The Jekyll Legacy by Jaye Michael & Levanah Greene Chapter Twenty-Two Heart of Glass

Victorian alchemy meets modern science and magic.
What could possibly go wrong?

I have said too much unto a heart of stone
And laid mine honor too unchary on ’t.
There’s something in me that reproves my fault,
But such a headstrong potent fault it is
That it but mocks reproof.

 — William Shakespeare speaking as Olivia, Twelfth Night, Act III, scene iv 4

 

“What ho, Sis!” Selene cried out in the oppressive gloom. “Gnarly little stinky men!” with six quick flicks of her hands, Selene sent six knives through six stocky throats, two at a time, and whipped out her sword

“Who you callin’ a ho, ho?” Rhea did the same, accounting for an even dozen between them, which left unknown numbers jostling to climb over a sudden low ring of inert bodies laid low. It can’t have been easy, because by that time Rhea had her own sword out and was cheerfully lopping off misshapen heads, one by one, but very deftly, which made a smaller pile in front of a growing pile of stocky little bodies. “You’re right about the stench, though. These little guys have obviously avoided soap and water like the plague. Pee-yew!”

“Shouldn’t that be a Yoo-Hoo?” Selene said, lopping off rather more than a few of her own. “Maybe a little high-fructose corn syrup would sweeten them up a little.”

“I’d rather have a V8! It’s healthier, and doesn’t have nearly as many empty calories,” she said conversationally. Her vorpal blade went snicker-snack, and a few more heads rolled back to the growing pile. Without a further word, she held out her hand to her twin and, in an astonishing display of acrobatics, fell backwards against the wall of heads and bodies behind her, using her momentum to catch Selene with her feet against her hips and hurl her up and over the pile of corpses, then did a cartwheel back and up over the other side, dropping into the midst of another press of struggling lumps. Since they couldn’t easily get behind her, she soon had another wall of death building in front of her, and the dwarves — for that’s what they were, now that she could see dimly in the light filtering down from high above them — began to falter in their attacks. From behind her, she heard Selene start chanting, accompanied by a grim percussion of swords and knives clashing.

“With exquisite grace I throw off my cap,
And abandon the cloak that protects me.
Cold steel in hand, I’ll tear down this trap —
With the help of the girl who completes me!”

‘Clang!’ ‘Pang!’ ‘Squish!’ ‘Crunch!’ their swords spoke in their own sharp language.

Rhea riposted, “Cyrano? You’ve taken considerable liberties with his French, not to mention his rhyme scheme, but I prefer a more lighthearted approach….

“One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.”

She suited her actions to these cheery words, more or less, and left another dozen dwarves somewhat shorter as she chanted, then punctuated her poetic remarks with a few extemporaneous bons mots from her sword. “The French, I think, tend toward lugubrious morosity.”

“Rhea? Selene?” Phil’s voice floated somewhere high above them.

“Give us a light, Love! Would you please?” Selene called out from somewhere near between two walls of little bodies, the staccato clashing of her blade unfaltering.

“And possibly a rope!” Rhea added, at the center of another ring of death, finding a few more knives to throw, all of which made very satisfying ‘thunks’ as they sank into craggy dwarf flesh.

“Close your eyes, Dears!”

Obediently, Rhea did just that, for just an instant, while hurling two knives into the press from memory, and a blinding light — even with her eyes closed — suffused the darkness with the light of a thousand suns, accompanied by the sound of dwarven voices screaming in apparent agony. “Good one, Phil!” she said, blinking away tears, so brilliant it had been, even with her eyes screwed tight, and a lesser level of light remained, emanating from a floating ball of bright white light that drove away the shadows, and evidently the dwarves as well, because those that were left fled gibbering and wailing into deeper recesses of what appeared to be a larger system of caves and tunnels.

“Nice fireworks, Sweetie!” Selene called out from her left side, rounding the corner of the jumbled pile of tiny body parts just as a pair of ropes uncoiled from somewhere high above them, where they could see a patch of blue above the gray rock walls which comprised the tiger pit by means of which they’d been waylaid.

They both twirled the nearest rope around one wrist almost as if they’d had their movements professionally choreographed, each allowing the remaining length to wrap around one arm — leaving their sword arms free — and called, “On rope!” in unison, whereupon the ropes began to rise toward the blue sky above them, as smoothly as an electric elevator, but much less substantial, and the two girls ascended towards freedom as gracefully as trapeze artists on their lift ropes, and almost as fetchingly attired.

As they cleared the top of the pit — nimbly wriggling over a mattress draped over the edge of the pit to prevent chafing their separate rescue ropes — they could see Thundercloud with a rope over each shoulder, trotting purposefully away from the edge — the powerful traction engine for their rapid ascent — and Akcuanrut chanting at the edge of the rushing stream, saying finally, “Iunat! Dumilat!” as a deep cleft opened in the solid rock with an eruption of red-gold light that flashed up into the sky, instantly creating a wide channel that let the river in, some portion of which took advantage of the handy shortcut to a lower elevation by rushing through it with even more enthusiasm than it had been crashing over the rocks and rills of the streambed just moments before, plowing across the ledge, then arcing gracefully down into the depths of the pit, the faint screams of its troglodyte inhabitants rising past the thunder of the cataract as the river fell into darkness.

“We’re gonna wash those creeps right out of our hair,” the two women sang in harmony as they watched the riverrunning through and down into the roaring depths of the granite moulin.

“Do you suppose we could name it after ourselves?” Rhea asked. “I’d like to call it ‘Rhealizing Ultimate Reality,’ I think.”

“I don’t know, Rhea,” Selene riposted. “I think the ‘Selening Power of Teasing’ might be better.”

“How about ‘Find a Hole and Phil It!’ ” said Phil, and they all laughed.

“Well,” said Phil, “at least we know that someone is worried about us, whatever that was.”

“Didn’t you know?” Selene said.

“Ummh… Honey, you were down the bottom of a well. We could hear a lot of excitement, but didn’t really know what the heck was going on, except that you were in trouble.”

“It was dwarves,” Selene said. “There seemed to be hundreds of them, shifty little swarthy types with black beards and moustaches. If they’d been taller, and a lot skinnier, they’d have made good villains for a Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera.”

“Dwarves?” Akcuanrut asked. “What are dwarves?”

“Little guys,” Rhea said shortly, “about three feet tall at their tallest, and almost as wide as they are tall, but fully mature… other than their homicidal tendencies, of course. That shows a certain lack of spiritual development, at very least.”

“I don’t know these ‘dwarves’ you speak of. Perhaps the Dark Gods have sent them here to bedevil us.”

“It certainly seems to lie within their powers,” Phil observed. “They evidently had little or no difficulty in tossing you all back to Earth after your previous adventures on this world.”

“On the other hand,” the wizard mused, “it seems to argue for the efficacy of your strange rites of protection, since it would have seemed simpler to simply snatch all of us away, including the Heart of Virtue, if they’d been able to do so.”

Phil rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, crap!” then scowled.

“What’s the matter, Apprentice Phillip?” the wizard said.

“Ask them!” he pointed at his two wives….

…who began to laugh. “Poor Phil,” they said in unison, “Hoist on his own petard.”

“So how is this going to work?” Selene asked reasonably. They were camped for the night at the top of the pass, ready to descend the other side of the range and enter the Imperial city, which was situated on the banks of a mighty river, whose main tributary sprang from the valley before them. “Are you going to have to take all these women to bed?”

“I hope to Hell not,” he said, tossing a few sticks into the smallish campfire they were huddled around, since they were at sufficient altitude to be both cold and short of breath, but the stars were amazingly bright and wood was scarce. “Trying to fulfill my supposed ‘duty’ of providing conjugal relations and pleasure would kill me, and they’re all pregnant by me in any case, so I think that we can fairly regard this as a formality to ‘legitimize’ the babies they carry in my name, if that matters to them. I’m hopeful that we can legally — and spiritually — get away with not doing anything more personal under the precedent established by an extreme right-wing nutcase who was imprisoned for murdering some politician back in the early days in Israel. Another idiot supposedly fell in love with him — perhaps because she was a right-wing nutcase too — and first divorced her then husband and married the murderer by proxy, which is permitted under the Law, as long as the bride price is paid by the prospective husband’s authorized representative and accepted by the bride in his name. After that, the ketubah — which contains the formal consecration, as well as the husband’s financial obligations — is signed and witnessed as usual, and the marriage is valid. Because the groom was serving a life sentence, and in fact died in prison, there were no normal conjugal relations at all, as I recall — although, to be honest, it was long before my time — so there are obviously exceptions to the general rule, and I think this ought to qualify as one. I also think that couples like Alice and Sarah, your parents, Selene, should be able to contract a valid marriage on their own, and any couples — or others — who wish to form a marriage of their own should be allowed to do so. How could anyone legitimately claim that a man transformed against his will into a woman is forbidden to remain faithful to, or to reconsecrate herself, to her wife? Since we didn’t keep track of who was who when when we transformed the prisoners, I have no intention of even trying to enforce any post facto adjudication to try to enforce some medieval standard of propriety. Our sisters can do what they will, as Aleister Crowley once famously said.”

Rhea looked at him suspiciously. “Does this mean you don’t love me any more, Phil?”

He smiled at her in mild reproach and said, “Of course not. Not at all, Sweetheart. I was half in love with both of you all through high school, and I know you both love each other. How could I have ever dared to separate you? I love you both, and count myself blessed above all other men to have had the amazing luck to win the affections of two such beautiful and amazing women, for reasons I don’t even pretend to understand.”

Selene arched one perfect brow at him and said, “You always were a silver-tongued devil, Dear. Don’t ever change.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, smiling, “dear hearts both of you. It’s my stock in trade, after all,” he added, and gathered them both into his capacious arms. “In all modesty, not to mention gratitude, two women are all that I can possibly handle, unless you tell me differently, although, quite frankly, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t. I do quite like being able to hold you both within my arms, and one more body in our bed would be way too complicated for my simple brain to cope with, I think. The way I see it — assuming we ever recover your ancestor’s formula, Rhea — is that we have these bodies of ours on loan, and when we get old, we’ll undoubtedly want to use the serum to rejuvenate ourselves, so I’ll be wife to two brothers, which is all I can imagine coping with as well.” He rolled his eyes toward heaven.

His two wives both laughed. “And we’ll be sure to keep you very busy, dear,” Selene advised him. “The way I see it, you’ll owe each of us two babies, so there’s no telling exactly how much we’ll have to practice, to keep you on your toes.”

“What? No interest on the debt? You’re letting me off cheap,” he said and laughed. “Although with two fine strapping young husbands to vie for my attentions, I imagine I’ll have you both jumping through hoops to keep me satisfied.”

“Honey,” said Rhea, twirling one half of an imaginary moustache, “we are gonna wear you out!”

He shrugged. “Fair’s fair, my darlings, but I can hardly wait to see you try!” He stuck out his tongue in conscious imitation of their habitual good-humored defiance.

Since the fire was dying down, and no one felt like scrounging around in the dark to find more bits of wood, they retired for the night then, wrapped themselves in blankets, and so kept warm by other means.

Everyone was up well before dawn the next day, because the temperature had dropped sharply under cloudless skies, so it was just too cold to be still, no matter how warmly dressed and covered. The stars were still beautiful, but neither Phil nor his wives could recognize any of them. Although there was a visible band of stars overhead — clearly the starry haze of some sort of spiral galaxy seen from the inside — it was much thicker and brighter than what they remembered of the Milky Way, and Phil theorized that they were in a different island universe altogether, possibly even a different plane of reality. “It stands to reason,” he said, “that the basic laws of our Universe hold true, since we can eat the food, drink the water, and so on without apparent harm. At the same time, we could be widely separated in either time, space, or both. The pattern of stars in the sky is completely different on a large scale, so I think that we can assume that it’s either a completely different galaxy or is our own galaxy at a much earlier stage of development. I think that I remember reading somewhere that galaxies evolve over time from an initial globular shape into the narrow spiral we see in our own galaxy.”

“Uhm, Phil,” Selene said, “I don’t see what difference it makes to anyone. We already know that we’re not on our Earth, so what does it matter whether we’re separated from it in time, space, or any other exotic measurement?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out whether magic seems to have disappeared on our Earth because of some general decay, or whether it’s some particular feature of Earth that caused it.”

“Like atomic bomb testing? Ozone depletion? Pollution?” Rhea suggested.

“Exactly!” he said. “We know that inside the church, which had thick stone walls, Na-Noc was able to tap into some sort of magical power, as was the wizard with his chanting, while outside the church, Acky was able to detect very little magic at all. On the other hand, your parents’ centaur magic seemed to work just fine, no matter where they were.”

“So we have to find the nearest church if we need to use magic…. What difference does that make?”

“Well, first of all, we don’t know whether it’s the church or the construction. Maybe the public library, or the town hall, would be just as good, since all those places were built with thick stone walls. Is there a suppressive field of anti-magic, like radio waves, that’s somehow blocked by the stone, just as the reception on your radio goes haywire when you drive through a tunnel, or was the church itself a point source of magic that Na-Noc and we were able to ‘tap,’ as if we were plugging in a light. Second, we know that the serum — more likely a magic potion — that originally changed Selene worked just fine in your parents’ home, and the walls are thick cobblestone, although the upstairs portion appears to have a perfectly ordinary roof, at least, and you didn’t have to find a church to change. Since we know that we’re in a struggle with creatures who use magic, the more we can find out about magic’s strengths and limitations the better. The only real exception to a general lack of Akcuanrut-style magical power — for lack of a better word — that we’ve seen so far on Earth — at least the only one we have control over — is the result of what might be seen as a religious rite, but also shares some resemblance to a commercial transaction, the end result of which seems to be toxic to at least some creatures of the Dark, although not the Heart of Virtue itself, despite the fact that it too has been rendered toxic to other creatures of Darkness by a similar rite. Are we better off with Wizards or Certified Public Accountants? Does the fact that I’m a Kohain make a difference? If so, why? In my branch of Judaism, being descended from Aaron makes no more real difference halachically than does the color of my hair. Do we attack with powerful spells? A special blessing? Or do we use a Writ of Attachment and demand to see their ledgers?”

“Okay,” said Selene, “now you’re being sarcastic.”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I’m not trying to be, and apologize if I was. It’s just so frustrating being able to work magic without the slightest idea of how it really works! Frazer’s so-called ‘Laws’ of similarity and contagion are obviously gross confabulations of some deeper structure, just as ‘epicycles’ controlled by angels were a completely false ‘explanation’ of the movements of the planets, and were simply hiding the real laws of gravity and orbital motion. For some reason, I can’t stand back far enough to put this into proper perspective.”

Rhea was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Honey. I’m fresh out of ideas, ’cuz I don’t seem to have a trace of magical power — other than my fighting skills, of course — and wouldn’t recognize it if it bit me, although I loved that trick with the lights when we were down in that hole the other day. The dumping the river down the hole thing was cool too, but really, honey, we’re the action faction here, and any magic we have is innate, like the centaurs. Show us someone to pound into the ground… we’re your goto girls. If you want critiques of your prolegomena to a grand unified theory of magic…. Meh… not so much.” She made a little moue, shrugged, then sighed, which had an… interesting effect when performed within the confines of her leather bustier.

“I wish we could help, Dear,” Selene said, “I really do.” She shrugged and sighed too, without the pout, but it was just as… interesting.

Phil looked up toward the sky, pretending to find something of interest up there somewhere, and failing, although he did notice the first hints of dawn on the eastern horizon they were about to leave behind them. He gave up when they looked too. “It’s okay, sweeties. I’d be all thumbs with any sort of weapon more complicated than a peashooter, so it’s not as if I don’t appreciate the fact that we have our individual strengths, but just this minute we have to get ready to make our way down off this mountain, since I see that the wizard is up and his little gang of servants is loading up his gear.”

“He must be terribly excited to be heading home, then,” Selene said, ”since he hasn’t had breakfast yet.”

“Let’s see if he made sandwiches,” Rhea said sensibly. “I’m hungry, and it looks like a long way down the mountain from here.”

It took all day to reach what looked like a major bridge across the river in the distance, although the path was broad and inviting on this side of the pass, and the little rills turned into a lively creek, then a stream, and finally the beginnings of a river the farther down they came. “We’re almost at the bridge,” Rhea said unnecessarily.

“Amazing deduction, Nancy Drew,” said Selene.

“So, if I’m Nancy, are you Bess or George?” she riposted adroitly.

Selene glared at her. “Neither one,” she said, “since I’m neither a scaredy-cat nor a tomboy.”

“How cute,” Rhea gushed, “Then we must be twins. Nancy and Francie, girl detectives. I want a blue roadster!”

“Well,” Phil observed temperately, “I don’t particularly care to be Ned, and we’ll have to invent the internal combustion engine before we can get a blue roadster, not to mention building an empire-wide network of paved roads, so let’s not carry this metaphor too far.”

“Don’t be such a plonk!” they both said in that eerie unison chorus thing they had going sometimes. It reminded him of a classic Star Trek vid he’d seen once, something about a ‘hive mind,’ or something.

“D’accord, mes cheries Mesdames. Je vous en prie,” he said, as he bowed very low. “I’d do a curtsey, of course, but I don’t know how,” he added, and then grinned like a fox.

“Oooh! Phillip! You spoke French!” said Rhea with a lascivious leer, and then they both swept him off his feet.

He resisted, but not too much — to no avail in any case — and he was laughing.

Once over the bridge — an imposing assemblage of carefully-fitted stone arches supported on eight stone piers shaped like large boats, with the roadway at least twenty feet above the water, and protected on the banks by formidable bulwarks of stone, supplemented by riprap extending both up river and down — the road down to the Capital passed through a wood that fringed the river before debouching on an orderly pastoral landscape of farmsteads and small market towns, marked by a series of monuments that grew larger and more imposing the closer they approached what had at first seemed a fairly nondescript walled city split in two by the River, broad now — not the Mississippi, not near it — but wide enough that the even more elaborate stone bridge that crossed the river in the heart of it had eighteen piers. Below the bridge, there was a harbor, where what looked like seagoing ships lay moored, all of them sporting what looked like lateen sails, either fluttering slightly, luff to wind, or furled while the ships aligned themselves to the current. Above the bridge, the boats were long and low, either rowed or towed by horses on towpaths that ran along both sides, presumably because there were lower bridges over the river, or because their commerce was found on lesser tributaries. On the horizon, well beyond the city proper, a broad bay opened on what looked like a distant ocean.

The final monument was actually a pair of great stone pillars that the road ran between. The scale was difficult to judge until they drew near, when it became obvious that they were very large indeed, at least the height of City Hall back home, and perhaps twenty feet wide at the base, with every square foot of the surface carved with large vignettes of what looked like historic events. The largest actually wrapped around the pillar and appeared to represent the founding of the city, since the river and the bridge were clearly visible, but the buildings depicted on either side were modest wooden structures that looked vaguely like postcard views of Medieval villages in Europe. The rest showed either groups of people, with no context that they could make out, or featured the City as a background, so they could see several stages of construction, both of the walls and the surrounding community huddled up around them, and of the taller structures within the walls that loomed above them.

“You’d think there’d be a tour guide selling maps of the stars,” Rhea said.

“Yeah, maybe there are and we can’t see them,” Selene replied. “The writing is all hen tracks, as far as I can tell.”

“I guess maybe we’ll have to learn how to read again,” Phil said. “Too bad we didn’t get that along with the magic language lessons.”

“What’dya mean, Sweetie?” Rhea asked.

“What are the odds of landing in another world, in another dimension, where everyone just happens to speak English?” Phil said. “I didn’t notice anyone slip a Babel fish into our ears.”

“Babel fish?”

“A fictitious plot device in an old book the supposedly translates every language in the universe into brain waves and back again, thus eliminating the old Barsoom Problem, where the hero winds up in another world and has to learn the language. The author ‘solved’ it in his own stories through the equivalent of magic, but it’s mostly either ignored or finessed by postulating some sort of universal language that everyone both knows and uses in daily life.”

“Barsum?” Rhea asked, puzzled.

“Barsoom,” Phil explained, “the planet Mars envisioned as a dying planet inhabited by a dying race, inspired by the fanciful astronomy of Percival Lowell around the turn of the last century. He’s the guy who thought that Mars had ‘canals,’ so of course that meant that someone had built them, so Lowell imagined fantastic engineers, and a writer named Edgar Rice Burroughs spun that notion into an early sword and sorcery story with kidnapped Princesses, alien barbarians, and magnificent heroes with swords. Add to that incredible strength, since Martian gravity is around a third of Earth gravity, so the hero was always bouncing around with fantastic leaps through the air and bending steel bars with his bare hands. You might say that the video which inspired you is a direct descendent of Barsoom, because the women of Barsoom were scandalously — for the time — unbothered by mere public nudity, and wore scanty clothing, if any, by preference.”

Rhea wrinkled her brow. “What’s wrong with public nudity?” she said. “Our cheerleader outfits left very little to the imagination, and a properly-fitted bikini leaves even less.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with any of your outfits, of course, but back in the Nineteen Hundreds — when the books were written — they weren’t exactly haut mode. Women were still wearing skirts right down to the top of their shoes, with tight corsets and bustles to exaggerate their feminine figures, so the Barsoomian princesses were definitely ‘fan service,’ since it was mostly men who read science fiction in those days.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “ ‘Fan service?’ ” she questioned ominously.

“Gratuitous partial nudity meant to provide ‘sex appeal’ to a storyline dominated by stereotypical male-oriented plot lines. ‘Boobage,’ usually, but other bits of female anatomy may be featured.”

“So! I suppose you’re referring to our outfits!” Selene interjected angrily.

“Sweetie,” he said placatingly, “The character you both used as a rôle model was from a video named Sword Maidens of Atlantis…. I think it’s fairly safe to say that it wasn’t exactly historically accurate. In the ordinary scheme of things, warriors, even Amazon warriors, aren’t usually arrayed in skin-tight bustiers, however beautiful they may be.”

“Well, Mister Smarty-Pants, our outfits may be a little on the skimpy side, but they have many great advantages as well. They fatally distract most male opponents, they never slow us down or catch on things, and they never get wrinkled or dirty, so there!” She stuck out her tongue, and Rhea joined her, with the addition of a raspberry of her own invention.

“True, but….”

“But nothing! In context, the disadvantages are very few, although they can be a little chilly on cold days, but we’ve talked about that and believe we have a way around it. The fact is that — along with our charming outfits — we gained a level of skill and dexterity that’s almost superhuman. We held our own against Na-Noc, for example — the Emperor’s vastly over-hyped ‘Champion,’ even enhanced as he was by the Dark Gods with preternatural abilities no mere human could match — with no trouble at all, really. If you don’t need armor, it’s a waste of time and effort just hauling it around. Just look at Superman and Batman, indeed most superheroes, and think about the fact that they’ve been prancing around in colorful bodystockings for years, although I must confess that Batman has gotten into body-armor fetish-wear in his latest incarnations. And you may also have noticed that our little ‘fan-service’ outfits are magical, so they supply new weapons whenever we need them. Unlike ‘real-life’ soldiers and warriors, we never run out of knives to throw, nor swords and spears to wield with devastating effect.”

Phil knew when he was both outnumbered and licked. “Okay, already. I was dead wrong, and you’re my heroines. You singlehandedly held off all those dwarves, thus saving all our butts, until I managed to conjure up a decent ball of light, and you did it without breaking a nail. I was just being snarky, and I apologize abjectly. Please don’t throw me into the Briar Patch, Sisters Fox!”

“That’s better,” Selene said with a smirk. “And your ball of light was very handy, as was Acky’s diversion of the river to drown what was left of the dwarves,” she added, magnanimously enough. “But it also seems very clear that the trap was specifically-designed to take us girls out, suggesting that our enemies know exactly where the primary threat to them lies.” She grimaced. “Just sayin’, of course.”

“Just saying,” he agreed glumly.

The Imperial Council Chamber was magnificent, more ostentatious than both the upper throne room and the lower cavern of the Temple of Zampulus, and far more beautiful, since there were windows piercing the thick stone walls of the Imperial castle, allowing natural light from the two central suns to illuminate the interior, so the painted and gilded walls blazed with color and golden brightness.

“Pretty swell, unh?” Rhea whispered to Selene and Phil. They were seated before the convened College of Wizards, and Akcuanrut had just finished delivering a precís of their adventures from the wooden podium, embellished with elaborately carved images of a unicorn and a dragon, both rampant supporters of what seemed to be a painted coat of arms, which Rhea imagined represented either the College itself or the current Emperor Elvi, who didn’t appear to be present, since there was a large throne on a dais behind the podium and its own small raised platform, but no one was sitting in it. Rhea sniggered and whispered to Selene, “Elvi has left the building.”

Selene rolled her eyes. “Shhh!” she whispered back. “Behave yourself!”

Phil did his best to ignore them, but found it difficult, because they were sitting on either side of him.

“And now, honored colleagues, Wizards, Sorcereses, and Scryers, I’d like to present my Apprentice Phillip, whose name translates from a language of lore called ‘Greek’ into what we would term a ‘friend to horses,’ and a magician in his own right from another world called Earth, upon which they have what they call ‘power tools,’ drills, saws, planers — and every sort of woodworking or blacksmith’s tool — which operate themselves through an ensorcelled power they call ‘electricity,’ the same power that creates lightning in the sky!”

“That’s my cue, ladies, so wish me luck!” Phil said as he rose and walked up to the podium, but not before Rhea managed to pinch his butt in a ‘friendly’ manner.

“Break a leg!” she whispered, as her sister tried not to laugh.

Phil managed not to laugh either, but it was a bit of a struggle. “Honored Colleagues, Wizards, Sorcereses, and Scryers, I’d like to thank you for the opportunity you’ve given me, to address this august body and present a few insights and potential innovations in the theory and practice of magic. As the Wizard Akcuanrut has already related, we’ve had intimate experience with the evil magic of the Dark Gods, including both what remains of Na-Noc, a former Emperor’s Champion who was overcome by the fell power of the so-called Heart of Virtue, and the Heart itself, which is now, as I understand it, in the safekeeping of this College.” He paused to look at his notes.

“During our interactions with Na-Noc and the Heart, several important discoveries were made: first, that the centaurs have an innate magic that is inimical to creatures of the Dark Gods, and they are able to fight them without fear of absorption into these creatures, although they are not invulnerable to physical assault, nor poisoned darts. Because of this, and through simple justice, the Emperor Elvi has declared these sentient beings to be protected supporters of the Empire, and has forbidden any assault on them whatsoever, or any participation in or continuation of the macabre trade in centaur body parts.”

There was a stir among the audience as one grizzled Wizard raised his hand and said, “Master Wizard Amonrat speaking. Does this mean that Centaur bone handles on Athames are now forbidden?”

There was a stirring of concern among the members of the audience, evidently because these relics were widely used.

“It does,” Phil said, “but we believe we have a replacement which will prove just as efficacious. I’ll address this issue next.”

The man lowered his hand and began scrawling a note to himself.

“In a related development, I’ve discovered that a particular formula of consecration appears to be just as potent against creatures of the Dark, and indeed both my two wives and I have used this magical defense to significantly weaken, and eventually overcome, Na-Noc himself in the center of his power, surrounded by his wards, and despite his intimate association with the Heart of Virtue itself.”

Another hand rose from the audience, and this time a tall dark woman stood, her jet-black hair unbound and falling gracefully to her waist, clad in a long green gown and cloak of what looked like silk. “I’m D’Shalika-Saar, Mistress Sorceress and Scryer. You say this defense of yours is also a weapon?”

“It is, Mistress D’Shalika-Saar. By means of it, I was able to destroy the largest portion of Na-Noc’s body, reducing him to the greatly-diminished size he is now, restore life to a woman — my lady wife here present — he’d poisoned using the foul magic of the Heart, as well as — with the invaluable assistance of Master Akcuanrut — restore the lives — though not the original bodies — of six hundred and forty-three of the Heart’s victims over the centuries, whose bodies and souls had been displayed on the walls of an inner chamber, held frozen in some sort of wicked stasis as a form of torture, and also to retrieve the Heart itself from Na-Noc’s body by making it inimical to him, so that it burned his purloined flesh away — and I believe would do the same to any creature of the Dark — so that he had to surrender it or die.”

“Does the Heart retain this poisonous quality at the present time?” she asked.

“I believe it does, but it would be impossible to prove without cruel experimentation on Na-Noc, whom we have in our power, or exposure to another creature of the Dark, which might be dangerous, if the experiment failed for any reason. Because this is all an unprecedented application of rituals practiced for thousands of years in my home world on yours, I’m not entirely certain of the theory behind these results, so I can’t extrapolate much further than the empirical effects demonstrate. In fact, I’d hoped that perhaps someone here might have insights that could spark further avenues for investigation.”

“Is the text of these spells available to the College,” she asked.

“It is. Master Akcuanrut has set them down in your writing system — which I confess I haven’t mastered yet — together with something of their context, because I suspect that part of their effectiveness lies in the fact that these formulas are very old, at least two thousand years or more, with minor variations, and from the same tradition in which I was raised, so there may be modifications you might make to fit in more comfortably with your own traditions, as long as the core concept, of irrevocable consecration, is retained.”

The woman nodded and said, “Thank you, Apprentice Phil. You been very helpful to me, and to this College,” and then sat down.

More questions followed, and Phil answered them fairly, admitting his ignorance when they strayed far from what he knew for fact, and adding conjecture when they touched upon things he thought he had some reasonable conjecture about, but had no way to test his theories. The one thing that really seemed to draw their interest, however, was the Jeckyll formula….

“So you’re saying that this simple compound invokes a full transformation?” one woman asked, evidently a Sorceress of some kind, dressed much like D’Shalika-Saar, but in red silk, but she didn’t introduce herself, “without further effort by any sort of Wizard?”

“First, it’s not a ‘simple’ compound, but it does appear to do exactly that, although I’ve only heard of its use described. You can see the results, however, in four of my traveling companions from my home world, my lady wives, the first of whom, Selene, was the first to be transformed into the beautiful woman you see before you, which happened on my own world, where — as Master Akcuanrut has already described — the magical field is curiously, and selectively, depleted. The other three transformations took place upon this world, and I’d like one of my companions, the Centaur Wildflower, who was once an ordinary — if brilliant — human being and doctor of medicine and philosophy, to answer further questions about this, because she is most cognizant of the pertinent facts, since the formula is a family legacy.” With that, he left the podium and sat back down between his wives, who were pleased enough with his performance to kiss him soundly, before they all turned to listen to Wildflower as she boldly trotted forward, and who didn’t bother to stand upon the platform, nor use the podium at all, since it was designed for humans, was entirely too small for centaurs of her size, and she had the height to easily dominate the hall in any case. Indeed, those sitting in the front rows had to crane their necks up, just to look at her. “Honored Colleagues, Wizards, Sorcereses, and Scryers,” she said with the confidence born of many years of classroom experience. “As my son-in-law has mentioned, the formula was actually invented more than a hundred years ago by a friend of an ancestor of mine, one Dr. Henry Jekyll, whom I believe in retrospect to have been influenced by the Dark Gods, or something very like them. He developed the formula impelled by a malevolent desire to ‘have it all,’ the respect and modest income provided by his small medical practice, and the more alluring fruits of criminal enterprise and licentious excess. To do this in perfect secrecy, he developed a transformation serum which coarsened his physical appearance to an astonishing degree, even to the extent of decreasing his physical size. To make a long story short, his use of the formula led to both physical and mental deterioration, which eventually led to his murderous attack upon a respected member of society, Sir Danvers Carew, and caused him to be the subject of an extensive manhunt by the authorities as an outlaw and felon. He died, however, before being apprehended, after taking another draught of the formula.”

“Why do you suspect the Dark Gods were involved in this?” one member of the College called out without troubling either to stand or introduce himself.

“Because of the effects, which were clearly magical — as well as savage and rapacious in every way — in a world in which magic is at least somewhat depleted. My ancestor, Dr. Hastie Lanyon, eventually died — or at least disappeared — probably after experimenting with the formula one too many times, but in the interim he had managed to alter it so that it no longer drew its power from the polarity between good and evil, but from the ongoing tension between masculine and feminine power, which I only discovered after using it myself. In short, instead of cycling between good — or at least a more outwardly ‘virtuous’ incarnation of an underlying depravity — and pure evil, the ‘improved’ formula used the power of mammalian sexuality to cause a transformation at least partially-driven by the mental image envisioned by anyone who took the potion. In the process, a radical change takes place in the body of whoever takes the potion, changing their gender completely, with the added effect of imposing a generally-desired form upon that body. In my own case, we were trapped upon this world in the northern wilderness, and had recently seen a herd of centaurs, so I conceived the notion that we would be able to travel more quickly in the form of centaurs, and carry heavier loads. At the time, I hadn’t realized that this would necessarily involve a change in gender, but it rapidly became apparent when first my son, who had been gravely injured, took the formula, then myself, also seriously injured, and then my wife, who was uninjured, and who stand before you as Rhea, Apprentice Phil’s second wife, and the stallion Thundercloud. Selene’s transformation was more-or-less an accident, meant as a form of ‘joke’ to obtain a perfect costume for a cultural celebration which, by strange coïncidence, marks a particular moment in an ancient spiritual calendar, Samhain, a harvest festival which marked the divide between want and plenty, between death and life. After sober reflection, I don’t believe that any of this was either purely accidental nor simple coïncidence, but was driven by the working out of some sort of Fate or Destiny, the exact nature of which I’m still unsure of, except that I, my former son Rhea, and Selene, her friend, are all three of us pregnant, ourselves poised upon the boundary between barren sterility and fecund life, all three pregnancies intimately coïncident with the transformation between between diminished states of being and vastly-expanded life. My own pregnancy saw the simultaneous creation of a new and more powerful race of centaurs — a restoration, I’m given to understand, of the ancient centaurs who created the Temple of Zampulus and other great works of antiquity — My daughter’s twin pregnancies were the spiritual spark that restored the lives of many hundreds of men, women, centaurs, and others captured by the puppets of the Heart of Virtue — that foul distillation of the Darkness — and tortured for who knows how many hundreds, or even thousands, of years.”

“You say that you were injured?” asked another woman from the gathered Wizards and Sorceresses in the audience.

She nodded. “Indeed, dying in very fact. The potion is a sovereign remedy for almost every injury or ill, although of course it comes with a price.”

“Does the potion work in reverse?” she enquired further.

“As far as we know, it does, though it cannot be taken again within a fortnight without serious risk of harm, and the possibility of being ‘stuck’ in the form you’re in at the time. Not only that, but as we’ve all four of us experienced, it can be surprisingly difficult to control exactly what happens when you do, even aside from the obvious, because few of us have complete control over our thoughts, and the sensations induced by the transformation are painful, and extremely distracting, since one’s entire skeletal structure, muscles, and organs shift around to accomodate one’s new form, so there’s an element of risk involved. It’s the old ‘Whatever you do, don’t think of pink elephants’ problem.”

She looked puzzled. “What are pink elofants?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon, it’s a type of very large animal on my home world, but it may not be native here. Substitute any memorable thing, a wooden horse, for example. The human tendency is to think of something as soon as the words naming it are mentioned, so if one was to take the potion and then some distraction occurred, say someone shouting ‘Look out! A giant purple centaur!’ you might well wind up as a purple centaur, whatever your previous intention.”

“I see,” she said, “so the ideal environment would be quiet, and free of distractions.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Of course, in the exigencies of the moment — as in our own case, the aftermath of a desperate struggle, when one of us was only partially conscious, and I myself was grievously wounded — you make do with whatever you can manage.”

“You mentioned ‘injuries and ills,’ but would there be any contraindications for its use?” She was taking careful notes, so evidently wanted to be as accurate as possible

She smiled and obliged her. “Well, pregnancy would of course preclude its use, because we have no idea what would happen to the developing child should its mother change suddenly into a male, nor indeed what would happen to the resulting male should the fetus remain in situ with no supporting internal organs. Just offhand, I’d guess that it would be fatal for both mother and child, and as a medical doctor would strongly advise against any such experiment on the part of any woman if there’s the slightest possibility of being pregnant at the time the potion is ingested.”

She nodded gravely. “Of course. I should have thought of that myself; it stands to reason.”

“I believe so. Although I don’t have access to my written notes back on Earth, I believe I can remember the formula, and the steps necessary for its preparation. I haven’t set these down, because I’d have to insist upon personal involvement should anyone see the need to prepare a batch, because my memory might be faulty, and the mechanical steps of actual preparation might help to refine my memory, and of course my daughter Rhea has prepared many doses quite recently, so I’d like her assistance as well. Between us, I’m quite confident of success.”

“I think we’d like to schedule that as soon as possible, then. If any mishap should befall you, this knowledge might be lost, which would be a shame, since the great benefit of cures for otherwise incurable problems seems obvious, while problems seem manageable with proper controls and supervision, especially in an age in which the power of the Dark appears to be focused on our destruction. We obviously do have the power to shift shapes, but this power is limited to copying physical models ready to hand. We cannot, as you seem to be able to do, embody an ideal form that doesn’t already exist.”

Wildflower thought about this for quite some time before replying. “I agree, and will undertake the preparation with your assistance, Mistress Whover-you-are.”

The woman seemed slightly startled, then realized…. “I do apologize, of course; I’m so used to being recognized that I forgot that, as travelers from afar, you might not be at all familiar with local notables. I am Empress D’Larona-Elvi, joined in marriage to the Emperor of these lands, and Mistress Sorceress and Scryer of the Imperial College of Wizards.” She gave her a wry look. “The ‘Old Boys’ like to ignore us in the name of their little ‘club,’ but there are actually more of us than there are of them.” She smiled. “It’s a natural gift.”

Wildflower returned her smile with a smile of her own. “I’m honored, of course, and at your service,” she said. “Perhaps we could arrange something in the near future, coördinating our schedules with my daughter Rhea, Selene, and Apprentice Phil, who possesses both a rare gift  — as I understand it — for creating metals and other substances, and all three have a knowledge of Earth sciences that will allow us to communicate more easily.”

“Are you sure that you won’t outstrip me?” she asked with a smile.

“Fairly sure,” she said, smiling. “Before coming to your world, I was a professor and lecturer in biological science at a rather large regional university. My students rated me as one of the most popular teachers on campus, so I’m fairly confident of my pedagogical skills, and I don’t imagine that my change has done anything to make me less capable of holding the full attention of an audience.” She arched a brow….

…and the Empress laughed. “No, I don’t imagine that it would. In fact, why don’t we start right now, since everyone you’ve mentioned is right at hand, with nothing obvious to do except listen to quite a lot of fustian while the men debate endlessly over what clearly needs to be done.”

She looked around the room, but no one seemed to be particularly offended, so said, “Again, I’m at your service, Ma’am,” and walked off to the side of the hall, where she was soon joined by Rhea, Selene and Phil, as Akcuanrut took the podium once more.

The Empress took only a moment to gather up her things, and a small retinue of ‘courtiers,’ or whatever they were, so they followed closely as she whisked out a side door and entered rather smaller corridors than they’d seen heretofore. “I have my own Orrery just up these stairs,” she said, as they approached an enormous formal double flight of stairs leading upward. There were capacious landings at regular intervals, and large double doors on either side of the reception hall the stairs ascended from, all decorated in the same opulent style as the Council Chamber. “I believe they will be broad and shallow enough to accomodate you without problems, my dear Wildflower. My usual entrance is more private, but is a winding circular stairway through a narrow shaft, so I’m fairly certain that it would be uncomfortable for you.”

“This seems perfectly navigable,” she said politely, “and downright palatial in comparison to the pass over the mountains.”

The Empress laughed. “I see you have a sense of humor, which is lovely. So many of my colleagues are as dry as dust.” She began to walk up the stairs at a leisurely pace, so of course they all followed after.

At the top of the stairs was another hall, but smaller, with three large double doors on each of the three sides off the landing for the double stairs behind them. To the front, the doors were especially grand, and two of the courtiers quickly ran to open them.

The Orrery within was magnificent, with a pair of gilded globes suspended in the center that evidently represented this world’s binary sun system, and a number of smaller globes scattered at random, or so it seemed, dangling from a complex series of roughly circular tracks centered on the two suns. Directly beneath the central suns was a low padded dais, evidently provided for the comfort of the observer, since there was a small table beside it with various instruments upon it, what looked like a telescope, and astrolabe of some sort, and an octant, as well as other items with no obvious purpose.

“It’s a planetarium!” said Rhea.

“Yes,” she said, “a type of astrolabe designed to facilitate studies of the planetary motions and alignments, and of course our moons. It’s also my Oratory, well-supplied with simples and compounds of all sorts.”

“It’s amazing!” Selene said. “How does the mechanism work?”

“It’s quite simple, actually. The orbs are suspended from hollow copper floats, and the floats themselves rest on a channel filled with mercury.”

“But how do they move?”

She blinked in surprise. “They’re linked to the planets themselves, of course. ‘That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above, corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracles of the One Thing’, as Hermes said so long ago.”

“Hermes?” Wildflower asked excitedly.

“Yes, exactly! You know of him?”

“We do. He’s the legendary founder of a school of ‘Hermetic’ philosophy and science, although on our world his work became sidetracked, I think, into mysticism and pseudoscience. One of our more famous Tarot cards, the first of the Major Arcana, titled ‘The Magician,’ depicts him standing at a table on which are displayed symbols of the Four Elements, above his head is a symbol of infinity, or alternatively eternity, and with his right hand he points up to the heavens with magician’s wand of power in his hand, while with the other he points down toward the ground, illustrating the principle, ‘as above, so below,’ and the ground is covered with blooming flowers, representing burgeoning life, while overhead a trellis supports more flowers, further illustrating the same principle, that there is life everywhere
.”

“Of course. The words are from The Emerald Tablet,” she explained, “and the image, while somewhat unfamiliar in exact detail, features symbols associated with Hermes on this world.”

“We have the same work on our world, by the same author, or God, depending on whom one asks, but don’t you see? This means that there has been contact between our two worlds before!”

“Well, of course there has been,” the Empress said with serene assurance. “Even the Dark Gods would have found it difficult to open a portal if there hadn’t been a preëxisting linkage, and of course Master Akcuanrut would have been perfectly capable of doing the same, were it not for the fact that he was fatigued after his magical duel with Na-Noc, and then Na-Noc did it on his own, but you’ll note that you returned to a place nearby the place of your first appearance.”

Wildflower cleared her throat. “Uhm… actually, I opened the portal on my end, using an invention of my own called the Trans-Spacial Portal, or TSP for short.”

The Empress was astonished. “You opened an interdimensional portal?” She studied the centaur carefully. “How curious,” she said. “Other than your peculiar centaurian magic, you appear to have no magical abilities at all.”

“I should hope not!” she said indignantly, “I’m a scientist!”

“Do you still have this talisman, or whatever it is?”

“Alas, no. It was destroyed when the portal opened, because the portal was larger than the apparatus itself, and so couldn’t contain the energies generated.”

“Were any special cantrips or formulas engraved upon it?”

“Other than ‘Danger! High Voltage!’ no,” she said. “It’s a machine, actually, which uses electrical power — and an apparatus of my own design — to induce a hypermagnetic field within the space-time continuum that causes the fabric of space itself to fold in upon itself, and thereby open a window into other portions of the multiverse. This was all theoretical at the time, of course, until proven by the rather catastrophic success of the experiment. I hadn’t quite counted upon so violent an effect, nor had I calculated the correct size of the portal which opened.” She furrowed her brows, contemplating her experiment. “I’ll have to work on that,” she concluded.

“Can you make one of these… ‘machines’ again?” the Empress asked.

She blinked. “Of course I can! I made the first one, didn’t I?” She seemed slightly indignant once again.

The Empress said, “I beg your pardon, Master Artificer, but this puts an entirely new perspective on things. Would you mind going back to the Council Chamber with me? This information should be presented to the College before they dither themselves into a plan which doesn’t include this new information.”

“I suppose not. I’m sorry that I didn’t mention it at the time, but it didn’t seem terribly important just then, because the most spectacular effects had seemed to be caused by the Jekyll formula, so I concentrated on the catalyst which seemed to have initiated our adventures. The TSP event seemed merely accidental by comparison.”

She laughed at that. “You must live a very interesting life, my dear Wildflower!”

Wildflower blushed. “Well, explosions weren’t exactly extraordinary in our household, I have to confess. A small rupture in the fabric of space-time was a little startling, though, and probably should have aroused comment, except that we were already fighting for our very lives before we had much time to reflect. Since then, it’s rather been one damned thing after another, as they say.”

She laughed again, a lovely peal of genuine good humor. “How apt! Considering our opponents, how very apt! You obviously have a great career on the stage ahead, should you ever give up artifacture.”

“Well, the odd quip does help leaven a lengthy lecture,” she admitted modestly.

“Perhaps you can teach some of our Wizards this skill,” she suggested. “Some of them need lessons in light-heartedness quite desperately. We can talk about this on our way back down,” and with that, she led the way out of the Orrery and down the long stairs.

As it turned out, Empress D’Larona-Elvi was right on target about everything. The wizards had accomplished exactly nothing since they’d left, although several factions were aligned on different sides of the Chamber, and were shouting at each other by now. When they’d finally noticed that the Empress had returned, the uproar died down and the men began returning to their seats, somewhat chastened, most of them, to be caught out.

“Honored Colleagues, Wizards, Sorceresses, and Scryers, please pardon my interruption, but information has come to light that I’m sure may be of help in resolving your differences. It seems that Wildflower here, through a very becoming modesty, had neglected to tell us that she’s actually a Master Artificer of considerable skill, and has in very fact constructed a device which allows her to open portals between the worlds at will.”

The uproar was almost instantaneous, punctuated by furious shouts of… “Fraud!” “Nonsense!” and many others less flattering.

It ended when Akcuanrut spoke a single word, “Sumikat!” which caused a brilliant flash of green light to erupt from his hands that dazzled everyone present. “I apologize for my ill-temper,” he said, as the assembled worthies blinked their eyes, trying to focus, “but your discourtesy toward the Empress and my guests annoys me. Although I haven’t seen this device, after seeing ‘portable power drills’ and ‘circular saws,’ I have no doubt that such devices are commonplace in the home of my kind hostess Wildflower, whom you malign with your boisterous remarks, which are more suitable for the lowest tavern on the riverfront than an exalted body of scholars which reports directly to the Emperor. I’ve heard reports of the new portal from my attendants, and can attest that it was, by description, somewhat dissimilar to any known portal, and was in a location not known to harbor any prior link between worlds. The urgency of our primary task, recovering the Heart of Virtue, and returning Na-Noc to safe custody, precluded my personal observation of the phenomenon, but if Mistress Wildflower says this thing, it’s true. Any who chose to quarrel with my judgement in this can feel quite free to have their most notable Apprentice bring forward a proper Advisement of Duel Arcane so that we can address the issue of precedence in a formal manner.” He smiled benignly. “I’m sure your chosen Apprentice would welcome the honor of carrying the document to my own Chief of Apprentices.”

Rhea leaned over and whispered to Phil, “Why would they welcome being a messenger boy?”

He whispered back, “As I understand it, this sort of contest is invariably fatal for one party or the other, and the Apprentice chosen to carry the document has first crack at taking his old Master’s seat in the College of Wizards, should he not succeed. Of course, Akcuanrut’s Chief Apprentice would have the same privilege if the challenge succeeded, but I somehow doubt that it would. He’s not Dean of the College as a mere courtesy.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“It’s hardly ever done,” he said quietly, “or at least I don’t think it is, but the law is still on the books. I do have a Handbook for Apprentices, but of course I’ve never read it.”

She was about to ask why, but then she realized that she couldn’t read their funny writing either. “Oh,” she murmured.

“Now,” said Master Wizard Akcuanrut, if there are no further interruptions, I’d like you all to direct your kind attention to our Lady Empress, Mistress Sorceress and Scryer, D’Larona-Elvi, who appeared to be speaking before she was so rudely interrupted.

“Thank you, Master Wizard Akcuanrut, for your generous offer to accept an Advisement on my behalf, but I’d rather enjoy the challenge; it’s been simply ages since I’ve had the opportunity to rid the world of excess baggage.” She stared pointedly in the general direction of one of the loudest hecklers, who looked decidedly nervous, even looking around toward his erstwhile supporters, who all seemed to be studiously looking somewhere else at the time. “Be that as it may be,”she resumed, “we now have an interesting problem before us.” She paused to look around the room again, then continued, “I have no reason to doubt Master Artificer Wildflower, and when she rebuilds her portal generator, have no doubt that her device, when aided by the efforts of Master Akcuanrut and myself, will allow us to pierce the barriers the Dark Gods erected against us and take them in their stronghold. Too long have they hidden from us, working their mischief in secret, aided by willing dupes and proxies without daring to expose themselves to our full power, the while sapping at our strength through subverting those who would stand with us, and murdering those they couldn’t coerce or gull into submission.”

“Hear, hear!” someone said from the audience.

“What I propose,” she said, “is a small punitive expedition to drive straight through to the Dark God homeworld, after a stopover on Wildflower’s Earth to gather the necessary materials to reconstruct one or more portal devices and then build them, together with whatever supplies are needed for their operation, while Akcuanrut and I together work on ways to ensure alternative sources of magical power on this and other worlds we may encounter with depleted, or uneven access to power.”

Akcuanrut instantly said, “I second the motion before this body and call for the vote without debate!”

One by one, almost the entire room rose in assent, some more reluctantly than others, while those whose response was particularly tardy were carefully noted by both D’Larona-Elvi and Akcuanrut. “The motion is carried,” Akcuanrut said, “and this session is closed.”

Phil and his wives looked at each other in surprise. “Well, that went well,” Selene observed.

“Why,” Rhea asked rhetorically, “do I get the feeling that we’ve just been shanghaied?”

Phil just rolled his eyes.

The trip back took very little time in comparison to the journey south. Akcuanrut, having done this once before, simply set up a Gate in Empress D’Larona-Elvi’s Orrery which connected directly to the corridor below the Throne Room in the Temple of Zampulus, so their party, the original explorers and the three hundred or so centaurs, the two Mages, plus an assortment of Apprentices and men-at-arms, arrived up north the next day.

“Well,” the Empress said when they’d stepped into the corridor, “this is certainly a convenient way to travel. Do let us look at this little trick with the corridor, my dear colleague, while we have the opportunity. Just off hand, it seems similar to a portal, but held open in some sort of stasis, connected only with itself.” She studied the turning point with some care. “Fascinating,” she said. “I can already see applicability to the defense of the Capital City, and other strategic fortifications, not to mention the provision of covert supply lines in case of siege.”

“I’d thought,” the wizard said, “to use this as a staging point for our journey north, since there’s a largish town not too far from here where we can purchase supplies and necessaries.”

“Excellent plan!” the Empress said. “Now let’s go upstairs to this throne room of the ancient centaurs.”

The wizard smiled. “Alas, no stairs of any sort. Since centaurs designed it, the entrance is up a simple shaft, like a very large well, which posed no obstacle to the ancient centaurs at all. They were evidently notable builders, since the level of detail is impressive.”

“Of course! They’d simply levitate from level to level,” she mused.

“Exactly!”

During this conversation, Phil was becoming irritated. “Can we get on with it? While you’re standing here chatting, our friends the centaurs are waiting behind us, and we’ll soon have to send people back with brooms and shovels if we stand larking about much longer, not to mention what they’re doing in your Orrery, Empress.”

She blinked. “Oh! I hadn’t thought.” She looked behind her. “Please go on ahead, everyone, while Akcuanrut and I inspect this more carefully.”

“Just follow the arrows painted on the floor,” Phil said. “And watch for the end of the corridor, because the well shaft apparently goes down almost forever.”

Empress D’Larona-Elvi looked at Akcuanrut meaningfully. “Don’t you think there’s another portal loop there? It would be a safety feature, if someone stumbled down the shaft.”

“Of course!” the wizard said, enthused. “I didn’t think of it myself, but it’s obvious when you mention it. That obviously means that the magic was designed by the centaurs themselves, since those possessed by the Heart of Virtue wouldn’t care how many bodies piled up at the bottom of the shaft. We’ve been looking at this place the wrong way around, as if it had been designed and built by agents of the Dark Gods, but it’s too beautiful to be their work. They corrupted it, yes, and filled the lower cavern with their grotesque frozen acts of torture, but the centaurs who carved their own images on the entrance built this place. Everything is scaled for their comfort, not that of humans, except for the throne, which is probably a late addition to what was formerly a simple dias, since centaurs don’t sit down on chairs of any sort.”

“Indeed,” the Empress said. “It also suggests that there may be something hidden beneath the vertical portal, since those not privy to the secret would have no reason to question whether an ‘endless’ pit might actually have a bottom.”

“Doesn’t the same apply to the trick in the corridor?” Akcuanrut asked.

“Good point. It might,” she said.

“I’d like Phil to take a look at them both. He was very helpful in discovering the secret of the throne which covered the well shaft, and this is another puzzle, evidently posed by the same ancient builders.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard this part of the story,” she said.

He smiled philosophically. “You know how stories go, there’s always another corner to explore.”

“Indeed.”

Phil was glad to help, and started out in the corridor, since he preferred to explore on his own two feet, he’d said, rather then hovering in mid-air like a hot air balloonist. “You say that opening a portal takes a significant expenditure of energy?” he asked offhand.

“Usually,” the wizard said, and Empress D’Larona-Elvi nodded her assent.

“Okay. Let’s have a look… I wish I had a decent flashlight….” He was holding up a flickering torch, looking at the walls of the corridor.

“Flashlight?” Empress D’Larona-Elvi asked.

“A type of very bright torch that uses ‘electrical power’ instead of an open flame. They’re very handy, because you can carry one in your pocket and flick it on and off with a gesture.”

“Like magic?” she asked again.

“Almost, but much more accessible to the average human. Master Wizard, would it be too much trouble for you to make a little magical light here? Something like the one I did in the pit for Selene and Rhea during their adventure with the dwarves would be fine, but I can’t concentrate on looking for secrets at the same time I’m trying to float a light in mid-air.”

Akcuanrut narrowed his brows in magisterial disapproval. “It would be good practice, Apprentice Phil.”

“I’m sure it would, but time, I think, is rather of the essence here.” He raised one brow, almost as imperious as his tutor.

The wizard scowled. “Very well, then. Have it your own way!” and he created a brilliant orb of light which floated in the air, only the wizard’s luminary tended toward the amber warmth of candlelight rather than the brilliant white Phil favored. “You can push it around with your hand, ” he said in a sullen huff, “if you like, although I’m sure it won’t be half as good as one of your ‘flashlights.’ Hardly worth the bother, one might think.”

“Not at all! It’s excellent,” he said, “almost as good as a modern LED flashlight…” and bit back a smile. He spent some time inspecting the wall of the corridor opposite the entrance to the cavern, then moved slightly down toward the entrance to the well shaft. “In fact, now that we know that these things were created by centaurs, everything makes sense. The throne platform was controlled by a strong kick, like a centaur might give it in a hurry, and you’ll notice a slight scuff mark on the wall of the corridor, just here….” He gave the mark a mighty kick, almost as if he were trying for a field goal from the fifty yard line, contacting the wall exactly half-way up, so it was a bit of a stretch.

A section of the wall just opposite the cavern entrance popped open.

He smiled and said, “Voilà!”

The wizard rolled his eyes. “About time, too.”

“Well, it took a little while to work out the general principle from only one example. Humans tend to rely upon delicate manipulations of things using their hands when concealing secrets. Evidently, centaurs in a hurry prefer their hooves. Shall we explore?” He delicately pushed the ball of light into the opening which, like all centaurian passages, was very tall, at least twelve feet in height, through relatively narrow, only six feet wide, a tight squeeze for any group of centaurs walking abreast, but ample enough for single file.

“Phil went first, since he was the spryest — at least in his opinion — and had the light in hand.” The side tunnel, for that’s what it was, simply curved around the location of the minor ‘jog’ in space that marked the twist in space-time. From this side, he could see that the portal was obviously a gateway, the edges of it glowing with a soft amber light, just like the one Akcuanrut had made to cut their journey to the Temple short when they were chasing Na-Noc.

“I’ll be damned,” Phil said, as he looked on down the hidden corridor. It was the entrance to a vast library, in a cavern even larger than the one on the other side of the crazy looking glass that had hidden it from the world for what must have been thousands of years, if one could judge by the thick coating of dust everywhere he could see.

“What do you see, Apprentice Phil?” Akcuanrut asked from behind him, although there was room to stand beside him.

“Sir, could you ask Windflyer and Thundercloud to come down here? I don’t think that we should trespass into this sanctuary until some representatives of the centaurs are here to see the glory of their ancient civilization without our messy footprints traipsing through the pristine layers of undisturbed dust that offer mute testimony to its antiquity.”

The wizard looked over his shoulder. “I see what you mean, Apprentice Phil,” he said, then looked behind him to the Empress D’Larona-Elvi. “Empress, I think we should delay a little while before we enter, if that’s alright with you. Phil says, and I agree, that the centaurs should be the first to visit this place.”

With a quick glance past Phil’s shoulder, she took in the situation and instantly agreed, “Yes, they should.” She called out to the centaurs who’d been assigned to escort them up and down the well shaft, and were even now waiting in the corridor, “My dears, would you mind fetching Windflyer, Wildflower, and Thundercloud for us, and any others who might be interested in the history of the centaur people? I know some of the young women may have a particular interest as well. Tell them that we’ve made a very important discovery about the history of your people.”

Copyright © 2000, 2001, 2002 Jeffrey M. Mahr — All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2012 Levanah Greene — All Rights Reserved