Red. Everything was red. And hot. Where was he? Was he bleeding? Was he dead? Why did he feel so hot? He couldn’t think straight, and his eyes were blurry. He could hear voices, but they sounded muffled and far away, like he’d been plunged underwater. But his ears were on fire. So was his chest. Then realisation set in. He remembered. He remembered why he was so hot and why everything around him looked red; and suddenly he went cold.
He wasn’t bleeding.
He was bleeding angry.
“What?!”
Keon sprang to his feet, shoving himself away from the table. The mirth of the Feast evaporated, replaced by a cold silence that descended on the table like a thick fog.
“Is that why he left? To go fight in your flippin’ war?!”
Wellworn held the rage of his stare, calm as autumn.
“Your father’s been fighting our war since before you were born, Keon.”
“He’s here? He’s been—here?” he said, stabbing at the ground with his index finger.
“He’s here right now, held captive within a Stronghold.”
Keon’s chin fell to his chest, his shoulders heaving with each breath as he tried in vain to temper his emotions. He shook his head, reddened eyes slowly rising to meet Wellworn’s.
“Let him stay here then.”
He took off into the darkness, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. He beelined for the stone steps leading away from the summit. Kai and Dawit sat wide eyed. Shem let out an excessively long exhale. Avana stared, emotionless.
“That was intense…” said Dawit.
* * *
Zahara scrambled down the slopes after Keon. Night was descending and the path down could prove perilous in the dark. He wouldn’t slow down though, no matter how many times she called him. She had no choice but to catch up. Switching to a hop-skip, she finally beat his long strides and closed the distance between them.
“Keon!”
She dodged instinctively as he spun round.
“You guys come and go, yeah? That means there’s a way out. I’m leaving.”
“That’s not how it works...” she said, arms flapping.
He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. She grabbed his arm.
“Keon…it’s not safe out there!”
“Can’t be worse than up here...”
“You’re being hunted!”
His features skewed in befuddlement.
“What?”
“The Mynds that attacked you in the forest were tracking something…something that’s been hunting you from the moment you set foot in Underland. Our mission was to catch it before it found you. We just so happened to find you first. I just…I didn’t know it was you.”
“And you’re only telling me this now? Wh—well, what is it?”
She let go of his arm and shook her head, “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Are you serious?!”
“Trust me. If you go out there before you’re ready, you might not make it back!”
“How do you expect me to trust you when you won’t be honest with me?!”
And with that, he spun round and walked away. She turned to glance once more at the summit where the faint glow of the campfire lit the sky. She exhaled, tightened the strap on her harness and followed.
* * *
It took awhile, but Keon finally made it down to where the base of the pillar began vanishing into the forest. It was surprisingly easy to find his way around. Though night had fallen, the sky was alive. What were everyday wisps of cloud during the day lit up like nebulae at night; complete with tiny, twinkling stars illuminating the ocean and glinting off the foaming tips of the waves. It was like a mini cosmos caught in the space between the ocean above and the Lowlands beneath.
Every so often a wave caught a glint of the glow from the nebulous heavens, sending a sliver of light cascading through the canopy, bouncing off a dull mist that crept across the ground. Keon could feel the moisture wafting over his ankles. He expected a chill, but it was warm, refreshing and oddly comforting in the midst of all this uncertainty.
He tried recalling the direction they’d come from earlier. If he could make it back to the glade, maybe the doorway home would be open. It was night when he left, but day when he arrived. Perhaps the doorway alternated like a pendulum, opening to daytime in his world when it was night-time in Underland? Or it didn’t. This place existed outside of his space-time, right? You could leave Earth at different times but arrive at the same time. So, who was to say how much time had passed back home, or any time at all for that matter? Either way, he needed to find a way back that didn’t involve joining the inter-dimensional eco-warriors.
Wellworn was lying though, right? He had to be. He was trying to manipulate him. There was no way Dad was here. He couldn’t be. He’d texted him right before everything kicked off. Oh yeah—different space-time. He wished he’d taken his phone so he could check the time stamp, but—different space-time. Not that it would make much of a difference anyway. He doubted this place had any reception. At the very least, it would have satisfied his curiosity.
But what if he wasn’t lying? What if Dad really was here? Sow a seed in one world and you reap a harvest in the other, right? If that was true, could he bring Dad home? Undo everything that had happened? It was at least worth a shot.
He thought about Bella and how she played pranks to hide the pain behind her smile. He thought about Mum and the extra shifts she’d taken just to make ends meet. He thought about watching Avatar and Aliens and Terminator 2 and True Lies, and every other James Cameron movie Dad had ever made him watch. More than anything, he thought about Sunday dinner around the kitchen table and what he’d give for another like it. Bloody hell, wasn’t that ironic? True Lies was Dad’s favourite. Now, here he was, finding out he’d had been living a whole other life he didn’t even know about.
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“Keon!”
He tilted his head back, sighing like a geyser as he slowed to a stroll. They’d broken through a clearing in the trees lining the edges of a still pool. Crystalline light danced across the surface of the glass-smooth waters.
“What do you want, Zahara?”
“We should head back. At least let Wellworn explain…”
She eyed the edges of the forest warily. Everything seemed to be moving; either due to a trick of the mind or her own paranoid disposition. Keon’s emotional state wasn’t helping matters either. The longer he carried on, the more likely he would draw attention. She could forge something to restrain him, but that was more Avana’s forte.
“What’s there to explain? My dad’s here; right where he wants to be, init.”
“That’s not true...”
They spun around. Avana materialised like a wraith out of the bushes. Zahara heaved a sigh of relief, lowered her Codex, and flung her arms around her neck.
“Bloody hell, you scared me!”
Avana didn’t react, keeping her copper-coin-like eyes fixed on Keon who matched her stare with defiance. She turned her attention to Zahara.
“Are you mad? Chasing after him like that...”
“He’s not ready!”
“Wellworn knows what he’s doing. Why do you think he let him go?”
Keon wasn’t paying attention to them. He was too busy looking around the forest, trying to figure out whether he’d imagined the sound of snapping twigs.
Nope. There it was again.
He flinched as an odd crawling sensation scuttled up his back like a spider. Reaching beneath the shawl, he felt for the satchel containing his Codex. He slipped it out of the pouch and ran his hands over the hardback, cloth-bound surface. The cover was bordered by brown strips of leather, decorated with abstract patterns of embossed gold that matched the patterns on his tassels. Under any other circumstances, it would have appeared beautiful—but then it rippled in his hands.
He should have thrown it to the ground, but curiosity got the better of him and he opened it. He felt drawn to an empty space at the back. Holding it up, he stared in disbelief. A single phrase was etching itself onto the centre of the page; black, wet ink bleeding from the indentations. What’s more, it was being written in his own scribbled handwriting:
Found you.
“What the hell?!”
The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and an icy chill flooded his body. His attention was suddenly snatched by movement up ahead. Looking across the misty pool towards the foliage lining the other side, he saw the dark hand clawing its way through the misty underbrush first, followed by twin orbs shining like a cat’s eyes caught in headlights.
It crawled out of the bushes and stooped at the edge of the pool. As much as he willed his legs to move, they stayed rooted to the ground. It took all his willpower just to drag one foot back a few inches.
As it crawled into the light, darkness closed in around it, blanketing its features; all save for those shimmering eyes. Long, wet tassels of black hair hung over its face, across its shoulders and down its colourless back. What wasn’t covered in shadow was caked in dirt and grime. Though it crawled on all fours like a wild beast, Keon suddenly realised it was humanoid; not much smaller than himself.
“Get back!” shouted Zahara, putting herself between it and Keon.
“No!” yelled Avana. “We have to let this play out.”
Zahara backed down, holstering her Codex. Avana stretched out her hand as if to steady Keon.
“Don’t run…”
“Are you mad?!”
“You have to stand your ground. It’ll just chase y—”
He bolted into the forest—and the creature leapt into the bushes after him.
* * *
He had no idea where he was going, but he wasn’t about to stop and ask for directions; not when he was being chased by Demon-Mowgli himself.
Hunted. Zahara said he was being hunted; that they were supposed to catch this thing before it found him. Well, great job guys! But this was his fault, wasn’t it? He’d ran off into the forest when she’d warned him not to.
He chanced a glance over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t trip on a—
“Dammit!”
His arms flailed like a spider in death throes as he tried unsuccessfully to break his fall. He tumbled over his right shoulder, scraping his back against the ground as he slid to a stop. Flipping onto his front, he lay motionless, staring straight ahead into the gloomy darkness of the forest. Tendrils of mist clawed at his face as it swirled slowly towards him, refusing to relent as he swatted it away.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard.
Then it crawled out of the mist beside him, coming right up to his left ear.
He felt its breath; sharp rasps of air blowing through its nostrils, its lips clamped shut.
As he turned slowly to look it in the eyes, he saw that empty eyeshine glow staring back at him. Then the light seemed to blink away, revealing soft, human eyes. He could have almost sworn it was a reflection. They were brown, like his.
As though reading his thoughts, the creature backed off several paces. As it pulled back, its face caught the light—and Keon gasped. Though its dull, colourless features were almost completely shrouded in shadow, he could still make out its face. The face of one he knew.
The face—was his own.
“Found you,” it whispered.
And then it lunged.
* * *
The flat of a blade caught the creature mid-air in its chest, sending it sprawling onto the ground in a crumpled heap. It shrunk back at the sight of the man brandishing the broadsword, shrivelling into a pitifully small, cowering mess. Then, it let out a gurgled hiss and bolted into the forest.
Turning, Wellworn sheathed the sword into an unseen scabbard hidden beneath his jacket. Keon was annoyed at how relieved he was to see him. The feeling of annoyance was clearly mutual judging from Wellworn’s furrowed brow.
Zahara came crashing through the forest moments later, followed closely by Avana. She stopped short when she saw Keon sprawled on the floor and Wellworn standing over him. His coffee black eyes met the concern in her own, a slow understanding passing between them.
“Get him back to the camp.”
* * *
The campfire burned in the midst of the clearing, bathing the solitary pillar of rock in an orange aura. Keon sat by the flames, warming the chill in his soul; quivering as though he’d fallen through thin ice. Wellworn knelt down and handed him a warm, walnut mug of something that smelt a lot like minty hot cocoa.
Zahara sat nearby to his left, Shem and Avana flanking Wellworn on either side. Kai, Dawit and Jonas hung back, perched on the stones.
“What the hell was that?” he finally said.
He frowned as the Millionth and Fifth exchanged knowing looks as though passing notes around class.
“It was you, Keon,” said Wellworn, grim.
Keon’s forehead twitched as though he’d misheard.
“You what?”
“We call it a Mirror,” said Shem. “Imagine everything about yourself you ever wanted to hide walking around in physical form.”
“A Mirror, like Underland, is a reflection of the unseen. A physical manifestation of your human nature,” added Wellworn.
“What does it want?”
“Dominance. It’s desire is to rule over you, but you must rule over it. As long as you are free, it can’t be.”
Keon shook his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“You and your Mirror are two sides of the same coin. When your father broke it out of its Stronghold, it started a chain of events that brought you here. The Mynds were tracking it in hopes of ensnaring you.”
Keon’s confused gaze returned to the pillar of steam rising from his mug, his jaw tightening.
“Why does it look like that?”
“Entering Underland is like slicing a bone to reveal the marrow beneath. Your Mirror is a reflection of who you are inside; your heart…”
“Are you saying inside I’m a monster?”
“I’m saying that inside everyone are passions that wage war against the soul; a darkness they would rather not face. It is this darkness that the Morningstars prey upon, bending humanity to their will.”
Keon’s brow tightened further.
“That wasn’t me,” he said, shaking his head. “That thing had my face, but it wasn’t me…”
Wellworn gently squeezed his shoulder.
“Coming face to face with one’s Mirror is never easy. You learn things about yourself that are hard to accept; but accept them you must, for when you next face it…”
“Are you mad?!” he said, trying in vain to shrug Wellworn’s heavy hand off his shoulder. “I’m not going near that thing again!”
“I scared it away, but it will keep coming for you, until either it controls you or you control it. Confronting one’s Mirror is key to becoming a Torchbearer.”
“Then I’ll do it some other way.”
Zahara smiled. “You mean you’re joining us?”
Keon shook his head at the craziness of even considering it.
“I need to bring my dad home. If becoming a Torchbearer is what it’ll take to bring him back, then I’ll do it,” he looked back at Wellworn. “Not for you, or your war, or your King—but for him. For my family.”
Wellworn stood slowly, his firm stare looming over him.
He turned to address the others.
“We make for the Eastern Monument at first light. I suggest you get some rest.”