John lay on
the cold blue floor as the Outer Void creatures attached to him one at a time.
As time passed they became larger and larger, strange winged creatures drifting
up from the depth with long proboscises, attaching themselves directly to his
head, and sliding a core of blue directly into his brain. And others, crawling
along the walls, with hundreds of legs and snapping jaws, that attached to the
spinal cord, each one nestling in neatly between the vertebrae. They were
dismantling his nervous system step by step, and each had a niche within which
they could devour everything that they could find. They fed very rarely, but
that was fine, they only needed neural energy in order to mate, and eventually
something always wandered in.
John’s mind had almost gone, drifting off in a series of repeated
fragmented dreams. He would walk to the front door of his house, realise that
he had lost his key, knock on the door and wait, but no-one would come. And
then the memory would reoccur and then reset again. If only Laurence would open
the door, everything would be fine again.
Then the image shifted. He was
on the back of an elephant but it refused to move and slowly its legs were
being covered with a white mist. He knew that he had something in his cloak
that would make it move, but he couldn’t find it and he didn’t even know what
it was.
The two recurring visions began to merge and then fade. John was very
grateful for this and even more grateful for the warm darkness that had begun
to cover everything. Maybe this was for the best; he seemed to have failed
everyone, perhaps, or had he failed a test? Something about a maze? Oh well.
Was he looking for someone in a maze? Yes, a friend, someone called Hardy. This
person was a close friend, but he thought that he had let him down, time after
time. He wasn’t sure how, but he still very sad about it. Such a shame to never
have made it up to him. Such a pity, oh, such a pity. His mind was almost
drained away, like the last gurgles of bath water down a plughole.
A lantern
was bobbing in the dark. John lifted his head from the floor to look up at it. As
it came closer he saw that it was being held by a short, plump, intensely
ginger man, with a bright red beard, speckled with white. As he approached he
was humming something, an air or catch that he recognised but could not place.
The ginger man pointed a finger at him and spoke to him in Ethian with
a broad Rhylic accent.
‘Well boyo, I thought you were the main bloke at this magic?’
John knew exactly who this was meant to be. But it seemed such a
distraction from the lovely warm darkness around him. The light was so bright.
‘Are you Ionadon? Is that really the best my subconscious could do?’ he
whispered, shielding his eyes.
‘That’s what I am, yes, of course – your subconscious. And you
shouldn’t call me by that stupid Elven name. My given name is Jones, you know
that, as it was your people who gave it to me…’
‘Yes – Jones the God’ smiled John, despite himself, ‘so many Joneses,
one deity’
‘You’ll not be believing in gods, so that’s no problem to you, is it…’
said Jones, ‘…so you best start listening to that subconscious of yours
instead’
‘What?’ asked John, confused. Suddenly the air had become bracingly
cold. He felt very tired and very cross.
‘If you’re wanting it that way, say there’s one part of your brain that’s
still working and it’s trying to save
you. So, considering the total, do listen up, you poor dab’
John had no idea what this red phantasm was talking about.
Jones shook his head kindly. He lifted his lantern and started to walk
away.
‘Just shift your stumps and be following me’ he said, ‘I’m all you’ve
got, and we need you and yours to belter that cythral[1]…’
John knew that if he followed the light that he’d have to move away
from the lovely warm darkness, so at first he stayed completely still. Why
should he move?
Jones stopped and looked back at him. His pale face was illuminated in
the halo of the lantern. He looked disappointed.
‘It’s Hardacre’ said Jones, ‘not Hardy, by the by. He’s the one you’ll
be letting down, if you don’t come on. You blokes rely on each other, but it
needs to work both ways, you know… ‘
John had a brief vision of a tall, stiffly kind man bringing him a
cocktail. He groaned; he knew that he couldn’t abandon his friend. Reluctantly
and painfully he got up and began to follow the light.
Jones moved on, apparently
randomly across the uniform surface of the dreamscape. John had no idea why he
was taking this strange higgledy-piggledy path.
In fact he had no idea what was going on at all
In the waking world John struggled to his feet and began to walk. His
eyes were closed. His body was so covered with the Outer Void creatures that it
was hard to see his original skin or clothes. He half limped, half staggered
onwards, with no conscious control over his body, but nonetheless he walked on,
following the bright lantern light.
‘That’s better; if you can walk back to the real world and shift those
weird grobblies, then your mind can come back. It’s like blood coming again to
a perishingly cold hand…’
John said nothing but his steps became more deliberate. Jones looked
back at him and grinned.
‘You’ll still be in a bucket of potch when you get home, but let’s get
you out of this mess first’ said Jones.
‘What?’ asked John, vaguely – he
was feeling so tired and cold – all they seemed to be doing was walking round
in circles.
‘Melloreis, you need to get there. But you’re in no fit state,
presently, you sad article…’
‘Is that where Laurence is?’ John asked.
Jones grinned.
‘How should I know? I’m just you having a talk with yourself, aren’t
you?’
‘Well, I think that’s probably where he is…’ mumbled John, uncertainly.
As John’s corporeal body walked through the folds, eyes closed, the
corridors slowly became paler, and one by one the Outer Void creatures let go.
First the multi-legged things attached to his spine, then the winged monsters
tapped into his brain, and finally the small jellies. They dropped off one by
one.
‘When was the last time you gave me a thought, Witch Lord?’ asked Jones
By now John was struggling to keep up, as Jones strode on through the
dreamscape.
‘I’m not that sort of person’ insisted John, ‘I don’t need gods’
‘Oh that’s true, look what’s occurring now, no need of my help at all,
evidently…’
‘What?’ asked John, utterly bewildered.
‘Good things I don’t need lots of praying, I’d say. Fat chance of any
of that from an ungrateful dab like you’
‘But you’re not a god, you’re just my mind….’ muttered John
‘Well, anyway, every way, you’re stuck with me, boyo – I’m your
protector, like the thing or not. The world has need of your coven – not
everything just applies to you, you know’
John tried to think this through logically, but he couldn’t. All he
wanted to do is sleep and get rid of the nagging voice and the roaring cold
that were filling his body and seeping into his mind.
‘Right’ said Jones, ‘looks likely we’ve got you back. Remember me! Now – open your eyes’
‘But they are open…’ John began to say. He felt a bump, as if he had
missed three steps and tripped down some stairs.
He opened his real eyes in the waking world, and realised that he must be
back in Skiophos. He was in a green glade of a dense forest and relief flooded
through him, like sap sucked into a thirsty plant. He felt himself falling. The
world shrank away to a disappearing dot. With a final unconscious reflex, he
teleported home.
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