The Tower of Endless Worlds (13 page)

Katrina blinked. “What the hell’s purple prose?”

“Um…melodramatic, angst-riddled, overworked writing,” said Simon.

“Oh,” said Katrina. “Like something a teenage girl would write. Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me.”

Simon grunted. “But it wasn’t bad. Really. I mean, it held my attention, didn’t it? I didn’t notice you standing over me until you grabbed the laptop out of my hand.”

Katrina seemed somewhat mollified. “I suppose so.”

Simon decided to push a little further. “How long have you been writing?” 

“We're going to miss the movie,” said Katrina. She started down the hall.

Simon watched her go. The dress displayed her legs to good effect. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

Katrina gave him an irritated glance over her shoulder. “If we wait around much longer, we’re going to be late for the movie. I want to see that movie.”

They walked into the gloomy parking lot. A layer of grimy slush covered the cracked asphalt. Simon’s eyes darted to where he had seen the winged creature perch months earlier. He forced himself to look away. 

“You okay?” said Katrina. She slid through the slush to Simon’s car. 

“What?” Simon blinked. “Oh. I’m fine. Just…a bit cold, that’s all.”

Simon walked to the other side of his new car, a 1994 Chevy Corsica with eighty-five thousand miles on it. It had seen better days. Still, it got Simon to work and back, and it started in the cold weather. And it had been affordable, too. With the insurance money from his van (thank God he had bought a policy after getting his job), there had been more than enough for the Corsica.

Simon grumbled and settled behind the wheel. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Conmager and the winged thing with burning eyes?

“So,” said Katrina, cutting into his thoughts. “Do you still want to talk about it?”

Simon blinked. “About what?”  He started the car and pulled into the street.

Katrina snorted. “The writing.”

“The writing? Oh, right.” The red glare of the stoplights reminded him of the winged creature's burning eyes. “So, how long have you been writing?”

Katrina looked out the window. “Since high school.”

“It’s been a while, then,” said Simon.

Katrina snorted. “Not that long. I’m not that old.”

“Only two months younger than me,” said Simon. 

“Don’t remind me,” said Katrina.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Simon. “You’d probably crack my skull.”

Katrina laughed. “That still bothers you, doesn’t it?” 

Simon blinked. “What bothers me?”

“The karate tournament.”

Simon shook his head. “Well, no. Not really. It…was a little unsettling, yes.”

“Unsettling that I’m a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter than you and could still scrub the floor with your ass?” said Katrina.

Simon tapped the steering wheel. “If that didn’t unsettle me, I’d be an idiot.”

Katrina laughed. “Then I guess you’re not a complete idiot, Simon Wester.” She leaned towards him, her breath hot on his ear. “Admit it. I scare you.”  

“You know," said Simon, "I have to concentrate on driving here, unless you want to crash into a bridge abutment.”

Katrina laughed again. “Admit it.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. All right. I’m terrified of you. Happy? You scare me on multiple levels. You’re tougher than I am…”  His jaw clicked shut. He hadn’t meant to say that much. 

Katrina leaned back. “Is that what’s been bothering you lately?”

Simon groaned. “Not you too.”

Katrina smiled. “What?”

“You sound like my mother,” said Simon.

Katrina crossed her arms. “You should listen to her. She’s a smart woman.”

“Undoubtedly. But there’s nothing bothering me,” lied Simon. “I just have a lot to do, that’s all. My dissertation’s been going well, but it’s still a lot of work, and I put a lot of effort into my job. Both my jobs, the teaching and with writing for Wycliffe. And I’ve been spending so much time with you…”

Katrina snorted. “Then if that’s the case, college boy, why do you spend so much time with me? You could always cut back, you know.”

Simon chewed his lip. “Well…”

“Why don’t you?”

Simon looked at her. “Are you trying to break up with me?” 

“Why do you spend so much time with me?” said Katrina. “Answer me that. You’re always starting at my legs and chest, and you've never pushed me into bed. Are you having second thoughts?”

Simon scowled. “No, well, not entirely, anyway…”

“Then why? It’s a simple question.” 

Simon glared out the windshield. “I don’t need to spend all this time with you. I could break it off tomorrow. I could…I could just walk out tomorrow and never look back.”

They drove in silence for a while. Simon’s jaw worked. The date had turned sour rather fast.

Katrina folded her hands on her lap. “Then why don’t you?” 

Simon glared at her. “Because I don’t want to.”  A stoplight came up. He slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt at the intersection. “Is that all right?”

Katrina smiled. “More than all right. I don’t want you to either.”

She gripped his neck, turned his head around, and kissed him. She had never kissed him with that much force before.

A horn blared. 

Katrina pulled away from him. “The light changed. You’d better go.”

“What?” Simon blinked. “Oh, um, right.” He tapped the gas and started forward. A red pickup truck roared past him, engine thundering. The driver and the passenger both gave him the finger. 

Katrina smiled. “Distracted?”

Simon sputtered. “You think? God in heaven. I ought to go through your laptop every time, if this is what happens.”

Katrina grinned. “Next time I’ll break your arm.”

“Okay,” said Simon.

They drove in silence for a while.

“Did you like it?” said Katrina. She sounded unsure of herself, almost shy.

Simon blinked. “What? The kiss? Are you kidding? It was great…”

“Not that!” Katrina groaned. “Dumbass. The story. Did…you like the story?”

Simon blinked. “Yeah.” He laughed. “It was good. I mean, it held my attention, didn’t it? I like what happened at the end, when the drunk got thrown out back.”

“I used to work in a bar,” said Katrina. 

“I could tell,” said Simon. “It…was real. Write what you know. Isn’t that what the English teachers always say?”

“My next story will be about a database administrator with an arrogant boyfriend,” said Katrina.

“Ha, ha. Funny,” said Simon. “It was good. Really. You should try to get it published.”

Katrina pushed some hair out of her face. “What? Oh, I already have.”

Simon almost skidded into the other lane. “You’ve been published?”

“Nine times,” said Katrina. “Some magazines. Mystery and crime fiction, mostly.”

Simon gaped at her. “How did this happen?”

“Look at the road,” said Katrina. “How do you think it happened? I sent in the stories, and the magazine bought them.”

“But… you have no degrees, and I don’t think you even took a writing class. How?” Simon shook his head.

Katrina laughed. “Did I just shatter your worldview?”

“A bit,” said Simon. The restaurant came into sight, and Simon pulled into the parking lot. A red Ford Aerostar van sped past. Simon craned his neck to follow the vehicle. It looked almost identical to the van he had allowed Conmager to take.

“What?” said Katrina. 

Simon shook his head. “Ah…nothing.”

Katrina twisted around in her seat. “That…that looks a lot like your old van. Simon, I think it is! Do you want to follow it? Or maybe we should call the police.”

“No!” said Simon. “No. I don’t think that was it. And even so, it’s gone. We could drive across half the city and we’d never see it again.”

Katrina shrugged. “If you say so. It’s your van, after all. Or it was your van, anyway.” She patted the Corsica’s dashboard and grinned. “Besides, this car is better. If you ask me, you’re better off.”

“Yeah,” said Simon. “Yeah. You’re right. Definitely. I’m better off. The Lord works in mysterious ways, right?”

He never wanted to see the van again. He never wanted to see Conmager again. And most of all, he never wanted to see one of those winged creatures again. 

Yet he could not stop thinking about Conmager. And the winged things and their burning eyes kept haunting his dreams. 

“Besides,” said Simon. “I think it was an extended-length van. Mine was just normal length.”

Katrina gave him a strange glance. “Sure you’re okay? You looked really weird just then.”

Simon forced a smile. “I’m fine, Katrina. Really.”  He slid the car into a parking space. “I mean, I’m out with you. How could I be better?”

Katrina laughed. Her eyes glittered. “Good one, college boy. Good one.” 

###

A week later Simon had another date with Katrina. 

“You’re home from work early, boy.” Maura sat in her chair, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. A laugh track blared from the TV. 

Simon grunted, dropped his briefcase on the couch, and settled down besides it. “It’s almost five-thirty.”

Maura snorted. A puff of smoke rose from her nostrils. “And that’s early. You're usually out until eight or nine at night.”

“Congress doesn’t resume session for another month,” said Simon. “Senator Wycliffe doesn’t need anything important written.” Another laugh erupted from the TV, followed by wolf whistles. “What are you watching?”

Maura shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a comedy about a bunch of young people who live in an apartment together.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “With hilarious results, no doubt.” He watched the show for awhile. “It reminds me why I stopped watching TV. And why are you smoking? I thought you said you were going to try and quit.”

Maura grunted. “Don’t be such a wet blanket, boy.”

Simon sighed. “You’re all dressed up. Do you want to get ash on your good dress?”

“It’s bingo night. I need something to settle my nerves,” said Maura.

“I never thought of bingo as a high-risk activity,” said Simon.

Maura ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “That means you're not playing it right.” She got to her feet and slipped on her shoes. “I’m leaving soon. Do you want anything for supper before I go?”

Simon shook his head. “No. Katrina’s coming by about nine. We’re going to go out for a late supper then.”

Maura picked up her purse. “It’s not good to eat supper so late.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Fine, then, I’ll eat a banana to tide me over.”

“That's better,” said Maura. “So what are you going to do for the next three and a half hours?”

“Correct some student papers. Work on my dissertation,” said Simon. “What else?”

“Maybe you should take a nap, boy,” said Maura, fiddling with her purse strap. “You look pretty tired.”

“You look wonderful too, Mom,” said Simon. 

“Disrespectful child. Well, I’m going. I expect you’ll be gone when I get back.” Maura opened the door and left. 

Simon leaned back against the couch. He did feel tired, and the couch was quite comfortable. He shook his head and got to his feet. He had work to do. Besides, the accumulated stench of years of second-hand smoke would likely give him cancer if he fell asleep in here. He scooped up his stuff and went upstairs. 

Simon sat down at his desk and got to work, paging through his piles of research as he typed. He wrote a page and a half before his eyelids began to feel weighted with lead. Simon yawned and gave up. He had made sufficient progress. The student papers could wait until after dinner with Katrina. 

His laptop went to sleep with a quiet whir, and he decided to follow suit. Simon set his alarm clock for 8:45, curled up under the blankets, and went to sleep. 

###

The doorbell rang. 

Simon looked at the clock and cursed. It was only 7:43. Katrina wouldn’t come early. 

He shook his head, climbed out of bed, and glanced out his window. Some snow had begun to fall, and the wind had begun to pick up. Even Chicago’s Jehovah’s Witnesses were not fanatic enough to go canvassing on a cold and snowy night. 

The doorbell rang again.

Simon walked down the stairs, grumbling to himself, and looked out the window.

His heart lurched in his chest.

A red Ford Aerostar minivan sat in the driveway. Specifically, the van he had given Conmager.

The doorbell rang again.

Simon clutched at the railing to keep from falling. Part of his mind told him to run to the attic and hide. Still another part told him to ignore the doorbell until it went away. The doorbell rang once more, and someone started knocking on the door. 

Simon walked to the front door. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slithered down his back. He gripped the doorknob and closed his eyes to gather his courage, then turned the knob and yanked the door open.

A man in a dark suit and black overcoat stood on the doormat, gloved hand raised to knock. The man’s clean-shaven face was lined and thin beneath slicked-back dark hair, with glittering, deep eyes.

“Conmager?” said Simon. “Is that you?”

Conmager nodded. “Yes, Simon Wester. I need your help.”

Chapter 12 - The Crimson Plain

Year of the Councils 962

The gray bleak plain stretched unending in all directions. 

“There,” said Sir Liam Mastere, his voice dry from thirst. “We can stop here.” 

The old Knight staggered towards a ring of eroded boulders. The straps of his harness dug into his shoulders with every step, his swords thumping against his legs. He staggered into the ring and lifted the toddler from the harness. 

Liam looked at the child. “You’re too young for these rigors.”

Lithon Scepteris, King of Carlisan, burbled something incoherent. 

Liam sat with a groan, his joints aching. “And I’m too tired. And too damned old.” He set the child down. Lithon stared at him for a moment, then started walking away from the ring. 

Liam laughed. “Determined, aren’t you?” He caught the boy as he tried to wander away and set him against a rock. This time, the King stayed put 

Liam slid off his pack and unhooked the waterskin from his belt. He dug through their meager food. “Three days worth.” He thought they could make it to the Tower of Endless Worlds in another day, but how long would it take to travel through the Tower to Earth? 

He didn’t know. “A bitter irony. To have made it his far, yet to die of thirst and hunger on the Crimson Plain.”  He looked over the bleak grayness that surrounded him. “It doesn’t look very crimson.” 

Liam pulled a piece of jerky from his pack and began to slice it up. Lithon burbled something, a recognizable word or two in the babble, and grabbed Liam’s arm. Liam smiled and poured a bit of their water into the child’s mouth. He fed and watered Lithon, and then wrapped the King in a blanket. 

“Sleep,” Liam whispered to his king. He leaned against the boulder and ate his meager supper. 

He watched as the gray clouds dimmed with the sunset. For a brief time the sun’s dying rays burned the clouds, bathing the dead plain in a bloody crimson glow. Perhaps the plain drew its name from the grim beauty of its sunsets. 

Liam stood, drew his swords, and plunged them into the earth. The steel of his Sacred Blades flashed. Things wandered the Crimson Plain after dark, things that had slipped through the Tower from other worlds. Liam had seen strange footprints in the earth, had felt hostile eyes. He hoped the power in his Sacred Blades would keep any dangers at bay. 

Liam sat back against his boulder and closed his eyes. He would rest only for a moment. He couldn’t risk sleep. The life of Lithon Scepteris, King of Carlisan and the last of hope of the world, rested in his hands. 

But the trials of the last year had drained Liam. He fell asleep within minutes.

###

They saw the Tower on the next day. 

Liam had seen countless wonders and horrors in his sixty-four years. He had watched the master Wizards of the White Council work spells of awesome might. He had seen the great cities of Carlisan and Amnisos at the height of their glory and majesty. He had seen his world come to ruin and destruction. He had seen Carlisan burn, seen Alastarius, the last master of the White Council, ripped apart by Lord Marugon’s winged demons. 

But he had never seen anything like the Tower of Endless Worlds. 

It rose out of the plain like a pillar of heaven, its dark crown hidden in the gray clouds. Countless windows, parapets, turrets, and strange statues studded its black sides. Its dark arches loomed like mountains, and its flying buttresses and balconies stood like the legs of a colossal spider. 

“My gods,” said Liam. “My gods.” 

Alastarius had told him that the Tower was part of all worlds and yet none, that it touched every world yet truly existed in none of them. Liam had thought such a description nonsense. Yet as he looked at the dark majesty of the Tower, he understood.

 Lord Marugon, last of the Warlocks, had walked into that place and returned with guns and fire and death from Earth. Despite Liam’s hatred for the Warlock, he could not help but admire his bravery.

For Marugon had walked into the Tower, braved its perils, and returned. 

Liam wavered. He wanted to flee from the Tower, yet he had no choice but to go on. Marugon would never look for Lithon on distant Earth. And Alastarius had prophesied that Lithon was the world’s last hope of defeating Marugon’s guns and bombs. 

“Alastarius,” said Liam. “I wish that you were with us now.” He reached back to rub Lithon’s head. “Let us navigate the Tower, your Majesty, and see this Earth.”

Liam set off for the great gates that loomed in the Tower’s base. He estimated that it would take the better part of the day to reach those doors. 

And then what?

Liam had to trust that he would find his way through the Tower. But how? Save for Marugon, no mortal man had set foot in the Tower for uncounted millennia. At least, no one had set foot within the Tower and returned. 

“We’ll deal with that later, your Majesty,” said Liam. “Right now, we…”

A harsh laugh rang over the bleak plain.

Instinct took over Liam’s mind. He slid his Sacred Blades from their scabbards, the blades glimmering with blue light. Liam dropped to a crouch, his eyes surveying the wastes.

The laugh rang out again, coming from behind a low ridge. Liam dropped and crawled along the rough ground, praying that Lithon wouldn’t start crying. He reached the top of the ridge and peered over.

A group of five men stood in a shallow basin. They wore the black and crimson uniforms of Lord Marugon’s soldiers, ragged from long travel. Each man had a Kalashnikov strapped over his back, a belt of ammunition, and a Glock at his waist. Rembiar had likely posted the gunmen here. Rembiar had been a traitor and a murderer, but he had not been a fool. If he had chased Liam from Carlisan to the Crimson Plain at the edge of the world, then he would have had the cunning to send some scouts ahead. 

But it didn’t matter. Rembiar was dead, and Liam could creep past his scouts. He would pass the gates of the Tower, and the soldiers would never know. 

One of the gunmen stepped to the side, and Liam felt his eyes go wide. 

A young girl stood in their midst, dressed in a ragged gray shift. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. Dirt smudged her face and dark rings encircled her eyes. Liam had never seen eyes like that before, so old in such a young face. He wondered what horrors she had seen as Marugon’s armies had swept across the nations. 

“Damnation, Raul,” said one of the soldiers. “This doesn't make sense. She just appeared out of nowhere. Nobody lives within three hundred miles of here, and there are monsters in this cursed place. What if she’s one of them, wearing a human face? I say we let her go.”

The soldier called Raul, a hulking brute of a man, laughed. “Stop whining like a woman. We all know that his Lordship,” he made a sign to ward off evil, “runs caravans through the Tower. Maybe she’s an escaped slave. She doesn't speak, and slaves don’t speak.”

The first soldier snorted. “Slaves don’t talk because the winged demons cut out their tongues. She’s got a tongue, she just doesn't talk. I don’t like it. It’s unnatural. I say we push her out the camp and keep going. If she’s a devil or something, I want no part of it.”

Raul rolled his eyes, and then struck the girl with a vicious backhanded blow. She went flying to the dirt with a cry. Liam gritted his teeth.

“See?” said Raul. “Now, if she was a devil, would she have let me hit her like that? An escaped slave, I say, one that hadn’t had her tongue pulled out yet. And the ghouls, you say? Perhaps she escaped from them, and found her way here.”

“Nobody escapes from the ghouls,” said the first soldier. “Fine. Keep her, then. What do you want with her? Food? She’s a bit skinny for a proper meal.”

Raul gave an incredulous stare. “Bah.” He grinned and thrust his hips. “We haven’t had women since that last village in Rindl.” A slow burn of rage started in Liam’s mind. 

One of the other soldiers frowned. “Raul, she’s just a child.”

“So?” said Raul. “I’ve done old, and I’ve done young, and woman or girl, they’re all the same when they’re scared in the dark.”

“Fine,” said the first soldier. “After we eat. And you get first watch tonight.”

Raul smirked. “If it will stop your whining.”

Liam’s fists clenched around his sword hilts. There were only five of them. He had surprise on his side. Yet one lucky shot would bring him down. And who would take the King to safety then? 

“Arran,” whispered Liam. “Why did you forsake me?”  If only Arran were still here. The young Knight had been one of the finest swordsmen Liam had ever seen. Yet he had succumbed to temptation, taken up one of Marugon’s hell-forged guns, and fallen into darkness. 

“Damnation,” said one the soldiers. “I may as well take second watch. I know I’ll get no sleep with that,” he waved a hand at the dark height of the Tower, “looming over.”

“Aye,” said another soldier, digging through his pack. “I’ll not sleep well so long as we’re on this cursed Plain.”  He pulled out a small white packet. “You’ve tried this? It’s jerky from that other world, the one where his Lordship found the guns…”

Liam closed his eyes and rested his head against the ground. If only Arran were still here. The two of them could have taken these murderers with ease. Liam had to go. The fate of the world rested in his shoulder harness. 

He started to crawl back down the ridge.

He heard Raul’s raucous laughter. “And so there were three of them, right? You remember this? A mother and her two daughters? I’ve told this story before.” He laughed again. “We took turns with them, but they all looked alike, so I couldn’t tell…”

Liam changed his mind. 

He reached back, undid his shoulder harness, and set Lithon on the ground. Liam put a finger to his lips and hoped the young King understood. More laughter rang from the soldiers' camp. Liam rose to a crouch, drew his swords, and jumped.

He sprang over the ridge and landed in the basin, his Sacred Blades whirling. The soldiers gaped in astonishment. Liam spun, his swords flashing. Two of the soldiers staggered to the earth, their throats slashed.

The nearest gunman screamed and grabbed for his weapon. Liam slashed off the soldier's wrist and thrust his other sword into his belly. Raul cursed and leveled his Kalashnikov. Liam whirled, the gunman still impaled on his blade, and shoved the dying man in the path of the bullets. Raul’s fire shredded into the impaled soldier. Liam hopped back on one foot and kicked out. The corpse slid off his blade and crashed into Raul. 

The little girl stood still, watching with solemn eyes. 

Liam turned and attacked another soldier. His right sword smashed into the gunman’s Kalashnikov, knocking loose the ammunition cartridge. The soldier roared and swung his weapon like a club, and Liam parried with contempt. Without their precious guns, these murderers made miserable fighters. Liam parried the blows with ease, and slashed his left sword. The soldier screamed when Liam’s left blade ripped across his belly, and died as Liam’s right sword plunged through his chest. 

Liam spun and stared down the barrel of Raul’s pistol. 

“You old bastard Knight. You’re the one we’ve been chasing,” hissed Raul. “It looks as if I’ll get the reward for your head. Tell me where the brat is, and I’ll spare your sorry life.”

“Brat?” said Liam. “That brat is Lithon Scepteris, the King of Carlisan and your rightful lord.”

Raul sneered. “His father sentenced me to die for killing some whore. Lord Marugon set me free. He’s my rightful lord. I think I’ll just take your carcass back to Rembiar.”

He squeezed the trigger, and Liam swept his right Sacred Blade in a high swing. The bullet collided with the blade and knocked the sword from Liam’s grasp, and Liam lunged with his remaining weapon. Raul had time to scream before Liam’s Sacred Blade found his heart. Liam twisted, Raul shuddered, and the soldier fell dead.

Silence fell over the Crimson Plain once more. 

Liam stepped back, panting. His heart pounded in his chest. He was getting too old for this.

He snorted. He would have been too old for this twenty years ago. 

“You dropped this.”

Liam turned. The little girl stood behind him, the dropped Sacred Blade in her hands. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

The girl looked up at him with a blank, bony face and deep eyes. Liam had thought her in shock, or rendered mute by the recent horrors, but she did not seem unsettled. “You came.”

“Did you see me?” Liam felt a stab of shame as he remembered his resolution to flee.

The girl nodded. “You were supposed to come.”

Liam wiped his swords and slid them back into their scabbards. “Well, what’s your name?”

“Ally,” said the girl.

“I am Sir Liam Mastere, at your service,” said Liam. “Do you have a family?” 

Ally stared at him.

“How did you get here?”

The girl shrugged. “I don’t remember.” 

“You don’t?” said Liam. “I think you’ll have to come with me. I can’t leave you alone on the Crimson Plain.” It would stretch his limited food and water further, but he had not rescued the girl only to abandon her to a slow death from thirst.

“I know,” said Ally. “I should come with you.”

Liam smiled. “It would be wise.”  He clambered back up the ridge, Ally following him, and picked up Lithon.

Ally brightened. “Who’s that?”

“This?” said Liam. “This is Lithon Scepteris, King of Carlisan.”

Ally’s face crinkled. “He’s just a toddler. He can’t be king. Where’s his mother and father?”

Liam looked at the ground. “They’re dead.”

“Oh,” said Ally. “I’m sorry. Almost everyone’s dead, aren’t they?” 

“Yes,” said Liam.

“Where are we going?” said Ally.

Liam pointed at the dark bulk of the Tower. 

Ally didn’t blink. “Why?”

“Because,” said Liam. “You know of the White Council?”

Ally nodded. “The Wizards.”

“The greatest of them, Alastarius, gave me a prophecy,” said Liam. “He told me that this child, this little King, would grow up to save our world from Lord Marugon and the gunmen.” He jerked his head at the sprawled corpses. “Men like the ones who wanted to hurt you.”