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<To Celia's Looking Glass chapter 4
The boy's swordpoint hovered inches in front of the dark-haired man's face. His first thought was that the demon was simply trying to distract him, but there was something in the man's catlike eyes that stayed the boy's hand. Besides, he was loathe to kill anything that was helpless, even a demon.
There was the scraping sound of gravel shifting underneath the boy's feet as he changed his stance. The swordpoint was now half of an inch from the man's left eye.
"Explain."
"Very well," replied the man in his deep, echoing voice, "When your sould was set seige to, I was imprisoned in this suit and robbed of concious thought for being a noncompliant."
"Noncompliant?" asked the boy.
"That means I wouldn't help them to conquer you, the demons, I mean. I wouldn't help them. So they locked me in this iron suit and forced me to patrol this area for noncompliants. And you, of course."
"Why me?"
"It's the perfect opportunity for demons. The nature of the gate you passed through renders you susceptible to physical death from demon attack. But it is also a great opportunity to emerge cleansed. Here, you have certain abilities you do not possess in the outside world...."
"You mean how I can jump higher and wield a sword?"
"Leaping high and increased strength? No, those are merely artificial abilities, to represent greater freedom of movement and possibility here. And to reflect not your physical prowess, but rather your determination, courage, compassion, and wisdom. Don't confuse your true abilities with parlor tricks, boy. Your abilities are magnified here, able to be brought to bear on demon's directly. But so are your weaknesses. So be careful."
The boy looked down at him a moment longer before replying, "Would you like to get out of there?"
"Surely."
The boy swung his sword down many times, slicing great gaps in the iron armor and eventually prying out the pale, dark-haired man who had lain trapped inside. The boy was never quite sure how the man got out. He didn't crawl, or pull himself out, it was more like he unraveled upwards until he was simply standing up straight. It was like watching a roll of cloth fall upward. Once the man was free, the boy finally got a good look at him.
The man was about seven feet tall, with a pale complection, dark and straight long hair that seemed to be cut in many layers, and yellow eyes. He was spindly looking with arms and legs that were very thin. His hands were similarly spider-like and appeared extremely dextrous. He wore about five white cloaks that he had hung about his neck at different intervals so that the many cloaks created what seemed to be one large piece of white, stained, and tattered white cloth. However, because the cloaks were not connected, he could easily reach out of them without hinderance. This strange multitudinous cloak covered most of his body, but you could see that he wore pointed yellow metallic boots. Because of their close proximity, and careless organization, the cloaks were constantly shifting at the man's slightest movement. The boy could see that he had wrapped a long thin strip of white cloth around his neck to prevent the constantly shifting cloaks from rubbing his neck raw.
From within the deep folds of his many cloaks, the man produced a large white tricorne hat with a large red feather in it. Placing the hat on his head, he turned to the boy and introduced himself.
"Vindegrad, is what they called me before my imprisonment. And once again, it is my name." He gave a slow bow, sweeping off his hat and inclining his tall thin body forward.
The boy noticed that Vindegrads arms moved very fluidly, as if there were no bones within them, because they seemed to twist and turn without restriction. The motion slightly reminded him of the movement of a snake. The boy had been warned, when seeking out Celia's looking-glass that if you were to give out your name to any denizen, you would surely be imprisoned there forever. However, Vindegrad seemed trustworthy, so he asked,
"I was told not to give out my name. Shall I give it to you?"
Vindegrad's eyes blazed into the boy's own for a second like searchlights, but the penetrating glance was quickly gone.
"The name you use outside this world should not be spoken. But you have a name here as does anything. You did not know this?"
"No," replied the boy.
"It is important to know, but, it is locked away. Within the city, with a poweful demon set to guard it. Perhaps together we could destroy him...and perhaps not."
"Can I continue without learning the name?"
Vindegrad was silent for a moment. He shifted his weight, and his cloaks shifted around softly, like the whisper of rain on the wind.
"I think not. Your identity is very important here. Should you lose hold of it, I do not know what would become of you."
"Where must we go to retrieve it?"
"There is a place here. The Hall of Records. I know it's location. They would've hidden it there. To challenge your identity, they force you into those dark hallways."
"What is recorded there?" asked the boy.
"Deeds. Everything you have done. It will be hidden in the section that houses your most detestable Sins, which will manifest as demons. There will also be a guardian set there."
The boy thought for a moment.
"Will it be the snake man who wears the black cloak?"
Once again, the boy was pierced by Vindegrad's searching stare.
"What do you know of him?"
"He said we would fight, and that I would fail and die here."
Vindegrad was silent again, as if considering how much to reveal.
"You will not fail, and you will do combat with him. He is, perhaps what one might call the ruler of this place, though even he has a master."
It was the boy's turn to be silent. He considered what the noncompliant had told him.
"Who is he? What demon of mine is he?"
Vindegrad answered slowly, "He is the greatest and the smallest. You have the most...and the least to fear from him. More than that I cannot say, for you will have to determine his identity for yourself."
The
boy accepted Vindegrad's archaic response and didn't question him any
further about the identity of the demon in the cloak. Vindegrad turned
at a street, his many cloaks swishing around his body. The boy
followed, lost in his own thoughts.
The
nature of the place bothered him. How could he be within his own soul?
Would that not mean that he didn't "have a soul" anymore? How could you
possess something that contained you? Bound you? It didn't make any
sense at all to him. Do we possess the shackles that enslave us? He
wasn't much for spiritual physics, but the contradiction bothered him.
By being contained within his soul, he feared that some paradox would
arise that would cause him to be trapped.
While
he had been thinking, the boy had stopped paying attention to what was
in front of him, following Vindegrad only with the tiniest fraction of
his conciousness. So he was surprised when he bumped into the
noncompliant's outstretched arm.
"Watch were you step," said the white-cloaked man in his deep, slowly reverberating voice.
Looking
past Vindegrad's interposing body, the boy saw something that he had
never experience before. The street appeared to be melting. The cement
of the street seemed to have lost much of it's consistency and turned
into a gooey mudlike substance. Large chucks of concrete jutted out of
the cement river like perverse icebergs. The river moved slowly, but
surely, and it looked as if it would drag anything under. Lamp posts
occassionally floated by, those that had been uprooted from the
sidewalks and dragged along the current.
"A better look would serve us well," said Vindegrad. With that he bent his slightly rubbery boneless legs and leaped tremendously high until he caught a window sill on a nearby building. Using a single arm he whipped himself upwards in a rising tumble until he landed catlike on the tips of his toes on the very edge of the roof of the building. The boy followed suit. Ignoring the conventions of gravity and physics, he launched himself upwards then ran horizontally up the wall as if it were the groud. Flipping high into the air when he reached the top, or the edge from his perspective, he landed on the roof beside where Vindegrad had moved to kneel and watch the disturbing river's flow.
The boy kneeled beside him, the trails of his white cloak hanging over the edge of the roof. He could feel the wind above the city, whipping around him, and dragging his cloak along with it sometimes. It didn’t feel as cuttingly cold as it had when he had first arrived in this strange world. The cloak seemed to protect him from the chill even though it was unusually light.
Glancing
over to his companion, the boy saw that Vindegrad’s cloaks were
whipping about wildly in the wind, constantly shifting and rearranging
themselves. The constant sound they made as they slid over eachother
was like a number of heavy blankets being
dragged across eachother. Vindegrad’s long hair was also caught in the
wind. Blowing away from his face like black streamers, the dark locks
of hair framed his pale face and yellow catlike eyes. Vindegrad rested
one elbow on his knee, and his visible hand kept clenching and
unclenching unconciously as if he were trying to work out the stiffness
in the joints of his long fingers.
The boy looked down at the river, which the white-cloaked man’s gaze had never moved from.It seemed to stretch on the entire length of the city. The flickering of some of the lamplights that were carried along in the strange stream shed an eerie kaleidascope of ever changing light over the surface of the cement river. The smell generated by the strange phenomenon was unpleasant but bearable. The sound was like that of a flowing swamp, broken occassionally by crashing as the large chunks of concrete would ram into eachother, and break into smaller pieces. The river rose up over the edges of the sidewalks in some areas, and was even starting to spill over into other streets in some places.
The boy once again looked at Vindegrad. A smile was playing over his blue-tinted lips. Glancing over to the boy, Vindegrad’s smile was slowly replaced by the straight expression he usually wore. Rising and stretching his back, Vindegrad explain the strange occurrence they were witnessing.
“Reality is breaking. The combat of wills has begun. The image of what your soul should look like is fighting the image given to it by the demon’s. This road will melt away, and grass and plants and trees should start growing.”
“Is my entire soul corrupted?” asked the boy.
Vindegrad comtemplated this for a while.
“It’s a hard question to answer. Your entire soul is not made in the perverse imagery of the demon’s. But, your entire soul has the potential to be used to their advantage. This city represents those things about you that they use most often to exploit you. Similarly, this part of your soul is not lost. You can regain it, for it is not entirely evil. What you must remember is that you are master here. This is your soul. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded. But the problem of being within his own soul still bothered him so he put the question to Vindegrad.
“ ‘Within’ your soul? I suppose I understand your reasoning, but the question means little. You are no more within your soul than you are ‘within’ your own body. You are always ‘in’ your soul, this place just brings that to the forefront of your conciousness, and thus alters your reality. The mechanics of it are understood by few, and I am not one who could truly explain it to you. For that you would have to talk to Jeriah Evenst.”
“Evenst?” asked the boy alarmed, “That’s the last name of the girl who let me in. Celia Evenst.”
“Her father was not present?”
“No one ever said anything about a father, they told me to ask Celia to enter her looking-glass, but no one mentioned anyone named Jeriah.”
“Surely a man named Osctis or Duglin was there? Along with two fat men and another man named Mr. Vanlorne?”
“No one but the girl. Who are all those people?”
Vindegrad seemed greatly troubled.
“This is…unforseen. I did not know you were here without the knowledge of Jeriah.”
“Are you friends? You and Evenst?”
“No. I have never met him. Nor any of those people. I simply know of them, and their funciton. Their function’s are closely related to my own. We all deal with souls. I function within them, and they concentrate on the function without. Great men and women have all known Evenst in one form or another. As they have known Celia and Vanlorne.”
“And the other four?”
“Incindentals. Nice enough in the case of Osctis and Duglin, I’m sure, but only helpers. Aids.”
“What does all this mean?” asked the boy slowly.
“I’m afraid you have become a pawn in someone’s game,” Vindegrad paused for a moment and stared pensively into the depths of the cement river, “The only thing you can do is attempt to leave as quick as possible. After that…I don’t know. I have never considered the danger after you exit the looking-glass.”
“What will I be in danger from?”
“I do not know. But you should be ready to confront anything. Hopefully, we will be able to prepare you for that while you are here.”
The boy was curious as to how any preparation in the world of his soul could prepare him for a physical experience outside. It seemed that as much as he changed within this world, he had a feeling he would leave physically the same as he had entered.
“What about my name?” asked the boy, “Shouldn’t we retrieve it?”
Vindegrad simply nodded. He rose up on his long spindly legs. Bending his legs ever so slightly, he shot forward as if out of the barrel of a gun. He sped toward another rooftop with his white cloaks whipping furiously around him like a miniature tornado. As if he had calculated the force to land on the other building perfectly, the speed left him with enough momentum to get his legs under him, and continue walking on the roof as if he had merely been out for a stroll. The boy followed him, jumping from rooftop to rooftop as they headed to a part of the city the boy didn’t think they had been anywhere near before.
The plight of his identity plagued him. What sort of horrible monsters awaited in the place of records? How would his deeds manifest themselves? The wind howled around him, as he contemplated his destination, and followed the many cloaked man he leapt from roof to roof. The gravel of the roofs scraped underneath his feet as he skimmed over them. Glancing over his shoulder, the boy realized that they had left the cement river far behind them, but where he knew it to be, he could see buildings beginning to shake, as their foundations were ripped out from under them by the manifestation of change within his soul.
The two companions stopped on a roof overlooking a large domed building. As if able to read the boy’s thoughts Vindegrad said,
“And yet that change may be halted, or even undone. Change has a terrible cost here. Things become deeply rooted in your soul. A bond is created between your tendencies, your feelings, your ambitions, your truths, all of that and your soul. It becomes almost inextricably entwined. Such a connection is far stronger than any substance found on your side of the looking-glass.”
“Then what am I to do? To sever these connections that are so strong?”
Vindegrad distracted himself by inspecting one of his hands, and his delicate long fingers, looking to them for an answer. He clenched his fist resolutely and looked up at the boy.
“There is something stronger,” he replied.
And with that simple statement, he left the roof and plummeted towards the ground. He didn’t quite leap, and he didn’t quite fall, he just sort of tumbled over the ledge. Upon reaching the ground, he righted himself in midair, landed on the ground and started walking towards the large building.
The boy followed his companion and guide off the roof and stood at the threshold of the domed building with him. Two large double doors made of ancient looking wood were at least twice the height of Vindegrad, and twice the height of the boy in width. Large metallic handles had been attached to the doors long ago, but they had since rusted and looked as though the breath of an insect might destroy them completely. Vindegrad glanced at his smaller companion and slowly opened one of the great doors with one of his long arms. A musty smell of ageless books rushed out to meet them, filling their nostrils and confusing their minds.
Regaining his composure the boy peered into the large building, but the entry way was dark and he could not tell what lay within the structure. Slowly entering with Vindegrad close behind him, the boy drew his sword and held it at his side, ready for the appearance of monsters and demons.
The building was filled with misplaced pillars. They seemed to have no pattern, but rose up out of the ground like ancient obelisks that seemed to pierce the ceiling like spears. Dust flew everywhere, the slightest shifting of the boy’s or Vindegrad’s cloaks sent dust exploding in clouds all around them. The entire area was filled with old wooden shelves that were crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Some seemed to be handwritten journals whilst others were large thick books with tiny black print.
The volumes of books seemed to stretch out for eternity in one direction, whereas the other section, although large, seemed to be finite. As everything else in the dark city, the placement of the shelves seemed random and chaotic. It gave the boy the impression of a torturous labyrinth that would swallow you up without leaving a single vestige of your one time presence.
The floors were tiled, but it had seemed to have been done a millennia ago. Broken floor tiles lay everywhere, amongst wreckage from caved in pits of pillars and shards of the ceiling that had fallen in. The piles of slate, tile, and stone shifted uncomfortably beneath the two companion’s feet, keeping them always slightly off balance.
The boy and the noncompliant yellow eyed man surveyed the destruction and disrepair of the building for a full minute. At the end of that minute one of the nearer shelves of books started groaning under some sort of unseen torture. The wood howled in pain and it seemed as if the bookshelf was being wrenched apart. However, after shaking and spasming disturbingly a small handwritten book flew out of the shelf and presented itself to the boy.
Hovering inches before his face, the small book was a pitiful sight. It’s cover had ripped off long ago and then pages were yellow with curly handwritten text still clearly visible on them. The book snapped open in front of the boy, spilling it’s words into his eyes. Transfixed by the story told by the small book, the boy did not notice Vindegrad’s alarmed look as he began reading.
“Don’t look upon it!”
Vindegrad moved to swat the book away but just as he moved to do so, another bookshelf started moaning in pain and spat out a book at him. Undeterred Vindegrad once again moved toward the boy to prevent him from reading any more of the contents of the book, but this time several bookshelves let out howls of inhuman pain and books pelted him from all directions. Reaching deep within the many folds of his many white cloaks, Vindegrad with drew a large curved dagger with a curved bound handle. Striking the books as they flew at him, Vindegrad was able to defend himself although he could make no more progress towards the boy, who was becoming more and more terrified.
As the books pages turned themselves and more of the recordings contained within the book slipped off the page and into the boys eyes, his pupil’s grew wider and wider, as if transfixed with terror and loathing. His body began to shake, a slight trembling at first, but it grew into a massive tremor that shook his body, and rattled his bones. He dropped his sword clattering to his side. He raised his arms to grip his head and started moaning in pain but could not remove his gaze from the book.
Forced into the corner by attacking books, Vindegrad only barely managed to deflect the swarm of texts away from him. The books crowded in around him, pressing him closer and closer against the walls.
The book the boy had read dropped to the floor, blackened as if consumed in an immense fire. A monster appeared within his sight in between some bookshelves a distance away from him. It had many arms and was scaly and hunched over. It had a very large mass but no discernable shape. A grotesque head sat upon the deformed shoulders, that seemed to be a human’s face badly cut out of bronze. Long claws protruded from gauntlets on the beasts hands, and it flailed it’s many arms around wildly so you could never get an accurate count of how many there were. It had a foul stench. The bronze mouth moved and speech came out of it, though the rest of the face remained disturbingly immobile.
“You shall read every book in the Hall before you shall continue. You shall account for every trespass, you shall be ravaged by guilt for every mistake and harm you have caused. And then you shall account and be ravaged for every mistake you are destined to make.”
The boy’s frame shook with terror. He didn’t seem to be conciously controlling his thoughts, as if his mind was contained in his biological brain. All he could feel was an intense panic. Reading the first small book felt like it had added ten years to his life, and drained away a part of himself. There were millions and billions of books in the library.
Vindegrad called out from behind a wall of flapping angry books, “Do not listen to him. There need be no accountenance. Remember what you came here with.”
The boy’s brain was foggy. He had come here with nothing.
“Do not listen to that fool,” the large bronze faced monster replied, taking a slow step toward the boy while his arms windmilled eratically, “he was incarcerated in an iron shell. He knows nothing. Come to me and I shall help you read these books. So that you can leave a few millenia earlier.”
The pain throbbed in the boy’s head. Anything so that he could leave. Why had he come here in the first place? He wasn’t sure anymore. He just wanted to feel the guilt. He wanted it to wash over him and consume him like an angry ocean. He deserved it, he was foul and he knew it. The words of the story of his life that the book had told had emblazoned themselves on the walls of his mind. How utterly he destroyed someone else’s spirit, unknowingly, but guilty nonetheless. To die in pain would be too easy, for all this sin, thought the boy. Eternal torment might serve me well.
“There is another way out. Don’t listen to the demon. Remember your name, why you are here, you must retrieve your name, you must reclaim your soul.”
Someone was talking to him, he realized that. But the words hardly made sense anymore. His soul was foul and lost forever. He was as bad as the demons themselves. He probably was a demon. He needed to feel the pain. But then from the depths of something, for it wasn’t his mind, came a memory,
"A vow of determination"
"A vow of never resting.”
“No respite, no pillow to lay your head on, no comfort, no recognition for your actions, nothing. None of this will you continue to hunger for. If you have it, you will be prepared to live without it. To live only with the comfort of your choice.”
“A vow to do right no matter what the cost.”
Vow. That word stirred him. Where? He had lost himself. What held him here. Where was it? At your feet, said a gentle voice within him. He looked down. His Vow, a sword. Determination. To right wrongs. To change himself. No matter what the cost. And how would he change if he spent eternity here? The strength returned to the boy, flowing through his body like fire, setting his muscles alight with fervor.
He reached down, grabbed his sword, and launched himself into the cloud of books that harried Vindegrad. He cut through them and they dropped to the ground emaciated and destroyed. Vindegrad looked down at him approvingly.
“You chose well. Retrieve your name, and we shall leave this accursed place.”
The boy turned to the large bronze faced monster standing before him, with the wildly gesticulating arms. He was taller, broader. His white cloak seemed no longer to protect him from the outside darkness, but rather to prevent his all encompassing light from completely engulfing and destroying everything around him. An aura lit up around him, and it seemed that pure white light encircled him, chasing all shadows from his presence. He stood straight and looked at the beast for a moment.
“I cast you out.”
Suddenely the screams of a million bookshelves filled the building. The beast’s body seemed to be being torn up from the edges inwards and it writhed on the ground. Books caught aflame and they smelt of sulfur and burning bricks. The spear-like pillars started to crumble, and they buckled underneath the strain. The entire domed building caved in, torn down under the command of the boy. Bricks disintegrated, tiles turned to ash, and the screaming bookshelves flew apart scattering the wooden splinters everywhere.
The boy and Vindegrad stood in a circle that was clear from the massive destruction, and underneath their feet, a few blades of grass had begun to grow along with a single lotus flower.
At the very edge of their protected circle, a small piece of parchment with a red ribbon tied around it fell to the ground. The boy picked it up tentatively, and unwound the ribbon and carefully opened the old scroll.
Vindegrad waited patiently.
The boy tossed the scroll into the air and it was consumed in blue flame. As the ashes fell to the earth, more lotus flowers grew wherever they touched the once barren soil.
“My name is Galladh Ducrensz.”
~~~
Through the use of Vanlorne’s superior skill they had re-established the connection of the window to the world of Celia’s looking-glass just in time to see the boy grab his sword and fend off the attacking books. They all watched in morbid fascination as the boy cast out the demon and destroyed the Hall of Records.
“Impossible,” muttered Stemblanc. Jeriah Evenst and Mr. Daughslat stared for a moment at the usually silent fat man. Vanlorne seemed puzzled.
“He used a demon’s words to his advantage. Demon’s are pure evil. They can serve no good purpose. This is proof the boy is foul.” explained Lucrexio.
“Your ignorance always amazes me Steddil,” said Jeriah slowly, “the demon’s plan backfired. He intended to intimidate the boy with the enormity of his promise, but the boy simply drew courage from it. It’s become more than just a responsibility. It’s his Vow.”
Lucrexio looked at Evenst steadily. It was possible that what he was saying was true.
Jeriah continued, “He’s doing what your boss hates most. Turns adversity into advantage. Uses obstacles to make himself stronger. Temptation won’t work on this boy. On this Galladh Ducrensz. He is determined to do right.”
Lucrexio sneered. “You’re ignorance is pathetic, Evenst. Surely you realize there are ways around that. Everyone wants to do the right thing. Everyone thinks they know how to. It’s easy enough to redirect them. Send them down the wrong path. He will fall prey to it.”
Jeriah stared at the small white cloaked figure pictured on the flat surface of the table intently.
“You have no sight for virtue, Lucrexio. And I have no sight for hopelessness. That’s what the looking-glass is here to determine. Hope. Does this boy have a hope of being what he needs to be, or does he not?”
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