The man working around the circular stone table was young, black and dressed in a red sweater, his sweater. His back was turned, so Mark couldn’t see his face, but he knew as he rushed the distracted warden of this marshy nightmare that he would be fighting himself. And it was a fight, a full-on parking lot brawl, complete with biting, kicking, scratching at eyes and butting heads.
At first, Mark was heartened: surprise had served him well, and he felt sure he was winning. He had never been much for fighting, but he threw himself into the fray with abandon. Between punches and kicks, he even taunted himself, colloquial trash talk he would have been embarrassed to utter under normal circumstances. ‘C’mon, motherfucker, I’m wearing myself out beating on you,’ he cried.
He landed a hard elbow to his jaw, felt it come loose.
‘That all you got, pussy?’ Mark shoved his former self into the sand and kicked himself hard in the abdomen.
‘Because I can bring on this shit all day.’ He kicked himself in the face, feeling his nose crunch under Redrick Shen’s boot.
But then, Mark realised that he wasn’t winning at all; rather, he, his former self, complete with his favourite red sweater, was toying with him, murmuring Mark’s intentions beneath his breath, as if reading the fight from a set of choreographed dance steps. Mark heard his own voice in his head:
Elbow to the face; Mark’s head snapped back. Nicely done.
Wrestle me down, very good; he kicked himself in the stomach. Excellent.
Now, boot me in the snout; Mark shattered his own nose. Ah, very nice, brutal, truly.
Mark stepped back, confused.
What? He watched himself wipe his nose on his sleeve, red on red, then stand. You don’t think I know what you’re planning? We’re in here together, Mark.
He was panting, struggling to catch his breath. Redrick’s body rippled with tough muscle, but the Ronan sailor was in miserable cardiovascular shape. The short engagement had left Mark dizzy. ‘I can’t let you,’ he panted, ‘can’t let you use the table.’ Mark charged again, lowering his shoulder and ploughing forward.
Mark sidestepped the attack. Sorry, old fellow, but as much fun as that was, I must get back to work. We’re nearly home now. Can’t you smell it? He inhaled deeply through his flattened nose as he shoved Mark down the rise towards the marsh. That’s Welstar Palace. I love that smell; the stench of dead things rotting!
Mark found a broken tree limb and rushed back to the table. ‘No!’ he screamed, wielding the branch like a mace.
Stop it, Mark. You’re embarrassing yourself, me, both of us, for pity’s sake. The bloodied warden intercepted him and easily wrenched the limb from Mark’s hand. He grasped Mark’s head with the other. Why don’t you rest now? I’ll wake you shortly, when I need you, my prince. We’re on the verge of greatness here today.
‘No-’ Mark’s vision tunnelled and he slipped to his knees in the sand, soft and dry, and there was beach grass, the sharp stuff that threatened to cut fingers and toes, clumped in green tufts along the dune, just like back home.
The nightmare warden, his face torn and bleeding, returned to the spell table. In one hand he tossed an innocent-looking bit of rock, Lessek’s key, as if it were an apple, or a piece of candy. Not long now, he said, but his voice was a toneless warble on the periphery of Mark’s consciousness. Louder, pervading his last cogent thoughts, were the sounds of something familiar: a low and steady roar, punctuated by the cawing of a gull.
‘We’re making a mistake,’ Steven said again. The others had joined him in the captain’s cabin. With all of them – save for Pel and Kellin, who were standing the middle watch – packed inside, there was little room to move. ‘Captain Ford, we need to turn around, run downriver and escape into deep water. We’re endangering you, your crew and your ship for no reason.’
‘Steven, we can’t,’ Gilmour said. ‘Mark will reach Welstar Palace in the next two days. We have to catch him. We can’t guess how quickly he’ll open the Fold once he arrives at the encampment, but we have to assume it’ll be right away.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Steven said. ‘We’re not going to fight him there.’
‘We have to,’ Alen said. ‘There’s no other way. We’re in a race for our lives, for the very existence of Eldarn.’
‘True,’ Steven said, ‘but it isn’t Eldarn that he wants; it’s Earth: my home, Mark’s home.’
Everyone jammed into Doren Ford’s modest quarters fell silent. Only the rattle of the rigging and the faint ping of the bridge bell interrupted the steady sound of the wind and the waves. Eventually, Gilmour asked, ‘How do you know this?’
‘Brexan,’ Steven said, ‘you mentioned it, last Moon: what is Prince Malagon doing with two hundred thousand troops or more at Welstar Palace? Why have the occupation forces been called back? Gilmour and I saw it in Falkan; Hannah and Alen witnessed it just yesterday: troops filing onto barges and heading upriver. Why?’
Brexan, sitting cross-legged on the floor, said, ‘It was Versen who first asked that question. I’ve been trying to figure it out for a couple of Twinmoons now, but I still don’t know why.’
‘We thought they might be slaves, a workforce, for when evil ushers its master from the Fold and into Eldarn. The world will come apart; the only survivors will be those unfortunate enough to be slaves to famine and pestilence.’ Steven was glad he had taken one of the captain’s chairs. His legs were weak; he could feel his adrenalin waning. ‘But that’s not it. They’re not slaves; they’re an invasion force. Eldarn isn’t evil’s goal. Eldarn is a stepping stone, a preparatory step for my world.’
‘How can you be certain?’ Hoyt was still wrapped in his blanket, but his fever had obviously broken. He nibbled at a chunk of bread.
‘Why did Nerak never go to Idaho Springs and take back the keystone?’
Alen said, ‘Because with the stone here, he was at greater risk.’
‘From whom?’ Steven said. ‘He always knew when Gilmour was practising magic, and from what I understand of your experiences, Alen, he had teams of magicians watching for you day and night. Who was here to threaten him?’
‘No one,’ Garec whispered. ‘Rutters, but I think you’ve got a point, Steven.’
‘Why was the keystone in my bank all those Twinmoons? Was it because Nerak was protecting it? Was it because he planned to come back and retrieve it? Or was it because he expected that eventually someone would find it and bring it back to Eldarn? Could it have been bait?’
‘Stop now, Steven,’ Gilmour interrupted. ‘He didn’t ensure its safety in that bank, because he expected someone would eventually find it. It’s a bank, for whore’s sake; it was a safe place, a perfect setup. You’re trying too hard.’
‘I might be,’ Steven agreed, ‘but think about it: what would Nerak have to do when he arrived back at the bank a thousand Twinmoons later?’
‘Kill someone,’ Brexan said, motioning for Hoyt to toss her some bread. ‘Right? Just to get the box thing open.’
‘Not kill someone,’ Steven corrected her, ‘but take someone, and what does Nerak gain when he takes someone?’
‘A head full of knowledge,’ Garec said.
‘Exactly,’ Hannah joined in, understanding now, ‘a head full of updated knowledge about our home, Earth and everything we know about Earth, its people, its culture, its history, its strengths and vulnerabilities…’ Her voice trailed off mid-list. ‘Jesus, Steven, you might be right.’