Three steps.
Left. Four steps. Right.
Ten steps. Left. Five steps.
Left. Fifteen steps. Left.
Two steps. He opened his eyes
only to see a solid wall before him.
Numbers were carved into the stone, signifying that he had returned
again to the starting position. Oh come on! Three,
four, one, zero, five, one, five, two. I
did that! Pasqodnal sank to his
knees. Turning his head and looking
around, all he could see were walls. But
none of the walls were real. Many times
he had leaned against them, hoping one would open into a passageway. But every
wall opened into a passageway. For
hours, Pasq grouped the numbers together in his mnd and paced in every
direction. But when all the numbers were
used, he was magically teleported to the wall he had started at. Pounding against that one solid wall
accomplished nothing, whatever pattern he used.
Three times, he simply walked in one direction, counting the total of
twenty-one paces, assuming the outer wall would greet him. When his reaching hands met stone and he
opened his eyes, the same numbers stared at him hauntingly. Pasqodnal attempted to breathe in sync with
the numbers, but no. Nothing worked. At last, he surrendered and sank to his knees
for a nap. As he closed his eyes, tiny
red flames danced back and forth in his mind.
Since the sight of passing through stone was also maddening, Pasq had
kept his eyes closed for hours, peering now and again to assure that the stone
was visible. The flames in his mind now
bothered him, and he wished he could see darkness again. Several times he had called upon his power to
deliver an idea, but the flames offered no assistence. He could not command his magic well enough to
permit an escape.
What next? He listed the numbers in his mind. He had even attempted all of the number
patterns backwards. He stepped sideways,
backwards, anything. He jumped, he ran,
he crawled even. Nothing. The flames rocked back and forth in his mind,
as if taunting him. He found his head
lolling to their rhythm. His heart
slowed to match the methodic pace. The
flames lazily leaned from one side to the next.
Pasq’s eyes rolled in his head.
His breathing became shallow. A
slight haze surrounded the flames in his mind, causing them to appear to rock
even more lethargically. He felt his
body list to one side then swing the other way.
His body, his heartbeat, his breathing, his eyes, and his flames all
swayed in unison as if in a dying breeze.
Dying breeze. . . . The words floated lifelessly through his
mind. His arms grew heavy. He slumped forward. So . .
. calm. Sleep. Yes, sleep.
All . . . a . . . dream. The
flames disappeared in his mind.
*
* *
Kimdeylyn
stared at herself. As she moved her
right hand, the hand before her moved.
Raising her eyes, blue eyes met hers.
She reached forward, but could not touch her duplicate self, yet when
her hand reached the image, she felt as if someone grabbed her hand. Yelling at the duplicate deafened
herself. Spitting dampened her own
face. Once, she attempted to walk
through her mirror. She passed through
the image, but it felt as though someone were pressing against her body. The harder she pushed, the less she could
breathe. Frustrated, Kimdeylyn swung her
open hand at the double, only to feel the sting across her own cheek. She ground her teeth and drew in many breaths
of air to calm herself.
Kim stared
into the deep blue eyes and traced the lines of her face. I’m . .
. beautiful! she declared, chuckling.
The thought echoed ferociously in her mind. She closed her eyes and focused on silence
until the phrase no longer reverberated.
She turned around and opened her eyes, but the image was still before
her. Spinning slowly, the duplicate
image always faced her, matching her rotation.
However fast she spun, her eyes always looked directly back at her. Only when she shifted her eyes could she see
anything else, though her body occupied most of the image. A white void served as the only
background. Stepping in any direction
met resistence. Kimdeylyn reached out
with her right hand and pretended to grab the ethereal hand that mimicked her
movement. When she tightened her grip,
her left hand ached. She clenched her
left hand against the pain, while the image’s right hand balled into a fist. With her own left hand in a fist, her right
hand could not crush the image’s left hand, nor could the image crush her
hand. She released the duplicate. Turning her head to the side was
impossible. The image’s body attempted
to remain in its position, while the head tried to swing out to keep the eyes
locked on her eyes. The more she twisted
her neck, the more agonizing the pain.
Curious, Kimdeylyn removed her tunic and tossed it at the image, after
pausing to admire her beauty, of course.
The cloth slapped Kim in the face.
She bent to retrieve it, forced to keep her head upright, and stood
again. She swung her arm out to the side
and released the shirt, but the mirror’s hand blocked her motion. Kimdeylyn swung again, but did not extend her
arm forward. Cloth met cloth and fell to
the floor. Kimdeylyn donned the tunic
and scratched her head. Her light touch
was felt twofold.
I can’t go anywhere. I can’t do anything. Everything I do, she does -- or I do. Whatever.
The words echoed. If I could only be less of a warrior and
more of a philosopher, I’d think my way through. She snickered. There’s
two of me; I’m twice the philosopher
I used to be! She grinned. There’s
two of me. Hey, this is great! But, I’m doing this backwards. First I was frustrated, now I’m happy. That mirror image must have thought the
opposite. Hmm. Her fingers strummed her thigh. How did
I get in here anyway? Wait, shouldn’t I
be thinking about how to get out?
“When did you
get here?” she asked the image. The
words burned her own ears. “How did you
get here?” she demanded.
“How did you
get here?” the image insisted.
“Did you fall
in?”
“Did you fall
in?” the image responded.
“Did you walk
in?” Kim asked.
“Did you walk
in?”
“Did someone
put you here?” Kim pursued.
“Did someone
put you here?” the mirror wondered.
“Did you walk
in?” the warrior asked again.
“Did you walk
in?” the duplicate repeated. “Did you
fall in?”
“Did you fall
in?” Kim sputtered uncontrollably.
“How did you
get here?” the image wondered. The same
words spewed from Kimdeylyn’s lips.
“When did you get here?” Again,
Kim spat the words. How do I get out of here? Wait,
shouldn’t I be wondering how I got in?
I’m getting frustrated! If only I
could be less of a philosopher and more of a warrior. Maybe I could fight my way out. But, I can’t do anything. I can’t go anywhere. Kim’s hand scratched her head then pulled her
tunic off. Tossing it to the ground, the
double picked it up and threw it at her with a flick of her wrists. Kim’s knees buckled and dropped the tunic on
the ground as the mirror reached for it at the same time. The image threw the shirt into Kimdeylyn’s
face. Kim’s hand uncontrollably slid the
tunic over her head and tucked it into her pants. Her head tried to detach from her neck. Her right hand clenched tightly into a fist
as an invisible hand gripped her left hand, then released. The duplicate’s body swayed in several
directions, met each time by Kim’s actions.
Dizziness spun her, then darkness claimed her vision. When sight returned, deep blue eyes bore into
her mind. Her breath escaped her. The image swung her hand and slapped Kim’s face
harshly. Kimdeylyn could neither dodge
nor resist, which frustrated her. Her
body pitched forward toward the image, who then spat in Kim’s face and
shouted. Her left hand reached out as
the image offered the mirroring limb.
The double stared at her for a while in silent contemplation. The mirror blew on Kim’s face in a sigh. Her knees buckled again and she squatted on
the floor, her eyes locked with the image’s.
The double pivoted, and Kim swung around the image, her body
uncontrollably turning to face the unblinking blue eyes. Kimdeylyn’s body circled the mirror’s body
faster and faster. By sight, Kim could
not know she was spinning, since the image always faced her in the exact pose
she was in, and the white background gave no point of reference. Her equilibrium, however, screamed dizziness
in her mind until she swooned in discomfort.
Both bodies collapsed. The white
nothingness faded to darkness. The spell
was broken.
*
* *
The numbers.
The numbers. Three. Four.
One. Zero. Five.
One. Five. Two.
He curled his fingers to represent each number as he called them. He recited them again, using his other hand,
then both. Nothing. The nap had not cleared his mind. The numbers filled all thought. He curled his toes when curling his fingers
had no effect. He stamped his feet on
the ground. He clapped his hands
together. He jumped into the air three
times, spun in a circle four times, squatted once-- How do
you stand zero times? He
stopped. The stone wall smiled at
him. The numbers seemed to bounce off
the wall. Pasqodnal swung his arms
against their attack. He backed away as
they grew larger. He cried as they
overwhelmed him. He fell to the floor,
squeezing his eyes shut. When he found
the courage to open them, the stone wall waited, the numbers small again.
What is happening to me? He rubbed his eyes to the numeric
rhythm. He snapped his fingers to the
rhythm. He thudded his hand against his
chest. He chattered his teeth. He blinked his eyes. Everything he did involved the numbers. They possessed his mind. I came
here with three friends -- four if you count the dog. I am alone now and have no one else to help
me. I met five of them underground in
the Kijariol kingdom. One of them died
there. The wizard called to us -- five
again. The dog and the eagle -- two
animals. He opened his eyes, his jaw
clenched. The scrawled numbers grinned
back. He rhythmically banged his head
against the wall. I’m going insane, he realized.
I must think this through before I
lose my mind. What do I know that
possesses numbers? Numbers. Numbers.
Numbers as position? What did
Father teach me long ago? Rings? Magic Rings?
Invisibility, Danger, Life, Ghost, Levitation. One, two, three, four, five. Three, four, one, zero, five, one, five,
two. Life, Ghost, Invisibility, nothing,
Levitation, Invisibility, Levitation, Danger. Nothing.
What did Startok call his Ring? He snapped his fingers. Life,
Ghost, Invisibility, Starlorten, Levitation, Invisibility, Levitation,
Danger. When you live, you will die
without seeing peace or flight, and without seeing flying trouble. He opened his eyes and closed them against
the numbers. What am I saying? he wondered with a befuddled expression on his
weary face. What is it, then? What is the
significance of the numbers? What do
they mean? Why these numbers and none
above five? Should I be counting six
through nine? But why, then, do some
numbers repeat? One, Five. Why don’t the others? One.
Five. Invisibility. Levitation.
Invisible -- can’t see. If only I
couldn’t see the stone walls. Levitation
-- can fly.> If only I could fly out of this
trap. Trap. The word thrashed through his mind in the
silence. The numbers. A trap. His head sank into his large hands. “What a fool!” he called aloud. He thought of Startok. “You called yourself a fool for being
careless. I think I just surpassed
that.”
Determined,
Pasqodnal rose to his feet. He cleared
the numbers from his mind and paced a casual, uncounted gait. But the numbers would not leave him,
returning him to the start. He stepped
away from the wall again, saying Startok’s name with each step, but he found
himself against the numbered wall. I suppose that’s a form of counting, then. Pasqodnal opened his eyes against the
stone. He forced himself to pass through
the stone with his eyes open. The
concept unnerved him. He passed through
the first wall. Good. That was easy enough. Now the next.
Okay, one more. Now another one. Now--
The numbers. The wall touched
his nose, the numbers laughing at him.
Reality seemed far from his fingertips.
Pasqodnal
released his annoyance in a trembling bellow.
He cast his thoughts toward Startok again. He recalled walking into Startok’s childhood
home and seeing Astle step into the room.
Pasq took a
step.
He recalled
the old man turning to him and looking at his chest. Pasqodnal remembered feeling awkward.
He continued
walking.
Gazing at his
chest to see why the man stared, wondering if the abundant amount of straight
dark hair unnerved the man, he gasped when the boy passed through him. The old man greeted the child and scolded him
for being outside late at night.
Pasqodnal saw them sit and remembered his own unease when his hand
passed through the furniture.
Like walking through these stone walls. His hand hit stone. The numbers gleamed back.
He started over,
losing himself in the memory. He thought
it strange how he had walked into the house and witnessed Startok’s past as if
it had been reliving itself in the room.
When Startok explained that their minds were partially linked due to
Andy’s spell, Pasq seemed satisfied. But
he wondered why he couldn’t speak to Startok if their minds were linked. Perhaps
only certain memories can be shared.
Maybe only similar memories will be shared. What did Tawi say? Startok was separated from his parents as an
infant? Interesting. The memory that released my power was of
losing my parents. And what memories of
Startok’s did I witness? The story of
the stars -- yes, Father told me that story, too. Startok saw more in the story than I did, and
it made me feel helpless. When I thought
that, the scene changed, and Startok was crying at losing his friend at the
bottom of a well -- crying because he felt helpless! He found himself laughing. “So, Startok, how else are we the same?” he
wondered aloud, his eyes still closed.
As he asked this, he hit the wall again, though it felt warm, not
cold. Opening his eyes, he gasped and
fell to his knees, almost in tears.
Startok
looked down at Pasq. “What is it,
friend?” Niff extended her tongue to
Pasq in greeting.
The dark-haired
man smiled up at Startok. “I can’t
believe I escaped! And I owe it to you!”
“Escaped? What are you talking about, Pasqodnal? Niff and I just saw you pacing with your eyes
closed as if you hadn’t a care in the world!
I spoke your name when I saw you, but you ignored me until you walked
into me just now.” He glanced down at
his chest. “I’ll probably be bruised
tomorrow, you know,” Startok complained.
“Next time, don’t walk so fast with your eyes closed. It hurts.”
Pasq stood up
after petting Niff’s head. “Rekulock is
one clever enemy.” He held his head with
his hands and looked Startok in the eye.
As his eyes only reached Startok’s perfectly straight nose, he had to
look up slightly. “Thank you for sharing
your memories with me, Startok. They
helped me escape the trap.”
“Did they,
now?” Startok wondered. Niff thumped her
tail.
“Yes. Thinking of them, I was able to overcome the
spell that bound me. I was foolish not
to see it earlier.” He clasped Startok’s
shoulder. “I thank you.”
“Think
nothing of it,” the Starlorten muttered airily.
Startok’s hand reached up and gripped Pasqodnal’s, pulling it off his
shoulder. He lifted the man’s hand
before his eyes, while Pasq’s thick brows furrowed. Startok’s green eyes stared into Pasqodnal’s
greenish-brown eyes.
Green . . . ? Pasq’s eyes opened wide as he gasped in
sudden realization. Too late. A rumbling snicker echoed in Pasqodnal’s
mind. Niff’s body grew in size and
darkened in color. Startok’s skin turned
brown, then black. His fingers changed
into sharp black nails. Pasq’s eyelids
closed against the transformation.
Startok’s words echoed in his mind:
Sometimes I am a fool.