Crossroads (40 page)

Kira shook her head. "I don’t think so."

"Then how do we get to the Hall of Mirrors?"

"It’s here," said Kira. "It has to be. Why else would Shandan bring us here?"

"How do we find the way in, then?"

Kira sighed, staring at the blocky throne.

"By doing what I do," she said, aiming her open palms toward the throne.

She imagined it gone, as she had imagined the money disappearing long ago, as she had imagined the girl turned back to girl from beast, she imagined it melting into mist. Instead it leapt into blue flame. Then slowly it began to fade, and in front of them an opening appeared. Through it Kira could see mirrors.

Chapter 55

Through gusts of wind and thunder that sounded like cannon fire rain shrapnel pelleted Silky. He could barely make out the path through the lightning bursts, and the running slush beneath his bare feet made footing treacherous, but he was drawn toward the point by the sense of power there, the sense of evil, and the sense of finality. The game was drawing to a close, and he must play his part. He placed one weary foot in front of the other in the certainty that the Mogul would not allow him to get lost.

Neither would Shandan.

The fact that he knew he was nothing more than a pawn bothered him less with each footfall. He had never been any more, and that had always been enough because he had always been sure that there was a rightness to the very core of existence that even the Mogul could not completely defeat. If he had been wrong all along-and he knew that the next few minutes would bring him that fateful answer-then he wanted to learn of his mistake and have it all over at last.

As he crested the last small rise before his cabin, lightning flared again, but he wasn’t all that surprised to discover that his shack and even the sturdy old privy had disappeared into the storm.

Gone to Oz more than likely. Wish I was there now.

But the Wicked Witch of the West was a comic book figure compared to the Mogul, and there wasn’t any tin man or lion around to help him now. All he could do was follow his instincts and hope to hell that what he was doing was what Shandan wanted and not screwing up the game completely.

He stumbled across the muddy lawn to the stone foundation and glared down at the shadowy figure there.

"We were awaiting your arrival," said the Mogul in a voice that echoed the roar of the storm.

Somehow the darkness where his eyes should have been seemed even bleaker than the surrounding gloom. Silky stared into the empty eye holes beneath the sopping leather cowl, fearing that he would be hypnotized by them. As he watched a dull red glow emerged until both sockets burst with crimson light. Silky’s hand instinctively slipped to the Oculet beneath his drenched flannel shirt.

"Give it to me," commanded the Mogul, extending a bony hand.

Silky felt the incredible power of the Mogul, crushing him, willing him to submit, but he spat rain water into the basement, staring toward the undamaged mirror. Shandan still held. That gave him hope at least that the game was not yet over, that he might actually get out of here alive to save Clem.

"Give me the medicine," he croaked.

The Mogul stepped toward him, laughing. The sound totally erased the cacophony of the storm. It was as though he and the Mogul were surrounded by invisible walls, and the laughter had a feel to it as well. Like powerful hands gripping his shoulders in a painful and threatening embrace. Silky backed away toward the scruffy trees along the cliffs.

But the Mogul was out of the cellar so quickly that Silky never even saw him move. Suddenly he sensed a dark presence beside him, and he whirled.

"Now!" shouted the Mogul, his skeletal palm just under Silky’s chin.

Silky almost reached for the Oculet again, but then his hand stopped, resting beneath the Mogul’s.

"Take it," he taunted, throwing back his head.

The skull seemed to contort-the bones tightening like flesh in a terrible rage. Now the fierce red light gleamed like lasers in the empty orbits, and as the skeletal fingers slowly clenched into a fist the hand seemed poised to strike him down, but the blow never fell.

"You can’t," Silky shouted as the roar of the gale suddenly returned with a vengeance. "You can’t, can you? Shandan still protects me. I’ll bet he protected all of us. You had to get the other Originals to
give
you their Oculets, or else your goddamned Grigs had to kill ‘em and take them for you. You’re just a shade, and without your Grigs you’re nothing!"

"Give it to me!"

This time Silky felt as though his own muscles conspired against him. The Mogul might truly be only a shadow here, but he was a powerful shadow. Silky had to struggle to keep from jerking the Oculet from around his throat and handing it over. But he also felt some other power within, and he knew immediately it was Shandan.

"The medicine!" screamed Silky, extending his own, shaking hand.

The laughter echoed again, but the Mogul’s hand disappeared within his leather cloak, and when it reappeared there was a plastic bottle within it. When Silky reached for it the hand disappeared.

"The Oculet."

Silky shook his head. "I don’t trust you."

Another wailing laugh. This time the Mogul tilted his own head back, and crimson light flared skyward from his eye sockets. But slowly the hand reappeared, and Silky jerked the bottle out of it, shaking it to feel the tiny pills rattling inside. Of course it might easily be a simple trick. For all he knew they were pebbles not pills, but he had no choice but to trust that the nitro was inside. Even if he opened it and tasted one of the pills he would have no way of knowing if they were real.

"Now," said the Mogul, once again holding an open palm beneath Silky’s jaw.

Silky had no fight left in him. Even Shandan’s power seemed all gone. He reached into his shirt and clasped the Oculet, snapping the thin chain with one swift jerk. As the Mogul’s burning
eyes
fell on him again he dredged up every bit of resistance he had within him, but he could not still his hand. He was forced to watch as the Mogul snatched the amulet. Magically another appeared in the Mogul’s other hand, and he pressed the two together. When he removed his covering hand there was only one.

Surprisingly the Mogul did not just strike him down. Instead he turned back toward the cellar and waved the Oculet in the direction of the mirror. Silky could see the Mogul’s face contorted in concentration, and even the storm seemed to draw power from it, threatening to blow him right off the island. He wished that it would because he wasn’t too sure now that with
his
Oculet the Mogul wouldn’t be strong enough to finally overpower Shandan and enter the Hall of Mirrors. In fact he could see the film that had clouded the mirror for forty years beginning to clear. Shandan was weakening. The Mogul was winning at last.

But he couldn’t. Not after all this time. Had the pawn turned out to be totally worthless at last? Had he failed Shandan? There had to be something he could do. Anything. Remembering the mirror in his pocket he jerked it out and slipped behind the Mogul.

He had no idea if this was going to work or not, but it was the only thing he could think of to do. He had to get the Mogul away from Shandan, but the closer he drew to the Mogul again the more fearful he became, until the mirror was almost resting against the heavy leather cowl and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

The Mogul spun to face him, and Silky jerked back.

But the look on the Mogul’s face took him completely by surprise.

"So," said the Mogul, nodding toward the mirror. "There is a way home after all."

In that instant Silky realized his mistake. Bringing the mirror here hadn’t been Shandan’s idea, not part of Shandan’s great game. It had all been planned by the Mogul. Now he had the last Oculet and a way back to Otherworld where he would be whole again, and doubly powerful. Silky tried to fling the mirror to the ground where he could crush it underfoot, but his hand was locked in place, and as he watched, the Mogul faded into smoke and was gone.

What the hell have I done?

He dropped the mirror and staggered into the wind to the corner of the foundation. He stood for a moment staring bleakly down at Shandan’s mirror-now misted again-standing alone in the corner. Water was puddling on the floor deep enough to cover the bottom of the frame.

He had betrayed his friend. He had betrayed Otherworld. He had betrayed every world. Stupid. How stupid could one man be?

"I’m sorry, Shandan," he shouted into the wind. "I’m so sorry."

But the only answer was the wind, the thunder, and the distant pounding of the waves. Silky turned and raced through the brambles between what were left of the trees. He barely noticed when his foot fell on empty air, and he crashed headlong toward the base of the cliffs.

Chapter 56

The fall seemed interminable but the landing was worse. Tumbling head over heels through the tumultuous storm it was impossible to tell up from down, and Silky struck the water in a gut-wrenching belly flop that drove the air from his lungs and momentarily paralyzed every muscle in his body. As he was tossed from wave to wave, sputtering for air, and struggling to regain the use of his arms and legs, he clasped the plastic bottle tightly in the small digits of one flipper held just above the foam. He couldn’t chance immersing the medicine in seawater for long. There was no telling how tightly sealed the little container might be.

As a powerful roller heaved him skyward he caught a glimpse of the lights of the
Mary O
hitching at her twin anchor lines, and he thought again of the image of a wild horse, rearing and jerking at the bit. Frothy waves threatened to overwhelm the little boat, and he figured that if he could get Clem stabilized the best thing to do might be to cut the lines and run for open water. Clem might not think much of his seamanship, but Silky knew a lot more about boats and the water than his friend believed.

The only trouble was that the storm was still fighting him with a mind of it’s own. Not only the wind and the waves, but a powerful current also conspired against him, dragging his poor weary carcass toward the point and out to sea.

Is this where it ends? With me giving away everything to that dark bastard and then dying of exposure for God’s sake? What kind of cosmic joke is that? Shapechangers don’t die in the sea, and I damned sure ain’t going anywhere until Clem gets his chance.

He kicked harder, his wide, fleshy flippers digging into the cold current, propelling him forward, two yards ahead, and one yard back. But eventually the boat was close enough that he could just make out the inside of the pilothouse. He wished like hell to see Clem there, standing at the wheel, but no such luck.

What if he’s dead already?

The thought weakened his stroke, and he felt himself drifting backward for a moment.

No sense thinking like that. I’m almost there.

He gasped-dragging a great draught of air into his lungs-and kicked again, riding down the back of a high wave, using it to gain momentum... almost to one of the anchor rodes.

Suddenly an acidic burn scorched the length of his right calf, and he felt himself jerked backward like a bone in a dog’s teeth, popping beneath the water, his fingers clutching tightly at the bottle. Instinctively he shoved the little container into his mouth, locking his lips shut. 

The burning eased as fiery daggers slid out of his flesh, and something dark slipped by him like a giant serpent. Leathery skin grated against his own until a powerful fin slapped the side of his head nearly knocking him unconscious.

Shark.

He ran his fingers along his leg and felt deep gouges in the flesh where the beast had locked on.

Tasting. Sharks play with their kill, test it to see if it’s to their liking. I hope to hell I taste like shit.

But he knew the blood pouring from the wounds was telegraphing itself through the turbulent waters, calling other killers to him. He hung just beneath the surface of the waves, spinning, searching for the sleek killer. It circled at the far range of his vision, just a long, dark form. He back paddled toward the boat, but when he did the shark turned, rocketing toward him with it’s toothy jaws open, and for the first time Silky noticed that the shark had huge crimson eyes. It looked for all the world like a shark with the face of a Grig, and Silky knew that’s exactly what it was. The Mogul’s power was growing on this world, just as it was in Otherworld, in
every
other world, to the point at which all of creation was devolving.

But before the dark beast could lock on to him Silky slapped a flipper on it’s snout, slipping to one side like a matador as the shark snapped it’s massive jaw shut. The huge tail flipped again, just missing Silky’s head, and he grabbed onto it, slicing through the water toward the boat until the shark veered. Then he paddled and kicked with all his might toward the
Mary O
again.

Glancing back he saw that other sharks just as malformed as the first had indeed joined his attacker. One of them shot in for its own
taste
, and Silky tensed as he spotted another coming at him from the other side. There was not going to be any chance to evade both of them.

But when they were almost on top of him a green light began to glow around him, soaking away into the depths like a soft spotlight from above. Both sharks seemed confused by the sudden illumination, passing eerily by on either side as though they didn’t even see him. He glanced up and saw that the entire surface of the sea was aglow like a rolling lighted blanket.

Plankton.

But even normal sharks weren’t afraid of plankton. It was nothing more than microscopic sea creatures that sometimes emitted a soft luminescence. Only this glow was brighter than he had ever seen it. He could have sworn that he could hear a dull throbbing sound like a powerful electrical source.