And when she had waited for longer than she had walked – only then did the barrier suddenly creak, softly opening.

So slowly did it fall ajar, announced by the squealing creak, that even the reverie-bound Straxi had chance to roll back and aside, allowing a wide-enough berth for the colossal arc of this implacable door.

A crone stepped forth from the immense, endless hallway Straxi could see behind her. The newcomer was at once both bulbous and gangly; she had to be eight feet tall, and would’ve been rake-thin if not for bloated bulges that seemed to hang from her in random assortment. The crone was either naked and truly loathsome in appearance, or else clad in a sack made of skin the same shapeless mottled texture as her own flesh, a gown enmeshed without visible seams to her neck and shoulders and arms. Upon the hairless saggy scalp, several distinct clusters of weeping brown moles had taken root. Her eyes were tiny-seeming given her overall size, buried in the wrinkles of her age-shattered face, more the raw-pink of a sobbing, lonely old woman than the fierce redness of a demon’s gaze.

“And what are you doing here, my dear?” the crone wheezed.

It was an entirely unexpected question.

Straxi clicked blankly for a few seconds then stammered: “I’ve to b-b-become a demon, of course.”

The crone waved a saggy-skinned hand at her.

“You appear to have accomplished that much yourself, child. How might I aid you now?”

“I…” She looked down at her sword-like arms, the dagger-fingers protruding from the bladed disc she had for hands. The sand in her head swirled, bringing the limbs she bore into ever-clearer focus.

Why did I come here?

“Someone called me,” she clicked at last. “Someone… was going to own me.”

“And that is what you want? To be owned?”

She nodded frantically.

“But there have surely been other entities you have encountered, on your journeys? Others whose ownership you might have accepted?”

“The King of Everything!” she blurted, then covered her face with her knives in shame.

“The King of Everything indeed!” the crone repeated, suddenly stern. “Indeed! How camest thou by this lore?”

“I – I know not –”

“What art thou inside, creature? What is thy name?”

“I am – I am nothing, if not his! A pr-prisoner without a prison! A – a demon without a name! Straxi, I was called… Straxi, before I was broken, or – or after…”

“Straxi…?”

She looked up at the crone. A tone of wonder had entered the doorkeeper’s voice.

“Straxi, wouldst thou know me as Haehuinil, perchance? Couldst thou be Abstraxia?”

The moment she heard the word, she cast off her metal flesh, and was herself once more. Meat appeared where before only cold edges reflected the redness of the skies. Real fingers found a pair of eyes in her face, beneath her brows.

Her face.

Face.

“So it is you!” the crone crowed in delight. “Ah, but ’tis a strange plane. I’ve not forgotten you, dear one, not ever. I expected you at least ten thousand years ago. How we laughed together! Do you recall the epheldegrim? The funny fellow with the extra leg? No, I don’t suppose you do, do you…”

“My face! My hands!”

“Ah, yes. It’ll all start coming back to you soon, don’t worry. There’s so much to learn. So much to forget. Come on, come inside. There’s much for us to do together.”

Abstraxia stepped forwards, on her feet. Her feet!

The long high hallway of velvet darkness swallowed her, but she didn’t look up, or aside. Didn’t try to penetrate its cool shadows. She kept her eyes fast on the crone, her saviour.

She wants me. After everything – after waiting for me for so long.

She still wants me.

* * *

“This is but one entrance into the Labyrinth; my own little corner of the world, you might say.” Haehuinil’s tone was wistful. “Here I raise my children, then send them forth, that they might do the same in turn. Ah – see here. The Thumbs of Nath Sanor. He was till then a fierce archer, whose volleys were as storm-clouds. And here – the Sundered Throne of Mat. A recalcitrant little world…”

The hallways twisted senselessly, sometimes looping back on themselves with no change in elevation without ever meeting, simply continuing relentlessly no matter how absurd the geography became. Abstraxia trod awkwardly on the fur-carpeted path, unused to toes, never mind the luxurious texture of this new terrain. She tried to keep as close to Haehuinil as she could manage, just beside and behind her; the bloated, haggard crone seemed to vary her pace, going slowly while she spoke, describing and explaining the various works of art displayed upon the walls, yet suddenly would appear at the next corner, looking back at Abstraxia with a twinge of impatience in her red-raw eyes. Abstraxia would have to remind herself several times of her newfound power to consume distances, lowering her eyes in deference as she caught up, hoping only not to have too-sorely disappointed her patron with her ignorance.

The corridor was as wide as a dining-hall in the palace of a lord of men, yet only the central aisle, barely wide-enough to accommodate the two of them, was safe to walk. The rest of the space was devoted to what looked like graves, deep rectangular holes interspersed with raised platforms upon which stood wondrous sculptures, twisted trees, cases of scintillating weaponry… Haehuinil never mentioned the graves in all her rambling and Abstraxia had not the nerve to ask. Even the closest were too deep for her to see to the bottom without stepping away from her guardian. That wasn’t yet something she was prepared to do, not without being asked explicitly.

Every hallway was the same. Vaulted, matt-black ceilings. Parallel walls draped in tapestries, paintings of delicious scenes hanging every few paces; each took for its subject one facet of misery, perhaps depicting particularly hideous wounds, malformed infants crawling with flies and disease, or cities laid to siege and sack. Tall windows that admitted the same sunset-redness, windows that faced each other – given the size and scope of the Citadel itself, this was clearly a trick of dimensional witchcraft, yet knowing it made it no less disorienting.

Every one the same, and yet so different. There was always something new around the bend. The pungent Sickness-Spears of Astraxor, the embalmed Eyes of Orden, the nineteen Unseeing-Stones… the broken Shield of the Cursed One, the lightless Jewel of Eternity, the enormous, still-breathing Lungs of Leviathan… and even the windows themselves were alike only in the quality of the light they admitted. Upon each one were figures etched in black lines, their arcane scenes beyond Abstraxia’s understanding. Yet one thing she was able to note: the same person was shown on every window, clad in a jagged cloak or pointed armour, a tall crown upon his brow. Haehuinil never mentioned those either, yet it was assuredly the King. The King of the Sunset Citadel. The King of the World. And in each he presented a different facet of the Majestic Persona. In some he was the central shape, shown apportioning punishments with a variety of regal weapons in his hands while wide-eyed, wide-mouthed traitors were paralysed in the moment of their execution – else he was shown sitting in a lofty chair, presiding over lesser shapes engaged in their own ever-ongoing arguments. Yet in many windows he seemed to merely linger in a corner, a spider waiting in its web, watching over the proceedings without engaging.

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It became something of a game to her, to spot him in each window. It was made easier by the fact that the maker of these glass marvels had sometimes chosen to tint the shards comprising the King’s body, darkening him and him alone, as surely befit his ascendancy.

“The sixty-six wings of the Princes of Sephir, recovered at great cost after White-Rose slew the entire pantheon.” The crone indicated a tall case in which great sheets of bloodstained feathers hung like cloaks. “And this –“ she indicated a transparent vase filled with blood, upon which a single white fleck of matter floated “– is a white leaf from the World-Forest, such as he wore in his hair when he slew Lord Afayel and Lord Morlanar. How it survived the carnage I know not.”

Abstraxia nodded, then glanced left, right, spotting the next Kings.

“You are perhaps wondering why I am telling you this,” her guide said mockingly.

She immediately moved her eyes back to her feet. “M-my apologies, Haehuinil –“

“Call me Mistress.”

“Mistress!” She tried to meet her patron’s gaze, but the reflection of the dusk-light in the pink of those eyes was too glorious, forcing her to bow her head again. “I – I merely looked to find the King – th-there, and there… I did listen. The white leaf, from the World-Forest, the same as… the same as White-Rose had in his hair, when he slew… Lord Afayel… Lord Morlanar…”

“Good. Very good. I did not doubt you listened, and your admiration of the King is itself admirable. You will go far, young one. Glad-hearted I am that I chose to spare you when you supped of my branch, instead of striking you down where you crouched.”

Abstraxia recognised the warning in those words, and kept her eyes downcast.

“I tell you the histories of these items, because each artefact is a treasure returned to the King by one of my pupils. He has in his great charity bestowed upon me the honour of retaining them, holding them in his name. You shall, in turn, bring me such glorious gifts that I might extend my domain, set them beside these, to his glory, and thine, and mine.”

Abstraxia shivered, breath catching in her throat as she suppressed the almost overwhelming urge to titter, nervous apprehension flooding her.

“But first – to your training. Go. Seek an empty enclosure.”

Haehuinil gestured at the nearest grave, then at others.

Fascinated, Abstraxia took a couple of steps towards the first her Mistress indicated.

Leaning over, she saw a white-skinned, black-eyed man lying there, eight feet down. His hands were folded on his rag-covered chest. His feet were crossed at the ankle. He looked perfectly peaceful, stretched out in his grave.

She stifled a gasp.

“I removed the eyelids,” he said in a hushed voice. “Permanently. You can’t sleep, you know.”

She straightened, stumbled away a few feet, and cast an uncertain glance at her Mistress.

“I have many such as yourself in training.”

“Hundreds? Th-thousands?”

Haehuinil nodded, grinning. “It is given to me to decide whom to admit. Each from a different world; each of you to provide me a unique foothold. And I hold the key to but one of the Citadel’s innumerable doors. I am not alone in this practise, believe me. Go – toddle off! You may need to search awhile. Call to me when you have found your place. I shall attend you.”

So it was that Abstraxia was sent off on her own, wandering back along the twisting corridor, looking down at last into the yawning rectangles that had so long mystified her. Each one had its occupant – some were like the first, seeming happy with their lot, whispering greetings to her as she cast her gaze down into their holes; but more were clearly wracked with the same anxiety that filled her. A few snarled at her, lashing out with claws and tails so that she hurriedly retreated. Many refused to meet her gaze, looking aside, pained expressions on their faces. Several times she came across men and women mumbling numbers, rattling off the seconds with desperate despair gleaming in their eyes – “Sixteen billion three-hundred and twenty-six million eight-hundred and four thousand two-hundred and twenty-nine… Sixteen billion three-hundred and twenty-six million eight-hundred and four thousand two-hundred and thirty-four…” While others still simply panted, taking deep, agonised, endless breaths, meeting her gaze with their own imploring stares.

Did they want help? Did they want to help her?

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that she leaned over and looked down into a vacant grave, right between the Hairs of Lithiguil and the Tree of Empty… Empty Something.

She spent just a moment or two in consternation. It was not as though she could just lie to her new Mistress. She’d found a vacancy. This was the moment of decision. Would she commit herself to this existence? Would she claw her way to the top of the pile, over the bodies of all these others, these other Children of Haehuinil whose own ambition had brought them this far? Would she do anything, anything, put herself through a hell within Hell just for a chance to be?

Anything, Abstraxia thought. Anything at all.

“Mistress!” she found herself calling. “Mistress, I’ve found somewhere.”

Then the huge crone was right there beside her, looking down with her into the dark recess, a satisfied smile upon the bloated lips.

“Very good, Abstraxia. Very good indeed. This, then, is your first lesson. Go, lie within.”

She dropped lightly into the hole. The black fur-carpets extended down the four walls and across the ground at the bottom. Compared with the before-Citadel, the landscapes of torment, this was idyllic.

Feeling thrilled, excited more than anything now, she laid herself down as she was told.

“What’s next?” she asked, hearing the timid tone of her voice and hating herself for it.

Haehuinil crouched, bringing her face over the lip of the grave.

“There is no time. There is no distance, Abstraxia. There is only the Queen’s Will, and the King who dispenses it.” Such a reassuring, almost motherly, voice was unexpected. “But we are lesser entities, you and I. We cannot exist in that timeless void forever. Glimpses of the future, and the past, and far-flung secrets – glimpses are all even the greatest are afforded. Our minds cannot encompass the Dark Oceans inside a single stride, and thus we cannot so cross them. We need our anchors, what we would call the internal chronometer. The hourglass, the moondial, the lightlever, the waterspring… we must carry time in our hearts as we traverse an unbound plethora of worlds, each rolling with its own pace. You must realise – there are Veils one might cross and spend a century in sojourn, only to return across the border and find a minute or less has passed. So I shall ask you, Abstraxia, to do now as you shall need to for all the rest of your days…

“Count your heartbeats. Do not rise out of this enclosure until you count out a million.”

“A… a million?”

“That will not take so long, dear. Know also that for each heartbeat amiss, you shall spend ten in torture, torture of a far more imaginative nature than that which you have endured already. Ah, I see you react to this. Recognise that we seek here not to cause undue suffering – you have already been so-tested, and have succeeded, with commendations. Now we seek only to create in you those instincts which you will need, if you would see through the Mist. It is but the basest, first lesson of the lot – time must be on your side, my daughter.”

She recalled the woman whose count reached into the billions. She must’ve been lying there for what Abstraxia would’ve previously called ‘many years’…

And torture tenfold, for each heartbeat out of count?

“When you say – torture –“

“I will excite the structures which serve Pain. You will be glad of it, afterwards. It is naught when compared with the torments inflicted by the Brotherhood, and shall serve you in good stead should you ever become subjected to the Grey Affliction. Believe me – we have attempted to replicate it, but we are not yet even close. To endure such requires experience in kind, obtained in controlled circumstances where the mortification factors can be closely measured.”

She’d never heard of the Brotherhood or its Grey Affliction, and right now such things did indeed seem very distant possibilities.

“And after – after I’ve counted to a million…”

“We will continue, increasing the count, until you know the passage of time as reflex – spine-lore, as you might call it. Then, and only then, shall your training begin in earnest.”

Haehuinil rose. From down here, she looked so far away.

“Climb free of the enclosure,” she continued, “and call to me when you believe your time is done. Do not be alarmed, if the others laugh. They are listening. They will know your heartbeats better than you, at first, and your mistakes will amuse them. Permit me to say this much: the time shall come soon-enough, whereupon you laugh with them at the mistakes of my next student to follow.”

Abstraxia understood. The time for talking was over.

“Yes, Mistress. For you. For the King.”

She closed her eyes, focussing her senses inwards.

One… Two… Three…

“Very good, child.”

There was a soft rustle, folds of loose skin rolling and slapping, as Haehuinil turned – but no sound of footfalls. Haehuinil was already gone.

Abstraxia settled her shoulders, drew a deep breath.

Eight… Nine… Ten…

Beneath the counter running at the forefront of her mind, thoughts slipped and surged, sliding over one another like eels. Snippets of her previous existences, slick scales, surfaces she couldn’t grip, unknown to her.

They weren’t… weren’t lying…

It’s okay, Traseya. Go back to sleep. Go back…

But they told the truth! The… Truth…

It’s okay now, honey. Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.

Go back and keep counting.

Keep counting.

Keep counting…