The Steward and the Sorcerer by James Peart (small books to read .TXT) 📗

were to go back to the Northern Earth and use it, I would drag matter from elsewhere back there, as long as I did not enter the temple at any stage, nor my magic touch it.

“Does this answer any further questions you might have?”

“I suppose.  It’s all very probabilistic, I mean the temple.”

“At the risk of being bombarded by even more questions, what is it you mean?”

“No, just the nature of probable reality.  It’s...it’s nothing...just something I sort of studied at college.”

“Sort of?”

Daaynan was not a man of half-measures.  Simon went on talking, privately amused.  “Well, most of it was done over a few bitters in evenings spent arguing with excitable freshmen over the true nature of reality.  My point is it wasn’t a formal course I took at University but something that nevertheless captured everyone’s attention at the time.  The gist of it was that what we called reality in a narrow sense was in fact open to constant change, that we were all part of something much greater than we appeared to be at any given moment in time or caught in any given type of behaviour.  Sounds silly now, given all this.”  He swept his arm over the backdrop of the city they were journeying through.  “Who would have thought you could take it this far?  I mean, here we are, walking in a place built entirely out of our memory of what we know, and that’s just the start of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are other worlds, places we can reach through this temple.  How do we know that in some of them we can’t simply wish ideas into existence, not from memory but from our deepest imaginings and have them interact with each other?  What would that be like, superimposing one set of fantasies onto another?”

“I don’t know,” Daaynan said, and he sincerely wished he would not find out.

“And what if...” Simon tried to continue but Daaynan silenced him with a gesture.

“We’re here.”

The citadel looked imposing from where they stood at the entrance, which was made of doors of solid oak and iron.  A fortified structure built on higher ground than what lay outside its walls, it towered over the surrounding city, spying it from the heights of its turrets and steeples.  Inside, it bustled with the life of its day to day inhabitants.  They walked past the trio, laden with goods, towing carts of some description, or engaged in conversation with what Daaynan guessed were either merchants or buyers.  Some casually glanced their way, others stopping to take a longer look, curiosity drafted on their features.  They seemed less interested in either himself or Simon, the Druid noticed, than they were Christopher.  Perhaps it was due to the strange dress he wore.  Yet Simon wore similar garments.  No, there was something else going on.  They recognised him.  Some approached him in greeting, even performing a little bow.  Christopher offered them a careworn smile and as he did so their faces lit up in genuine delight.  They offered Simon and the Druid a perfunctory nod, their eyes immediately returning to Christopher.  What was happening here?

“What’s going on?” Simon echoed his thoughts.

“I don’t know.  It could be...”

“Could be what?”

“It might have something to do with what you term the ‘subconscious.’”  Daaynan said, then fell silent, thoughtful.

“Yes?  Believe it or not I’m still listening.”

He was worried for his friend once more, Daaynan thought, yet he could not brush off the mild sense of irritation he felt.  It was growing tiresome, this constant concern for his friend’s wellbeing, coupled with a suspicion that bordered on outright distrust of the Druid.

“The people here were fashioned from you call the subconscious and we call the deep of our minds.  It stands to reason that they would recognise us from there and respond in the way we have just seen.”

“But why are they over-friendly to Christopher and don’t even say hello to us?”

“Because these particular people belong to Christopher’s subconscious.  They don’t do more than acknowledge us because we belong to a ‘foreign’ consciousness.”

“But this is your part of this world.  It should be populated by your subconscious.”

“I do not have all the answers, Englishman.  It could be that we have to wait before we find this out.”

They were approaching the steward’s tower.  It must have belonged to the steward as it was easily the most impressive building in the citadel, standing in an elaborate courtyard, with its colourful raked and brushed stonework, grand turrets pointing out into the sky, plus an array of flags raised behind them denoting the various regions of Brinemore.

They mounted a set of steps carved into the rock alongside the tower, treading slowly and carefully as there was no hand rail to steady themselves.  To the right was a sheer drop back into the depths of the citadel.  The Druid could see that both Simon and Christopher were getting dizzy.  Leading the group, he turned several times to watch them, ready to catch either or both of them should they stumble and fall.  Yet somehow, they managed to keep their balance.

At the top of the stairs there were two doors.  They tried both only to find that they were locked.  Standing slightly back from one of the doors, Daaynan punted it with his foot, breaking the lock.  The others were about to enter the room when he held them back, doing the same with the other door.  They entered the room on the right.

Inside it was dark.  He found himself wishing he had use of his powers- the orange flame to provide illumination- yet he resigned himself to making use of the poor light provided by the open door.  As their eyes adjusted they could see there was nothing in the room save for a platform with three familiar symbols etched on its flat surface.

He turned to the others.  “I recognise this,” he said to Simon, “there was one in Iridis’s world.  It is how we bring whomsoever is selected from this world to go back