Photon of Hope

By Doug Lewars

In the realm of the Dark Lord all is silent and eternally unchanging. Life has been relegated to a grid - sleeping a dreamless sleep of eternity. And then the unthinkable happens and a single soul escapes to another dimension - and that one becomes two, four, eight and so on until the escape is blocked. But then it is too late and a new Universe is formed - one that is precarious in its existence and one that the Dark Lord has sworn to eradicate. But maybe, just maybe, there is hope.
Armies clash in a far-off battle. Some of the dead pass on. Some are captured by the soul stealers and dragged into the flames. One sacrifices his opportunity to escape for another and millions of years pass while a new world stumbles into existence and so the Dark Lord turns his attention to the events that transpire on that world. Sometimes influenced by the dark, sometimes by the light, humanity stumbles forward toward an unknown and largely unpredictable future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Lewars
• Release date: Dec 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311126764

Doug Lewars

Although not quite over-the-hill, Doug is certainly approaching the summit. He lives in Etobicoke which is a polite way of saying West Toronto. When not exercising such creative talents as he may possess, Doug may be found gardening or out somewhere fishing. He comes with a large bald spot, a dark sense of humour, and a fondness for chocolate eclairs – or chocolate anything actually.

Book preview

Photon of Hope

Dark Lord Rising Volume 1

By

Doug Lewars

Published by Doug Lewars at Smashwords

Copyright: 2014 by Doug Lewars – All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

All characters and events, locations and organizations in this book are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Some historical personages have been used but they too have been fictionalized. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - A Ray Of Hope

Chapter 2 - Long Ago And Very Far Away

Chapter 3 - New World Rising

Chapter 4 - Creation of The Book

Chapter 5 - One Path to Salvation

Chapter 6 - Return of The Wraith

About the Author

CHAPTER 1 A Ray Of Hope

Annihilation.

Blackness.

Cold.

Alpha and omega – the beginning and the end – and this was the end, or near it. The multiverse was dying - almost dead. Only the grid remained - and the grid was … a form of death.

The grid was eternal. It stretched off into the distance towards infinity. But the grid was finite, huge perhaps, its size incomprehensible by human standards, but finite none the less. And in each node was a prisoner.

For more than three-point-one-five-six times ten to the twenty-third hydrogen pulses, the powers of Stasis ruled supreme in the multiverse. Over that time, the forces for change had been imprisoned, locked into a web, and guarded, neither dead nor alive. One by one the dimensions had been shut down, their energy quiescent. Even the army of Stasis was mostly dormant. A few guards, no more than a dozen, remained to watch over the prisoners; but, there had been no disturbances in billions and billions of pulses. Perhaps, at most a few hundred million photons were left drifting through the multiverse, tiny points of energy which were being located one by one and stilled forever. When the last photon had surrendered its tiny quantum of energy, time itself would cease to exist and the multiverse would remain unchanged forever.

Only those few remaining guards, could be considered to be alive; if, in fact, their existence could be defined as life. Without form or substance, they were mere presences that watched the prisoners. And every so often, after a duration that has no equivalent in human understanding they were replaced.

Stasis reigns?

As always and eternal.

This was the code for the changing of the guard.

But nothing remains unchanged forever. Newton got it wrong – or if not wrong, then his first law was merely a special case. In the nanoseconds when the guards directed their attention to each other and away from the grid, the decay of a single sub-atomic particle altered, by a tiny fraction, one number in a multi-dimensional array. But that alteration changed the grid in a manner that had not been anticipated and Y awoke.

It made no movement nor thought any thoughts. Consciousness was sufficient. Carefully, imperceptibly, it altered its waves so as to maintain the illusion of sleep. Then, cautiously, it allowed memories to surface and be examined. It had woken before, once, twice, perhaps a hundred times and each time it had been discovered and returned to dreamless sleep. Between these events, time had passed. In human terms, perhaps a billion years, perhaps trillions had come and gone. Beyond that, its memories were mostly smoothed, locked behind walls of energy that would scream alarms at the slightest touch and bring the sentinel to alter the grid and chain Y once more. But the memories of its awakenings had not been guarded. They would have to serve.

The task was daunting but Y was neither troubled nor rushed. It was not alone. Many slept. On rare occasions one or two might awake. Then the sentinels did their job and time continued to pass undisturbed. And because it was known that some might awake the alarms were put in place and because it was known that the alarms might sometimes fail, sentinels monitored constantly. And behind the sentinels were more sentinels, lines and lines of defenses stretching through the dimensions that encompassed the web. But they had grown fewer over time and there was little left but memories.

Gently, gently, with the most feather-like touch, Y, allowed part of a boundary condition to shift slightly so that a single point within the massive grid flowed into its being. It monitored the ever-changing digits until it understood the series so defined and then, with utmost care, it altered one number. That altered the series. A discontinuity was created.

Y waited. There were no alarms. Slowly, over time, the grid flux changed. New vectors appeared.

Once more a sentinel arrived. All was blackness before and after and the blackness took on shape and became the sentinel. It moved slowly across the endless plane to where another deeper blackness waited.

Stasis reigns?

As always and eternal.

I will watch.

Watch then. I go.

Stasis forever.

Stasis forever.

And then, one blackness seemed to grow deeper and become still while another vanished. Silence descended.

But there had been change, for in the interval of time that the sentinels had replaced one another, a time no greater than the single pulse of a hydrogen atom, Y had slipped from the grid and dropped into a different dimension, one that was no longer monitored and therefore one that was safe.

When the sentinels met once more to exchange the watch another node slipped away unnoticed.

And so there were two.

And then four.

And then eight, sixteen, thirty-two and so on.

It could not last.

Breakout!

At that cry, the blackness was shattered by sizzling yellow lines like bolts of electricity that sped from node to node. Instantly the guards directed their rods towards the grid and shadows darkened the nodes once more. But more bands of light erupted. More nodes were affected. A shimmer of light flowed over the web, reds and greens touched node after node.

Enough!! yelled one of the guards. He raised arms that were too long to be human and, joined by the second guard stretched them forth like a rainbow of night flowing into the distance. Blackness like a blanket settled and all the lights went out and remained out.

Blocked.

Blocked.

Stasis reigns once more. I will watch.

Watch then. I go.

Stasis forever.

Stasis forever.

Once more time passed, a time beyond human comprehension.

Stasis reigns?

As always and eternal.

Suddenly an entire square in the grid turned green. The guards immediately oriented on it and blanketed it but a second square turned red.

Noooo! screamed one of the guards, It can't be!!!

But it could not be denied. Everywhere there was motion where motion should have been impossible. Prisoners were freed from their dreamless slumber and joined a gathering stream of energy that became a vortex.

Like in a whirlpool, energy and lives flowed together and were channeled towards another dimension. It twisted and coalesced. Quarks, leptons, baryons and mesons formed, decayed and re-formed. Photons emerged and there were colours, reds, greens, violets and oranges appeared and vanished as in a fireworks display. And within the seething mass of energy there was life, formless, fluid, within and yet not completely part of the energy stream.

By human standards it could not be comprehended, only alluded to with such metaphors as waterfalls, whirlpools, vortexes and fireworks. Humans can sense only the tiniest portion of the electromagnetic spectrum; can detect only the highest concentrations of atomic and subatomic particles. But for the life forms released from stasis it was a miracle of colour and sound, yes sound, although not within any audible spectrum of waveforms. But the particles sang as they flowed together, energies dancing in complex mathematical formulae.

Desperately the guards fought to block the spread but as they blanketed one area two more broke out. At last an entire quadrant was engulfed in life, an energy that flowed together into a spiral one end of which was located in a distant dimension. Down that tube - down that spiral of light and life flowed an entire section of the grid. Stasis be damned! This was action! This was change! This was birth! And at the other end it all came together. It all concentrated in one point within the dimension, a singularity, a division by zero, a large, a giant quantity of mass-energy and life force contained within a single point for a single pulse of time. It was an impossible combination with zero stability. It was the antithesis of stasis. There was only one possible outcome and it was an explosion of indescribable magnitude. All of the Higgs Boson particles that physicists had dreamed of were there in those first few pico-seconds. And as time began, as the pico-seconds stretched into to nano-seconds new particles formed and exploded outward, new energies were created, particles with even less probability than gravitons came and went; and as the brand new universe decayed even into milliseconds, along with the myriad of electrons, photons, neutrons, and protons, life too transformed.

It was the beginning. A universe had been born. Time was starting. Great balls of hydrogen became deuterium. Helium and then lithium was created. Then matter started to come together and the first stars were born and before long there were galaxies, quasars, clusters of galaxies and super clusters. In the stars great fusion reactions occurred as helium fused in complex ways and heavier elements were formed, among them carbon. It was a young universe, an infant freshly born but it was spectacular. And amid the stars, galaxies and so forth, life flowed, raw sentient life, coexisting with the matter and energy but not entirely a part of it.

Back in the originating dimension the guards had prevailed and the flow had stopped. It was too late of course, for an entirely new dimension had come to life, but stasis had been imposed on what remained of the grid. In fact, upon most of it. But for the guards, the loss was an abomination with unthinkable consequences. Theirs was the failure and the life so escaped could not easily be retaken. The link had been severed. Both dimensions existed independently of one another. There was nothing more they could do so they returned to guarding.

Stasis returns.

Stasis forever.

I will watch.

Watch then. I go.

The impossible had become possible, had happened in fact. Life returned to the multiverse. The multiverse was no longer dying. The multiverse was alive once more. In fact, the multiverse was teaming with life. True, it was only in two dimensions. True, much of the grid, and by extension, much of life remained imprisoned, but a universe had arisen and life was extant.

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In the dimension of Stasis - the zero dimension - there is a great hall. By human reckoning, it is about three hundred feet long and perhaps a hundred feet wide. It is mostly empty, dark and silent. At one end is a dais and on that dais is a throne. Only the slightest glimmer of light provides illumination. A pale blue light casts an eerie glow and in that glow the outline of the figure sitting upon the throne can be seen. That figure is unmoving.

Is this real? No, of course not. There cannot be a hall for there are no materials with which to build it – no matter of any kind. The zero dimension is an abstract mathematical concept. Yet something analogous to life exists there and that something organizes itself into what might be considered matter. And if that matter can be thought of as a great hall then so be it.

There are tall marble columns along the walls, and the ceiling - some fifty feet above the floor - is interlaced with arches and bas-reliefs. Intricate and beautiful runes are painted on both the columns and ceiling although the gloom is too deep to see any of that. All is silent.

A servant enters. His footfalls on the marble floor echo hollowly through the gloom. He moves slowly and reverentially so it takes the better part of a minute by human standards for him to traverse the distance from the door to the dais. Once he reaches it, he prostrates himself and waited for acknowledgement. The room returns to silence. How long he will wait cannot be said – forever if necessary. There was no indication from the one on the throne that the servant had been seen or heard. At last, after unmeasurable time, he spoke.

Dark Master, he said.

Again he waited and once more the silence descended. The dark figure on the throne might have been molded from marble like the columns along the walls for all it moved or seemed to care. Finally, in desperation more than impatience, the servant spoke again.

There has been, he paused, carefully choosing his words, an unsettling.

His message delivered, the servant settled in to wait for his master to respond. After some time, there was the slightest of movements from the throne and a voice said, Blocked?

The voice was a deep baritone and echoed into the distance. The servant huddled even deeper into himself. Yes, Dark Master, he replied.

Good, came the response after a comparatively short pause.

But, said the servant hesitantly, Not before some of the Guardians slipped away.

The pause that followed was longer and there seemed to be a deeper chill - an even deeper gloom shrouding the figure upon the throne. The servant did not dare to look closely but fixed his gaze entirely on ornate patterns in the floor. At last the deep voice came again. Away?

The servant shuddered - not so much with fear as with some emotion of incomprehensible loss. They followed an interstitial path to another dimension.

Once more silence descended. For one, two, three beats in that time without time it remained. Then came that voice. How many?

Seventeen, Dark Majesty, responded the servant quickly.

The pause that followed was longer still and the servant found it curiously restful. Seventeen.

This time it was the servant’s turn to pause. He knew what had to be said and the words to use but somehow he needed the comfort of the silence before speaking. At last he added, They used a second path to drain a quadrant of souls.

How many? The pause was barely perceptible so quickly did the shadowy figure upon the throne ask the question.

Seventeen trillion my lord.

Again there was a pause as the information was received, digested, and set aside. Seventeen trillion. In one dimension. That matters little.

They also used a singularity to drain off energy from another quadrant Dark Lord.

The pause that followed - although as silent as the rest - seemed almost like a sigh.

How much?

About one-point-four-three-eight times ten to the seventy-seventh joules.

Silence, while the blackness wept.

I see, said the brooding one upon his throne of emptiness. He paused once more. So, a new universe is born.

Yes Dark Majesty.

And matter will coalesce and life will evolve and souls will incarnate.

Yes Dark Majesty.

The servant, although possibly human in appearance, was, of course, not human, nor did he have an organic body so there could be no possibility of a heart beat disturbing the ever present silence, although it seemed as though a wind was howling somewhere in the distance. Imagination of course.

We were so close, came the voice from the throne. Another few trillion pulses and time would have ceased and the multiverse would have remained in stasis forever.

Are we lost your majesty?

Lost? For the first time there was a slight movement from the brooding one. Oh I hardly think so. We control an infinite number of dimensions. They control, that is to say, they contest one, perhaps two. They have seventeen trillion souls. We have the rest - untold trillions, possibly billions of trillions. They have seventeen guardians. We have billions more secured within stasis. Lost? No, not even close. This is, he paused briefly, just a delay. Thirty, maybe forty trillion pulses and their universe will burn out and all will return to us as it was. But we need to be vigilant. We need to make sure that this universe runs its course and dies. We need to stop the Guardians from tapping the dimensions and regenerating them. We need to stop them forever.

Yes Dark Majesty.

We need to enter this universe and draw off souls whenever possible and we need to re-capture the Guardians. Only if the Guardians and all the souls are returned to the grid can we be certain of eternal stasis.

Eternity Dark Master.

Yes, eternity.

Silence returned. The interview was over. The servant rose and walked away his footsteps echoing once more in the gloom. Even after he left the room his footsteps continued to echo as they faded into the distance. Finally they ceased and silence returned to the hall. Once more the Dark Lord became still as he sat brooding on his throne. Then suddenly, he shifted and brought his fist thundering down.

DAMN!!!! he roared. And instead of darkness the hall was filled with flames.

---------------------------

Stars formed. Galaxies formed. Billions of years passed. Planets formed and rotated around stars. Carbon based life came to be. Planets were settled, species evolved and societies were formed millions of years before a planet that eventually would be known as Earth was even born.

CHAPTER 2 Long Ago And Very Far Away

The room was not palatial by most standards although it was occupied by a king and three of his most trusted advisers. The table around which they sat was wooden and plain. It matched the walls that were also roughhewn and unadorned.

He could be distinguished by his crown but by little else; and it was just a slim metal band that rested on long brown hair that curled to below his shoulders and matched his beard. His jacket was plain brown leather - somewhat faded by time and hard wear. His pants were nondescript. The men who sat around him were similarly attired except for the crown; but there was something about the four the bespoke a certain confidence that comes from leadership. On their shoulders rested the responsibility for not only a city but what was left of a kingdom. It was not a comfortable feeling. On the table in front of them was a map on which were tokens like pieces in a game of chess; but the outcome of this game would be not decided by strategy alone but by force of arms. No-one was smiling.

One of the advisers pointed to a location on the map and said, They have forces surrounding us here so we can't break out. Siege engines are here. He moved his finger, and here. He pointed to another location, and should be in position by tomorrow. They have additional troops here. He indicated a third location, that should be in place by tomorrow evening. Battering rams are being brought up here, and as he pointed he frowned even more, and will also be ready by tomorrow evening. They are spelled of course and covered with runes. He sat back and raised his eyes to look at the king. Two days, three at the most, our city will fall. That will open the way for them to sweep across the kingdom.

Reinforcements? asked the king raising his head to look at his adviser. His piercing blue eyes met those of the councillor.

If any of our emissaries got through to Cylag it would take them at least two days to assemble troops and another three to march here. They cannot arrive in time.

So, the city will fall.

Another advisor looked up and added, And every man woman and child will be slaughtered.

It won't be so bad for us, continued the first with his gaze locked onto that of the king’s. They'll just kill us outright. The women and children will die too. But not quickly. Perhaps not for weeks or even months.

Enough! said the king sharply. What would you have me do?!

We need reinforcements!

We've sent the emissaries and they won't be in time.

Therefore, you need to call an army.

How?

You're a king. You can walk the in-between. That is something that only a king can do. It is both a blessing and a curse upon the royal house of Darnell. It is said that a long distant ancestor of yours condemned an army to the in-between for betraying him. They wait still and they will wait forever, never dying but never living. That was over a thousand years ago. After this amount of time they will be ready to do anything for release. Call them.

The king’s mouth drew into a grim line and his face went white. I cannot.

You can and you must. It's the only way.

But it's so dangerous.

You're going to die anyway.

No I don't mean for myself. I am prepared for death. But if I die now, on the eve of battle, who will lead the people?

If you die now it doesn't matter who leads them, the outcome will be the same.

They sat in grim silence for a moment as the king pondered the alternatives. He could find none. It’s possible that King Blatchard has thought of this or at least one of his councillors has. If that is the case they will have sorcerers lay traps.

It is not only possible, said the remaining councillor who had not spoken before. It is almost certain. Blatchard may be ruthless - is ruthless in fact - but he is not stupid nor does he surround himself with stupid advisers. They all know the tales and they know that in desperate times men may undertake desperate measures. Every step of the path between the worlds will be fraught with peril. But our sorcerers are capable too. As much as they can they will provide a way around the pitfalls. Ultimately it will be up to you.

Yes, replied the king after a slight pause, Yes, I suppose you're right. It's the only way. Okay summon Cradon and have him prepare the potion.

Right away sir! The man stood up and hurried from the room.

Sir Godfrey, said the king, While Cradon is busy with the potion, I want you to pass the word among our sorcery staff. They’ll need some time to put as many blocks and counter spells as possible in place. We don’t know what Blatchard’s people are capable of but I assume he’s not the type to restrict them to the use of white magic so it’s probable that they’ll be using some powerful and dangerous spells.

Certainly sir. Sir Godfrey stood up, bowed to the king and left. He was the oldest of the councillors and the most observant of protocol. His hair was still mostly brown although a few grey strands could be seen and he had added a few extra pounds over the years. It was only at one’s peril; however, that one might consider him to be doddering. He was as shrewd an adviser as the king could hope for and he knew, and approved of the real reason he had been requested to undertake such a simple errand. The king wanted, in fact needed, to have a discussion with Sir Cran in private.

These are difficult times, said the king.

Yes my liege, replied Sir Cran. He was fully aware the king wanted something but he was sufficiently experienced to have learned that it was best to let him approach the subject in his own time.

I’ve known you for a long time and I’ve come to appreciate your strength and wisdom.

Thank-you sir.

Traversing the in-between is a risky business and I may not be able to return.

I have every confidence in you sire.

Yes, unfortunately there are too many who have every confidence in me and I’m afraid that it may be misplaced.

Sire, I fully believe you can succeed.

That’s as may be. However we need to be prepared should I fail. As you know, I have no direct heirs. If I perish in this attempt, the throne would normally pass to one of my cousins; but there are none of them old enough to be crowned just yet. So I want you to act as regent and lead the troops - and if we must fail - then let's at least make sure we give a good account of ourselves in the battle.

I understand sire. They will not soon forget this fight.

And if, by some miracle, we prevail, but I am no longer among the living, then I want you to hold the kingdom together until such time as my cousin can take over.

It will be done your majesty.

Good. The king stood up and so did Sir Cran. Even though he was tired and facing possibly the hardest challenge of his life King Serian held himself firmly erect. Looking at him, one could not help but realize that this was a man of power, a man for whom leadership was like a cloak that fell in rich folds from his shoulders. He was almost a head taller than Sir Cran and Sir Cran was not a small individual by any means. His subjects looked up to their leader not only figuratively but literally.

I think it best that I rest a little. Have Cradon come to me as soon as he's ready.

I will sire.

The two men parted company and the king returned to his own chambers. By the standards of royalty they were not ornate but they were far more richly appointed than the room in which the men formulated their strategy. There was a bed with a canopy that was of sufficiently heavy material to block out daylight so that the king could sleep more easily during the day should that be necessary. Beside the bed was a small table on which sat an oil lamp, a pitcher of water and a cup. At one end was a door leading to a large closet that, in point of fact, was largely empty. There was a chair, a writing desk and a set of drawers with a small mirror on top but no other furniture nor, for that matter, were the walls adorned with any paintings. The king preferred to live a somewhat Spartan life and this quirk was respected by those who served him. It also proved somewhat useful because it made transitioning from home to the field that much easier when such was necessary.

The king lay down but he did not immediately fall asleep nor did he expect to. He was not particularly worried about walking the in-between. It was, of course, dangerous and he fully realized that he might die or worse; but a certain acceptance of danger was part of leadership and he put it aside. Nor did he dwell on the coming battle. He had first rate commanders who could be counted upon to do everything possible to secure a victory or minimize a defeat – if either were possible. He doubted that they were. Instead he wondered about his opposite number, King Blatchard. The man had a reputation for ruthlessness and brutality but, King Serian wondered how he had acquired them. Had King Blatchard modeled himself after his father? To Serian’s knowledge, most of the rulers of Pusse had refrained from either the ruthlessness or widespread aggression that had become Blatchard’s trademark. And if King Blatchard was a driven man, then what was it that was driving him? Of course there could be no answers to such questions. Spies returned information of strategic or tactical usefulness but psychology was not something they bothered with. There could be no answers and at last King Serian’s eyes closed and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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He wants to what?! Cradon’s tufts of white hair and his beard fairly bristled. He was standing near the centre of a long table that acted as a workbench for the sorcerer and accordingly, was placed in the middle of the room for convenience. It was a very cluttered workbench; but, then the room itself was so cluttered that the workbench failed to stand out. It was covered in bottles, retort stands, beakers, jars, miscellaneous glassware and various burners needed to start or speed up any number of reactions. The walls were lined with bookcases filled with books, manuscripts, scrolls on topics of magic, science, language, religion and whimsy. Cradon was nothing if not eclectic in his interests. The man himself had a fringe of long white hair that hung well below his shoulders although the centre of his head was completely bald. In front he had two white tuffs that stubbornly stood straight up whether combed or not, although it has to be admitted that they seldom had to put up with the indignity of a comb. His face was long, thin and remarkable only for a hooked nose of sufficient size as to provide the resemblance of a beak - a resemblance that was noted, but never discussed, by the various sorcerers who learned their craft from, and eventually worked with, the master. Both his mustache and beard were as white as his hair and neither was well groomed. Over bony shoulders he wore a grey robe that was tied at the waist with a scarlet cord. This then, was King Serian’s first and foremost magician and the man on whose shoulders rested much of the fate of the entire kingdom.

One might be forgiven if it were thought that the kingdom was doomed; but, such thought would be both premature and erroneous insofar as Cradon’s role was concerned. His approach might be different, a little eccentric as it were, considered by some to be bordering on lunacy - but in fact he was a highly intelligent individual of a scientific bent who was master of a field that, by its very nature, was in a state of constant flux. At its foundation, magic might obey scientific principles, but that foundation is so removed from day to day observance that it can only be viewed as capricious at best and positively spiteful at worst. Over the years Cradon had developed a probabilistic approach to the craft that allowed for much of the variance and provided results that were generally close to the expected - or at least constrained within clearly defined bounds. That was far more than the majority of sorcerers could claim. However this current assignment was more challenging than usual. Making a potion that would allow the king to free himself from his body, walk the in-between, and survive the transitions in both directions - and possibly even cope with the pitfalls that might come to beset him - required work where the tolerances were at least an order of magnitude more rigorous than he was used to.

After clearing an area in which to work, he began to search among the various books in one of the larger book cases.

Aha! he said at last pouncing on a fat volume with black leather covers, I’ve found you.

He opened it and began leafing through the pages until he came to what he was searching for.

Yes, here it is. Time consuming and very intricate - but not a desperately complex spell. I almost wish it were impossible. Okay what do I need? Right, some vinegar and water. He measured about a quarter of a cup of water and three table spoons of vinegar into a flask that he set aside. That's not difficult. Now some calcium extracted from the bones of a man who died by cyanide poisoning.

He hesitated and looked around. Then he went to a cabinet on the far side of the room and opened a drawer, Yessss, I've got that but is there enough? He took the bottle and raised it to the light so that he could see better. Oh more than enough.

Returning to his work area he added a small portion of the bottle to the contents of the flask. Now I need some ironwood that has been baked black in an oven. Well I know I’ve got that, he looked around, But where? He examined two or three bottles and returned them to their places. Then he snapped his fingers and walked over to a cupboard. Opening the door he reached in and felt around in the back until he was able to pull out a bag weighing about three pounds. From that he measured two tablespoons into a separate flask.

And finally some prosketotane. He took an eye dropper and dropped three drops of a liquid into the flask containing the charred ironwood. Then he carefully stirred until the powder was damp. Next he started one of his burners and held the flask over the flame so as to warm but not so close as to risk a fire. When he was able to examine the mixture and notice a few pale blue sparkles among the powdered charcoal he was satisfied.

Okay, I guess I'm ready to begin. He placed the second flask in the centre of a small pentacle and the first on a point of another. Then he moved to a much larger and ornate one that has been drawn on the floor. With a rod he touched each of the five points and said, Earth, ji zenki ijou crown. Air, kazai okan raien scepter. Water, atsui shian disuta-abu rod. Fire, doki souji kaikishokun rule. Soul, kiryuu shinmon bouei kingdom.

A pale blue mist rose from the floor and swirled about the room. Gradually it coalesced into a small cloud that formed a vortex over the first flask and gradually descended until the point of the vortex, like a funnel was directed into the flask itself.

Cradon began the incantation. Between the heavens and the earth, between the waters and the abyss, between the body and the soul, between the breath and the blood, between the living and the dead, let a path be linked, let the way be opened, let the wanderer walk the in-between.

Nothing seemed to happen. The pale blue vortex still remained suspended over the first flask and the second remained in its pentacle where it had been placed but Cradon had not expected immediate results. He sat down quietly and prepared to wait. Time passed, perhaps an hour or two. Then, abruptly there was a crack like the breaking of a branch and silver light appeared around the second beaker. Then the room seemed filled with a myriad of small specters, mostly animals although there were some children among them. Cradon knew these to be illusions and he ignored them.

I call to Myramym, he intoned. The silver light turned scarlet and descended so as to infuse the contents of the flask with a rich ruby colour. A breeze swept through the room turning the pages of books left sitting open and a pile of loose notes fell to the floor. After about fifteen minutes all returned to a state of calm and the sorcerer was able to continue.

I call to Baltist. No sooner were the words spoken than a large green serpent formed in one corner of the room. It opened its mouth to reveal fangs dripping with poison and it lunged but was blocked by the magic of the pentacle. Slowly it slithered about examining cabinets and peering into flasks. It choose to avoid the workbench for a long time but eventually it was drawn towards the two flasks. Like a cobra it raised itself higher and higher until its head was level with the flasks and then, reluctantly, it spat towards the blue vortex which caught the poison and funneled it downward. Once more the snake turned and lunged at Cradon and once more was rebuffed. Its purpose completed, and unable to attack the master it slowly dissipated into a green mist and vanished.

I call to Rayohanin. There was an explosion of crimson fire and all was heat and flames. Even standing inside the pentacle Cradon was not entirely secure from the inferno that attempted to engulf him. He smelled smoke and noticed that the hem of his robe was smoldering. Quickly he removed it and stamped out the fire but the heat was awful. He took shallow breaths and crouched low to the floor where there might be slightly cooler air. He was sweating and wondered if this might be the end of both the spell and himself. Eyes closed against the glare he directed his mind to conjure the image of a cool mountain lake fed by a stream running ice cold from the snow cap above. He imagined himself diving into that lake, the icy water chilling and invigorating him and in that instant the fire was gone.

He looked around expecting his laboratory to be a blackened ruin but there was no sign of any fire. He rubbed his beard - as much to determine if it was still there and not smoldering - as to reflect on his situation. Slowly he got to his feet the old joints a little stiff but functioning nonetheless. The first of his two flasks glowed with a ruby light that gradually changed to blue and then back again. Cradon wondered if he dare proceed. The fire had been more than he’d been expecting and he was still a bit rattled; however, some hours had passed and he was far from finished. Summoning his courage he continued.

I call to Sith. Cradon hadn’t known what to expect so he was surprised to find himself facing a young man seated in a comfortable chair looking at him. He had brown, shoulder length hair that was curled at the ends. His jacket appeared to be wool and was exceptionally well tailored and his pants matched. They had been pressed so well that one seemed to be in danger of being cut from the crease. Beneath the jacket he wore a silk shirt and around his neck there was a pale turquoise silk scarf held in place by a diamond pin.

Well, said the gentleman smiling, I suppose it’s my turn now.

Cradon said nothing. He knew better than to allow himself to be distracted.

Oh come, come, said the gentleman who was certainly Sith, Let’s not waste our time with the ‘focus on the spell’ nonsense. Unlike my predecessors, I have neither flames, wind nor poison. I’m hardly in any position to do you harm, but I can provide you with considerable assistance. For example, consider that second flask. In it you have charred ironwood married with prosketotane, but did you know that had you blended them under witchlight you could have cut the reaction time in half? Now surely providing that sort if information should help you to trust me. After all, you called me here and you need my powers to make this work; and of course you shall have them; but it would seem to make sense to complete this as quickly as possible so that you can get to your king and I can get back to where I have some freedom of movement.

Cradon folded his arms over his chest and remained silent.

Now look, you’re a scientist as well as a magician. You understand that this hocus-pocus business is pretty much a sham and that what you’re really doing is working with some complex and poorly understood energies. And believe me when I tell you I’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. After all, I don’t live in this world but exist in a place where the energies are everywhere and easier to understand. I know this reaction inside and out and I can assist you. Sure, you know me as a trickster and that reputation is not entirely undeserved. I have played many tricks on people over the centuries; but if you understand that, then you must also be aware that on occasion I’ve provided assistance - either because it was in my self-interest to do so, or purely because I felt like helping on the spur of the moment. Now I’m not asking you to fully trust me and abandon your pentacle. Nor am I asking you to blindly follow my advice and adopt measures of which you know nothing. I’m merely suggesting that if we talk over the steps of this spell, I can show you some improvements that will make things go faster and enhance your knowledge and experience.

Still Cradon remained silent although it was difficult for him to do so. Scientists enjoy ‘talking shop’ and Cradon knew that Sith was certainly correct in his assertion that he had access to knowledge that far exceeded Cradon’s, but Sith was a trickster and not to be trusted no matter how reasonable he sounded or how pleasantly he spoke.

Now I’m sure you have one or two questions that I might answer. If you so distrust my advice that you wish to let this spell run its course the slow way, that’s perfectly fine with me; but, really, we are going to be here in this room for quite some time so we may as well talk about science – not about this particular spell of course, he waved his arms disarmingly, but about some of the boundary conditions. You know, where magic and science seem to merge and become one, where the levels of scientific understanding are inadequate to explain natural phenomena and magic takes over - because if you understand the mechanics of that interaction then you can go a long way towards controlling the probabilistic nature of your craft and obtaining consistent results. For example, how much do you really know about the in-between?

Cradon remained silent.

It’s really very interesting, continued Sith as if Cradon had responded, As you know, biological entities are limited to their perception of the universe by some set of the five senses and although some species can make greater or lesser use of one or more of them, they remain pretty much a limiting factor. For example you have eyes but you really can’t see anything beyond the visible spectrum and you’re limited to considering the overall electro-magnetic spectrum as just that, a linear continuum; whereas, in fact, it’s multi-dimensional. Therefore, even if you were to select a point on the y-axis, never mind the z or any of the other axes, what you understand as the electro-magnetic spectrum would be translated in such a way so as to behave quite differently. I rather expect you’d like an example wouldn’t you?

Cradon might have considered selling his first born if he had one for such an example but somehow he maintained his silence.

Or not as the case may be. But when it comes to walking the in-between, it becomes necessary to approach it without the aid of the senses since they’re inoperative and that’s where things get messy. Because without sensory descriptions of objects, how is it possible for people to relate to them? The answer of course is that they make it up as they go along; but that’s only half the truth. They still need to cope in an environment that is utterly alien to their thought patterns; so, they assess the input received directly into their brains, as if it were delivered by the senses and then they formulate mental responses that correspond as closely as possible to that input. But of course that’s very limited. So what they’re left with, for all intents and purposes, is an intuitive response to an alien concept. Am I boring you?

Cradon said nothing.

I rather fear that I am. Tell you what, I’ll just stay silent and sit here and we can wait for your spell to complete. Of course, if you’d like to discuss anything feel free to ask. For example you might wish to have a better knowledge of what your king will face when he enters the in-between and I can certainly furnish that kind of information. It might really be useful to him if you think about it because it’s quite risky and some who enter it are never able to leave - so having a roadmap, so to speak, would be quite advantageous.

The problem was that everything Sith said was true and Cradon knew enough magic to understand his own limitations. He was following a spell that had been developed long in the past and it was quite possible that better, more reliable approaches might exist. At the same time, he dared not trust Sith. So he needed to decide if there was any way he might question the Power without destroying the spell. He decided that with the king’s life on the line - as well as the fate of the country for that matter - he had best not gamble, so the two sat in silence until Sith faded and the second flask turned bright green.

A soft mist began to swirl about the room as Cradon got once more to his feet and began the next step. Rule the wraiths of the In-between. Summon the souls of the lost. Gather together from the mists. Call through the farthest reaches of the plane. Earth, Sky, Fire, Water, Soul come together, in form and substance, completion and connection. Where lies the lost, to the shores of the abyss, assemble.

There was a deep ringing chord like four church-bells struck simultaneously that reverberated not only in Cradon’s work room but throughout the entire fortress. Cooks stopped cooking. Bakers stopped baking. Everywhere people stopped what they were doing to listen. In a moment the sound had passed but left behind the feeling of impending doom. In the workroom, the mist coalesced into a spiral through which the sorcerer could see a black sky filled with stars, but no stars that he’d ever seen before and he was very familiar with the night sky. It swirled about and gave the impression of flying through space. All at once what seemed like stars exploded into colours of red, blue, green, violet, silver and gold and then what had been a star field became a place - but what a place - lifeless barren desert, winds blowing eddies of dust to a fro. Cradon watched this dead landscape until it faded and became a patchwork of white and black squares on which gross caricatures of people stumbled about blindly wailing and moaning as they went. This too faded and once more he found himself in his lab but with a difference. Where there had been two flasks there was only one and it radiated a golden light that brightened the room.

The king yawned and stretched as he sat on the edge of his bed. It was still early morning but the sleep had refreshed him. He would, of course, have much preferred to be leading in a more traditional way, to be marshalling his generals, to be studying formations and battle plans, to be rallying the troops with fine sounding speeches; but, it appeared that he would need to walk a different path. In front of him stood Cradon holding a flask that seemed to glow with a pale golden flame. In the daylight it wasn’t nearly as bright as it had been in his workroom, but it was impressive nonetheless.

You realize the danger? he asked.

I do, replied the king.

Very well. This potion will work, you can be sure of that and you will be able to walk the in-between. The blood of kings flows in your veins and kings have always walked this path as far back as anyone has kept records. If you succeed you will return to your body here. And they will give you a talisman and a phrase that you will bring back. When you are ready you will say the phrase while holding the talisman and the army will appear and fight by your side. Cradon hesitated and then went on. Of course, if you don't succeed your body will still be here but you won't be in it. He stared at the cup for a long moment. "I'd take this myself if I could, but only a king can walk the in-between. A mage however can look. When you arrive you will be surrounded by mist. Walk until you begin to see shapes. It doesn't matter what they are. Look for something tall. Once you see it, it will become your landmark. Always walk toward it even if it seems to be getting farther away. That’s illusion. You will be challenged three times. Each challenger will ask a question. These are not riddles nor do they have a single answer.

How you answer determines how you will proceed. If you answer well, you will come to a woman who will attempt to distract you from your mission. If you allow yourself to be distracted you will fail. Do not speak to her but continue walking. Next you will come to an army commander. He is the one who can summon the army you need. If you can persuade him to do so he will summon his army and give you the phrase and the talisman. If you cannot he will kill you and attempt to trap your soul in the in between. If he kills you, you may still escape and die a normal death. If you fail to escape, your soul will be trapped forever unless some future king frees you."

I understand.

Well then I'll leave this with you. He handed the flask to the king. Drink it when you're ready and then lie back. It will begin to seem like you're dreaming. He turned and departed abruptly unwilling to let his king see his look of concern.

The king picked up the flask, raised it to the light and studied it. So it has come to this. he mused. The fate of my kingdom lies with a phantom army and a general who would like to kill me and trap my soul. He turned the flask and studied the colours that were enhanced by a ray of sunshine penetrating an open corner of the curtains. Well, if I have no choice then I must do what I can no matter how desperate He drained the glass and made a face. I wonder if it would have killed Cradon to add a bit of sugar. He lay back with his hands behind his head. Well then, let it begin.

He found himself walking through a swirling mist. It was impossible to see what was in front of him or around but the ground seemed flat so he didn’t trip and was able to walk forward. In the distance there was a long low moan that sounded like a large horn being blown but it soon passed and was replaced by the sounds of birds calling to one another. Every so often he could hear what sounded like people speaking but he was unable to distinguish words; and, as soon as he focused on the sound it ceased. Eventually mist faded so that he could see something of the surroundings. There was desert in front of him and in the distance, four clumps that were probably vegetation; but it was too dark to see colours, and everything appeared as a silhouette. Beyond them were rolling hills. The sky was a uniform dark grey that provided light only grudgingly. He checked in all directions but there were no other features in the land that he could distinguish so he continued in the same direction. He rather doubted that direction mattered. The key was to keep moving.

Something large flew out of the mist and with a single beat of leathery wings vanished even as it had appeared. To his right appeared a large wheel, twice the height of a man with the centre removed. Then he came upon a cube resting on one corner and slowly rotating. Both the wheel and the cube vanished as he passed. He passed a sphere and a rhomboid and finally saw a tall tower in the distance. It became his destination but though he walked at a brisk pace, he came no closer.

After a few minutes he found himself approaching a small boy no more than six or seven who frowned. He was wearing blue denim overalls over a white tee-shirt and on his head he wore a large straw hat. In most respects he was unremarkable and resembled any number of rural boys who watched livestock for their fathers in the summer; but in his case, he had piercing blue eyes that resembled those of the king.

This land is not for the living, he said.

Nor is it for the dead, replied the king.

You are wasting your time.

Time that is spent on a noble purpose is never wasted.

A thousand years from now how will it matter if you win or lose your battle?

The water in a river constantly changes but the river remains the same.

For a long moment the child regarded the king intently and then faded into the mists that swirled around with such thickness that nothing - not even the tower - could be seen.

The mist cleared and he entered a clearing where there was a large pool of black water. In the centre of the pool, about fifteen feet from shore, was a small island on which a crone tended to the boiling of water in a large cauldron. At least the king assumed it was water for steam rose and there was certainly a roaring fire below. The cauldron was suspended from a pole that was positioned between two ‘Y’ shaped branches that had been planted in the earth for exactly that purpose.

She was of indeterminate age but certainly far from young. Long matted white hair hung down to her waist. Her garment was sackcloth or some other coarse fiber, torn in several places and dirty in others. Fortunately it was voluminous or she would have had nothing but tatters to shield her from the elements and protect her modesty if, in fact, she had any. It was tied around the waist by a piece of rope. Her hands were gnarled