Little wings through door unseen
Answers simpler than they seem.
Ferrian stared in shock.
He wasn't sure which stunned him more: that a young Angel girl was standing at the bottom of a sealed, forbidden library, thousands of feet underground… or that she looked astonishingly like Aari.
For an instant, he wondered if Grath Ardan was playing tricks on him. During their journey here, Hawk had related his strange experiences in the Old Quarter, of his and Sirannor's encounter with the Presence: a malicious entity born of trigon-tainted magic that had preyed on them by twisting their thoughts and creating illusions from their own fears.
But, resemblance to his Freeroamer friend notwithstanding, Ferrian had never seen this girl before in his life, and Aari had never mentioned any siblings. If she was a trick, she was certainly a peculiar one.
But still… He glanced around nervously. He was standing in the middle of a room made out of trigon, and the whole of Grath Ardan existed in a reality that didn't behave according to normal rules…
“Hello!” the girl said again. “Are you Hawk's friend?”
Ferrian blinked at her. “H-Hawk? You've met Hawk??”
“Yes!” she replied brightly. “He told me to come and find you!”
“What? Where is he??”
“Up at the plaza,” the girl answered. She giggled suddenly. “People were throwing fruit at him. It was pretty funny!”
Ferrian's look of surprise turned into a frown. “Throwing fruit at him? Is he locked up?”
The girl shook her head, fringe flopping over her face. “No. The guards put him outside, on one of the platforms. He can't get off!” She giggled again, apparently finding this fact highly amusing.
Ferrian folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I'm sure Hawk doesn't find that very funny.” Despite himself, his mouth twitched a little. The girl's laughter was infectious.
“No. He seemed pretty sad. But he said he would be my friend!” She started jumping up and down, happily. Then she looked up at him, her eyes huge and hopeful. “Will you be my friend, too?”
The question caught Ferrian completely off guard. “Um?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I... guess so?”
“Yay!”
Without warning, the girl ran over and hugged him.
Ferrian stood there, feeling highly awkward and embarrassed. He was certain that if he hadn't been dead, he would be blushing intensely. If the girl was some sort of evil spirit, she was doing an awfully good job of disarming him…
But he could feel the heat of her, and it was making him uncomfortable. She seemed real enough.
He swallowed as it occurred to him that no one had ever hugged him before, at least that he could remember.
Feeling suddenly emotional, he took a deep breath and extricated himself from the girl's grip. “What's your name?” he asked.
“Li!” she replied.
“Uh, how did you get in here, Li? This library is locked up!”
She turned, pointing to the opposite wall. “Through the secret door!” she replied excitedly.
Ferrian looked to where she was pointing, but could see nothing resembling a door. The wall was constructed of the same black, polished trigonic tiles, about three feet square, that lined the entire room. The panels extended upwards, gradually interspersing themselves with silvertine, until they merged some way up with the book-filled reading rooms.
“Um?” The girl's hand went to her mouth, and she picked at her lip. “It was there before...”
Ferrian felt his hope sink slowly into murky darkness, something ominous floating to the surface instead. Oh no, he thought. Please. She can NOT have trapped herself in here with us…
Raising his head, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled: “Mekka!”
His voice echoed and disappeared, lost in the endless, vaulted rooms of Grath Ardan. He stared upwards for a long moment, but there was no sign of the black-winged Angel.
Finally, sighing, he looked back at the girl. “Don't worry,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as reassure her. “I'm sure it's there somewhere...”
“Hey! Don't touch that!”
Ferrian had attempted to resume reading while waiting for Mekka to return. He and Li had made a brief, unsuccessful attempt to search for the 'secret door', but every time they touched the wall, it turned into the floor, which complicated matters. Unfortunately, Li didn't seem able to identify exactly where she had come in, but Ferrian could hardly blame her: Grath Ardan was an exceedingly weird and disorienting place.
They had given up after a short time. Ferrian went back to the book while the little Angel skipped about him in circles on the glowing floor, humming to herself in an extremely distracting manner. Occasionally, she stopped and uttered random comments, or asked questions that Ferrian could not possibly answer, such as: “How big is this place?” and: “Why don't all those books drop on top of our heads?”
Or she stood close beside him, staring up silently, unblinkingly, in a very unnerving way.
After awhile, growing bored of this, she had taken an interest in his Sword, which was leaning against the side of the lectern.
It was sheathed, at least. Mekka had found an abandoned scabbard that had belonged to the ancient sorcerer that the Murons had slaughtered. It had been designed for a Sword of the Gods and thus fit his Sword of Frost perfectly, allowing him to carry it around safely.
Li poked at the diamond-studded hilt. “Is this a sword?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ferrian replied sternly. “It's ridiculously sharp and insanely magical. Don't play with it!”
She stared up at him in that eerily intense way again, for a long moment. “Can you do magic?”
Ferrian shook his head, not looking up from the paragraph he was trying to read for the fifth time. “Not really,” he muttered absently.
Li was quiet for a moment longer, then made a humphing sound, spun, and sat down cross-legged on the floor.
Giving up on the text he was reading, Ferrian rubbed his eyes and skipped ahead several pages. Nearly everything that he had read so far was clearly Lord Requar's research. Experiment after experiment, followed by frustrated conclusions and theories as to why the desired result was not achieved.
If he had wanted to read this, he could have simply stayed at the castle and gone through Requar's notes.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, mentally compiling everything that he had learned about trigon so far.
Trigon originated in Caer Sync, as did silvertine.
Both were liquid in their natural states, becoming a solid, indestructible metal when heated on a forge.
They were opposing forces, each as strong as the other. When combined, they became extremely powerful, altering the nature of reality, but they also repelled each other.
Ferrian thought back to the moment he had stood outside Arkana's Aegis, trying to force the trigonic dagger into its recess on his Sword. The two weapons had resisted each other, almost as though alive: it had taken a great effort of will and physical strength to combine them.
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So then. Silvertine repelled trigon. It seemed obvious now, that any kind of cure for a trigonic infection would require silvertine in some form.
This had formed the basis for most of Requar's research: he had been exploring various methods of using silvertine and magic on trigon.
But everything he had tried had failed.
Ferrian huffed in frustration. Why? It seemed perfectly logical…
His eyes opened suddenly, breath catching in his throat as a thought occurred to him. Requar's Sword! It was made of silvertine! Flint had described how the White Dragon had taken control of Ferrian while he was unconscious and attempted to use the Sword of Healing on Lord Requar. She must have known that it could work, that it could save his life, otherwise where was the sense in it?
But… it hadn't. At least… it hadn't worked fully. Requar had not completely died, but he had not been saved, either. The trigon hadn't been driven from his body.
Ferrian wondered. Perhaps the Dragon's magic hadn't been strong enough? She was just a ghost, after all, a white shadow of a Dragon: as dead as he was. But Requar… Requar possessed powerful healing magic…
He shook his head in disbelief. Was it that simple? Was the Sword of Healing really the cure for trigon? Had the answer been staring them all in the face the whole time??
He slammed his fist onto the book. Had he travelled all the way to Grath Ardan for nothing? Should he have stayed and tried to wake Requar, tried to get him to use the Sword on himself? But…
Swallowing, he remembered the sight of Requar lying on the bed, horribly injured, wrapped in so many bandages that Ferrian had never even seen his face. Arzath had accused Ferrian of putting him in that state, had insisted that his brother's mind was destroyed. He had seemed certain; there had been a haunted look in his eyes, behind the anger...
Ferrian dropped his head into his still-bandaged hand, feeling devastated. Surely, the answer could not be so obvious. There had to be more to it! Requar had spent more than a century studying trigon; he could not have overlooked something as ridiculously simple as his own Sword being the cure! It wasn't poss–
“What is this?!”
The familiar voice came from behind him, startling him out of his revelations. He turned to see Mekka standing a few feet away, staring at Li. The expression on his face was one that Ferrian had not encountered before: he looked utterly stupefied.
Mekka was someone who was rarely taken by surprise; he always seemed to know what was going on, prepared for any eventuality. But this little girl was clearly something that he could not, in his wildest imaginings, have expected.
It was almost comical…
Li got to her feet, returning Mekka's stare with equal awe. She pointed at him. “Your wings are black!” she exclaimed.
Uh-oh, Ferrian thought. “Li,” he turned to her. “You don't have to be afraid of him, he–”
“I'm not afraid!” she declared. “Wow!”
She darted towards Mekka and tried to touch his black feathers.
The Angel reacted in a way that neither of them expected.
He flinched, actually jumping backwards, as though a rabid animal had attacked him. The blood drained out of his face.
He looked… terrified.
“Li!” Ferrian called her back. “Don't bother him!”
He stared at Mekka in surprise. The Angel was actually shaking.
He took on a throng of spider-plants, Ferrian thought, and killed two Murons single-handedly, and he's afraid of a little girl?
“How...” Mekka found his voice after a moment, and it came out almost as a whisper. “How did she get in here?”
Ferrian shrugged. “Through some kind of secret entrance, apparently.” He gestured at the wall facing the lectern.
Mekka turned and strode towards the dark wall, casting his gaze over it. He started pacing up and down in front of it, running his hands through his hair, looking distressed.
Ferrian started forward. “Mekka...”
The Angel spun. “Where is it?” he demanded, ignoring Ferrian, his words aimed like daggers at Li.
The girl bit her lip, looking uncertain. “Um. I don't know...”
Mekka advanced on her. “Where is the door?” he pressed. “Show me!”
This time, it was Li's turn to go pale.
“SHOW ME!”
“Mekka, stop!” Ferrian interjected angrily. “You're upsetting her!”
Mekka rounded on him, and Ferrian took a step back. The Angel's glare could have melted his Sword.
“She was smart enough to find her way inside,” Mekka said, “she can find her way back out again!”
“Hawk sent her down here to find us,” Ferrian told him.
“Hawk?!” Mekka was furious. “He should have known better!”
“What's wrong with you?” Ferrian glared at him. “She's just a little kid!”
“She...” Mekka's voice faltered, and he struggled to continue the sentence. “She is…” His eye glimmered and he turned away abruptly. Then he launched himself into the air, stirring Ferrian's hair with the rush of air from his wings, and quickly disappeared into the rooms above.
Ferrian watched him go, and sighed.
He walked back over to Li, who was sitting on the floor, on the verge of tears. He crouched in front of her.
“He's not really angry with you,” he told her gently. “He just...” he sighed again, sadly. “You remind him of someone he lost.” He reached out and ruffled her hair. “Stay here, okay? Don't wander off. I have to go and talk to Mekka.”
The girl nodded wordlessly.
Ferrian got up and walked back over to the wall. Then he began the laborious process of following his friend, the entire library twisting and turning around him as he stepped from wall to wall.
It took a long time to find Mekka, and Ferrian was beginning to consider giving it up as a hopeless task, when he came to the dark room.
A grave, of sorts, had been built for the headless Angel sorcerer; Mekka had tidied the ripped books into a somewhat neater pile in the centre of the room. The light here was dim, the air stale and musty, and the room itself emanated such an intense feeling of dread and revulsion that Ferrian stepped away quickly from the arched doorway. He was about to turn back and search somewhere else, when he noticed a dark figure sprawled on the inky floor.
Black wings lay askew.
Mekka.
With a gasp, Ferrian ran over to him, and found to his relief that the Angel was still breathing. Looking over him quickly, he saw no sign of blood or any wounds. Nevertheless, Ferrian looked around in alarm, half expecting a couple of Murons to step out of the shadows.
Nothing moved, and there was no sound to be heard in the tense silence. Light glowed from the adjacent rooms through doorways in three of the walls, and from a single silver panel in the ceiling, but it only seemed to make the darkness deeper and more threatening…
Then he looked down, and saw that Mekka's hand was lying on top of something. He picked it up.
It was his water canteen, but Ferrian noticed two things straight away:
It was empty.
And it had not contained water.
Ferrian sniffed at it. Whatever it had contained, it had been strong, and Mekka had drunk all of it.
Ferrian let his breath out in a rush of exasperation. “Damn it!” he cursed aloud. Mekka had had no food or water throughout their entire journey through Grath Ardan, and yet he had managed to stash this away somewhere!
What the hell is he trying to do, Ferrian thought furiously, drink himself to oblivion??
Grabbing the Angel, he pulled him up into a sitting position, propping him against an empty bookcase, then shook him.
“Mekka!”
The Angel's head rolled limply. He did not wake.
Ferrian looked around again. The black room was setting his nerves on edge. Getting up, he hooked his arms under Mekka's shoulders and dragged him out of the room, into a brightly lit, foyer-like space. Setting him down on the floor, he went through all of his clothing, boots and satchel, searching for any further harmful substances, but he found nothing.
Except for one thing.
Ferrian's bandaged hand lingered on the cloth-bound, oblong-shaped box.
I should not have given him the dagger, Ferrian thought anxiously. Mekka was emotionally unstable, prone to bouts of melancholy and self-loathing, and was still grieving Aari to the point where Li's appearance had driven him to drown himself in alcohol…
Lord Requar stabbed himself with this.
Ferrian was still not sure why the sorcerer had done such a terrible thing. Was he, too, so crushed by despair that he felt he could no longer live?
Or had the dagger compelled him to do it?
Could trigon actually affect people's thoughts?
It was a horrifying idea, one that Ferrian had never considered before, but he knew at once that he was right. He could feel the influence of trigon whenever he was close to it, and it was something more than just a magical reaction.
It felt... wrong.
Mekka gave me his word that he would not let the dagger fall into anyone else's hands, Ferrian thought, but what damage will it do in his own?
His hand tightened on the box.
I should take it back…
Yet still, he hesitated. What was he going to do with it? Hide it? How long would it sit quietly in the dust of Grath Ardan, waiting? Years? Centuries? Eventually, someone would stumble upon it and the horror would continue…
No. The dagger had to be destroyed, and the only way to do that was return it to its origin. But neither he nor Hawk was able to reach Caer Sync. Mekka was the only one who could do it.
Ferrian closed his eyes unhappily. I gave it to him, he thought. I have to trust him…
Reluctantly, he let his hand slip away from the box. He stood up.
For a long moment, he stared down at Mekka. Then he shook his head. There was nothing for it but to let the Angel sleep off his intoxication.
Turning, he headed back to Li.
“Li! What are you doing??”
For an unpleasant moment, Ferrian thought she was writing on the floor, but rushing up beside her, saw that she was merely drawing a picture. The dark charcoal lines stood out on the illuminated silver tile.
“That's you!” the girl said, pointing to a rather awful stick-figure shape with large black blobs for eyes.
Ferrian frowned, and bent to examine the drawing.
“And that's Mekka.” She indicated an angry black scribble.
“What's that?” Ferrian pointed at a wonky square in the middle of the picture.
“That's the door!”
“The door, huh?” He looked up at the opposite wall, where an exit had stubbornly refused to show itself, then back to Li's artwork. If only it were as simple as just drawing a way out–
Ferrian gasped, and stood up suddenly. “Drawing a way out!” he said out loud.
Li looked up at him quizzically.
“Li! You're wonderful!”
The girl smiled. “Are we going to draw a door?”
“No!” Ferrian smiled back at her. “Can I have the charcoal?”
She handed it over. Ferrian hurried over to the wall, Li running after him. “We're going to write a way out!”
Mekka had explained that they could not create an exit, because a door must exist in two different realities at the same time.
But what if the door was already there?
Li had obviously entered from somewhere, which meant there had to be a way out here, they just couldn't see it.
He didn't intend to create a door. He intended to reveal one!
He lifted a hand to the shiny black panel, then reconsidered, looking down at Li. “Can you write, Li?”
“A little,” she responded.
“Can you write the word 'door'? D, o, o, r?”
She nodded. Ferrian handed her the charcoal, and let her step up to the wall.
Slowly, with great care and concentration, the little Angel marked out the letters. Ferrian had to watch closely to make sure she was doing it correctly: the charcoal was all but invisible on the trigonic panel.
When she had finished, they stepped back.
Nothing appeared to happen.
Then Ferrian glanced upwards.
“YES!” he shouted, punching the air.
About six feet above their heads, one of the black panels had vanished, leaving a perfectly square-shaped hole in the wall.
Ferrian laughed and hugged the Angel girl, who squealed in delight.
“We did it, Li!”