched right through my middle. I nearly doubled over, and as my head went closer to the carrion, I could smell its raw flesh and drying blood. Nothing ever smelled so good.

I couldn't help it. Fighting revulsion, I reached for a chunk of its meat and gulped it down, then another and one more. It tasted like solstice sweets dipped in shit and gore. Then I heard footsteps.

I turned, startled, and saw an old, robed man, somehow familiar, though I couldn't recall ever seeing him before.

"Are you the wagon driver? I'm sorry I sneaked into your wagon. I had to get away from the village, quick," I managed to say in a strained voice, nervously wiping at my mouth.

The man looked right past me. "I had a bad dream," he said simply.

He seemed not really there in the head, and I couldn't stop myself from stumbling over words as my mind raced in growing fear: "What do you mean? Where were you, where are we? Why is there all the snow?"

The man turned and looked at the snow, as if seeing it for the first time. "A bad dream," he repeated.

"What happened, what do you remember?"

"A bad dream. I've had the same dream for three days."

This must be my fault. He went into some kind of a shock and I didn't know how to help him.

"People screaming," he said. "They scream my name. They scream in pain. Then I scream. Then I wake up."

He finally looked at me. His eyes were entirely black, like my eyes when my stomach rumbles. He turned and I inadvertently followed his gaze up the oak tree.

It was bedecked with bodies. They were hanging from the branches, upside-down, their ankles bound and their bellies slashed open. Their intestines had uncoiled over their chests and around their faces, framing the frozen expressions of agony and horror.

Then I recognized Kaija and Aidan and Drust and Brynn and Tam. It was the villagers, all of them, all my friends and neighbours. They were swaying slightly in the whistling wind and another body turned towards me. My father, who unlike the others had a wide grin plastered on his corpse-white face.

"A bad dream," I heard behind me. I whirled around, panicking, and it was me, another me, lying on the snowbank. She was heavily pregnant and her eyes were solid black. She stared and I stared back, unable to move or look away, and then a contraction scrunched her face in a mixture of pleasure and pain, she groaned and a flood of black gunk went splashing from between her spread legs.

I was screaming now: "Who are you? What are you?!"
  

***

I was roused by violent shaking.

I opened my eyes to find myself in an unfamiliar place. Small and cramped, with light streaming through a tiny window and someone breathing down on me, holding my shoulders.

No, it was the wagon and the driver was shaking me awake. I let go where I gripped his wrists and he took his hands off me, stepping back and folding his arms.

"I wanted to let you sleep, but you started to scream."

He was rather young, not the man from the dream. He was frowning, but it was a general frown, not a hostile one or directed at me.

"I'm so sorry. I had to get away and I saw your wagon and I thought... I don't know what I was thinking."

"Yeah," he said. "Sometimes you do have to get away. You can come with."

"Thank you," I said to his back as he turned and jumped off the wagon.

I followed him to the front bench and then sat there in silence for some time. I had too many thoughts flying through my head to talk and he seemed content to just stare at the road in front of us.

"Where are you going?" I asked, eventually.

"Nowhere, really. Anywhere."

"Oh." Anywhere was good. Maybe he would let me stay at least for a while, until I can figure out what am I supposed to do.

He looked at me, studying my face, and I had to fix my eyes on the horizon to suppress a sudden flush of anxiety. There was a group of people ahead of us, women and children with a man here and there, accompanied by ox-drawn wagons full of furniture.

"The highlanders," he followed my gaze.

"They left the outposts? I didn't know it was that bad up in the hills. I know the last winter was harsh," or so I heard when I finally pulled through in the early spring, "even we didn't have much to spare back in the village, but we could make do. I imagine it must be hard, giving up on a land that you worked so hard to make your own."

"It wasn't just the winter," he muttered. He was hunching over, gripping the reins much harder than necessary. It was my turn to look at him, askance.

"The sinners," he eventually volunteered.

I felt my heart flutter. "No."

He was staring at the group of refugees and barely whispering: "Three days ago, a large number of them came down from the hills where my people camped. They found us at breakfast. Killed our dogs, killed our horses. My family and friends."

"What about my village? Do they know?"

He clenched his teeth, drawn himself up and sighed. "I told them. They laughed in my face. Called me out on my tall tales. Something about a horse-loving gypsy was also mentioned, I think."

If there really were sinners in the hills, the whole village had to prepare. I could go directly to the mayor, persuade her to send a message to the baron, maybe request soldiers or something!

But I would have to go back and then even more of the baron's soldiers would mill through the woods around the village...

"The Red Baron has patrols up in the hills. They would come across the sinners. They will stop them," I said without much conviction.

"Yeah," he replied.

"How far to the next town? Maybe I could send a word of warning back home?"

He thought for a moment. "Rudohrad is not that far off. Not down this way, but we could take a turn at the next crossroads and be there in the afternoon."

The image of the baron's dungeons flickered before my mind's eye, even though his people had no way of already being aware of and investigating the death of their fellows. I could try and push my luck to speak with some official, then run.

"The baron might send help."

"If you hadn't noticed, the patrols were getting smaller and scarcer for some time. The baron is broke. He has just enough soldiers to keep himself safe. Not worth the risk to save a small village."

I didn't have an answer. Of course I noticed. We all did, in addition to the growing taxes and number of bandit attacks. The soldiers really wouldn't come.

I must have been sitting in silence for a long time before he spoke up again.

"So, what's your name?"

"Gilda," I replied and smiled automatically. Nobody would help.

"I'm Milosh," he smiled in earnest.

"I have to go back," I started in a weak voice.

"I don't know why you ran, but there probably was a reason," Milosh said. "The villagers won't listen, the sinners will eat you."

"I don't care. I have to try."

"It's not worth it, Gilda. Nothing is worth sacrificing your life for."

"My father's still there."

He slowed down, then stopped the wagon and I got off.

"Thank you for the ride. And the talk. It was nice meeting you."

He just sat there, staring ahead until I turned to go.

"Don't," I thought I heard him say.

"You could come with," I replied and at that, he spurred the horses to motion. Off and away.
  

***

I ran most of the way back. Every time I was short on breath, every time my body would protest with pangs of pain and bleeding blisters, the memory of my dead father's grin would make me quicken my pace again.

At first, I was racking my brain about what to do once I arrive. Then as the hours dragged on, I just focused on the deserted road ahead, on the very next step.

It was already past nightfall when I approached the first houses. I was feeling feeble and dead tired. I haven't eaten anything since the yesterday's supper and my stomach was rumbling angrily.

It took me a second to register the shadow crouching behind a wood shed. I froze, eyes darting for anything that I could defend myself with. A cracked spade shaft was discarded in some nettles, good enough as a makeshift club, or perhaps the fist-sized rock lying further down the alley between the cottages?

The shadow straightened and slowly came closer. A child, holding some small animal in its hands. It was Tam, staying outside well past her curfew once again.

I let my breath out. "Tam! What are you doing out here? It's already dark, your mum will be mad."

She stepped into moonlight, her eyes completely black. "Maybe she will even go mad," she giggled. "If I'm lucky enough to get her before the others do."

I stumbled back, but she was now advancing quickly. She dropped into a conspiratorial whisper: "Everyone you know is as good as dead. You're alone. You failed. What did you even think, that you could help? You never helped anyone."

She flung the partly-eaten rat at my face, then lunged. I reflexively slapped at the tiny carcass, opening myself for a quick kick to the shins and knees. My legs buckled and I fell hard. She was already on me, straddling my chest and scraping her nails over my face. Disoriented, I could barely fend off her attempts at clawing my eyes out, let alone stop her when she changed position and kicked me in the loins.

"I would say that you're fighting like a girl but no, your fighting is a disgrace to every girl ever. You really thought you could stop us? You?"

Somehow, I got one leg between us and pushed back, crawling away and kicking to keep her at bay. Desperate, I reached into the nettles and swung the shaft when she next came for me.

It struck true but broke, leaving nothing but a dark bruise on her unnaturally pale skin. She chuckled: "My hungry siblings are everywhere and yet the people are none the wiser. They are as stupid as the sheep they herd. And sheep are for the eating."

When she pounced again, I didn't try to evade or escape. I moved towards her, stabbing with the sharp fragment of wood I still gripped. Halfway through the air, she flailed and contorted and failed to change her course enough. The wood pierced her chest and I let her fall on the ground, then grabbed the rock I saw earlier and cracked her head when she tried to rise, and again and again, until she stopped snarling and my hands were slick with blood.

I was left staring at the body of a brutally murdered child I knew since she was a babe in a crib. When I was younger, I used to babysit her.

I scampered off to the side and dry-heaved, my hands shaking enough that I could have fallen over. Somehow, nobody heard the commotion and came to see me and my little victim.

Of course Tam was already dead even before I found her, but... I couldn't stop now. The sinners were here and ready to strike. I had to raise alarm.

I dragged myself afoot and ran down the alley to the main street, because I didn't trust myself to walk without collapsing. Everybody was inside, dining or preparing for sleep.

"The sinners!" I screamed, "They are here!"

No sooner have I raised my voice when the village came alive. People began to appear from their homes and crowded the street. They gawked at me as I staggered in place.

"What is it?" someone asked.

"Gilda! Oh my poor dear, what in the world happened to you?" That was Brynn, Tam's mother. She ran up to me, distress over my well-being etched into her face.

I stumbled back as if she had struck me. I couldn't let myself break down crying. "The sinners. They came from the hills," I managed to say over the lump in my throat.

She came to a confused halt, doing a double take on my torn face and filthy clothes. Her husband, Drust, touched her shoulder and nudged her away from me, glaring disapprovingly. The people were talking now, arguing.

"They're right outside," I added. Somebody started to cackle.

The crowd shifted and Dugal swaggered out, laughing like a madman. The little shit.

"That's what the fucking gypsy was saying yesterday! You were with the gypsy! He fucked your brains out and then made you scare these good people with the same stupid tales he was trying to make us believe."

I might have lashed out, struck him with the rock I still gripped. The people slowly went from confused and panicked to either shaking their heads and turning to go back home, or staring me down, irate and mocking.

"Hey Fergus, your daughter's back and she is crazy!" Dugal bellowed.

Past the crowd, I could see my father making his way down here from the other end of the village. He looked angry and worried. Very angry and very, very worried.

I could also see a black-eyed figure up on the roof of the mayor's house. It raised its head and howled. A hundred other nearby howls joined it.

Every pair of eyes in the whole village was suddenly fixed on the monster, and the other sinners used the distraction to emerge from the alleys and get between the crowd and their houses. We were mostly surrounded. People started to scream as dead arms reached for them and hungry teeth sunk into their flesh. Some fought back and others tried to flee, making it much harder for each other.

My father broke into a sprint, coming for me.

The black-eyed beast leaped off the roof, landing on Drust down on the street. Its taloned feet bit into his back, and his body convulsed and sagged. I could see him gasping for breath.

The beast was tall, head and shoulders above even my father. Its skin was stretched tight over bulging muscles, its hands and feet distorted into oversized claws. Its head was flayed, the skin hanging loosely around its neck and shoulders, with long blonde hair stretching down to the ragged remains of a skirt and apron it wore around its hips.

Aidan came barging at it, his smithing hammer swinging wide. The beast swatted away his attack and lazily dragged a claw over his body, spilling his guts on the ground and cracking his ribs.

My father wasn't more than a few paces away, drawing a knife from his belt, and I knew it will just tear him apart. I hurled the rock, praying to Sol and every saint that was listening.

The stone bonked off the beast's head and it turned to glare at me with its empty eye sockets in the same moment that my father stabbed it. It seized his arm and broke it without ever taking its gaze off of me. Nearly paralysed with horror, I watched as it effortlessly lifted him off the ground.

I shrieked, incoherent, and charged at it. My stomach rumbled with rage and hunger, and my vision went black.
  

***

I awakened in cold sweat. My body ached all over, every piece of me either hurting or completely numb. Only my belly felt worryingly full and content. I struggled to open my eyes.

It was dark, too dark to see. I could still smell, though. A sweet, metallic, revolting smell, like in a slaughterhouse.

And also fresh bread.

A door cracked open, bringing bright light into the room. I fumbled and failed to sit up, until a few quick steps later, my father was standing next to the bed, gripping my arm.

I looked at him, bracing for the disgust or horror on his face. He must have seen me feed.

But he was smiling and propped me up until I could sit, leaning against the wall. I saw him wince a little as his injured arm moved too quickly, but it was properly bandaged and in a sling.

"I'm so glad you're already awake," he said. "I was so worried that you will relapse, lying unconscious and feverish for another month."

Some of my fear and confusion must have shown on my face, because he sat down beside me and put his good hand on my shoulder.

"You saved the village. Scared the sinners off."

"But I was..."

"You were brave. You saved lives. Many lives, including my own. I'm proud of you," he said, then frowned: "But don't be surprised if you get some weird looks from the other folk. They're thankful, just a bit tense. Now come on."

I let him help me stand up and walk me to the laundry chest, then dressed, slow and unsteady, as he waited outside of my room. He supported me as we walked outside and down the main street to the mayor's house. A small gathering of people was talking at the front steps, finding comfort and consolation in the company. They parted as we approached and let us through to their midst.

Sitting on a bench next to the steps was Brynn, rocking back and forth, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. On the other end of the bench, Dugal was kneeling next to a tearful Gerda, whispering to her ear, one arm around her shoulders, the other on her knee.

"Listen, everyone," my father hopped up on the first step and waited until all the people turned to look at him. "We all know what happened last night. We all saw. We all live because of my daughter, so we all keep quiet. Understood?"

My eyes flicked from face to face. I saw a lot of fear, but also the occasional slight and sombre nod.

"For those who haven't heard yet," he continued, "Kaija also died last night. Sorry, Gerda," he added as the girl started to weep aloud. "We will choose the next mayor as soon as possible, but for now, you can ask Moryn or me if you need or want to help. Leigh will see to anyone who needs to be patched up."

"Also, I sent Ewyn and Nyle to Rudohrad. They will make sure that the baron knows, and that he listens to us. He wants our taxes? He has to give something in return!"

There were much more vigorous nods all around.

But my father was looking somewhere past the crowd. "Speaking of the devil..."

Following his gaze, I noticed a group of red-armoured horsemen coming our way. The Red Baron's soldiers, and not just a small patrol. I tensed, making every single scrape and bruise throb and twinge.

My father briefly touched my clenched fists. "I'll be right back," he said. "I should have a chat with them real quick."

He headed towards the soldiers, and I found myself completely surrounded by a grim-faced crowd. Half of the people were watching the baron's men, the other half was staring at me with fear, with awe, with distrust and disgust.

"Thank you," somebody uttered into the silence.

The soldiers seemed to grow agitated as my father talked. He gestured towards the forest and the soldiers started to quarrel between themselves. Suddenly, the leader turned his horse around and spurred it back the way they came.

My father returned and promising to the villagers that he will be back in a minute, lead me back home.

"You should go have some more rest. I never thought I'd see you as battered as you are, and I hope I never will again."

"What about the soldiers?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

He hugged me tight around the shoulders. "One of their patrols didn't return. They came to investigate, then saw the pile of undead we burnt behind the village. I told them about the attack in the night, told them we managed to fight them off, barely. They realized their patrol is probably dead and they should better inform the baron about all this."

He looked at me and added: "It's a pity the patrol was killed by some sinners."

"Now, there's some fresh bread that Moryn gave me, get yourself milk or cheese and go to bed, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed.

My stomach was rumbling, but for once, it was just and only my own hunger.

prior | next

Jar of Dirt

The Sun was beating down hard on her bare shoulders as Eli took a short breather to think through her next few steps. There was a small overhang on the rock face just above her, and then she should already be on the ledge. She let go of her comfortable cranny and gripped a sloper over her head instead, then shifted her weight and hauled herself upwards, until she was hanging on her straightened arms. The stone was coarse and dry under her fingers, and she was sweating and breathing deeply and enjoying every moment of this.

Eli hooked her heel on the edge of the overhang and then traversed to where it broadened into a wider, grassy cleft with a narrow cave opening. Sitting down on the ledge, she dangled her feet above the rustling tree crowns and relaxed in the warm sunlight until the drying sweat started to feel chilly on her skin. Then she got up, took out her flashlight and approached the cave - the entire point of coming up here. She found about this small cave on a geocaching website, a cache prepared specially for climbers. She will have to snap a picture once she finds it, to brag into the twins' faces.

She had to duck low to enter the cave, but the ceiling rose quickly and she could soon walk almost upright, even if the floor covered in gravel and the angled walls made it somewhat difficult. The corridor took a sharp turn and then abruptly ended as a mound of dirt and stones completely blocked off the path forward.

Eli looked around for some hiding place that could hold the plastic container of a cache, but the only obvious spot seemed to be the top of the wobbly-looking pile. On the other hand, she wouldn't be the first person to climb here, so it couldn't be that unstable, she reasoned. Stepping carefully, she got to the top of the heap only to find a tight crack that someone might just about stick their arm through. In the shadows cast by the hard edges of the rock, she could make out some kind of a box sitting askew in the crevice.

She had to crouch on the mound to reach it, and had to try twice to drag it closer. It wasn't a plastic box but rather an glass jar stoppered with a metallic cap, surprisingly heavy but filled only with some dirt. If this was someone's idea of a trolling cache, they were quite dedicated to the joke to bring it all the way up here. Eli held the jar up to her flashlight and tried to shake it, when the grey powder rippled and lunged against her at the glass.

Completely surprising herself, Eli let out a high-pitched scream and slipped down from the mound, both flashlight and the jar flying from her hands. She heard the glass shattering, and the cave was cast to shadows as the flashlight fell somewhere between rocks. Scraped and annoyed, she went to get it back, but somehow the flashlight managed to wedge itself just deep enough to escape her grasp. She did find the lid of the jar, though, curiously heavy and thick, with some fine engravings on the underside.

As she was turning the lid in her hands, a sudden sound froze her mid-thought.

"أين أنا؟"

Eli stumbled to turn around in a blink, barely catching herself on the cave walls. In the sparse light of the lost flashlight, she could just about roughly make out a tall, muscular figure that was now filling the corridor, completely blocking off any hope of an escape route. With adrenaline thrumming in her head and the shadows playing tricks on her eyes, the figure seemed larger than possible, imposing and inhuman. Its grey skin rippled.

"أعذري وقاحتي"

Before her brain could decide on any fight-or-flight response, the figure lifted its arm and Eli wasn't quick enough to dodge.

The figure touched her forehead.

It was as if a single needle of numbness speared into her brain. A split second of weird sensations that forced Eli to close her eyes and take a step back. She steadied herself on the cave walls, unsure what else to expect.

Nothing happened.

She cracked her eyes open again, glancing at the figure that was still standing in place, silent now.

Eli licked her parched lips before speaking up: "What did you do?" Even as frightened as she was, she felt a momentary pride that her voice didn't falter.

The figure gestured and globe of light appeared above its extended palm, providing a soft illumination that only accentuated the confined conditions of this little cave. Eli could now finally take a good look at the massive man. He was naked, except he wasn't... equipped. His hairless grey skin gave off nearly metallic red gleams in the light and he held himself way too still, not even breathing, no expression on his face.

"Accept my apologies for scaring you and for melding you without your consent. I didn't speak your language and needed to make sure we could understand each other. I have too many questions now that I was released from my prison, only thanks to you of course. For that, I am deeply in your debt."

"I... You're welcome?"

"Now tell me, what is the name of my liberator?"

"I'm Eli-"

"My lord djinni," a loud voice sounded behind the grey man. He turned to reveal an old man in a longcoat, doffing his hat in a deep bow. "I am very sorry for interrupting your conversation, but I couldn't have not noticed you awakening from your secret slumber, and I would be loathe to fail in paying you the respects you rightfully deserve, my lord."

"Rise, wizard," the djinni said, "you are forgiven. It pleases me that my kind is still well remembered, even though I understand I slept for a long time indeed. Before my treacherous imprisonment, the skies were silent except for the songs of my brethren, yet now I can hear the whispers of machines everywhere. Is that the mankind's making? Have they rebuilt the chrome kingdoms of yore?"

"The mankind went a long way since you might last recall, my lord, yet to this day the greatest of their accomplishments pale in comparison to the glory of the least of the djinn. This planet is still the hinterland it always used to be. Which reminds me, if I may be so bold to offer my services, that I know of a Way to your homeland. Your kingdom must surely be amiss due to your absence."

"You seem very eager to see me gone, wizard."

"My only hope is to serve well enough for you to spare me a thought on your glorious return."

Eli realized she's holding the strange lid in a white-knuckled grip as the djinni scrutinized the wizard for a long second.

"I will accept your services. Now tell me, where is this Gateway?"

The old man fished out something that Eli couldn't see from his pocket and shown it to the djinni.

"Very well," the djinni said and raised his hand above his head before turning it slightly. The whole world turned along with his hand.

Eli very nearly fell as her equilibrium was thrown out of whack. She hugged herself and bend forward as her stomach felt like making a somersault, barely holding back nausea. She tried to breathe, but the air was too hot and dry. It was suddenly so bright all around that she couldn't quite see.

There was sand beneath her feet.

"I remember these fields lush and blooming," the djinni seemed to whisper.

When Eli managed to take a shallow breath and blink away the tears that welled in her eyes, she saw the three of them standing in front of a massive block of hewn sandstone. The Sun was bright on the cloudless sky and all around was nothing but endless sand and jutting sandstone rocks.

"What happened?" she could barely rasp.

The djinni abruptly turned to her, even as she unwittingly stepped back again.

"I apologize for the second time. I did not think of you when I allowed the wizard to assist me. I have to cut our time short, but you surely understand how much I yearn for my home and vengeance, rash as my decisions might be because of it. I assure you that your services are remembered, too, and shall be rewarded." He seemed to consider for a moment before continuing: "Unless you wish to come with me? The xanthous halls of al-Mariikh have not been seen by a human eye ever before, but I would be willing to grant this boon to you."

"I..." She had no idea what to say. Off to the side, the wizard was staring at her intently. He looked a bit alarmed, maybe? "...don't think I want..." The wizard looked alarmed in a different way now. "...to abuse your kindness so much, my lord?" Eli finally stammered. The wizard seemed to relax slightly.

"Indeed. I cannot afford a scandal when my enemies had ages to plot against me. Still, you both have my gratitude."

"Thank you," Eli said and after a brief second of silence added, "my lord."

"We shall await your return, my lord," the wizard came to her rescue.

The djinni turned back to the sandstone block and ran his hand along the carved symbols, over long centuries eroded into indistinct grooves. Then he touched some of them, one to the left of him, three above and two on the right.

Eli noticed how the wizard, dressed way too warmly for this desert or what it was, has several beads of sweat slowly travelling down his forehead. He didn't try to wipe them away.

With a loud crack, the sandstone in between the touched symbols shattered and fell inwards. Within the resulting hole, Eli could make out a metallic door frame filled with darkness that didn't seem to be touched by the pervasive, bright sunlight in the slightest. A light wind picked up towards this door.

"You shall, and once I return, you both shall have a place among my thralls."

Then the djinni stepped through the portal. The wind stopped as the darkness of the portal winked out, replaced by a smooth plate of the same metal as the door frame.

Suddenly, the wizard dropped down on the hot sand as if absolutely exhausted, wiped his brow and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank goodness that's over. Though it actually went better than I expected."

It took Eli a few more seconds to compose herself enough to speak without having to worry about freaking out: "What the actual fuck was all of that?"

The wizard gave her a wry look before responding: "That was a djinn king you let out of his eternal prison, and I sent him to Sagittarius A*. No need to thank me, let's all hope he didn't survive. My name's Mr. Kipfel, by the way."

 

 

next

My Hero

A stronger wind picked up outside of the tower, and even with the shutters closed, some draught got through to the already chilly chamber. The maiden, stripped naked and chained to an altar of ancient, runed stone, shivered.

"Oh," the warlock said, snapping back to reality. "Sorry about that... Gilda, was it?" He went over to the vaulted windows and drew the heavy curtains closed. "The nights are getting a bit cold, right?"

Gilda watched him with wide, frightened eyes. She had stopped crying and pleading hours ago.

"I'd give you a blanket or a nice cup of hot tisane, but unfortunately, there are traditions to be upheld and expectations to be met. Magic is just so slow and needlessly complicated. I mean, virgin blood, new moon, bones of three sinful priests? It can be a real bother."

She didn't smile back.

"But don't worry, I won't be taking up your time for much longer. We can more or less begin."

He took a pouch from the table overflowing with open books and boxes of ingredients, then went around the altar, leaving behind a circular line of bone ash while whispering in a language that seemed to contain way too few vowels. As he closed the circle, the outside noises were muffled, as if some oppressive silence has crept into the shadows of the room.

Gilda swallowed a silent sob and half-heartedly tried her bonds once more. They held as tight as ever.

The warlock returned to the table and rummaged for a while, until he found a long, wavy dagger and a bowel made from a human skull. He renewed his chanting, slowly picking up both the pace and volume. The flickering of candles made the shadows on the walls dance, and they all added their own silent theme to the chant.

As the warlock stepped over the circle of ash, a distant thunder rolled. Gilda was sweating and breathing hard, nearly drowning on air. The warlock was shouting now, the dagger raised high above his head. Gilda cried out as he looked down at her, his eyes as black and endless as the night, and-

-the door flew off their hinges, crashing on the floor.

"Stop at once, minion of Evil!" exclaimed the newcomer, his voice mighty and pleasant to the ears. Clad in shiny imperial steel, his sword drawn and pointed menacingly at the warlock, he stroke a magnificent pose. He took off his helmet, golden hair spilling out, and revealed his noble, clear-cut face. His brow was furrowed and his sky-blue eyes held a promise of safety and justice.

The warlock put down the bowl with a loud clack. "Do you know how impolite this is? My alarm spells triggered at least ten minutes ago! Were you just waiting in the hallway to-"

"Silence!" The knight advanced towards the altar. "Abolish your fears, my fair dame, for I am here! I am glad I was able to arrive in the nick of time for your rescue from the filthy clutches of this wretch of a man!"

"Milord," Gilda cried out, "beware of his wizardry! He might-"

The knight laughed out loud. "Worry not, my delicate flower. He is toothless and defenceless. His magicks may be dark and terrible, but the rituals take time and he has none left in this world. Tonight, warlock, you shall perish by the blade of-"

With a flick of the warlock's wrist, the knight disappeared. A strong scent of brimstone flooded the room.

"Unless you waltz into a mage's tower, where he had years to prepare, dunderhead," the warlock frowned, then glanced at Gilda. "Pardon my language."

"Anyway, I hope you won't hold this interruption against me. I'm trying to be a professional here, but sometimes the Fates just conspire against you and you have to make do with whatever hand you are dealt, right?"

"Now, if I could have a request," he raised his dagger again, "would you mind screaming for a bit? It'll help rebuild the ambiance."

next

Fall

The Sun was already setting by the time the couple reached the highest peak of the Hammer Island. They looked over the lush forested hills, over their beachside bungalow and the turquoise sea down below, towards the evening horizon. Huxley took out a bottle of champagne and a pair of cups from his backpack, while Lola sat down on the warm rocks, eyes fixated on the sky.

"Here it comes," she whispered, her voice nearly breaking.

A shooting star emerged, careening from east to west, all bright and beautiful. For a few seconds, the whole world was silent.

Huxley sat down next to Lola as she blinked away tears and handed her one of the cups.

"Hey, look at it like that," he said in a strained voice, "we had the best honeymoon we could ever ask for. If we knew sooner, nothing would change except our honeymoon would be, well..."

She was sobbing now, softly.

"And we saw a star falling, so we should make a wish," he tried to smile, then kissed her on the tear-streaked cheek. "I wish to spend the rest of my life with you."

"You're fucking stupid," she started to laugh through the sobs. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

They clinked their cups and slowly sipped the sparkling wine, watching as the horizon grew bright and ever brighter, even drowning out the Sun.

The shock wave got them a few seconds before the firestorm.

Oust

"I, Matthias Brecht, being of competent and sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament."

I looked around the lawyer's office, crowded by my many relatives that had gathered here today. It was a long time since I last saw some of them. Most of them, really. They didn't even come to uncle Matt's funeral, yet everyone was present for the reading of his will.

Aunt Crystal was lounging on a squeaky armchair, staring at the sheaf of papers the lawyer was reading from as if she could browbeat it into having exactly the words she wanted to hear. Her husband, uncle Otto, was standing just behind her chair, clenching the backrest. Their three daughters were expertly feigning bored disinterest, their nervous hopes showing only in the occasional sidelong glance at the lawyer. I caught myself starting to smirk and quickly hid it.

"To my nephew, Otto Brecht, and his lovely wife, I give and devise my car and my yacht, provided they do not sell or otherwise divest of them."

Crystal and Otto blinked.

"His car?" Crystal asked, incredulous. "Why would we want another car? What about the house? And all the money?"

"And why the boat?" Otto nearly whimpered.

Crystal reached up and squeezed his hand in a white-knuckled grip without taking her eyes from the lawyer. "He knew you're afraid of water."

It was strangely fascinating, watching aunt Crystal seethe in silence as the lawyer continued to read through the inheritances of other family members. A vein on her forehead started to bulge and tiny beads of sweat formed on her slowly reddening face. Uncle Otto was trying to pry his hand free, while the cousins did their best to prevent their haughty masks from cracking. They almost succeeded.

I was so engrossed in the scene that it caught me off guard when the lawyer suddenly mentioned my name.

"To my great-nephew, Robert Brecht, I leave and bequeath all of my remaining possessions, including my house and my assets. In addition, I grant him a small gift and the following words-"

I didn't really have time to think and let it sink in, when aunt Crystal screeched at the top of her lungs: "What?! He gets everything?!"

The rest of the lawyer's sentence was nearly drowned in the sudden familial racket:

"Thank you, and I'm sorry."

***

It was already well into the evening when I finally arrived home, exhausted. Most of the family was now upset with me, suspecting or outright accusing me of brown-nosing my way to the fortune. The lawyer had to literally push them all out of his office, or they would still be arguing and screaming at me or each other.

I brewed myself a nice cup of tea and considered going directly to the bed, leaving everything else be a tomorrow's problem, but then curiosity prevailed. Along with the inheritance - and I still didn't really believe it, nor did I know why - I was given a small box, the "gift".

I went to the living room slash workshop, a hundred clocks ticking on the walls and cabinets, and opened the carefully wrapped package. It was a miniature, beautiful and definitely very expensive clock in silver casing adorned with delicate filigree. As far as gifts went, this one was perfect, thoughtful. Whatever your reasons, uncle Matt, thank you so much.

I carefully winded the clock up, but nothing happened. Well...

I took them to my workshop, carefully put aside various clients' clocks I had lying there unfinished, and prepared my screwdrivers and pliers. I knew I could and probably even should leave it to the morning, but I knew as well how much it would bug me to have a beautiful, fine clockwork lying there silently.

It took me hours. When I finished, I noticed that I'm now sitting in a forlorn pool on light, the rest of the house immersed in midnight darkness. Nearly midnight, it was five to twelve.

The clockwork in the uncle's gift was intricate, delicate and wonderful. I don't know where he obtained it, but the tiny clock was a piece of art. I was not even tired any more, the excitement of a job well done filling me with strange pent up energy, with expectation.

I winded the silver clock once again and set the hands to midnight, then kept an eye on my wristwatch to get it activated on time. A few more seconds now, three-two-one and...

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. The miniature clock joined their hundred peers exactly as they all chimed a midnight.

I raised my eyes to the mirror on the wall and looked at the reflection. Tick. I didn't know what to feel. Relief? Shame? Smug satisfaction? Tock.

Tick. "Thank you," I said to- Tock. -my new face in the mirror. Tick. "And I'm really sorry." Tock.

Tick-tock.