Crossroads (39 page)

"Will you stand by me now, at the last?"

"Of course," said Silky, without hesitation.

Shandan smiled, and that was enough for Silky. Even in the grip of the hateful evil that he had felt pressing against the Hall of Mirrors still, that was enough.

"Then pass through here," said Shandan, holding out the mirror, "and wait."

And Silky had waited for forty earth years.

What’s your plan, Shandan? Surely this can’t be the end.

The wind whipped up and over the island like a giant blanket in the hands of some insane monster, beating the rain before it like sharp particles of dust.

If it is, I know you wouldn’t want me to just give up, and I won’t stop until I get that medicine or die. We owe something to these people here. To people everywhere.

The Dreamtime might die. Otherworld might be turned to a vast madhouse, and all the Originals to slaves or corpses. But debts had to be paid. And he owed Clem a debt.

Jen’s eyes were both closed tightly, and her forehead was wrinkled with strain. Her knees sagged, but she managed to stay upright apparently through nothing more than an effort of will.

"She can’t make it much farther," said Sheila, holding one arm under Jen’s. 

Kira nodded. At least they had managed to shove, nudge, and plead their way through the insane throng until they could finally see the far wall, and even though there was yet another door in it she sensed that they were nearing the end of their quest. She just had no idea what that might be.

She was a Creator. She had made the key appear, shaped money from thin air, turned both the young girl and Sheila into monsters in order for them to defend themselves, but this entire room was filled with Originals who were also Creators. Shandan Graves, her own grandfather, was supposed to the greatest Creator of all time, and he hadn’t been able to defeat the
Empty-eyed-man.
How was she supposed to? She stared at Sheila and Jen, and wished that neither of them had been forced to accompany her here. She had dragged them into this danger, just as she had been responsible for the people in the bank, just as she had gotten Clancy killed. Sometimes she really did feel like a gamepiece being moved by a giant hand that she could sense but not quite see.

Sometimes we pay a penance for things we did not do.       

Both Sheila and Jen were certainly evidence of that, but she sensed something else as well. Somewhere, deep within her heart she could feel her mother’s presence as she had never felt it before. Maybe it was because she was here, back in the very core of Otherworld. Or maybe it was because of the strange sense of destiny that she had begun to feel growing within herself. But she knew that she was fast approaching the cusp, the point at which terrible decisions would have to be made, and she was going to have to make them.

I love you, Mama.

There was no answer, but a soft feeling warmed her.

She wished that she could empower both Sheila and Jen with it, but that was not one of her talents. Instead she wrapped her arms around both of them and did what she knew how to do.

"I love you," she said, quietly. "I love both of you."

They both hugged her back, and-although she felt even more of Jen’s growing weakness within her embrace-Jen squeezed her tightly, clinging to her the way a dying man clings to his last breath.

A penance.

Suddenly she knew, and the knowledge cut her like a knife. The
Empty-eyed-man
had stolen everything from her, and now he wanted to take more. She didn’t know if she could bear it.

"You’ve changed," said Sheila, staring deep into Kira’s tear-filled eyes. "What’s wrong now?"

Kira shrugged. "I know what happens next," she said, slipping the key from her pocket again and turning to the door.

Chapter 53

This door also swung inward of its own accord, and again the room within was vast, although not nearly so big as the madhouse behind them. But there were still hundreds of chandeliers, and the smell of soot and whatever oil the torches burnt almost overrode the odor of rotted flesh. The walls seemed to have oozed some dark liquid that stained the stones like blood, and the floor was slimy with it. At the far end of the room a huge, black, ornately paneled throne took up one wall, and even at that distance Kira knew that the figure resting upon it with his head draped forward was the
Empty-eyed-man,
the Mogul. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to her companions. Jen’s eyes were welded shut, and she breathed in great hawking gasps. Sheila glared at the throne, and when she looked at Kira with a questioning expression, Kira nodded.

"Kill him, then," said Sheila, her eyes slipping to the dagger in Kira’s belt.

But Kira knew that she could not.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have the will. After all, the
Empty-eyed-man
was responsible for her parents’ deaths, the death of all those in the show, of those in the bank, of Clancy, of untold others, and the suffering of men, women, and children beyond counting. He had created the Grigs, the serpent, and who knew what other horrors, and he was responsible for the evil madness the Dreamtime had become. Finally, she knew that he was about to be the cause of even more sadness for her. She knew that she could drive the dagger deep into his evil heart and twist it until it ripped whatever existed there for flesh into flapping ribbons, but she also knew he wouldn’t die.

Because he wasn’t alive.

He wasn’t a creation the way they all were. He was an idea. Like the Great Creator was an idea. He was so much more than reality, and in some very important ways, so much less. He was evil in the flesh, but regardless of how demonic and depraved he might be, ideas didn’t die.

She shook her head sadly.

"I can’t," she whispered, knowing that Sheila could read the words on her lips.

Sheila sagged. "Then how do we end this?"

"Do what you do," gasped Jen, shaking.

But neither Kira nor Sheila could decipher the cryptic remark.

"She can’t make it much farther," said Sheila, barely able to support Jen any longer.

Kira nodded, leading the way across the wide, slippery floor to the base of the throne. When her toes touched the first black slate step, she stared up into the empty sockets of the skull that was the face of the
Empty-eyed-man
, wondering that she had feared this shell. There was much in this world to be afraid of, and almost all of it was the fault of the
Empty-eyed-man,
but now, here, seeing what he had become, she marveled at the time she had spent in terror of him.

"He’s dead already," said Sheila, frowning.

"No," said Kira. "He’s just not all here."

"Where’s the rest of him, then?"

Kira chewed her lip, trying to reason it all out. "He could only send his shadow through the mirror. So part of him is here, and part is in our world."

"Kill him," said Sheila again, shifting to get more of her shoulder under Jen’s arm. "Kill what’s here, now, and be done."

"I can’t," said Kira, climbing the steps until she stood just beneath the bowed cowl covering the skull.

She reached up and grasped the leather on each side of the boney cheeks and shook it.

The creature inside was just dust. The
Empty-eyed-man
and even his garments fell away and drifted around them, fouling the air even more. A small, dusky-glassed mirror clattered to the seat of the throne.

Sheila sighed loud enough to be heard over the constant moaning behind them, but when Kira glanced toward the door she noticed that several of the mad Originals had passed through it into the throne room, and something in their faces gave her pause. Sheila followed her eyes, and both of them knew immediately what was happening.

The
Empty-eyed-man
wasn’t here in body any longer, but a part of him still inhabited the Citadel. The part that controlled his Original slaves. And he was not about to let the three of them discover the answer to defeating him.

"This isn’t good," said Sheila, helping Jen to a sitting position on the steps.

Originals continued to trail into the room, slowly filling it, and the look in their eyes was terrifying. They reminded Kira of the eyes of the girl in the car when she was still caught up in her killing rage, still a monster with razor claws. The
Empty-eyed-man
knew they were here, and he was telling his minions to kill them now. The dagger in her belt was even more worthless against the horde than it might have been against the creature of dust she had just destroyed.

Sheila helped Jen to her feet. Then the three of them backed up the steps toward the throne.

Chapter 54

The Originals surrounding the throne had yet to climb the steps, and Kira could see confusion in their eyes as well as malice, as though they were receiving conflicting orders. She glanced at Jen, who was barely able to stand upright with Sheila’s arm beneath her own, and knew why.

"She’s still fighting the Mogul’s power," said Kira.

"But for how long?" asked Sheila, echoing Kira’s thoughts. Suddenly she stared off across the heads of the gathered Originals.

"What?" said Kira, sensing a commotion near the door.

The Originals there stirred. Some of them parted, then others, until finally there was a narrow pathway from the door to the throne. The Originals along it seemed even more confused, muttering under their breath, turning from the throne to the door and back.

"The dead," said Sheila. "They’re coming. That’s what I was hearing."

"But you said they wouldn’t."

Sheila shook her head. "I don’t know why it’s happening, but it’s stirring up the living. Wait."

She helped Jen up off the steps and onto the throne, then stepped hesitantly down until she stood inside the corridor the mad Originals had created, waiting. Kira followed her eyes but saw only empty floor. Finally Sheila’s gaze lifted, and Kira could tell she was staring into the faces of the dead, but then Sheila turned back to
her
with a curious expression on her face.

"The other dead are talking to the living. The living can’t really hear them, but apparently the dead have some effect, just as they did in the Dreamtime. There are two here that want to speak to you."

"Two?" whispered Kira with a faint and aching heart.

Sheila nodded.

Kira’s  knees went weak, and she staggered down the steps to stand beside Sheila, her eyes searching. She wanted so desperately to
see
what Sheila saw, to
hear
what she heard, because she knew who the pair had to be.

"Mama?" she cried, plaintively. "Papa?"

Sheila smiled. "They’re here. Right in front of you."

Kira stared at the emptiness, pleading to be granted this one boon, just this one miracle, to see her parents one last time. What good were her powers if she could not even have the one thing that Sheila had? But there was nothing there. For all she knew Sheila didn’t even really see them at all.

"You look like your father," said Sheila, quietly.

Kira smiled, tears pouring down her cheeks. She stared up at Sheila, pleading for more.

"Your mother says that you seem exhausted. She wants to know when you ate last."

Kira laughed, wiping her tears on her sleeve. "I’m okay."

"She says she missed you, and she and your father want you to know how much they love you."

"I love you, too," she sobbed, turning back to the empty air in front of her.

"Your father wants you to know how proud he is of you."

"For what?" she said, sniffling. "I haven’t done anything."

"You got here alive. You and Jen."

Kira nodded.

"He wants to know if you know what to do now?" said Sheila, frowning.

"Yes," said Kira, sadly, realizing that she did.

She glanced over her shoulder at Jen, leaning forward on the throne, her head in her hands, and she noticed for the first time how quiet the room had become. Not a murmur from the Originals. Not a shuffling foot. The entire Citadel seemed to be waiting.

She reached out her hand, and held it, as though cupping a cheek, and she could have sworn that she almost felt a soft touch there.

"I love you Mama, Daddy," she whispered.

She gazed slowly around the crowd of Originals. She could still feel the evil presence within the walls, but it seemed to be diminished by Jen, by the dead, by her and Sheila’s presence, to the point at which it nearly faded, and she knew that it was time to do what she had to do.

"Give me your Oculet," she said, holding out her hand to Sheila.

Sheila’s frown spread. "Are you sure?"

Kira nodded. "Yes. I’m going to give them to him."

"But you can’t-"

"I have to."

"But why? It’s what he wants."

"It’s what he thinks he wants. Please, give it to me."

Reluctantly Sheila reached within her blouse and slid the chain over her head, passing the amulet to Kira. Kira slipped it around her own throat and watched as the two melded into one. She stared at the emptiness in front of her again, and held out her arms wide. When she glanced at Jen her old friends eyes were barely open and she saw her nod in understanding.

"They want to hug you so badly," Sheila whispered. "If you wish really hard... sometimes you can feel it."

"I can," said Kira, smiling.

After a moment she turned back toward the stairs, and she and Sheila hurried up them to the throne. Kira rested a hand on Jen’s shoulder, and when the good eye opened again, she smiled sadly at her old friend.

"It’s time for us to go now," she said.

Jen nodded, rising.

"Do we go through the mirror again?" asked Sheila, clearly not happy with the idea.