The Search for a Legend

 

The Search for a Legend

Part One of

Quest for Knowledge

Being

Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga

by

Christopher Jackson-Ash

 

 

 

For further information on the FirstWorld multiverse including free downloads please visit www.FirstWorld.info

 

ISBN 978-0-9873300-1-7

 

© 2013 CJA

 

 

Quest for Knowledge

 

Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga

 

In this E-book

 

Acknowledgements

 

Foreword

 

BOOK 1 The Search for a Legend

 

In other E-books

 

BOOK 2 A Test of Courage

 

BOOK 3 Back to the Beginning

 

BOOK 4 The Sundering

 

Afterword

 

FirstWorld Time Line

 

 

 

To follow

 

Volume 2 Aftermath of Armageddon

 

Volume 3 A View of the Past

 

Volume 4 A Vision of the Future

 

 

 

 

For further information on the FirstWorld multiverse including free downloads please visit www.FirstWorld.info

 

 

 

Acknowledgements

 

Fictional universes or multiverses have long offered alternative realities that may seem preferable to our own lives. Growing up, I escaped from a troubled childhood into J.R.R. Tolkien’s magnificent creation of Middle Earth and was inspired by Elves, Dwarves, and Wizards. Later, I discovered the Sword and Sorcery of writers like Michael Moorcock. Moorcock wrote about the various manifestations of the Eternal Champion and his companion roving the Multiverse in an endless battle between Law and Chaos. I was always intrigued by the possibility of time travel and the paradoxes that it threw up. Many writers, from H.G. Wells forward have explored these and I have enjoyed them all.

 

It was always my hope that one day I could create my own multiverse to escape into and I have done so in FirstWorld. If you perceive echoes of Tolkien or Moorcock in my work, you are correct. They were my inspiration and I thank them and honour them. You’ll find others there too, from Arthurian legend through T.S. Eliot to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. My multiverse is big enough to contain them all. Is it infinite? That’s the $64,000 question.

Foreword

 

The device on the table looked for all the world like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. The cloaked old man with flowing white hair and matching beard would have looked like everyone’s favourite soothsayer were it not for his eyes. Coal black pupils floated in a sea of blood. They were locked in an unblinking stare into the heart of the ball. His hands were fixed on either side of the object, as if they were glued there. The veins in his neck pulsed in purple profusion and his brow was creased in fierce concentration.

 

Whether he heard the communication via his ears or whether it was spoken directly into his mind, he didn’t know. The voice boomed and resonated in his skull. It was deep and old and seemed to carry an authority and purpose that sapped his will to gainsay it.

 

“Somewhere in the multiverse, a child has been born. I can feel him everywhere, but I cannot locate him. He has been born in many dimensions but only one of him will rise to challenge me. He will appear to be weak but he will be able to wield the Sword. He is Gilgamesh reborn.” It sounded like he spat at the name of the ancient Hero. “Like the one who came before, he cannot destroy me but the Sword can inflict terrible wounds. I would not like to feel it again.”

 

The listener felt incredible pain as if his head were going to explode. He would have removed his hands from the ball, but he had no will of his own left.

 

“You must find him and destroy him. Our enemies will seek him too. They would have him become their Hero. The Sword has been lost for many ages. Seek it out and you will be handsomely rewarded. Fail me and I will destroy you.”

 

The old man was flung backwards from the ball, blue flashes of electricity jolting from his hands to the crystal. He finished up in a crumpled heap on the floor. He took his time to stand and brush himself down. He covered the strange device with a black cloth and let out a deep breath.

 

“I will serve you as long as it suits my plans. Elannort though, will be all mine.” He let out a low growl, which sounded more like a dog than a man.

Map of Central FirstWorld

 

Please visit http://firstworld.info/firstworld-and-the-multiverse/firstworld-maps/ for a copy of the FirstWorld map.

BOOK 1

 

The Search for a Legend

 

In which Simon Redhead discovers some strange facts about himself and the history of FirstWorld.

 

 

“When the two who are one

Return to the sun

When the flame-haired child

Is first become

While the guardians sleep

Humankind will weep.”

Ancient Prophecy

 

 

Revelation

 

Melbourne, Republic of Australasia

5th February 2043

 

At first light, the Jihad armies of Islam swept across the southern borders of Europe and Central Asia. Italy, Greece, Turkey, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan bore the brunt of the first attacks. Within hours, thousands of square miles of territory were in enemy hands.

 

Simon Redhead stumbled out of bed, oblivious to the world's impending doom, and observed himself in the bathroom mirror. Not a pretty sight, he thought. Pale green eyes stared back at him from a drawn and puffy face that showed all the symptoms of lack of sleep. I must get a haircut. His orange shoulder length hair hung in long, lank strands, in desperate need of a wash.

 

His thoughts returned, as they often did, to the childhood taunts and the way his ‘mother’ would soothe his anguish. She was all he had had in the world. His stepfather, or rather his mother's husband, had run off with a ballet teacher when he was six. Simon couldn't remember much about him, and didn't want to. The bastard!

 

Simon emphasised his thoughts with an open handed smack that shook the mirror. The outburst released some of his pent up anger, but it did nothing for his frustration. He ached for love and companionship. Not for the first time recently, he decided to give the first lecture a miss, and went back to bed. He let his mind wander through a favourite fantasy, involving a fellow student in his class. The feel of Julia’s soft body in his arms; the smell of her perfume; the taste of her kisses; finally exploring a woman’s body. He was just reaching the part where he removed her panties, when his body beat his mind to the finish. The physical relief eased the ache in his body, but did little for the anguish in his heart. Damn, wish I could last longer. How will I ever satisfy a woman? I may never get the chance to try.

 

In his melancholy, his thoughts returned to the funeral just three years before and the two strangers who had haunted his dreams ever since.

 

****

 

Simon Redhead slumped on his bed, crumpling his newly pressed best suit, his only suit. He tried to distract himself by listening to the modern history module he had received on his E-Pod. It played on the view screen that made up one entire wall of his room, but he closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. He should really concentrate, because he had to pass the general part of his degree before he could begin to study his chosen subject, medicine. The speaker droned on and Simon’s thoughts continued to wander. Some people now had their E-Pods implanted in their bodies, so they would never leave home without them. You couldn’t exist in society without your E-Pod. You couldn’t even take a train or buy a simuburger, so it made sense. Simon wondered whether he should have it done. Some words in the monologue from the screen snapped Simon back to attention.

 

“The decade was given the name the terrible teens. It began with the great global depression that lasted until 2017, which threw millions of people worldwide into unemployment and poverty. In module seventeen, we will study the causes of the depression. Its results however are considered by many to have saved humankind from extinction. The climate change tipping point had almost been reached. The balance almost tipped into total chaos.”

 

The words made Simon shudder. His dreams flashed vividly into his mind. He had been having the dreams as long as he could remember. As a small child, his mother had taken him to see a psychiatrist, so worried had she been about his nightmares. Despite all of his probing, the doctor had been unable to find the underlying cause of the problem. Eventually, Simon had managed to control his fear. The dreams had never gone away, though he had led his mother to believe they no longer troubled him.

 

Simon sobbed and wiped a tear from his cheek. Despite her not being his real mother, she had loved him as if he were her own flesh and blood. The last few months of her suffering had been terrible. It had reinforced his desire to study medicine and to make a difference. In the end, despite the black void it had left in his guts, he felt it was a blessing that she had taken the euthanasia option and ended her agony.

 

“Australia was badly affected by climate change. Drought, firestorms, cyclones, and floods ravaged the continent. Another type of flood, refugees from the now submerged Pacific Islands and Bangladesh, threatened to overwhelm society. It was only with the election of the first Green government in 2022 that a political solution to the problems facing the country was finally grasped. Along with like-minded governments in the rest of the developed world, they finally provided the leadership necessary to make people realise that their materialistic life-style was unsustainable. They led society to find a new balance.”

 

There was that word again. The one that he heard repeatedly in his dreams: balance. Except that in his dreams, it somehow had more importance. It was The Balance. Simon didn’t like to think of himself as a wimp, but there was no doubt he was a quiet and gentle character. As a small boy, he remembered breaking down in inconsolable grief when he had found a dead bird on the side of the road. When his school friends captured flies and removed their wings, he would cringe and look away, riven with horror.

 

Yet in his dreams, Simon killed; not birds and flies but people. Hundreds of thousands of people died at his hands, so that his pale skin was stained red with their blood. The same colour as the ruby, which had been burned into his mind by the nightly visions. It called to him, promising him that he would unlock a missing part of himself if he would only come and find his true destiny. There was a sword too. It was a big jet-black broad sword and it was the cause of all the bloodshed. In reality, Simon could barely swing a golf club, even a left-handed one. In his nightmares, he wielded the black sword and scythed down his enemies as if it were second nature to him. This was the one thing that frightened him more than anything else. He so desperately wanted to take the Hippocratic Oath and do no harm, yet every night he seemed to enjoy bringing death to his seemingly innocent victims.

 

A knock on the door brought him back to reality. The door opened and Uncle Jack poked his head in. “It’s time to go, Simon. Are you ready?”

 

How can you ever be ready for your mother’s funeral? Nevertheless, he stood up, looked in the mirror and brushed down his suit. It hung off his skinny beanpole frame in ripples of black crinkles. His pale, almost white complexion matched his shirt and was a total contrast to the suit. However, his shoulder length hair dominated the impression, as it always did because of its bright orange colour. It had earned him so many unpleasant nicknames during his school days: ‘carrot top,’ ‘traffic light,’ and ‘Beaker,’ to name but a few. The most dreadful irony of all was his adopted family name.Redhead by name, redhead by nature, his mother always said, when he came home in tears from school, cursing nature's cruel gift. She wanted him to be proud of his most distinctive feature. Now she would never comfort him again. He was alone in the world, with his strange genetic gifts from parents he had never known.

 

The funeral passed in a blur. It was cold in the church and Simon had to fold his arms across his chest and hold on to himself to stop the shivering. It was a non-denominational service. His mother had believed in a higher force, but not in a specific god. The world had seen a great schism in recent times into the more fundamentalist aspects of all the great religions. Simon eschewed them all. He saw no evidence for the existence of God. He was a firm atheist. What God would have taken two mothers from me before my twentieth birthday?

 

It was a small gathering, just close family and friends. Even so, Simon didn’t recognise a few of the people there. He stood at the doorway with Uncle Jack and shook the hands of everyone as they left the church. The dearth of people only reinforced how alone he now was. He supposed that he had been a mummy’s boy with few real friends. Now he was just a lonely boy. He did have two close friends, though and they had both been there. The three of them had been together since the first day of pre-school. Perhaps they had stuck together because of their physical differences from the rest of the class. It was easier to resist the bullying that way.

 

Jamie took his hand and then embraced him in a big squashing hug. He only came up to Simon’s chest and was shaped like a barrel with short arms and legs. His out of control curly black hair tickled Simon’s nose. “Thank you for coming,” Simon said for the umpteenth time.

 

Jamie released Simon from his bear hug. “I’m here for you, Simon, if you need anything. You know that, don’t you?” Simon nodded. Jamie hadn’t found his place in the world yet and seemed to be drifting aimlessly. He was always around when Simon needed a friend.

 

Christian was small too, slim and pale like Simon, but with thin blond, almost white hair. He was aiming to be an E-Pod news journalist. He gave Simon a hug too, but was much gentler than Jamie had been. “Keep your chin up, mate. We’ll see you later at the pub.”

 

Several of his mother’s distant relations passed by. He barely recognised them, but offered his thanks and received their platitudes dutifully. The last person to leave the church was an old man Simon didn’t recognise. He hobbled slowly, supporting himself on a stick. His back was hunched and he was wearing a full-length black coat that hid everything beneath. He had a shock of long white hair and a flowing white beard. If he had been dressed in red and had some stomach padding, Simon would have taken him for a department store Santa Claus. Despite everything, Simon smiled. The man smiled too and Simon was taken by light that seemed to radiate from his grey-green eyes. Simon offered his hand. “Thank you for coming. I don’t believe we have met?”

 

The old man took his hand in a firm warm handshake. He held it for a little longer than was strictly necessary. When he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate and wrap around Simon like comforting arms. “I knew your mother, Simon. I have watched your progress from a distance for many years. Keep up with your studies, my boy. We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure of that.”

 

Simon felt as if he were rooted to the spot. He tried to talk to the man but words wouldn’t come out. He stammered and spluttered and by the time he had regained his composure the man had hobbled off. Simon rushed outside after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t have moved so quickly. Uncle Jack was waiting for him. “Where did the old man with the stick go?” Simon asked.

 

“I didn’t see an old man with a stick,” his Uncle replied. “Come on, let’s go and join the wake at the pub. Have you thanked the vicar?”

 

Simon was more puzzled than ever. Surely, he couldn’t have imagined the old man. He remembered the almost tingling warmth of his handshake and the concern in his eyes. As he turned from the church with Uncle Jack, he could have sworn he heard the old man’s voice in his head. “I knew your mother, Simon.” The words seemed to carry an image with them. It wasn’t his mother. She was a pretty, young blonde girl, cooing over a baby in a pram. Simon saw such love in her eyes, directed at the baby, directed at him. He tried to reach out a tiny hand, but the vision evaporated. Try as he might, Simon couldn’t get it back. As they departed, Uncle Jack probably thought the tears in his eyes were the result of the service.

 

****

 

Simon thought the wake would never end. His mother’s distant family members seemed determined to drink the pub dry. His eyes repeatedly searched the room for the old man. He would have liked to talk more with him. Unfortunately, he didn’t join them. Uncle Jack got drunk and sang old Gaelic ballads that spoke of their family’s heritage. It only made Simon wonder where he had really come from. He’d asked his mother, of course. He’d asked many times after the shock of the initial revelation of his adoption had subsided. She had said that she knew nothing. He had come to them one hot January night in need of a safe refuge and they had provided it, was all he could get out of her.

 

“Where did I come from?” He asked Uncle Jack, who was taking a breather from his singing exploits on the stool across the table from him.”

 

“Well, lad, if you don’t know that by now there’s something amiss, by all accounts.” His uncle laughed at his own joke, and Jamie and Chris who were both nursing beers beside him on the red leather bench seat both smiled. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of you three with girlfriends. You should let Jack the lad take you out one night and show you how to chat up the ladies. What do you say?” Fortunately for the trio, Jack was dragged away by Great Aunt Maud who wanted to discuss the will and wanted to do it now. When Great Aunt Maud said jump, you didn’t even ask how high because you knew you couldn’t jump high enough to meet her expectations.

 

Jamie sighed. “He’s right though, our success rate is pretty poor.”

 

“Almost non-existent,” Christian agreed. “We should find a new hobby, one where we’ll meet lots of girls.”

 

“There are more girls than boys in Simon’s class. Some of them are real stunners too. It doesn’t seem to have done him any good, though,” Jamie teased.

 

“Perhaps Simon will throw a party and invite them all?” Christian said.

 

“Yes, a house-warming party. You’ll have to move now; they’ll sell the house for sure. Aunt Maud will demand it. Where will you go?”

 

A cold finger of dread tickled its way down Simon’s spine. “I hadn’t thought about it. I wanted to concentrate on my studies. Mum said I should do that and she’d look after me. I guess I’ll have to get a job to support myself now. There’s a lot to think about.”

 

“Well, you can always kip on my couch if you’re desperate,” Jamie said. “Anyone for another drink, after all Simon’s paying and it’s better spent now than Aunt Maud getting her hands on it.”

 

“I’ll get them,” Simon said. “I could do with a stretch, same again?” He stood up and moved to the bar. He ordered three beers, adding them to the tab, and turned to head back to the table. He noticed a strange man, propping up the corner of the bar watching him. He was tall and very pale, ill looking like his mother had been in recent weeks. His clothes were shabby and worn. His mouth curved upwards in a grin and showed several broken and rotten-looking teeth. Deep set, black eyes met his and locked on, unblinking.

 

Simon set down his glasses and approached the stranger, offering his hand. “I don’t believe we have met. I didn’t see you at the funeral. What relation are you?”

 

The man seemed reluctant to take Simon’s hand, but eventually took it and quickly released it. His hand felt cold and clammy. When he spoke, his voice was shrill and high-pitched. “I can’t abide churches. I had a bad experience in one once.”

 

Simon felt the urge to say ‘What, you got married?’ but resisted. Still the man's eyes were locked unblinking on Simon's. He was starting to give him the creeps.

 

The man licked his pallid lips. “You can call me Uncle Dring. I once knew your mother and father.” The black eyes suggested that he wanted to say more.

 

Simon shuddered and backed away to retrieve his beers. “Well, nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

 

“The pleasure was all mine.”

 

Twice today, Simon had met strange men. One had seemed kindly and the other creepy. They had both mentioned his parents and Simon had the distinct impression they didn’t mean the mother he was laying to rest today. I’m getting paranoid. There was one man who had been conspicuous by his absence. Simon felt the bile and his anger rising when he thought about it. He placed the beers in front of his friends and tried to smile.

 

“Who’s that creep?” Jamie asked.

 

“He looks like he’ll be next..,” Christian stopped in mid-sentence. “Sorry.” His pale face turned a bright red and he looked down sheepishly. For some reason that Simon couldn’t fathom he burst out laughing and his friends, at first hesitatingly, joined in.

 

****

 

Three days later, by which time Uncle Jack had sobered up and recovered from his hangover, the key family members gathered at the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will. Great Aunt Maud clucked around organising everyone into appropriate seats. She placed Simon right at the back, in a corner. She was his mother’s father’s sister and had never married. I expect that she never found the perfect man. She seemed to be of indeterminate age and indeterminate sex; though Simon felt that she must be ancient and a woman beneath her grey pinstriped trouser suit. Uncle Jack had explained how the family money from her brother had bypassed her to his mother. Now, since Simon was not a blood relation, she expected to get her hands on it at last.

 

Mr Jennings, his mother’s solicitor, was an avuncular man. His mother had always spoken warmly of him. With his trim moustache and balding head, he reminded Simon of a certain Belgian detective of long ago. Simon enjoyed classical crime thrillers and was thinking about a good role for Maud, preferably involving poison, when Mr Jennings cleared his throat and brought the gathering to order.

 

Before he could speak, Maud interrupted. “Please be brief, Jennings, we simply need to know who gets what. I have an appointment at the Estate Agents in ten minutes. I have a property to put on the market.”

 

Mr Jennings appeared to roll his eyes. “Well, if that’s alright by the rest of you?” He paused and stared at them. No one was game to challenge Great Aunt Maud. “In that case, I shall cut to the chase. The will is extremely simple.” Maud turned her head and Simon could see her smiling – an almost unique occurrence.

 

“With the exception of a few personal items, which have specific bequests, all of Mrs Redhead’s estate, including her house, is to be sold and the proceeds placed in a trust fund, to be administered by myself.” Mr Jennings paused and Simon could hear the grunt that emanated from the middle front-row seat. “The trust is to be used for a single purpose. If I may read the actual words from Mrs Redhead’s will: The trust fund is to be used to support my son Simon until such time as he is established as a qualified doctor of medicine. I gave you that pledge Simon and I intend to honour it. After that time, any residual funds are to be donated to the Australian Cancer Centre. I know that there will be some family members who are disappointed by this,” Jenkins stopped for effect and looked over the top of his glasses at Maud. “But I assure you that this is by far the best use to which the money can be put.”

 

Jenkins folded the document and smiled. Uncle Jack gave Simon a friendly punch on the arm. A number of unladylike obscenities seemed to emerge from the front row. Simon was sure he heard the word bastard used several times. Great Aunt Maud, with a face like thunder, stormed out of the room and out of Simon’s life, he hoped forever.

 

****

 

In three years, he hadn’t seen Great Aunt Maud again, but the memory of her reaction to the will made him smile and helped to fight back against the depression that threatened to overwhelm him. Simon raised himself out of bed and staggered into the shower. The jets of cool water felt good. They seemed to do more than simply cleanse his body; he began to feel inwardly refreshed as well. His thoughts turned to the irony of his situation. Here I am, a medical student, with plenty of gynaecological experience, and yet I’m still a virgin. He thumped the shower wall in anger, as once again he cursed his awkward shyness with the opposite sex. I’m pathetic! As he slowly dried himself, he toyed with the idea of using the services of a prostitute. The idea had certain merit in fantasy and raised expectations again in his young body, but in the cold reality of his scientific brain, it seemed expensive, impersonal, and dangerous. I’m not that desperate, yet!

 

He pulled on a crumpled pair of jeans, tee shirt and sweater. His tall and skinny body had the effect of making most clothes he wore look like they were hanging on a beanpole scarecrow. His choice of green shirt and yellow sweater, combined with his hair made him think of a traffic light, which raised his spirits immensely. He perused the room for something edible that would serve as breakfast. A half-eaten simuburger appeared to be the only sustenance on offer. He quickly rejected that in favour of tea and a simubacon roll at his local café. If I hurry, I still might make the first lecture. It was important, because it covered caesarean sections, and he would have to assist with his first before too much longer. He looked forward to that with the sort of cold dread an actor must have before their first night. Am I really cut out to be a surgeon? He smiled at his pun. I might have more luck as a stand-up comedian.

 

Strangely, he felt more cheerful than he had for some time, as he left his rooms. The persistent dreams that had been troubling him more and more lately were almost forgotten. It was a warm, autumn day and the early sunshine felt good on his back. The café was almost deserted when he got there. He ordered quickly and sat at the bar to await his food. The entertainment panel was set to blare out raucous pop music, as usual. The interruption for a news flash surprised him. The news that was delivered shocked him. Muslim forces were invading Australia. It appeared to be part of a major world offensive. The planet was on the brink of the third world war. Australia’s vast open spaces and valuable resources had long been coveted by the populous countries to the north. They were now taking them by force. The announcer was contemplating the west countenancing the nuclear option as Simon’s new-found cheerfulness evaporated.

 

His hunger and the half-finished simubacon roll forgotten, Simon left the café. There was commotion in the street. It seemed that panic was already beginning to grip. Groups of people seemed to be milling backwards and forwards with seemingly no clear idea of where they were going. Simon felt the familiar throbbing in his temples that heralded the start of a migraine. Damn, I must go home, take some pills, and try to sleep it off. He had barely started to move when the first wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over in agony and when he straightened up, everything seemed to be a blur. He felt as if he were slipping out of the real world. People became fuzzy, noises were muffled, and cars passed by in blurs of colour like streaks on an artist’s canvas. What the hell’s happening to me?

 

“Take a grip,” he muttered to himself. He tried to breathe deeply and focus. Nothing changed; his world was a blur. As he began to stumble forward, something caught his eye. Across the road, on the corner, leaning against a lamppost as casual as you like stood a small boy – totally in focus amongst the blur. Simon did a double take and stared at him, uncaring of the reaction he might cause. As he looked more closely, he corrected himself. Not a boy at all, but a very short man. He was no more than four feet high, solidly built with a huge stomach that was barely concealed by the large dark coat he was wearing. Perhaps the most striking feature though was his head. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat with a large white feather pinned to its brim. Under the hat, a pair of large blue eyes seemed to reflect the wonder that he was seeing in the world. The hat could not hide the shock of black curls that tumbled from his head as though trying to escape confinement. His nose was positively aquiline, giving him a look of arrogant superiority that overlaid whatever his true feelings might be.

 

Simon seemed drawn to him in a strange sort of way. I feel like I ought to know him, but I have never seen him before in my life. He would surely have remembered such a character. As if drawn by a magnet, Simon began to walk toward the strange fellow. The cars on the street still seemed blurry, but he was able to make them out well enough to attempt to cross the road. As he approached the junction, he became aware of the noise of a vehicle that seemed louder and faster than the rest. He looked up in time to see it bearing down on him at high speed. Although the vehicle was a blur, the driver wasn’t. At that moment, the sight of that face imprinted itself on his memory. Not so much the face, more the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curving upwards in a sickly grin.

 

It all happened so quickly. I’m going to die, without ever sleeping with a woman. I recognise that man. All of a sudden, the strange fellow from across the street was beside him, pushing him clear. He stumbled and fell, hearing the sickly thud of flesh and bone being crushed and the roar of a car being driven away at high speed. Simon passed out. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy! Uncle Dring never lies. The words appeared in his mind as he slipped into unconsciousness and the echoes were still there when he awoke.

 

He came to in the ambulance. His vision seemed normal again and the migraine had gone. A knock on the head must have done me some good. “How are you feeling?” The warm voice of the female ambulance officer greeted him. “You were very lucky,” she continued without giving him a chance to respond, “by all accounts you should have died today.” They seemed strange words for an ambulance officer, but these were strange times for sure and they summed up nicely his recollections of the past few minutes. Your days are numbered red boy! The thought echoed in his mind.

 

“I’m feeling fine, there’s really no need for you to take me to hospital,” he tried to smile but it must have looked very forced. “The man who saved me, how is he? What happened to him?” The concern was evident in Simon’s voice. Who was that man? Why did he save me?

 

“Don’t you be concerning yourself over that, now. We’ll get you to hospital and they’ll give you a good checking over. Then the police will want to talk to you, I’m guessing. They’ll be able to fill you in on the details better than me.”

 

Their arrival at the hospital prevented any further questions. Simon was generally fussed over and received a full body scan. At last, a young doctor came to talk to him. “Well, young man,” he began, “you have had a very lucky escape. All the test results are negative. If you feel up to it, you’re free to go home.”

 

Simon felt fine. In fact, he felt better than he’d felt for some time. I wonder why I’m feeling so good? Perhaps I should ask the doctor? Better not. “Thanks, Doctor, I’ll do that,” he said. “Can you please tell me what happened to the man who saved me?”

 

The doctor brushed off his question. “There’s a police officer waiting to see you outside. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. The sister will look after your discharge after the policeman has seen you.” He hurried off.

 

Simon didn’t have to wait long for the police officer to arrive. A young, male detective constable questioned him at length about the accident. Simon told him everything he could remember, except the bits about his blurred vision, the details of the strange fellow's appearance, and the driver. In reality, Simon told him very little, but repeatedly questioned him about the man who had saved him. Why won’t they tell me?

 

Eventually the police officer gave in. “It’s very strange,” the detective spoke slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully, “there were several eye witnesses who confirm your version of the events. In fact, they all saw the small man crushed by the car. His head was smashed to a pulp. He couldn’t have survived. However, by the time the emergency services arrived, his body was nowhere to be found.”

 

Simon said nothing. He felt sick again. The thought of a stranger giving his life to save Simon’s was anathema to him. The pain in his head began to rise again. I can’t handle this. I must get home to bed. He accepted the hospital’s offer of a taxi home. Thankfully, the driver was quiet, focussed on the radio news. First reports were coming in of Indonesian forces landing in Australia. Rumours suggested that Darwin had already fallen. The Prime Minister was due to address the nation later that evening. Simon ran from the taxi, up the steps and fumbled with his keys as he struggled to get inside and hide as quickly as possible. He hoped that sleep would help his troubled mind, except sleep would probably bring the dreams. Please, I can’t handle the dreams on top of everything else.

 

In his dreams, Simon was somewhere else that seemed like another world. He was always looking for something, but he could never remember what it was. And there were people, evil people looking for him. People who wanted to kill him. People with eyes like the driver of the car. He shuddered at the realisation. Goosebumps welled up on his arms as he realised something else. In his dreams, he had a friend who repeatedly saved him from the evil ones. That friend was short and dumpy and wore a wide brimmed hat with a white feather. He had the brightest blue eyes, curly black hair, and the beakiest nose you’d ever seen. He’d saved Simon’s life today in the real world and given his own in return. I must be going crazy.

 

For a moment, Simon wondered if he were really going mad. Then, as he entered his bed sitting room he realised he most surely had. The strange fellow was waiting for him, sitting on his bed, idly flicking through one of Simon’s medical textbooks as if to pass the time.

 

“About time you got here,” the little man said in a resonant voice that suggested a stature at least twice as high as its reality. “I haven’t got all day, you know!”

News from Afar

 

“Who are.., what are.., why, how..?” Simon stuttered a whole range of meaningless questions. He stared at the apparition sitting on his bed. He didn’t know whether to be afraid of him and run away or to thank him warmly for saving his life. I’m certain that I’m going crazy. Take me to the funny farm.

 

“You don’t know me, do you?” The strange fellow asked. “Curse that Manfred; he never gives me enough information to work with. I felt sure we would have met before in this dimension. I’m sorry if I startled you, Simon, but time is critical.” He jumped up from the bed, removed his hat and made a deep bow, flourishing his hat as he did so. “My name is Jhamed al Suraqi, companion to heroes, dogsbody to wizards and general layabout. I am here on an errand of the utmost importance to you, me, wizards and probably the entire multiverse. Your presence is requested on FirstWorld for an urgent meeting of the Council of the Wise. Beats me why they call themselves that, half of them couldn’t think straight if you nailed them to a plank – actually the plank would probably be able to contribute more. I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”

 

Simon was astounded. First, this Jhamed should be dead. Second, when had they met before? Third, why was he in Simon’s dreams? Fourth, what or where on earth was FirstWorld? Fifth, what was the Council of the Wise? … Nineteenth, why was Simon invited?

 

Jhamed watched Simon’s confusion with interest. “I suppose you have a few questions? You usually do.”

 

“Actually, I have nineteen; make that twenty. What do you mean I usually do?” Simon finally managed a reply. “But first tell me how you are alive after a dozen people saw you with your head squashed on the pavement like a melon? Oh, and thank you very much for saving my life like that. I’m really very grateful; it’s just that I’m so confused.” Simon tailed off.

 

Jhamed sat down and replaced his hat, stuffing handfuls of curls inside it.

 

“Why don’t you get a haircut?” Simon asked.

 

“Is that one of your twenty questions?” Jhamed smiled.

 

Simon smiled too. The strange fellow had a way of making him feel at ease. He knew he hadn’t met him before but he felt like he had known him all of his life. “I don’t know why, but I feel comfortable and safe with you, Jhamed. Safer than with anyone I have ever known, except perhaps my mother; well my adoptive mother.”

 

Jhamed held up a hand. “Stop right there, young man. We’ve no time for one of your melancholy reminiscences. In any case, I’ve heard it all a million times before.” He gave Simon a big wink as he said this. “Look, time is very critical. How about I give you a quick run-down? The potted history, so to speak. Then we’ll get out of here and Manfred will fill in all of the details when we get to FirstWorld?”

 

“I may feel safe with you. But I’m not going anywhere. Haven’t you heard, Indonesia has invaded? World War III is about to start. And where the hell is this FirstWorld anyway? The airports are all closed, there’s no way to travel.”

 

Jhamed sighed and then took a deep breath. “I can see this is going to be one of those difficult times. I don’t know why I don’t just kidnap you, sometimes. It would be just as effective and much less effort. OK let me have a go. I bet I can get at least fifteen of your twenty questions. It’s the obscure ones, like the haircut, that get me every time.”

 

Jhamed spoke for the next ten minutes. Simon tried to take it all in and refrained from asking questions. “You can close your mouth now, I’ve finished,” Jhamed concluded. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything to drink? My throat is as dry as a crutchet’s armpit after all this talking. By the way, I enjoyed the food you left out for me when I arrived.” He indicated the now empty simuburger wrapper.

 

Simon sighed and poured Jhamed a glass of water. “Sorry, it’s all I’ve got. I’m a poor student you know. What’s a crutchet? Every time you open your mouth, you make me think of a dozen more questions. No, wait, don’t tell me. Let me try to tell you what’s going on. See whether I got it straight. OK?”

 

Jhamed nodded and downed the glass of water in one go. He followed up with a loud burp, but said nothing, indicating with his hand that Simon should continue.

 

Simon took a deep breath and began. “You saved my life this afternoon and were killed for your trouble. Did I thank you properly?”

 

Jhamed frowned. “Yes, get on with it, we don’t have all night!”

 

Simon continued, “There’s this thing called the multiverse, which means that the universe has other dimensions with alternative realities that are somehow interlinked. You were killed, but you are from an alternate universe so it wasn’t you but another version of you that was killed. When you, or rather he, died, his body was pulled back to his own dimension. You’ve been travelling through the dimensions finding different versions of me because your wizard mate Manfred has some crazy theory that I’m a superhero who will save the world. Now you want me to leave my dimension and come back with you to some place called FirstWorld and meet this Manfred guy who’ll explain everything and we’ll all live happily ever after. How’s that?”

 

Jhamed smiled. “You were paying attention. I like that, a succinct summary. I might write it down and use it myself next time. All except the happily ever after bit.”

 

“I was going to ask about why you have to keep finding me in different dimensions and why that guy in the car was trying to kill me?”

 

“The problem is,” Jhamed paused, whether for effect or because he was choosing his words, Simon didn’t know. “The problem is, that there are two sides out there. Two opposing forces, and the other guys are after you as well. The other problem is that when they find you they kill you. You are getting very hard to find. You might even be the last one of you left alive in the entire multiverse.”

 

Simon went even paler than normal, if that was possible. “You mean, I’m dead if I stay here and dead if I come with you? Some choice. How do we get to FirstWorld anyway?”

 

“I think that the Council of the Wise might live up to their name this time. They can’t afford to lose you. You have a very important task to perform. Don’t ask me, I don’t know what it is. I’m a mushroom, only given what I need to know. There are certain links between the dimensions, if you know where to look. That’s my skill; I know where to look. At other times, one or more dimensions touch for brief periods; that’s probably the explanation for most ghost sightings. Anyway, with the links, you have to navigate carefully. It might take us a thousand dimensions to get back to FirstWorld, and some of them are not very nice, I can tell you. Some people, a very very few, have the ability to move between the dimensions at will. Wizards have very limited ability in this area; thank the Balance they have some limitations, or they would be completely insufferable. Anyway, as I was saying, some people have the innate ability to move between dimensions. There are very few left alive in any of the dimensions. You are one of the few, maybe the last.”

 

Simon looked at Jhamed incredulously. “Now I know I’m either mad or asleep and having a nightmare.” I have never been out of Australia, let alone out of my dimension. I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but you are one crazy guy!”

 

Jhamed seemed resigned to his task. “At least I can be consoled by the thought that this may be the last recovery of Simon Redhead that I’ll ever have to make. You can’t imagine how boring this providing proof routine becomes. Things are critical. We don’t have time for all this!”

 

Simon sat down on the chair and stared at Jhamed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve had a bad day. I’m in shock. I’m going to sleep and you’ll go away. Or I’ll wake up and you’ll go away. In any case, go away!”

 

Jhamed slowly rose to his feet. He made to move towards the door. Simon never saw the syringe that was hidden in his coat. He never saw Jhamed dart the syringe into his leg but he felt the jab and the sleepiness that came over him before he could complain. He never saw the Prime Minister’s broadcast because he was unconscious. It was probably just as well. The Prime Minister announced that Darwin, Cairns and Townsville had fallen to the enemy. Brisbane was being evacuated. Australia was drawing a line in the sand north of Newcastle. The United States had agreed on support. If the enemy crossed the line, they risked nuclear reprisals.

 

Dungeons and Damsels

 

Simon slept like a drunk. No dreams disturbed his slumber. He was unaware that Jhamed had dumped him unceremoniously into a large hessian sack, that formed part of his emergency travelling supplies for just such a contingency, and dragged him to the nearest dimension portal, cursing under his breath. Had he been able to hear he would have caught the words Redhead and Manfred loosely dispersed between the foulest profanities. Despite it all though, Jhamed loved his work.

 

When Simon awoke, he felt close to panic. Where the hell am I? What happened? Have I gone crazy? He was immediately assailed by a range of unpleasant sensations. His head throbbed painfully and his body ached, as though he had been lying in an uncomfortable position for a long time. A horrendous stench filled his nose and he retched as the foul tendrils caressed his nostrils. Above everything else, his ears were assailed by the screams and wails of people who seemed to be in perpetual agony.

 

He looked around and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he became aware that he was in some sort of cave. The floor was sandy and the walls and ceiling were made of jagged grey rock, chipped and hewn as though by generations of human hands to smooth walls wherever they were in reach. He was sitting in a sort of alcove, his back to smoothly hewn rock with a low ceiling just above his head. For a moment, the panicked feeling of claustrophobia passed through him, but he managed to force it away. Stay calm. This is all a dream.

 

His nose though told him it was not a dream. The smell was abominable. It was a fetid animal smell, a mixture of unwashed bodies and excrement. Simon quickly realised that it was all the fouler because it was human. His throat was dry and he tasted the bile that rose from his stomach. He could taste the foul odours too, overpowering his taste buds like the Muslim invaders taking over his country. But the worst thing of all was the noise. The foul air was filled with the pathetic wailing of human beings screaming for help, begging for a taste of water or a mouthful of food, or beseeching their comrades to end their torment with the peace of death.

 

He stirred and looked around. Within his limited range of vision he saw at least twenty people, animals really, naked or dressed in a few remnants of rags. They were barely more than skin and bones, dull unseeing eyes sunk in bony sockets, all hope long since gone from their minds. They were waiting for the release from agony that only death can bring. They seemed to be keeping a respectable distance from him, considering how closely they were crammed together. Of Jhamed, there was no sign. Did I imagine him? What hell hole is this?

 

Simon suddenly became aware of someone beside him, so close as to be almost touching, but until now so still and silent he had taken the form for no more than an outcropping of the wall. The shape next to him moved a little and seemed to grumble to itself. Whoever it was was totally hidden beneath a full-length grey cloak. The figure moved some more and with a snort a head appeared. It was an old man – a very old man. His long hair and flowing beard were completely white. What little skin was visible through the hair and whiskers was grey and wrinkled like old parchment. But the thing that struck Simon the most was his eyes – pale green pools that suggested he had seen infinite sadness during his long life and yet deep inside he still held on to a faith and hope that things would get better. I never knew eyes could speak so loud.

 

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Simon, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” The old man smiled. “It’s about time you woke up. Jhamed always goes over the top with his knock-out drops.”

 

This is just another nightmare. I have seen you before. “You were at the funeral. Who are you? Where’s Jhamed?” Simon tried to talk without breathing too much of the fetid air and his voice came out as a croak. “And where on earth is this hell hole?” I’ve heard that saying before.

 

“My name is Manfred, although I have been known by many other names: Merlin, Mithrandir, Mutherion, to name a few. I imagine Jhamed told you something about me? I’m afraid this is not a nightmare; the Balance wish that it were. And I did give that line to a promising writer I came across at one time.”

 

“You can read my thoughts?” Shit, I must be careful what I think about!

 

“Only when we are in such closephysical contact, I assure you. You needn’t worry.In any case, there are few things in this world or in any human’s mind that could shock me. Anyway, to answer your questions, Jhamed has gone ahead to scout out a route home. He had some problems finding a safe route for you, particularly since he had to carry you, as you were rather uncooperative, I gather. I had to come looking for you both and we had the good fortune, or misfortune, to meet up here.”

 

“Uncooperative? You’d be uncooperative if...” Simon’s protests were cut short by the sudden urgency in Manfred’s eyes.

 

“We are in the dungeons of Queen Freda in the Kingdom of Dishley. It is best not to speak of things in other planes of existence.” Manfred spoke softly so that only Simon could hear the words, or maybe he spoke directly into his mind, Simon wasn’t sure. “In this realm, Chaos holds sway. Dishley is a kingdom in name only. King Jack rules but Freda is the power behind the throne and she plots for the day her bastard son, Paul, will become king ahead of the rightful heir Prince Christopher. Anyone who crosses her or even speaks against her is thrown into this dungeon to rot. This is a one-way street. No one has ever left this dungeon and returned to the kingdom. Unfortunately, there is a link, a dimension portal, in here, which is why we ended up here. Jhamed is trying to find us a way out.”

 

Simon’s head throbbed, in pain and in disbelief. This morning had been an ordinary morning: Woke up, had a wank, wow that Julia, took a shower, headed for the café, ordered a simubacon roll… and the world went crazy. Despite everything, Simon’s thoughts triggered bodily responses. The thought of the unfinished simubacon roll made him realise how hungry he was and the thought of Julia triggered blood flow to a part of his anatomy over which he had little control. Manfred, still reading his thoughts, laughed aloud and the huge weight that he appeared to carry on his shoulders seemed to lift for a second. “By the Balance, I had forgotten the power of a young man’s hormones. It does an old man good to feel a passion he has not felt for many a long year.”

 

Simon realised what had happened and the blood now rushed to his face instead. The semi-darkness of the dungeon covered most of his embarrassment. The sudden return of Jhamed, who appeared to materialise out of thin air, saved him from further discussions on the matter.

 

“By the Balance, Manfred, this place is amongst the foulest fester holes in the multiverse. None of these poor souls has done anything to merit this disgusting treatment. You are a wizard, can’t you fix it?” Jhamed was so worked up, his fat belly wobbled uncontrollably and his black curls escaped from the containment of his broad-brimmed hat and cascaded down his face.

 

Manfred frowned. “It’s on my to-do list, Jhamed, but there’s just so much to do these days and so few heroes to help with the work. I fear that the time will soon come when it will be beyond my power to help anyone.” A dark cloud passed over his eyes as he spoke. Had Simon been paying attention, he would have seen the green pools fade to grey for a moment. But he was distracted.

 

Jhamed’s arrival had caused him to look up and he was studying the group of pitiful humans nearby. They eyed him enviously and he saw greed and hatred in their eyes. To them, Simon and his companions were as millionaires. They had clothes and perhaps other belongings, maybe even food hidden away. Simon shuddered as he realised what his fate might be in here without Manfred’s power to protect him. For he now realised that the prisoners held Manfred in awe and were afraid to approach too closely. As he watched he heard an old iron gate screech open, complaining on its rusty hinges. In the gloom, Simon could now make out the bars of the prison and the shapes of guards outside.

 

“You dared to speak ill of our beloved Queen Freda. Your property is forfeit to the Crown. Your life is forfeit to the Black Dungeon. You are cast to your fate. You will never walk in the air again. Be gone!”

 

Simon heard the door screech closed and then the ugly roar of the inmates as they realised they had a newcomer in their ranks. It was a sound that made Simon’s blood freeze and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It sounded like a pack of lions closing in on an injured antelope for the kill. All we need now is Satan and I’ll be convinced that this is Hell.

 

The guards had given the newcomer a push into the overcrowded dungeon and she came into Simon’s view. Simon gasped. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever set eyes upon. She was tall and slim, with a tiny waist and small breasts that heaved in fear under a simple red gown. It looked like she had been taken from a soirée direct to the gaol. Her hair was long, straight, and jet-black. It framed an elfin face of such pure beauty that it made his heart lurch. Her eyes were the purest blue, shining like jewels against the milky whiteness of her skin. Her voluptuous lips were painted red. Around her neck, she wore a simple necklace that carried a small silver locket. Her mouth was frozen open. She wanted to scream but fear had robbed her of her voice. Her blue eyes were filled with terror and tears. Her expression pleaded for mercy.

 

The roar of the crowd grew louder as they realised what a pretty trinket had fallen into their midst. They stumbled over each other in their eagerness to get near her. Fists flew, fingers gouged eyes, knees and elbows found soft flesh; bones crunched, and lives ended as the filthy heaving mass surged forward to claim its prize.

 

Simon was in a trance, bewitched by her beauty and dismayed by her predicament and terror. Unthinking, he rose and moved towards her, pushing aside the weakened inmates who barred his way. He fought his way to her side. Their eyes met in a single moment of understanding. He embraced her in his arms and they stood together facing the crowd. Time seemed to stand still as they waited in the calm for the storm. I have found my soul mate. I am ready to die for her.

 

“Not again!” Jhamed exclaimed. “Are we doomed to spend our lives fighting for Simon’s five-minute lovers?”

 

Manfred only grunted and pulled himself to his feet. He extracted a simple wooden staff from within his cloak.

 

The baying of the crowd, which had reached fever pitch when Simon joined the girl, suddenly ceased. A pathway through the crowd parted as if by magic and a group of men pushed their way through to stand before Simon and the girl. The men were dressed in a strange assortment of clothes, obviously harvested from other inmates, and they made a strange sight amongst the near nakedness of the crowd. The men then stood aside, revealing the individual at the centre.

 

Simon recognised him immediately and shuddered. He was tall and gaunt with a sickly looking pallor but two things stood out in Simon’s mind – the eyes, black and evil, and the mouth curved upwards in a sickly grin. I may not have got you this time, but I soon will. Your days are numbered red boy. The words echoed in Simon’s mind. How can Uncle Dring be here?

 

“Well, well, what have we here?” The man’s voice was shrill and high-pitched. Like a crow or a raven, Simon thought. “What a pretty pair. A red boy whose days are numbered and a pretty little girl for Dring’s pleasure.” He leered at them both, displaying a mouthful of broken and rotting teeth. His foul breath made the background stench seem almost fragrant. “We shall have some fun tonight, my cronies. Oh yes, we shall.” He licked his lips and stretched out a thin spindly hand towards the girl’s face. Simon moved himself between them to shield the girl and the hand touched him instead, on his cheek.

 

It was as though a huge shock of static electricity surged between the two of them. Dring shot backwards with a puzzled look on his face and was only prevented from falling in an undistinguished heap by his cronies. Simon felt cold, the deepest darkest feeling of cold he had ever felt. His face felt numbed, worse than any dentist visit.

 

“He is the one, then,” Jhamed said excitedly.

 

“So it would seem,” Manfred replied, drawing himself up to his full height and brandishing his staff.

 

Dring recovered his composure quickly. “Even better,” he shrieked, “my master will secure my release for this pretty red boy.” He turned to his cronies. “Kill the boy! Bring the girl to me, unharmed. You may have your fun with her later.”

 

“Not so fast, Dring!” The voice was loud and powerful. It seemed too big for the frail white-haired man from which it emanated. “Your master will not reward you tonight, but I will secure your release.”

 

Manfred seemed to grow in stature. He stood tall and proud, brandishing a multi-hued staff emblazoned with strange runes. A bolt of blue lightning appeared from the end of Manfred’s staff and lanced towards Dring, surrounding him in its fury, lifting him off his feet, and depositing him in a heap of cinders on the sandy floor of the dungeon.

 

“Be gone the rest of you, lest you also taste Manfred’s wrath.” The cronies disappeared into the crowd. Manfred sighed and appeared old and frail again. “I don’t like to kill, but he was already dead and his destruction today may have saved him from eternal damnation.”

 

“He was undead, then?” Jhamed asked. “It’s lucky you were here or we might not have left here today or ever.”

 

“Perhaps, although there is great power in that one.” He pointed to Simon. “Although he knows not how to use it yet. Did you see the force with which he repelled the undead one?”

 

Simon led the girl over to where Manfred and Jhamed were standing. The crowd parted to let them through. He felt strange. His face was still numb from Dring’s deadly cold touch and the cold seemed to be seeping into his brain, numbing his thoughts, slowing him down. My brain is being eaten. I am going to die.

 

Manfred seemed less concerned. He took Simon’s head in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. Simon was mesmerised by the green pools. He seemed to be drawn inside Manfred’s mind, where he found himself on St Kilda Beach on a hot summer’s day. He was lying on the sand, face down so that he could observe the scantily clad young women without his excitement becoming obvious. The hot sun burned into the back of his head, forcing out the cold thoughts and thawing his frozen face. He came back to reality to hear Manfred’s voice telling him, “Lucky for you that I was here, otherwise your brain temperature would have fallen until all thought activity stopped. Then you would have been ready for reprogramming. With the right programming, you could have become an undead one like Dring.” Simon shuddered at the prospect, suddenly feeling very cold again.

 

Meanwhile Jhamed was fussing over the girl, making sure she was all right. When Simon had recovered enough to feel jealous, he forcefully introduced himself to the one whom he now believed was his intended soul mate. She is so beautiful. I love her. “Hi, I’m Si Si Simon.” It was all he could manage. I don’t know whether it’s the after effects of the freezing or because I’m so nervous. I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I be cool with girls? The blood once again rushed to Simon’s face.

 

The beautiful young woman smiled at him. Her teeth, like everything else about her, were perfect. “Thank you all for saving me. Especially you, Si Si Simon.” She blushed a little as their eyes met. “My name is Juliana. I am... I was... I used to work at the court of Queen Freda. I used to prepare her clothing and help her dress.”

 

“What crime did you commit to warrant this cesspit?” Jhamed asked the question they were all thinking.

 

“I was bold enough to suggest that she take Prince Christopher with her to a royal function. She went crazy. She screamed at me, accusing me of favouring Prince Christopher over Prince Paul. She called the guards and sent me here.”

 

“Things may be worse here than I thought.” Manfred sighed. His bent frame seemed to sag as if a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. “I shall endeavour to give it my priority. But there is a greater need that we must deal with first. We must leave here quickly. Jhamed, did you secure a route for us?”

 

Simon, who had been observing the exchange of information with incredulity, was roused from his stupor and jumped into the conversation before Jhamed could answer. “We will take Juliana with us, won’t we?”

 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Manfred said. “She does not have the power to use the dimension portal. If everyone had such power then this dungeon would be empty. There are many places in the multiverse worse than this place, but also many that are exceedingly better.”

 

Simon shivered. “The multiverse must be a terrible thing if there are places worse than this.”

 

Manfred continued. “However, we will provide Juliana with some protection until we can return and make more permanent amends here.” He smiled at her. “Come here child, don’t be afraid. Jhamed, do you have a knife?”

 

Jhamed produced a vicious looking knife from inside his left boot and Manfred took it gingerly from him and with great care used it to cut off a lock of his long grey hair. Gently, he removed the locket from Juliana’s neck, opened it, and placed the hair inside. He mumbled something in a strange language before replacing the locket around her neck. “No one will trouble you while you wear this. Keep it around your neck at all times. Jhamed will leave you some supplies; keep them close to you, and be of good cheer for we shall return soon.”

 

Simon was about to say something about the wisdom of leaving a defenceless girl in such a place, especially one he found as beautiful as Juliana, but Manfred’s glare stopped the words in his throat. Instead, he turned his gaze to Juliana and their eyes locked for an instant. It seemed to Simon that time stood still. No words were spoken, but there was more communication in that instant than he had ever had with another before in his life. As Jhamed manhandled him away, he reluctantly broke their eye contact. She is my soul mate. I love her. My heart aches for her. I would die for her.

 

The thoughts stayed with him as a smell of pine needles replaced the rank odour of the dungeon and Simon, Manfred and Jhamed found themselves in the middle of a pine forest. Yet beneath those thoughts, there was another one. Simon realised it had been there all the time he had been in the dungeon but there had been so much going on it had eluded his consciousness. Now it nagged at him. I am here. Come for me.

 

Simon was overwhelmed with a series of different emotions – relief to be out of the dungeon, sadness bordering on grief, to have left Juliana behind, and total confusion as to what was happening to him. Am I crazy? Not for the first or last time today, he asked himself that question.

 

His sense of confusion and disorientation only became worse as he was bundled along between Manfred and Jhamed. No sooner were they in the clean air and dappled light of the pine forest than they were in the middle of a hustling city night with thick vehicle fumes that made him retch. Next, they were stumbling through a frozen, snow-covered land where an icy wind chilled him to the bone. Then that too was gone, replaced by a wasteland of ash and dry heat that made his skin crawl. Just as the heat was becoming unbearable, they stumbled into a cool clearing in another forest. This time, old oak trees with new green leaves provided shade from a weak springtime sun. Birds were singing and nearby the sound of flowing water seemed to soothe Simon’s tortured soul. He fell to the ground and lay there, mentally and physically exhausted.

 

“Welcome to FirstWorld,” said Jhamed, proud of his navigating skills.

 

“Welcome, indeed,” said Manfred. “Now the work really begins!”

A Word with the Wise

 

The next few days were a blur to Simon. He remembered that they camped the first night in the clearing. Jhamed had made a fire and had caught and roasted some rabbits. That was the best meal I have ever eaten. I was so hungry. Next day they had walked and walked until Simon felt that he could walk no more. They had passed through wooded countryside and saw no one until late in the day when they came across a few tilled fields and isolated farm dwellings.

 

The people welcomed Manfred like a prodigal son and that night they slept in a warm barn on fresh straw and feasted with the farmer and his family. Simon had never known that simple food could taste so good. They ate whole roasted suckling pig, with the crunchiest, most mouth-watering crackling Simon had ever tasted. It was so much better than the simulated meat he ate at home. The sweet potatoes and parsnips were roasted to perfection, caramelised, but not burnt. Dessert was just stewed apples and cream, but nothing had prepared Simon for the ultimate creaminess his over-indulged taste buds experienced.

 

As he felt the soft balm of sleep begin to embrace him, Simon thought back over the last few incredible days. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe his situation; he still thought he would wake up in his tiny flat and continue with his equally tiny life. What’s happening in my world? Will I ever see it again? Has World War III started? As he drifted towards sleep, he thought about Juliana and how much she reminded him of his classmate Julia. The thoughts had an immediate physical effect and he contemplated relieving the tension in his body, but sleep won the battle of wills. There’s always the morning.

 

Next morning, Simon awoke to the smell of fresh bread and this time his stomach won the battle of wills. He bathed, shivering, in an old tin bath in the barn and found his clothes, washed and dried, waiting for him when he finished. He made his way to the house. Jhamed and Manfred were already dressed and ravenously tucking into chunks of fresh bread with assorted cheeses and cold meats. Simon sat down with them and joined in. For several minutes, the only sound to be heard was the munching of three hungry men.

 

Jhamed finished first, stretched back on the rear two legs of his chair and belched loudly as he dusted the crumbs out of his beard. “There’s something to be said for FirstWorld hospitality, that’s for sure. We should stay here another day and rest up. Simon looks like he needs some feeding up, he’s as thin as a Menubian harlot.” He burped loudly again.

 

Manfred smiled. “We have a meeting to attend tomorrow. We must get to Wizards’ Keep today. That means another long day of walking. And he’s too ugly to be a Menubian harlot.”

 

Jhamed let out a huge “Harrumph!” Unfortunately, he was in the middle of swigging a mug of fresh goat’s milk. He coughed and spluttered as part of the milk went down the wrong way. “I see you’ve little experience of Menubian harlots then,” he spluttered, after spraying a mouthful of milk in Simon’s direction.

 

Simon managed to dodge most of the white spray. “Hey, watch out, these clothes have just been washed. Where’s Menubia? What’s Wizards’ Keep? What meeting are we going to? Do we have to walk all day, again?” I’m not sure I can manage it again.

 

“Does Redhead never stop asking questions?” Jhamed laughed, pulling on his wide brimmed floppy hat and roughly stuffing his long curls inside it. “Better be ready to move, my lad, the road is long and Manfred is a hard task master.”

 

“Patience, Simon,” said Manfred. “All of your questions will be answered at Wizards’ Keep. It is an ancient place, built at the beginning of the world for a special purpose that I shall explain when the wise and our other invited guests are all assembled there. There are so few of the wise left, these days. We are as ancient as the Keep. Sometimes it shows.” It seemed to take a huge effort for Manfred to pull himself to his feet. His back was hunched and he looked no more than skin and bones inside his grey cloak, which he pulled around himself to ward off the early chill of the spring morning.

 

Simon stood too. He was still dressed in jeans, tee shirt and sweater, but he had a cloak of sorts, fashioned out of hessian, that kept the worst of the cold at bay. It seemed that Jhamed’s tools served many purposes. They made to leave, seeking out the old farmer and his wife to say their goodbyes and express their thanks. However, the farmer surprised them again with one final act of generosity. Soon they were on their way, though in a deal more comfort than they had anticipated. The wagon was crude and the single horse that pulled it old, but it seemed like a Rolls Royce to Simon. Moreover, they had a basket packed with more of the excellent food to keep them sustained on the last part of their journey.

 

Jhamed drove, or at least held the reins for it seemed that the horse knew the best route to take and the optimum speed at which to travel. Manfred sat in the front of the wagon and seemed to alternate between dozing and sucking on an old briar pipe, although he burned nothing in the bowl. Simon lay in the back of the wagon, cushioned on a layer of straw, and watched the sky. It looked the same colour blue as the sky he was familiar with and the clouds were the same fluffy white; but he now accepted that he wasn’t dreaming or insane, that he had travelled somewhere else, to a different dimension of the multiverse. I’m going to have an adventure, so I’d better make the most of it. In the front of the wagon, Manfred smiled.

 

Even with the wagon, it took them the better part of the day to get to Wizards’ Keep. As they got closer to The Keep, the number of farms began to increase. Then small villages began to spring up along their route. They began to pass more and more people, going about the daily routine of their lives. It all seemed rather surreal to Simon, like something from long in the past. There was a sort of slowness to their lifestyle that he couldn’t put his finger on, as if no one ever hurried here for anything. And there was also a sense of peace and of safety that increased the closer they came to The Keep. Simon felt a sense of tranquillity that he had never felt before. He was so relaxed that he could barely keep his eyes open, so he sat up and observed his surroundings closely.

 

Jhamed guided the wagon through the cobbled streets of the town of Elannort that surrounded Wizards’ Keep. It was an old town and had seen little change for many centuries. The buildings were simple single or double storey structures made from wood and the local grey stone. Most households were decorated with colourful shutters and stone pots by the front door filled with herbs or flowering plants.

 

Elannort was built in a circle. The main road weaved its way through the streets in an ever-decreasing spiral towards the centre. Straight roads ran outwards from the centre, regularly intersecting the main spiral. At each intersection, there was a collection of commercial buildings. Shops sold fresh produce from the surrounding farms or offered services such as blacksmith or cooper. Public houses provided food, ale and accommodation at reasonable prices for the weary traveller and locals alike. The garrulous pubs advertised themselves with huge colourful signs and expressive names such as “The Prancing Pony”, “Wizard’s End”, “The Elf and the Unicorn”, and “The Five Dwarves”.

 

The streets were busy with other cart traffic and people riding horses as well as many individuals and groups on foot. An army of street cleaners, completely dressed in green, ensured that the many piles of horse droppings and any other litter were promptly removed. Most people took little notice of the wagon as it passed, though some waved or called out greetings to Manfred. The people seemed to be well dressed and well fed. There was a general atmosphere of contentment in the air.

 

As the street circle narrowed, they also began to climb gently, until the road widened and straightened into a long avenue. At first, the avenue was crowned by huge oak trees, whose branches towered above the road, entwining in an ancient embrace and providing a canopy, pale green with new leaves. The trees gave way to a series of statues and monuments on both sides of the road. There were many statues of men who appeared to be warriors, but many others who appeared to be bent and wizened old men, rather like Manfred. Seven of the wizard statues were much larger than the others and seemed to dominate the rest. There were also many pedestals, standing empty and forlorn as if waiting for warriors and wizards who were yet to be. It was as if a deep fog had lifted as Simon’s gaze was drawn along the avenue, which still climbed, now more steeply, to the building sitting on a mound at the centre of Elannort. He gasped aloud and his mouth fell open in awe, unable to frame the words that he sought. Why didn’t I see it sooner? It’s magnificent.

 

“It is said that your reaction to your first view of Melasurej, more commonly called The Wizards’ Keep, allows the wise to judge your true spirit. Some men fear it, others want to own or conquer it. Some would worship it, or what it stands for, or what they think it stands for. Some want to destroy it. You have passed another test, Simon Redhead. You shall be welcomed with honour at Wizards’ Keep.” Manfred spoke with a solemnity that surprised Simon.

 

Before them, in stark contrast to the simple structures of the surrounding town, the enormous building grew into the sky. Its roots were fastened to the bedrock of the central mound but its spires disappeared into the darkening evening sky. The building was jet black but seemed polished and mirror-like, as if fashioned from obsidian. It had many parts, but all seemed to grow out of a central domed section. Simon couldn’t see too much of the ground level detail because a substantial wall of local grey stone surrounded the Keep. Ahead of them towered a huge pair of gates, constructed of polished timber and wrought iron that Simon estimated must be at least twenty metres high.

 

Jhamed brought the wagon to a halt in front of the gates. Manfred gingerly descended. Simon wasn’t sure whether it was the cart or Manfred’s joints that were creaking. Manfred withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and tapped twice on the doors as he muttered some strange words in a language Simon didn’t recognise. Moving inwards, the doors swung soundlessly open into an immaculately kept courtyard. It was completely deserted. There was no sign as to who had opened the gates for them.

 

“Take Simon and show him his quarters. I will walk from here; there is much to be done before the meeting. Have the stable look after the horse and cart, and organise its return to its owner after a few days rest. And be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” Manfred turned and with a sprightly turn of speed disappeared into the distance.

 

“Yes my lord.” Jhamed spoke sarcastically and gave a low mock bow to the retreating wizard. In doing so he flourished his hat and his wayward curls spilled all over his face like champagne gushing out of a bottle. “Dogsbody to wizards, that’s all I’ll ever be. Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice; so what’s new? A rest, some decent grub, and a bit of peace and quiet would be nice for a change. But that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it? Come on, Redhead, welcome to Wizards’ Keep; I’ll show you the ropes.”

 

Simon’s initial impression of Elannort was that it was a town living in the middle ages, lacking any of the technology he took for granted in twenty-first century Australia. His first impression of Wizards’ Keep was one of immense age, almost as if it were forged out of the bedrock itself. As Jhamed gave him a tour of just part of the Keep, he became more and more confused. The Keep seemed to be an eclectic mixture of extremely ancient and very modern. There was technology here that was far ahead of anything Simon had seen before. It appeared, for example that the whole town had a reticulated water and power system, emanating from a small room in the basement, with no sign of a reservoir or generator. He was bursting with curiosity about what Elannort truly was and pestered Jhamed until he got an answer.

 

“Is it always more questions with you? Don’t bother; I know the answer to that. You really should wait for Manfred’s explanation, I’m sure he’ll tell you everything tomorrow. And remember, I’m a dogsbody, I know jack. All I know is this. Elannort is a very special place. It has existed since the Beginning. It exists only on FirstWorld but there are shadows of Melasurej in other dimensions of the multiverse. Men seek them out everywhere as places of power and peace; although they are often fought over relentlessly. I have felt such shadows in places called Tanelorn, Jerusalem and Camelot across the dimensions. Only on FirstWorld has it existed in peace and harmony, as it is supposed to. There is an old prophecy; only fragments exist; it dates from before the Beginning. It is written that the End will come when the final battle for Elannort is fought. The armies of Law and Chaos will fight a great battle and the winner will claim all of FirstWorld, and maybe the entire multiverse, for eternity. It will surely be hell on earth. I hope that I do not live to see such days, but I fear that they are almost upon us.”

 

Jhamed’s sombre mood affected Simon too. He tried to cheer his new-found friend. “Well, the new hero won’t let that happen! Why not give Elannort to the good guys, and everyone can live happily ever after?”

 

Jhamed snorted. His aquiline nose enhanced the sneer that betrayed his face. “Don’t you get it? We are the only good guys, and there are few of us left. I have seen worlds dominated by Law and they are every bit as bad as those gone over to Chaos. Think of your own world. Hitler was a servant of Law; he sought perfection, a world of total order that complied with his rigid rules.”

 

Simon shivered. If Hitler represented Law, whom did Churchill serve? What about the USA and its fundamentalist Christians? Which side did Islam represent? My brain hurts.

 

Jhamed seemed to sense Simon’s thoughts, or perhaps they had had this conversation before. “It’s not always clear cut, Simon. Not everyone has to choose between Law and Chaos. There is a third way: the way of Balance. Anyway, enough for today. We must get fed and rested for tomorrow.”

 

While Jhamed had been showing Simon around The Keep he had introduced him to many of the staff who worked there. They were led to the bedchambers and given elegant interconnecting rooms. Simon felt like he must be in a seven star hotel, except he had never stayed in one and had little with which to compare his current accommodation. The bed was a four-poster with fancy drapes and a down-filled quilt over satin sheets. The en-suite bathroom had all the conveniences of the twenty-first century, yet his room lacked any modern gadgets with the exception of electric lighting and underfloor heating. It is so weird. What sort of crazy place is this? A mixture of ancient and modern. Other staff brought them a sumptuous feast, based on local produce, with a bottle of fine red wine. As they ate, they chatted about this and that as if they were old friends, totally comfortable in each other’s company. After dinner, Simon took a long relaxing bath and slipped into his soft bed. He slept long and woke completely refreshed. For the first time in ages he was untroubled by dreams.

 

Next morning, he found there were new clothes laid out for him. As he dressed, he felt like he was donning a new skin, beginning a new part of his life – a part that had been preordained for him. Why do I feel like this? Is it this place? Does it affect people like Manfred said? After dressing, he looked at himself in the ornate full-length mirror that took pride of place on one wall of his room. He was startled by his reflection. His face, still rather pale but now tanned by the exposure to so much sun, seemed more handsome than he remembered. His bright orange hair was now long and flowing. Must be good conditioner. I don’t think I’ll cut it just yet. His frame, while still tall and skinny, seemed to suit the leather trousers with the large silver-buckled belt, long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and leather jerkin. He pulled on long boots, hung a woollen cloak around his shoulders, and fastened it with a silver brooch that matched his belt buckle. He stole another glance in the mirror before heading off in search of Jhamed and breakfast. What a handsome devil. Simon smiled.

 

Both Manfred and Jhamed made approving noises when he found them. “You just need one more thing, to set off your outfit,” Jhamed said. Simon looked at him questioningly.

 

“Enough, Jhamed!” Manfred interrupted. “There’ll be time for that later. You may accompany Simon to the meeting today. I have a feeling that your destinies are closely intertwined and you have the right to hear first-hand things that will affect you deeply.”

 

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jhamed was lost for words. Simon laughed, though and said, “That means you’ll be classed as one of the Wise! No more jokes at their expense.”

 

Manfred began as if to question exactly what jokes Jhamed had been making, but clearly thought better of it. “Be in the Great Hall in one hour from now,” he ordered before hurrying away.

 

They were the first to arrive. When they entered the Great Hall, Simon felt as though they were entering a cross between a great cathedral and a movie set filming Arthurian Legend. The room was enormous and occupied the whole of the domed section of The Keep. The ceiling of the dome towered at least fifty metres above them. The room itself was circular and must have measured a good fifty or sixty metres across. If the roof opened, you could play a game of cricket in here. At the centre of the room was a huge round table. It was big enough to seat fifty people with comfort. It was made from the same obsidian material of the walls and it seemed to Simon that it grew from the floor of the chamber like a giant mushroom. The centre of the table was cut out and a few ornately carved wooden seats were provided around both the inner and outer circumferences. Gaps at ninety degrees segregated the table into four quarters. The seats were positioned in pairs next to giant letters carved into the table. Simon could see each letter of the alphabet – fifty-two places in all, but only five seats evident. There was a gap for access and then on a raised platform another set of seats and tables circled the round table. Like a theatre, more rows of seats rose above them, catering for a large audience. A raised dais in the hole in the centre of the table seemed to be for the speaker. The room was illuminated by natural light from floor to ceiling windows around most of the circumference. The windows were made of stained glass and seemed to consist mostly of heroic scenes of battle. Panels alongside each window and high above in the ceiling provided artificial lighting. Better than the lights at the MCG.

 

Simon and Jhamed took their seats in the raised platform area. Decorated place cards indicated where they were to sit. They took their seats, watched and waited. The main double doors of the chamber, made of solid oak, swung slowly open and a group of people solemnly entered the chamber in silent single file. Manfred, dressed as always in his grey cloak, was at their head. He carried his staff before him. Behind him shuffled another, dressed like Manfred and one who could easily be taken for his brother, holding a similar staff. Then followed the motliest crew of people Simon had ever set eyes on. Simon counted nineteen individuals. The two wizards moved to the inside circle of the round table. Manfred sat opposite the letter M. The second wizard sat next to the letter Z. The others moved to the area where Simon and Jhamed were sitting. They too had place cards indicating where they should sit. As they passed by, Simon noticed that they stole furtive glances at him, but quickly bowed their heads and wouldn’t make eye contact. Everyone sat down. No one spoke.

 

After what seemed to Simon like several minutes, Manfred stood and smote the floor with his staff. The artificial room lights went out, so that the chamber was illuminated only by the dappled light entering via the windows. At the same time, Manfred appeared on the dais, as a figure at least three times his normal size. He hadn’t actually moved there, Simon realised. It must be a hologram. Directly above his head, high on the ceiling a strange symbol became illuminated. Simon looked at it closely. It was very simple and was in a white material that gave it stark contrast against the black roof. It’s a huge set of scales. The symbol did indeed seem to be a set of scales as might be used by a jeweller, with two pans that balanced against each other. One pan had a large ornate letter L carved above it, while the second had an equally large C. The scales were tilted halfway towards C.

 

Manfred spoke. “Welcome, members of the Council of the Wise and invited guests, to the seven hundred and seventy seventh meeting of the Council. In the early days, near the Beginning, the Council met often. Unfortunately, it hasn’t met in recent times, indeed for many millennia since the last of the Seven Great Sages passed to stone. Most of the Wise Ones have gone to their eternal rest and greeted you today as you arrived along the Avenue of Heroes. Of those that have not given up the struggle only I, Manfred, and Zenethyr have answered the summons to this meeting.” Manfred indicated the three empty chairs on the outside of the table. “It bodes ill that Satania’s representatives have either been prevented from attending or have chosen not to attend.”

 

He paused for a moment and seemed to scan the audience that was distributed around the upper circle. “Invited guests, you have been asked to join the Council today because each of you represents a key constituency of FirstWorld. I have also taken the liberty to invite Simon Redhead, who hails from another dimension of the multiverse. It is my belief that Simon will play a significant role in the Final Days and indeed that our hope rests with him.” Simon blushed and looked at the floor. How can I help them? I have no power or skills. Manfred must be out of his mind.

 

“With him is Jhamed al Suraqi, Companion of Heroes, and a great helper to wizards who are getting frail and forgetful. His destiny is linked to Simon’s. Both, I believe, will finally rest in the Avenue of Heroes.” Jhamed was not shy and he rose and removed his hat. He bowed several times in the directions of all of the seated guests, his hair cascading over his face and muffling the comments he was muttering. Simon only caught the words “dogsbody” and “about time.” Manfred went on, “Before we continue, I offer myself as Chairman of the Council. It is not a role that I have filled before, but the greatest of us have long gone to stone. Of those here today, only Zenethyr also has claim.”

 

Manfred sat down and Zenethyr rose. Immediately, he appeared to be on the central dais, towering over them all. He wore a grey cloak and carried a simple wooden staff. His flowing grey hair and beard made him look very much like Manfred. When he spoke though, Simon noticed subtle differences of expression and a lack of fire behind his eyes.

 

“I attend today because it is stipulated that I must. I have had little interest in the affairs of men for millennia. I am tired to my bones and impatient for my eternal rest. I wait for the day that I may take my appointed place in the Avenue of Heroes. I fear that I must have some destiny to fulfil before it can be so. I welcome the Final Battle. I cede the Chair to Manfred, though he be named Manfred the Fool by the seven hundred and seventy sixth Council.” Zenethyr sat down. He’s not like Manfred at all. His eyes are pale and empty. He is just waiting to die. Why was Manfred called a fool?

 

Manfred rose and again took central stage. “I accept, with humility, the position of Chair of the Council of the Wise. It is sad indeed that it comes to me by default, as the last Wizard on FirstWorld who both still lives and sees some hope for the future. Perhaps, had the last Council taken heed of my warnings instead of branding me a fool we would not have come to this? But, that is done and cannot, I fear, be undone. My foresight is clouded where other wizards are concerned, but I hope and believe that Zenethyr has a role to play in this ere it is all over.”

 

He paused again and looked around the chamber. Everyone still sat in silence, as if in awe of the occasion. Finally, he spoke again in formal tones. “Let the record commence and show that I, Manfred the Magician, call to order the seven hundred and seventy seventh Council of the Wise held in the Great Hall of the Wise at Melasurej on the twenty seventh day of the month of Late Spring in the year of fifty thousand, five hundred and six.” Wow, this place is really old. Manfred shot Simon a glance that conveyed, “Concentrate!”

 

“I now ask that each of you, with the exception of Simon and Jhamed, introduce yourself and give us a very brief summary of your journey here and the current situation in your area. Please tell us of any strange events that have occurred recently. The Balance has tipped towards Chaos. The time of the Final Battle for Elannort may be upon us. The fate of the multiverse may be in our hands. Spare nothing that may be of importance.”

 

Simon and Jhamed were fascinated as they listened, as one after the other the guests stood and spoke. As each one stood, his or her hologram was automatically displayed on the central platform. Simon was unaware of FirstWorld’s geography, but as the speakers went on, he began to draw a simple map in his mind.

 

The first person to stand was dressed in a way that Simon imagined a medieval warrior would be dressed. He was wearing plain clothing, simple brown trousers and a cream shirt, but on top of that, he had chain mail. At his belt, he carried a sheathed broadsword. As his hologram towered over them from the dais, Simon noted his regal bearing. He was tall and well built, perhaps thirty years old. His hair was jet black and cut short, matching his beard. His voice was steady and strong and indicated a man well used to public speaking. While everything in his body language displayed strength and pride, Simon quickly concluded that here stood a desperate man.

 

“I am Gamying, Heir-Regent of Tamarlan. Our city has long been a peaceful haven for artists of all kinds. My family has ruled, unbroken, justly and fairly for more than ten thousand years. I travelled alone but I carry the blessing of my father Gamyon Regent of Tamarlan. We still have hope that one day our King will return out of Northland, whence he was lost.” How do you lose a king for ten thousand years and expect him to return?

 

Gamying’s eyes seem to dart around his audience without ever making eye contact. “I have travelled long and hard for the passes of the Devil Mountains are still closed with snow and strange fell creatures hunt there for the souls of the living, and the dead too for all I know. I came to Devil’s Mouth after barely surviving Suicide Pass and came down the Fang Glacier on a Dwarven Ice Ship. The streets of Fang were strangely quiet and the South Road to Elvenhome is now no more than a pitted goat track riddled with weeds. It seems that Entropy rules south of the mountains now too. I was glad to find the old wooden bridge over the Idigna still well maintained and came at last to Tar, where I found the famed hospitality of old still in evidence. I rested there for several days before taking a wagon to Elannort.”

 

“The situation in Tamarlan grows more serious every day. The winter has been long and hard. Spring has not yet come, north of the mountains. The people begin to grow hungry. Wargs have been unusually active and seem to have lost all fear. They hunt in huge packs and have even entered the city. Babies have been taken from their cribs. The old and the weak cower in fear in their homes. Raiding parties of strange men come upon the city out of Northland with monotonous regularity. Our resources are stretched to the limit. The artists would leave the city but there is no escape unless the passes of the Devil Mountains are open. The Frozen Wastes grow ever closer and threaten our fields. I fear for our very existence. Never more have we yearned for the return of our King.” I wonder what Wargs are? They sound very nasty. How would a king fix it?

 

Gamying paused for a moment and his eyes moved away from Manfred and sought out Simon and Jhamed. For a brief moment, he finally made eye contact with Simon. There is both hope and despair in his eyes. He turned again to Manfred. “Is it true, as I have heard rumoured, that Gilgamesh is reborn? Will you send the Great Hero to aid us in our darkest hour? Please!” He sat down. The agony of his final plea hung in the air.

 

Manfred stood briefly and scanned the room. He held each participant in brief eye contact before his gaze passed on. Patience; he seemed to say without speaking. All will be revealed in due course; we will hear all of the news first.

 

An elegant woman, who was surrounded by four heavily armed guards, stood and bowed low to Manfred. Her hair was long and dark. It flowed down her back like a mountain stream in springtime. A white flower, garlanded in her hair stood out in stark contrast, matching her alabaster skin. Her clothes were understated elegance, well-tailored to suit her tall, slim frame. Simon’s first glance judged her to be a young beauty and his groin gave an involuntary response. As she stood erect again though, he realised she was much older, perhaps in her fifties. Simon shuddered. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, ugh.

 

“Greetings, Manfred and honoured guests. I am Rheanna of Rhakotis, custodian of the Great Library. Rhakotis, jewel of the Middle Sea, is the centre of academic excellence. For many years, our scholars have been studying fragments of the ancient texts that prophesy the end of FirstWorld in the Final Battle between Law and Chaos. Our studies suggest that there may be a way to prevent this. It involves the coming of a hero – the Everlasting Hero – who will lead us to a New Beginning, a new age if you will. He must wield the Sword. It must be found again.”

 

“I have brought with me many scrolls and I will present the results of our studies at the appropriate time. My message now is one of hope. Rhakotis still stands, unaffected by the tribulations that affect the rest of the world. Our lighthouse shines as bright as ever, guiding the great trading ships that still dock in our port. We hear news, of course, and many of us begin to be fearful. It is said that bandits now frequent the Sumar to Erech road, but we saw nothing of them on our journey here, though we had a strong escort to guard us.” She bowed low to her guards. “Erech seemed uneasy and I too was glad to reach Tar. The land between the Great Rivers made me unwell – there is a feeling of death and decay there.” Her face was gaunt and her expression stark. She talks of hope but reflects despair. Her mood has affected the whole room, plunging it into gloom.

 

She sat. The words she had spoken made Simon uneasy. They expect me to save them. How can I be the Hero? When she had mentioned the Sword, his left hand had begun to tingle, as if with pins and needles. A strange longing came over him and then was gone in an instant. My sword! I am missing a part of me. Where is my sword? Take a grip, Simon. I’ve never so much as held a sword. Was I searching for a sword in my dreams? I can’t remember.

 

His concentration restored, Simon saw that another woman was now addressing the meeting. Simon did a double take. Bloody hell! She’s a Vulcan from Star Trek. She’s the spitting image of T’Pol from the old reruns of Enterprise. The woman was slim and petite, with dark, short-cropped hair that highlighted her arching eyebrows, a thin nose, and pointed ears. She was wearing a full-length body suit, in a strange glimmering material, which hugged her lithe body. Simon felt the twinge in his groin again. One of his great fantasies was getting off with T’Pol.

 

“I have answered your summons, Manfred, though I have little hope left. It is good to see you again, Elven Friend; it has been too many years since we have seen you in Elvenhome and shared bread and mead as the sun set over the Gardens of Eden. Rheanna speaks the truth when she tells of the decay in Eden. Whatever the outcome of the Final Battle, it is terminal decay. The time of the elves is past. It is the time of humankind now, and the destiny of FirstWorld and the multiverse is in their hands. Still, we will provide whatever help and advice we can. But, I warn you, we look inwards now as we prepare for our final days.” The elven woman’s depression seemed to deepen the atmosphere of despair. She is so beautiful but so sad. I’d like to be able to cheer her up.

 

“My name, in the common tongue, is Ceridwen. My elven name translates to Evening Star of the Sylvan Peoples, for we have long known that our time is ending. I am the last queen of my people and when I was young, I feasted in Tamarlan with the kings and visited Rhakotis before the Great Lighthouse was built. Yet I am still young in the manner of my people, for elves have long life spans; so long that men often think of us as immortal. Not as long as wizards, I would guess. I remember, as a child, playing on Manfred’s knee, and he was an old man then.” She looked at Manfred and smiled at the memory. Her smile was like sunrise on a frosty winter’s morning. The earlier feeling of despair was washed away. I have never seen anyone so beautiful. I would die if it meant she could live. Do I mean that? She has bewitched me.

 

Ceridwen focussed again and her expression turned serious. “We have lived in the Gardens of Eden, called by men the Forbidden Forest, since the Beginning. After the Sundering, we were spread all over the multiverse. In some places, we prospered, but in most, we were treated with suspicion or hunted down and killed. As the Firstborn, many of us had the power to cross the dimensions, so we travelled far and wide encouraging all elves to return home to FirstWorld. We offered a haven of peace and tranquillity. For millennia, elves have returned to FirstWorld through the dimensions on great sailing ships, landing at Haven on the Great Inland Sea and passing along the Elven Road to Eden. There has not been a ship now for many long years.” Ceridwen sighed and Simon thought he could see a tear run down her pale cheek. “Though we live long lives, we are blessed with few children. In recent times, children have become fewer and fewer. The sound of children’s laughter has not been heard in the Ancient Wood now for over five thousand years. The trees have forgotten them. We haven’t. Every year, when the ice melts in the mountains and the two great rivers flood the gardens and woods and renew their vitality, we remember the children and their songs. It is already late spring in the gardens. For the first time ever, there has been no flood this year. Now I understand. Winter still holds fast in the mountains. It is a bad sign. I fear for the dwarves.”

 

She paused for a moment and it seemed to Simon that a pained expression crossed her face. “Even I am not old enough to remember the Sword, whose name I will not speak. I have heard the tales, indeed they are still told on long winter evenings, though there are no children to frighten these days. The tale still frightens me, however, and it would be a last resort that It should ever be found and used again. Once it was a great sword, the greatest sword ever, fashioned by elven smiths from meteorite iron. It was unbreakable. It was blessed by the Elven Lords and protected by great runes. It was said that he who wielded the sword would never receive a fatal wound while it was in his hand. In those days, it had a good name. Elves called it Evil Slayer, in the common tongue, though others called it Excalibur. It was created for a man to wield, a left-handed man. It was to be the sword for the Everlasting Hero. Of its tainting, I will let others with more knowledge tell. But I caution you again, he who seeks to wield the Sword risks more than his life, he risks his mortal soul.”

 

Simon shuddered, though part of him was intrigued by the story. He wanted to hear more. His left hand tingled again. His whole arm ached in anticipation. What happened to my sword? Simon no longer noticed the possessive pronoun that had crept into his thoughts.

 

Ceridwen continued, “We are a peaceful people, not taken to fighting except as a last resort. My two companions are the best archers and sword wielders in the Royal Guard. Together, we crossed the Ford of Hope and travelled the Elven Road, before turning north to Elannort. The Elven Road is little travelled these days and is in a terrible state of disrepair. We saw few people on the road to Elannort and those we saw kept their distance. It is many a long year since elves have left Eden. It is sad indeed that our very appearance generates fear in humankind. I fear it is a sign of the times in which we live. I must return to Eden after our summit, but one of my companions will stay to help if you decide it necessary, Manfred. May I present the two greatest warriors in Elfdom, the brothers Taran and Adjatay.”

 

The elf queen’s two companions rose and bowed to the meeting. They were identical twins. They were probably tall for elves, but Simon estimated they would only stand with the tops of their heads at his shoulders. They had the same distinctive facial features as Ceridwen but their hair was long and blond, tied in ponytails. They wore tight green body suits of the same glimmering material that left nothing to the imagination. At their sides, they carried highly decorated scabbards. On their backs, they carried quivers, packed with arrows for the long bows slung across their shoulders. The three elves sat down.

 

Immediately a very short, stocky figure jumped up. He was shorter than Jhamed and even fatter. His hair was long and matted, his beard longer, and he was dressed all in black, except for iron chain mail that covered his body. Fierce blue eyes stared out of his hairy face and a pug-like nose wrinkled in disgust. When he opened his mouth, his teeth looked like a ninepin alley after the ball had been bowled. He carried a huge shield on his left arm and in his right hand he brandished an axe that seemed to be taller than he was. He slammed the haft of his axe on the floor, causing a boom to reverberate through the building. He looked in the direction of the elves and spat on the floor. Faster than Simon could follow, Taran and Adjatay were on their feet, shielding their Queen. They had arrows fitted to their bows and were pointing them at the dwarf, who now had his shield raised in anticipation. “By the blood of my forefathers, my axe will cleave the skulls of a couple of Pagh today! It is dwarfish axes, not elven bows that you need in the time of peril.”

 

“Cease and desist!” A powerful voice brought them all to attention. Manfred stood before them. His anger was evident by the blue flame that seemed to burn around his body. He stood tall, much taller than Simon had ever seen him and he looked less old – Simon couldn’t say young, but no longer a doddery old man. Manfred’s eyes burned with green fire and his staff glowed orange red. “We are here to try to save FirstWorld from an horrendous fate. We are not here to squabble about old grievances that should have long been forgotten. Dawit, put down your weapons. Taran and Adjatay unhook your arrows and sit down!” Suitably chastened, the three complied. “Now Dawit, let’s start again.” Manfred slowly sat down and to Simon he again appeared to become a frail old man.

 

“My apologies, Great Sage. The old blood still runs strong in the veins of Dawit son of Dia son of Din. I am come down from First Delve at Devil’s Mouth to represent the voice of the Dwarf people. Would that I had joined Master Gamying and taken the risk of the ice road. Rather I battled the snows and came through the Gap of Despair. The fell creatures abound in the mountains these days and it took all of my cunning to avoid them. I fear that my axe would have done little against them. My father Dia son of Din son of Dane is King Beneath the Mountains. Like the Pagh, our numbers have dwindled.” Simon thought he was going to spit again when he used the Dwarfish word for elves, which judging by the response was obviously derogatory.

 

“Unlike them, we do not hide away from men. If we could not trade with Tamarlan and Fang, we would starve. The winter has been too long and very hard, harder than anyone remembers. Our stores are running very low. We have eaten no fresh vegetables or meat for nearly six months.” The dwarf sighed and then continued. “The road through the Impenetrable Forest is grown over. There is no passage along the Idigna, neither for a dwarf nor a mountain goat, I would wager. My axe was soon blunted and I had a peculiar feeling that I was being watched by many pairs of eyes. Out of pragmatism, I followed the edge of the forest north eastwards, sheltering at night as best I could. After three days, I came at last upon the River Hope, flowing with its icy chill out of the Mountains of Death. I built a fire on its banks. The Dark Woods across the river filled me with foreboding. The Impenetrable Forest at my back seemed to express loathing for all of my kind. I said a prayer to Satania for my lost kindred somewhere up in those terrible mountains.”

 

Dawit seemed to shiver at the memory and a chill flowed down Simon’s spine and set goose bumps on his arms as if in empathy with the speaker.

“A group of five hundred of our finest young dwarves left First Delve four hundred years ago. They wanted to challenge some of the old ways, to set up a new delve where they could live with greater freedom. King Dane son of Dwahir son of Davit allowed them to leave, believing it would provide our shrinking population with a new chance, and for his own personal reasons which I won’t bore you with now. They obtained horses, wagons and stores in Tamarlan and headed west into the Frozen Wastes. They followed the foothills of the Mountains of Death for many days before finding a pass into the mountains, which they called New Hope Pass. They climbed high into the mountains where they found an entrance into a cave system that seemed a perfect place to establish New Delve. They were full of excitement and hope. Their leader, David son of Dwahir son of Davit, wrote a long parchment setting out their hopes and plans. They drew straws and one of their number was sent to take the message back to Devil’s Mouth. He was never seen or heard of again. By some fate, the parchment was found and finally came to First Delve some two hundred years ago. A search party was immediately dispatched to find out if they had survived and prospered. It disappeared without trace. Two other expeditions were mounted in the years that followed. No sign of them has ever been seen again. Today our numbers are too few to risk a further expedition. So we continue to agonise over the fate of our brethren. We fear that in their delving they unearthed some great evil, as is ever the way in the Mountains of Death.” Dawit paused and looked directly at Simon. He couldn’t read the dwarf but his goose bumps were reinforced and he shivered with something that resembled fear as Dawit’s dark, unblinking eyes burned into his.

 

“In the stories of my people, passed down through the generations, it is said that when the Gods formed the world and created us all, they put some Good and Evil into each of us. When they had finished their creations, they had a pile of Evil left over. So, they buried it deep, deep in the mountains where they figured it would remain sealed and hidden for all time. But it is a dwarf’s role to dig and seek ever-greater treasures from the earth. It was inevitable that we would eventually dig so deep that we would find the Evil. It is said that when the Evil was released it had no form. It fled into the Northland where it sought form and a reason for its existence. It is said that humankind gave it both. So was the Dark God created, for our misery.” Mythology, a creation myth. But why does it make me feel afraid? Simon cast a quick glance at Jhamed. His new friend seemed transfixed on the proceedings, gently nodding in agreement.

 

“In those days, long ago, there were many dwarves delving in the mountains. The greatest treasure ever unearthed was the Blood Ruby. It was found shortly before the Evil was unearthed. It was thought to have great power. When the Dark God’s forces began to attack the three races, we knew that we had to put old enmities aside and work together. Each race provided a part of the solution. Humankind provided the Hero. The Pa-... the elves provided a great sword. We provided the Blood Ruby.” Dawit paused to draw breath and collect his thoughts. Simon thought he saw tears in the dwarf’s eyes and when he looked at Jhamed, there were tears streaming down his friend’s face too. Maybe it’s not a myth. Are they talking about my sword? And my ruby too?

 

“I’m sorry that I was distracted from telling you about my journey,” Dawit continued. “I followed the River Hope for three days, until footsore and weary, I came at last to the end of the Fools’ Road. It is said that only fools travel this road, for it ends on the banks of the impassable Hope River. Even if one could cross the river, there is only the Forest of Doom on the other side. To my knowledge, no living being has entered that Dark Wood and come out alive. It is strange to me that so many roads out of Elannort lead to nowhere. But who am I to counsel the Wise? The road is in surprisingly good condition for one that goes nowhere. There were few travellers on the road to ease the lonely journey, but I came at last unscathed to Elannort and offer my services, Manfred, Great Sage, as you would see fit to use me.” Dawit bowed to Manfred and finally sat down. I wonder if all dwarves talk so much. Jhamed talks a lot and is rather short and fat. I wonder if he’s related?

 

The gathering seemed in a sombre mood after Dawit’s speech. Manfred clapped his hands and a group of servants entered, scurrying here and there, and bringing refreshment to the guests. They were served green tea and oatcakes with honey. Despite the short time since breakfast, Simon and Jhamed tucked in with gusto. Everyone in the room seemed to be eating except for Manfred and the elves. Manfred seemed lost in thought. The elves sat silently watching. Simon was thinking about asking Jhamed about his parentage, but thought better of it. “All of these history and geography lessons are getting a bit confusing,” he said instead.

 

Jhamed fished into his jacket pocket and drew out a crumpled parchment. “Here’s a map of Central FirstWorld. I’m sorry, I should have thought about giving it to you earlier. Look, here’s Tamarlan where Gamying comes from, and Devil’s Mouth. Dawit’s journey took him along this route.” He used his finger to trace the route through the Gap of Despair, along the edge of the Impenetrable Forest and down the River Hope to the Fools’ Road and on to Elannort. “Rhakotis is away in the south west. Eden, where the elves live, is the area between the two great rivers. The three races don’t mix very much. Elves and dwarves hate each other, except in my case, and humankind hates anything that is different.” Simon was about to ask another question when Manfred clapped again, their cups and plates were swiftly removed and the next person rose to speak. What did he mean, in my case?

 

The next speaker was a large man. Large was a kind description, Simon thought. He was tall and fat. He wore extravagant clothes in bright colours and was adorned with jewellery. Every podgy finger displayed a huge ring. Around his neck hung a large gold medallion. From his ears dangled exquisite diamonds. His greasy grey hair was hidden under a black cap with gold and silver inlay. When he smiled, his teeth were all flashy gold. Simon estimated his age at fifty to fifty-five. Three beautiful young girls, no more than teenagers, dressed in plain grey clothes fawned around him. His voice was pompous and booming.

 

“I am Lord Velacourt. I represent the combined might of the three great City States of Makkah, Kartage, and Al Damman. My caravan, with forty armed men, travelled the Great South Road and we saw little to concern us on our way to Ur and then to Elannort. I am here on the orders of my Masters but I must tell you that we care nothing for the affairs of dwarves or elves, and little for those who choose to live in ice and snow when spring is a little late. Our City States are rich and strong. We fear no one.”

 

He was in the process of manoeuvring his large bulk back into his seat when the heavy oak doors to the chamber swung open. A man rushed in, dressed in purple garb of a military style. He was tall and slim. His face was clean-shaven and his light brown hair clipped short. He was, thought Simon, perhaps twenty-five and very handsome. Velacourt sprang back to his feet with a loud grunt. “How dare you enter the meeting? Speak not one word or I shall have you flogged and dragged back to Kartage in chains behind my caravan!” Beads of sweat were forming on Velacourt’s face, which had flushed bright red.

 

The soldier blanched but otherwise disregarded the threat. “Forgive me, Great Sage, I cannot stand idle while the Lord Velacourt ignores the reality of the situation. I beg leave of the meeting to speak of what I know.” He bowed low to Manfred and waited for a response.

 

Velacourt was now close to apoplexy. “You will rue the day you crossed me, Aglaral. Your life is forfeit. Your family will be stripped of everything it owns and they will wish they had joined you in the afterlife. Be gone from my sight. You are an abomination to the army you swore to serve.”

 

Manfred rose and was again clothed in blue fury. “Sit down, Velacourt! Captain Aglaral you shall have the protection of the Wise and leave to tell us what you know. Fear not the threats of Lord Velacourt, for he and I shall have words ere this day is done.”

 

Velacourt sat down, but his mouth was foaming and his piggy eyes blazed with hatred and fury. Wow, this is better than Neighbours. His handmaidens fussed over him, but he brushed them angrily away. He probably wants to storm out, but needs to hear what Aglaral has to say.

 

Captain Aglaral gave a nervous cough and began to speak. His voice was quiet at first, but became louder as his confidence grew. He spoke in a clear, well-educated tone. It seemed that he had rehearsed what he wanted to say. “Lord Velacourt would have you believe that all is well in the City States and that we have the strength to meet any threats. It is not so. There is much public unrest in all three cities. While the rich merchants and noblemen get richer, the poor are starving. The unrest is becoming physical. More and more, the army is being forced to take up arms against its own citizens. If nothing is done, there will be civil war and chaos. But that is not the greatest of our worries. We are protected from the south by the Great Southern Desert. It would be a strong army indeed that could cross that vast expanse and still be in a fit state to fight. To the north, with all due respect, there is nothing for us to fear. Although the news from Tamarlan is concerning. To the east lies the Sea of Destiny. Our navy is strong and we have no reason to fear an attack by sea. We have a strong, friendly relationship with the city of Ur and most of our trade is undertaken by camel caravan along the Spice Road to Hamadan and beyond.” Simon glanced at Jhamed’s map to try to understand the geography. There was something about Aglaral that immediately struck him. He’s a man of honour and integrity. I like him. I hope I can get to know him.

 

Aglaral was gaining confidence even though Lord Velacourt seemed to be shooting daggers from the piggy eyes set in his still flushed face. The fat man fidgeted with indecision, torn between watching Aglaral and looking at Manfred, who he clearly feared. “It is to the west that we must look with fear. Few have taken the Great West Road from Kartage or the southern track from Makkah. Fewer still have passed beyond the Crossroads of Hell. To the south of that crossroads lies interminable heat and sand for as far as any have ever travelled. To the west are the Unknown Lands. It is said that only the Wise know what lies there. We have a small garrison posted at the Crossroads of Hell. It is our least favoured posting, but at any rate, we are not putting down riots there. We are forbidden to travel any further west. For as long as any can remember no one has ever entered our lands from the west. Recently, people have begun to arrive. At first, it was a trickle, but lately it has become a flood. Most of them are half-dead. Some have horses or camels, a few have wagons, but most travel on blistered feet carrying all of their meagre possessions on their backs. They all tell the same story. They are refugees. They are fleeing hell on earth. They are seeking help and a new secure life. We should be able to help them and accommodate them in our cities. But they have darker skins than we do. And they believe in a different god. Many of us feel threatened by them. So we have built a camp on the shores of the Sea of Blood. They are held there like prisoners. Many have died, through despair. I can no longer keep silent about the shame I feel for the way we are treating them.” He paused for a moment. Simon saw the tears in his eyes. Velacourt was now sitting with his head bowed.

 

“I have been posted to the Crossroads of Hell,” the officer went on. “I have spoken with many of the refugees. I’m ashamed to say that I have interrogated them. Their story is clear and corroborated. The Dark God is risen again. He commands an army of men and things, which as I have heard described, I can only name as being fell creatures out of a child’s nightmare. They conquer all before them and move relentlessly eastwards. They will be at our borders in a matter of weeks or months. We will not be able to resist them for long, though we all die trying.”

 

Aglaral paused again and looked around the room. All eyes except Velacourt’s were fixed on him. “There is one more thing. Many of the refugees have reported things they have heard about the enemy. They all agree. The Dark God has but one objective. He seeks to take Elannort and destroy the Wizards’ Keep.”

 

A sombre mood again filled the room. Velacourt remained with eyes downcast. Manfred gestured to Aglaral and he took a seat not far from Simon and Jhamed. He’s a brave man. I wish I had his bravery. This great adventure may not be so much fun after all. I’m scared. Simon shivered and goose bumps again welled up along both his arms and legs.

 

There remained just two men still to speak. The first to rise was a short man, just over five feet tall. He was dressed in simple white clothes – the closest description that came to Simon’s mind was shorts and tee shirt. Looks like he’s ready for a day at the beach. He was bald. More than that, Simon realised, he seemed to have no body hair whatsoever – no eyebrows, no beard, and no hair on his arms or legs. I wonder whether... Stop it! He was the whitest person Simon had ever seen. He makes me look positively tanned.

 

“My name is Kris,” the man introduced himself. “I am a bard from Karo. I travel with trading expeditions or on other journeys to provide entertainment. I have sailed westward on the Sea of Blood and have seen the strange lands where the dark-skinned ones come from. I have learned some of their stories. I can play many musical instruments. I know many songs. I come from a long line of bards. My ancestors have told stories for generations. I hold in my head the great stories that have been passed down through the ages. I am here because I heard from my patron that this meeting was taking place. He intimated that it did not concern Karo, but I felt otherwise. I offer my stories in the hope that I might help your cause. I seek little in return, food and a bed and perhaps the odd pitcher of ale to keep the vocal chords lubricated. With your leave, my Sage, I shall demonstrate my craft.” Manfred gestured that he should continue. Simon shuffled in his seat. He was starting to get uncomfortable, but he wanted to hear more.

 

“When the Great Evil was unleashed, it fled into the Northland, uncertain of its purpose and without form. There it cowered for millennia, cursing its creator, for it knew only misery, hate, and sorrow. One day it came across a caravan of humans, who were also lost and wandering without purpose. The Evil recognised their pain and sought to help them, either for its own ends or because it had suffered so much pain itself. It took a form similar to the largest and strongest of the men and made itself known to the group. It used its power to feed them well from their meagre rations. It found water in the desert and turned it into wine. It healed their sick. In return, the humans began to worship it as a god. The Great Evil, now in human form, began to enjoy its power. It craved human attention and worship. It led the small, lost group back to the cities. They began to spread His message. His followers grew quickly in number and He rewarded them with wealth and power. They gave Him a name and the name was Gadiel, meaning God is my wealth. As His followers grew wealthier, they began to crave more and greater power and wealth. They set themselves to conquer and rule others. In order to do so, they needed great power in battle. They fought in the name of Gadiel. They beseeched their god to use His great powers to smite down their enemies. Every time they invested their beliefs in Him, He grew more powerful.” Simon was entranced by the strange, pale, hairless man. His story captured Simon’s imagination. He’s not a bad story teller. I want to hear more.

 

“As one of the three races, humans have great powers but they are often unaware of them. They have the power to create gods. In Gadiel, they created the Dark God. Gadiel’s followers used great cruelty and terror to subdue their enemies. With each conquest, their methods became darker and sicker. Young boys were castrated. Young women were raped and used as sex toys. Older women were forced to work as slaves. Men were ruthlessly killed in ever more barbaric ways. Torture was commonplace. They sought to maximise a person’s pain and drag out a death for as long as possible. They lost all sense of mercy or justice. With each death in His name, the Dark God’s power increased. And the Wise failed to act.”Simon shuddered again. I must be careful what I wish for.

 

“The Seven Great Sages sat on their hands and watched and waited. It is said that Adapa, the First Sage, believed that Gadiel was sent by the Creators for some high purpose. As its conquests grew, humankind turned its focus to the other two races, the Firstborn elves and the Secondborn dwarves. Humans were jealous of their siblings and that jealousy was nurtured into hatred. Gadiel had by now determined His purpose. He was to enslave the world. Every sentient being was either to worship Him or to be destroyed. Gadiel had no knowledge of the Balance. He was not driven by the ideals of either Law or Chaos. It is because of this, perhaps, that Adapa did not see Him as a threat. It is said that Adapa met with Gadiel and the two of them debated the reason for existence. Gadiel realised that the Wise might still pose a threat to Him, for He still had much power to gain. So He assured Adapa of His good intentions and convinced him that there was no need to call a Council of the Wise. Adapa was taken in by His cunning lies and the Wise stood by while FirstWorld was taken over by the Dark God and His followers.” Simon wondered how Manfred was taking this slur on the Wise and glanced at the old wizard. His face seemed expressionless and he betrayed no emotion. Were they really so wise after all?

 

“The threat to the elves and the dwarves grew more pressing. A large army crossed the Ford of Ukhaimir and threatened to march on Elvenhome. Fang and Tamarlan had fallen and the plan was to starve the dwarves out of Devil’s Mouth. There were a few of the Wise who saw through Gadiel’s deception. The greatest of them was the Great Sage Bedwyr, who was the first of the Seven to pass to stone. He fell in the defence of Elvenhome and it is said that it took all of Gadiel’s power to break his staff. The successful defence gave the three races a breathing space. Bedwyr’s student was the Wizard Manfred.”

 

Kris paused in his story to bow low to the Chairman. Simon noticed that Manfred’s eyes were glazed over, as he no doubt relived the events of so long ago. “Forgive me, master, if my story has changed in the many tellings, for I only have the words that were passed to me, while you were there.” Manfred opened his eyes and gestured for Kris to continue.

 

“Manfred seized the opportunity to urge the three races to act together. He knew that since the Dark God was essentially a human creation, it would take a human to defeat Him. But it would need a special hero with supernatural powers garnered from the other races. Manfred had long understood the concept of the Everlasting Hero and his sword. There is a land far to the west of here that is called by some Britain, by others Albion. I have travelled there in search of stories, though often in mortal peril. It is a wild place now, but it is said that once it was at peace. In those days, it was ruled by Arthur Pendragon, who carried the sword Excalibur. Arthur was aided by an old wizard, named Merlin. That is a story for another day, but the similarity of wizard, hero and sword is fascinating, is it not?”

 

Simon thought he saw Manfred smile, just for an instant. Can it be true? Manfred was Merlin? Kris smiled too and then continued. “Manfred sought the help of the elves to locate Excalibur. From the dwarves, he obtained the Blood Ruby. The story of his journey to Devil’s Mouth, evading Gadiel’s army, and convincing the dwarves to give up their most precious possession is an epic worthy of an entire evening around the campfire. Suffice it to say, after many adventures, he brought the jewel to Elvenhome, where the two greatest elven smiths fashioned it into the hilt of the Sword. No sooner had they finished than one of them picked up the Sword and slew the other. As soon as the Sword tasted his blood, the ruby took on an eerie, pulsing glow. The Sword consumed his soul. When he saw what he had done, the second smith threw himself onto the Sword, taking his own life. The ruby in the hilt grew brighter. Too late, the elves realised that they had created a monster. They named the Sword Fleischaker, meaning Butcher of Souls.” The bard now had the audience eating out of his hands. Simon was spellbound yet at the back of his mind he heard faint whispers. I am Fleischaker. I am yours. Come and claim me.

 

“Then out of Erech came the hero Gilgamesh and he took up the Sword as his own and he was invincible. It is said that he carved his way single-handed through the armies of Gadiel. As he killed, he sang in a strange tongue while the Sword shrieked and glowed with fire as it consumed souls. At the end, with his armies scattered, Gadiel and Gilgamesh faced each other on Battle Plain. It is said that they battled for forty days and forty nights. Gilgamesh was fortified only by the Sword, which had consumed so many souls that it had enormous energy. Gadiel was weakened by the loss of his armies, but more so by the loss of belief in him by those who survived. They were evenly matched. Neither one could land a fatal blow on the other.” Simon was hanging on every word. You are Gilgamesh reborn. Together we shall feast.

 

Despite the audience reaction, Kris still appeared nervous. His eyes darted here and there and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He shuffled backwards and forwards, seemingly unable to stand still. “After forty days and forty nights, they called a truce. Gadiel had devised Gilgamesh’s weakness, for he desired immortality above all things. Gadiel offered Gilgamesh immortality if Gilgamesh ceased his attack upon him. They would go forth from the field of battle as equals. Gilgamesh succumbed to his desire and agreed. He laid down the Sword. Gadiel seized his chance and tore out Gilgamesh’s heart. Gilgamesh spoke his last words, even as he saw his own heart beating in the Dark God’s hands. ‘On Elannort and by Fleischaker, I curse you. You will never rule while Elannort stands. Fleischaker will ever be your bane.’ Gilgamesh died. Gadiel attempted to pick up the Sword. The Sword was angry that it had been denied its kill and was hungry for souls. It screamed and sunk itself deep into Gadiel, sucking the Dark God’s energy into itself. But the Sword was denied again, for Gadiel had no soul it could steal. So Gadiel survived, but was so weakened he again fled into the Northland to slowly recover his strength and plot the downfall of Elannort and the Sword.” The tension in the room seemed to ease with a great release of breath. But the bard wasn’t quite finished.

 

“It seems he has regathered his strength and comes now to attack Elannort and claim his vengeance. It’s ironic, is it not, that the Balance will swing ultimately to Chaos, not by the hands of the servants of Chaos but by a God created by humankind?” Kris bowed again to Manfred and sat down. The storyteller’s spell was broken and the room was suddenly filled with chatter. Simon was still taking it all in. The implications were enormous. Surely, they can’t think that I’m Gilgamesh reborn? That sword is evil. How can I be expected to touch it, let alone use it?

 

Slowly and carefully the final man stood. He was very old. His back was bent and hunched and the little hair that remained was pure white. In his hands, he held a package, wrapped in white cloth. It was long and thin. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. There was a sense of peace in his pale blue eyes.

 

“I am from Erech. My name is of no concern, for I have no status there or anywhere. It has saddened me that our city should not send a representative to this meeting. Neither has Sumar or Karo, I see. Ever we dwell in dreams of complacency while our world crumbles around us. My Lady Rheanna, it does my old bones good to see you again. I would bow low to you if my old back were still flexible. Well I remember visiting the Great Library, thirty years ago, for my research. My Sage, I have devoted my life to the study of Gilgamesh. I have run a small museum in Erech for many years. It has had little patronage and I have struggled to survive. However, I have always known that my life had a greater purpose. Today, I fulfil that purpose and hope for a sweet eternity to follow.”

 

He swallowed deeply and seemed to struggle for the breath to continue. “It is well known that the Battle Plain was over the Ford of Uruk, in the triangle of land between the two south roads. Indeed, the site of the final battle remains barren today. No plant will grow there and no animal will venture close. It is a cursed place. I have spent much time there, studying, searching, excavating, and collecting. It bent my back, but never broke it. During my excavations, I unearthed many artefacts. Only one of them is of real importance. It is the culmination of my life’s work that I bring it here today, for I know it has great importance in what must follow.”

 

Slowly, painstakingly, he began to unwrap the white cloth. Every eye in the room was upon him. Does he have Fleischaker? Does he have my sword? Finally, the object was revealed. There were a few gasps of surprise. It was a scabbard. The leather looked old and weather-beaten. It was inlaid with many jewels and there were faint representations of many strange symbols that Simon took to be runes. The scabbard was fused to a leather belt. The belt had no buckle or other visible means of being secured. It must be damaged.

 

“This is the scabbard made by the elves after they had created Fleischaker. It is protected by the most powerful runes and spells that could be generated. Only when sheathed in this scabbard could Fleischaker safely be controlled. It was lost when Gilgamesh fell. I know not where Fleischaker went, though I think it unlikely that the Dark God took it. That is for others to determine. My feeling is that this scabbard will be essential if you are to recover Fleischaker and use it. I offer it now, with goodwill, to the Everlasting Hero.” He looked straight at Simon and their eyes met. He means me. He wants to give me the scabbard.

 

Jhamed prodded Simon in the ribs. “Go to him. Accept the scabbard. By the Balance, I never thought this would happen today. Go on. What are you waiting for?” Simon looked across to Manfred for a sign and the wizard smiled and nodded his head. Simon stood and made his way to the old man. He stood in front of him, not knowing what to do.

 

The old man spoke again. “My life’s work. May it be enough to help? May it earn my eternal rest?” He looked deep into Simon’s eyes as if reading his soul. “I both envy you and pity you, Hero. The ownership of this scabbard has corrupted and dominated my entire life. Even now, at the culmination of my existence, I can hardly bear to give it up. How must it be to hold Fleischaker, to wield It in battle, to feel the power as It eats the souls of your enemies? How I envy you that feeling. How I fear for your soul once you have experienced it.” He stepped forward and placed the scabbard at Simon’s right side, placed for his left hand. He took the broken belt and wrapped it around Simon’s waist.

 

“If you be a true manifestation of the Everlasting Hero, take now the scabbard, named Vasek by the elves, for it can only be worn by the rightful wielder of the Great Sword Fleischaker.” Simon felt a great elation as the scabbard was placed against his body and then a strange tingling and tightening as the belt fixed itself firmly around his waist. Some strange conjuring trick worked its magic, for the belt now had a golden buckle fixed perfectly for Simon’s slim waist.

 

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Lord Velacourt, was on their feet. There was a babble of chatter. One voice dominated the noise. “Hail the Everlasting Hero. Hail Gilgamesh reborn. Hail the rebirth of hope that Tamarlan may yet survive.” Gamying spoke for them all.

 

Simon heard little of the excited chatter. He was still digesting the words the old man had spoken. He was looking into the old man’s eyes. He read many emotions there in rapid succession – fear, jealousy, love, and finally peace. The old man’s eyes closed and Simon caught his falling body and laid him gently on the floor. His medical training kicked in. He felt for a pulse, but there was none.

 

Simon was about to begin CPR when Manfred spoke. “Leave him, Simon. His time has come. He fulfilled his destiny today and he deserves his rest. His has been a great burden and he carried it well. All of this time, under the noses of the Wise. I can barely believe it. The greatest talisman of the ages hidden in a boring museum in plain sight. There is a new statue in the Avenue of Heroes tonight. One that I never predicted. This bodes well for us. I believe there is still a chance. Let us hope that finding the Sword proves to be as easy.” Against the odds, Manfred laughed.

 

The next few minutes were a blur to Simon. People were shaking his hand, wishing him their best, and begging his help to support their causes. Servants busied themselves. The body of the old man was removed with great ceremony. A meal was served and consumed. The room was abuzz with conversation. Jhamed was at his side, guiding his actions, helping him come to terms with his newfound status. Am I dreaming? Is this for real? Who the hell am I?

A Spy in the Camp

 

The old man appeared frail as he hunched over the table. Long white hair and a matching beard almost obscured the object he held with both hands. Cold green, bloodshot eyes focussed intently on the centre of the object, which looked much like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and obsequious. His words dripped with honey as he fawned into the glass ball. “All is in order, Master. Your great plan will soon come to pass. I have located the Sword and have dispatched my trusted deputies to recover it. Soon the only threat to your Mightiness will be safe in our possession. Soon you will have control of the entire multiverse. You won’t forget your humble servant who has served you so faithfully and well? I only ask to rule FirstWorld. What is one dimension in the infinity of the multiverse?”

 

The ball blazed red and the old man shook as his unblinking eyes locked onto the object. “Yes, Master. But what is the Hero without the Sword?”

 

The ball blazed again and the red light made the old man’s eyes look feral, like an animal filled with blood lust. “Yes, Master. The fool Manfred has called a Council of the Wise at Melasurej. He thinks he has found another manifestation of the Everlasting Hero. Those whose hope fails think that Gilgamesh is reborn.”

 

The ball flashed a cold blue and the old man winced. “Forgive me Master; I will not utter his name again. It is a vain hope. I have a spy in the Council. I will learn everything that happens and whatever futile plans they put in place. My armies march ever forward. I shall join them myself soon and will take Melasurej in your name before the year is out.”

 

The ball faded to yellow and then translucent. The old man’s eyes blinked again and his hands released the object. His green eyes turned red and his voice hardened. “Fetch me a slave girl – old enough to meet my needs, but still tender.” A servant who had been cowering in the corner of the room rushed to obey.

 

The old man paced up and down impatiently, muttering to himself. “Soon I shall have the Sword, the Hero, and Melasurej itself. Then I will not have to debase myself anymore. Then I shall be the master of the multiverse.”

 

The door opened and the servant returned with a naked girl. He pushed her inside the room and hastily closed the door, with him on the other side. The girl was barely a teenager. She struggled to hide her nakedness with her hands and cowered in a corner, head down, barely able to look at the old man. She shivered in terror as she waited for him to take her. Her tiny new breasts heaved as she struggled to form words of pleading that might save her honour.

 

The old man looked at her and smiled, displaying long canines. He began to salivate and his beard became matted and wet. As he moved towards the cowering girl, he began to change. The grey-haired old man transmogrified into a hideous wolf form. He stood eight feet tall on his two hind legs and his body was now transformed from a seemingly feeble old man into a sleek and powerful black wolf. Its long fangs dripped with a mixture of poison and saliva. The girl opened her mouth to scream but no sound was forthcoming. Her death was mercifully quick as the wolf tore out her throat.

 

As the wolf ripped apart her body and gorged itself, it didn’t notice the forgotten and still-uncovered glass ball on the table, which momentarily flashed with a chilling blue light.

 

 

More History Lessons

 

After lunch was cleared away, Manfred stood and cleared his throat. The room came slowly to silence. Twelve faces stared at him expectantly from points around the huge circular table. Velacourt remained, though his handmaidens had been asked to leave. Rheanna now sat alone, her guards too having left the chamber. Manfred looked at them one by one over the metal rims of his spectacles, meeting their gaze, grabbing their attention, locking them to his will.

 

Simon was the last to be locked in. He was drawn into the wizard’s gaze and found himself lost in the pale green pools of his eyes, swimming in a velvety softness. A voice spoke quietly in his mind, “Pay attention, heed what I say, do not interrupt or question until I have finished.” Simon trusted the wizard implicitly. He knew he had no cause to fear him and so he allowed the voice to work its magic. If only my university lecturers could learn this technique, he thought as the wizard broke contact. Simon thought he saw a momentary smile flash onto Manfred’s face before it stiffened into a stern visage.

 

Manfred stood before them. He was clothed all in white, his long white hair and beard adding to the purity he projected. He held his staff in his right hand and an ancient scroll in his left. Every person present that day was indelibly affected by him. They all spoke in awe of the vision in white, glowing with power, strong and ancient. They remembered the multi-hued staff glowing with the same power and the strength of his voice. They never forgot the words that he spoke; they were burned into their minds. Yet, when he sat down afterwards and he released them from his spell, they saw a small, tired and frail old man, clothed in rags, holding an worn wooden stick and a scrap of cloth. Often they wondered which was the truth and which the vision.

 

These were some of the words that Manfred spoke that day. The words that awakened in Simon Redhead some ancient race memory and showed him, for a brief moment, his appointed place in history; his destiny.

 

“My friends, great allies, the last of the free, thank you for your attendance here today. For many of you this is your first, and perhaps only, visit to Melasurej. This is a special place, as you will soon understand, and none of you will be unaffected by your visit. Before us stands the greatest challenge ever to face humanity. In the next few days, we must make decisions that will have major and irreversible impacts on the entire multiverse. All of our futures will be affected, perhaps our pasts too. There is a great burden placed upon us, upon each of you. This is a greater burden than any human has ever had to carry before. I wish it could be otherwise, but we have come to the moment when it cannot be put off. We must be strong; we must pick up and bear this burden, lest we commit the entire multiverse to fall into chaos for all eternity. Today is a day for listening, for understanding. Tonight you will sleep on the knowledge you have gained. Tomorrow, with clear heads we will discuss the options before us. By week’s end, we will have chosen our path.”

 

“We have already heard much of the history of FirstWorld this morning. But to understand our predicament we must go back further, to the Creation. I am going to explain to you all the history of the universe and the coming into being of the multiverse, as best I can. I am going to talk of gods and of the ancient struggle between law and chaos. I am going to show you two possible futures for FirstWorld and the multiverse. I am going to show you why FirstWorld is so special.” A small tear ran down Manfred’s cheek and disappeared into his beard. He steadied himself and continued.

 

“The universe that FirstWorld inhabits is very old. It is the very first dimension of the multiverse. Indeed, for many eons it was the only dimension. The universe was formed long ago. No one knows how it was created or who created it. There have been many theories over the millennia, but they are not relevant to our problem. Life was abundant throughout the universe. Intelligent life evolved in many galaxies. Civilisations were formed, flourished and died. The rules of physics were obeyed. Space had three dimensions. Time was linear. There was order. Good and evil were found in equal proportions. They fought each other. There was balance. There were no gods. Intelligent beings throughout the universe had no need of them.”

 

“Amongst all of this arose one race of superior beings. We call them the Great Old Ones. Their civilisation flourished above all others. They achieved true greatness in all areas of endeavour – engineering, medicine, science, the arts, philosophy. They were a benevolent and good race. They shared everything with other civilisations. However, as they evolved further they got so far ahead of other civilisations that they became revered as gods. This did not sit well with them, so they retreated into their own systems and broke off contact with the rest of the universe. As they continued to evolve, they gained a longevity that bordered on immortality. The price of this immortality was that they lost the ability to procreate. At this stage in their evolution, they had lost corporeal form and existed as beings of pure energy.”

 

Simon was hooked on Manfred’s story. He had heard such theories before but they had been part of the science fiction stories he was fond of as a young teenager. He had never been religious and the story of Adam and Eve he had treated as a fable. He believed in natural selection and evolution as Darwin had described. Taken to its logical conclusion he supposed that a non-corporeal existence was possible. He stole a moment to check out the others. They were all transfixed by Manfred’s words. I’d better concentrate.

 

The old wizard was continuing. “Then something happened that shook the very foundations of the universe: two children were born. It is not known whether they were siblings or had different parents, or even how procreation was still possible. The Great Old Ones were few now and realised that their days were numbered. They felt that the children offered the hope of a new future for their race and they endeavoured to teach them as much of their eons of acquired knowledge and experience as possible. As an aid to this teaching, they found an obscure planet at the edge of an unremarkable galaxy and set up an experiment that would enhance their children’s learning. The planet had abundant life, but few advanced sentient life forms. That planet was Earth.”

 

You could have heard an autumn leaf fall from a tree. Manfred had their undivided attention. “The two children were given the names Satania and Jeohab. The Great Old Ones used their technological skills to enhance life on earth, creating sentience. Elves were created to follow the teachings of Jeohab, dwarves to follow Satania. Primitive humans were given the freedom to evolve and choose their own paths. Both Satania and Jeohab were given limited access to influence human decisions. They were perceived, of course, as gods.”

 

“The experiment was quite simple. Satania had a goal to achieve total chaos, while Jeohab’s task was to achieve total order. The Great Old Ones wanted to teach their children about the eternal battle between law and chaos. Jeohab was not a merciful god and tried to secure order through fear. Satania worked behind the scenes and achieved chaos by much the same means. Imagine, if you will, a child being given an ant farm. So it was with Jeohab and Satania. Compared with them, we are but ants. Like all children, they became bored with the experiment and left Earth to its own ends for long periods. After several millennia, the remaining Great Old Ones and the Children made a further evolutionary step, becoming beings of pure thought or consciousness. At this point, they achieved the ability to move outside this universe to explore what lies beyond. They left this universe then and have never returned.”

 

Simon wondered about the Great Old Ones. How could Manfred describe them as benevolent when they subjected humanity to such experimentation? And why did they need to teach their children about law and chaos? What are they anyway and where does the Balance come into it? It’s starting to sound too much like science fiction now.

 

Manfred was just hitting his stride. Simon realised that he was enjoying his self-appointed new role. “Before they left, however, they had to decide what to do about Earth. They remained a merciful race and could not bring themselves to destroy their creation. They were worried about leaving things as they were, for it appeared that the Earth and the universe might swing wholly to the side of law or of chaos, both results being equally abhorrent. They created a new race of men and called us Wizards. We were few in number; only fifty-two were created, twenty-six for each child. Each of us had a name beginning with a different letter of the Common alphabet. The Great Old Ones created this place, Melasurej, to be the centre of our world and to symbolise the Balance we were created to maintain. The first seven were named the Great Sages and they formed our ruling council. In those days, I was little more than an apprentice to one of them, the Great Sage Bedwyr. He was a thoughtful wizard, very strong, with firm views on the role of the Council of the Wise. I learned much from him, and grieved deeply when he fell protecting Elvenhome from Gadiel. After his fall, I felt it was my duty to continue his work, although the rest of the council did not share that view. I was viewed as eccentric and barely tolerated. Eventually, I was named as Manfred the Fool and exiled. The long years have taken their toll and there are few wizards remaining, even though we were given life spans that even elves would consider immortal. Our appointed task has been to maintain a balance between the forces of law and chaos, to prevent either one getting too far ahead of the other.”

 

Simon sighed and shifted in his seat. Jhamed gave him a stare and dig in the ribs, presumably to keep quiet. So he could have been Merlin. He serves the Balance. I’m starting to understand.

 

The old wizard was still speaking. “You all know that this is a battle we have been losing. Two things happened that made our task impossible. The first was the creation of the new gods. With Satania and Jeohab gone, we had hoped that the races of Earth would learn to live without gods. Elves and dwarves have been successful. Except for their hatred of each other, that still runs deep, they have almost forgotten that they were created to follow law and chaos. Humans, on the other hand, seem to have an inner need to believe in gods, to explain all of the things that cannot be explained by their current level of scientific knowledge. With Satania and Jeohab gone, they began to invent new gods. It appears that the Great Old Ones made a mistake, omniscient as they appeared to be, for the essence that they used to enhance humans gave mankind the power, when working collectively, to create gods. Now there are minor gods everywhere, creating mayhem. You have already heard the story of the most feared of them, the Dark God, Gadiel. Gods can only exist while enough humans believe in them. Unfortunately, their numbers are growing and their powers too, as more and more of humankind are ensnared into belief. With the slow demise of the elves and dwarves, the time of humankind is upon us. The Balance tips, some say inevitably, towards chaos.”

 

Simon remembered his science classes. Disorder and chaos is thermodynamically inevitable. Entropy must always increase. He dragged himself back to concentrating on Manfred’s speech and gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for being one step ahead of the wise wizard. I’m good!

 

“Many of the Great Sages believed that the energy required to reduce the effects of entropy was not sustainable indefinitely and that therefore chaos would eventually emerge victorious, whatever we did. Bedwyr did not subscribe to this theory and neither do I. Were it a universal law, the Great Old Ones would never have reached the stage of their development where they were able to create us.”

 

Simon’s self-belief took a dive as Manfred shot down his theory in flames. I never liked thermodynamics or statistics.

 

“All of this we could have dealt with if it had not been for the second, more profound change. We do not know how or why this happened, even though we have been studying it for millennia. I hope that Rheanna may be able to shed more light on the matter later. At some point, and I think that I have now identified that moment in time, the multiverse was formed. An event took place, so momentous that the universe could not accept the outcome. Two realities were created, one where the event occurred, one where it did not. Everything else up to that point was identical.”

 

Simon put thoughts of entropy to one side. He knew that scientists had been postulating the existence of additional dimensions for many years. The prospect of a multiverse had always excited him. There’s a dimension where I’m not still a virgin. He had already experienced the reality of the multiverse on his journey here. He had accepted that he was no longer in his own dimension, that the Earth that he called home was not the same as this one. A realisation dawned on him. I’m special. I can travel through the dimensions of the multiverse.

 

“After the split, they continued to develop separately. In the new universe, and all subsequent universes formed, similar types of events caused the formation of new realities. The multiverse was slowly formed and is being formed still. It is a fifth dimension. It can be best thought of as the layers of an onion. FirstWorld is at the centre and the various dimensions are wrapped around us. We don’t know how many, or if the multiverse is even finite. Some believe it is the ultimate manifestation of chaos, and if the multiverse becomes infinite then chaos has won.”

 

Simon felt the pressure building in his head as if a migraine were coming on. Was each dimension infinite in size? Were there an infinite number of dimensions? Was there infinity in five dimensions? Was there a beginning to it all? Would there ever be an end? How could infinity be kept in balance? What caused the sundering in the first place? Manfred became a blur as he was surrounded by floating blobs and zigzag lines that Simon knew emanated in his own head. He closed his eyes but the aura remained. He struggled to continue listening.

 

“We believe that FirstWorld has not generated further dimensions since the first one. We don’t know precisely the types of events that precipitate a split. Clearly, they are significant events. There is one other important factor; as you move out from the centre of the onion, time seems to speed up. Many of the dimensions follow similar development patterns, as you might expect. However, the newer universes are moving faster than the older ones. We believe that many of the outer dimensions have already reached the end of time as we know it and have become total chaos worlds.”

 

Manfred paused for a while. Whether it was to let the momentous information he had imparted sink in or whether it was to gather his thoughts for the next part, Simon didn’t know. He opened his eyes to look around the room. As far as he could see through the aura the participants all seemed stunned. I think my head will explode soon.

 

As if reading Simon’s thoughts, Manfred continued. “I don’t want to say too much more today. You already have an enormous amount of material to process. There are a few more things I must tell you though, before I let you rest. The first is that we have limited ability to move between the dimensions of the multiverse. As we have already heard, Firstborn elves had this innate ability. Wizards have limited ability. As far as I know, dwarves have never tested their ability. Very few humans are blessed. It remains an enigma. Why would the creators have provided this ability, unless they knew that the multiverse would form one day? My dear friend Jhamed al Suraqi is one of a few special beings of the Balance. He has unique skills in travelling between the dimensions. He comes from a line that includes both elves and dwarves.”

 

Simon could swear that Jhamed was blushing. I knew it! I’m going to get the story out of him later when I feel better.

 

Manfred was continuing. “There is one great artefact that we have never been able to understand or use until perhaps now. It is located at the top of the highest tower in Melasurej. It is a special gateway. It may allow some of us, or more specifically one of us, to travel not only through the dimensions but also through time. After millennia of study, both here and in Rhakotis, we are close to understanding its function and purpose. It is another enigma. Why did the creators provide it? Did they foresee the day when it would be needed? Were they preparing a means for us to preserve the Balance? Think well on these questions, this evening. We will talk more of it tomorrow.”

 

The sun was beginning to set and the magnificent stained glass windows became alive with colour. Simon’s head was abuzz with thoughts, even more colourful. What a day. I’m Gilgamesh reborn, the Everlasting Hero. I have a scabbard that needs a sword; not just any sword but the most powerful ever made. Jhamed is the son of an elf and a dwarf; now that would be a relationship to watch. There’s a time machine on top of this castle. Given everything else that has happened, I expect they’ll ask me to use it. My head hurts. I’m going crazy. It can’t be true. Suddenly the light, the aura, and the overload of information became too much. Simon collapsed. As he slumped in his seat he began to shake violently. As he lost consciousness he thought he heard a faint cry for help in his mind. I am yours, Simon. Come and claim me.

Two Wizards and a Witch

 

She cast her eyes around the room. Everything was just as it should be; servants bustled, guards stood to attention, and an air of opulence was evident. She took her seat on the ornate throne. It pleased her vanity that the diamond encrusted “Queen’s Throne” was more ornate and much larger than the simple mahogany “King’s Throne” where Jack was sitting. She looked at the King and hissed at him in a quiet whisper, so that the army of retainers wouldn’t hear, “Remember to let me do the talking. Welcome them and then leave them to me. Do you understand?” The King nodded weakly. She glanced into the long silver mirror for one last check. Her long black hair was perfect and her make-up immaculate. “Let them enter!” Queen Freda of Dishley commanded in a loud, firm voice.

 

Several minions scurried to open the elaborate doors to the throne room. A herald stepped forward and blew on a trumpet. “Your Majesties, beloved rulers of Dishley for whom each of us would die in an instant, two travellers from afar crave an audience with your esteemed Highnesses. With your Majesties’ approval, your humble servant presents the wizards Frisa the Curly-Haired and Hroc the Crow who represent the “Mightiest Wizard of All,” Weylyn the Wolf, Ruler of all FirstWorld.”

 

He bowed low to the thrones, while two others ushered the visitors into the room. The wizards looked like kindly old grandfathers, bent and frail with long white hair and beards. They looked almost identical, except that one had straight hair and the other's was what might kindly be termed “fly-away”. They shuffled into the room, each supporting himself with a simple wooden staff. Freda suppressed a laugh. She saw through their deception; she had dealt with wizards before.

 

The two visitors shuffled into position before the two thrones. They bowed, stiffly and not very low. One of them cleared his throat and made to speak. Freda nodded, discreetly, to the leader of the group of heavily armed guards who stood at attention to one side. He barked an order and the men drew their swords and surrounded the startled wizards. She spoke sweetly, in a voice that oozed sickly honey, a voice she kept for public occasions before people got to know her true nature.

 

“It is customary, in Dishley, for all visitors to kiss the feet of King Jack before they open their mouths to speak. Violation of this protocol is viewed as a serious insult and has been known to result in death. I’m sure your inaction is based only on your ignorance and is not a deliberate slight. Please, show your respect to his Majesty and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

 

She smiled at the two old men, who seemed to have taken much firmer grips on their staffs. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. In turn, they shuffled forward, dropped slowly to their knees, and prostrated themselves at the feet of the King. Jack hardly seemed to notice. Freda smiled. Inside she already knew that they were too weak to withstand her. She nodded to the guard leader and the soldiers sheathed their swords and returned to their ceremonial positions.

 

The two wizards regained their original places and the first of them, with the unruly hair, cleared his throat again. This time Freda allowed him to continue. He tried to make eye contact with the King, but Jack seemed to be staring mindlessly into the middle distance. The wizard began to speak.

 

“Your Majesty, my name is Frisa and my companion is called Hroc. We are here on the command of our leader, Weylyn the Wolf, to discuss matters of great importance. We seek an urgent audience with you in private. It is a matter that affects the security of your Kingdom.” Jack made no response. Freda let them wallow in silence for longer than was necessary. She noticed that beads of sweat were forming on Frisa’s brow. She looked at her husband. “Jack, my love, perhaps you’ll let me deal with this matter.” She looked back at the visitors. “He’s distracted by important matters of state. You may speak to me, as if you were speaking to him. Isn’t that right my dear?” She wanted to give him a good kick; instead she reached over and tapped his arm.

 

“What? Oh, yes. Whatever you say, my dear.” The King went back to staring into the middle distance. “Where’s Christopher?”

 

A flash of fury shot through Freda. She did her best to mask it. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll send Paul in to talk to you. Gentlemen, will you join me in my private quarters?” She stood and walked slowly from the throne room. Servants rushed to open doors and to grab the hem of her dress. She knew that she carried herself well; tall and upright with the long black dress making her appear to glide over the floor. She put on a show for the wizards, who followed in her wake.

 

Her private quarters were dark. The heavy black curtains were always drawn. Oil lamps and candles provided limited illumination. The furniture was heavy and ornate, upholstered in dark red and purple. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with dusty volumes. A black cat was asleep in a basket in the corner. A raven fluttered in a birdcage, suspended from the ceiling above the cat’s basket, just too high for a cat to jump and reach it. Freda glided over to the couch and arranged herself there. She indicated to the wizards that they should sit in the lounge chairs on either side of her. She commanded her servants to bring tea.

 

The wizards shot glances at each other and shifted in their seats. They were uncomfortable; that was good. They tried to make small talk. “If I may be so bold, King Jack does not look well. I hope it is nothing serious?” Hroc ventured.

 

Freda looked disdainfully at him. “He is not long for this realm.”

 

Hroc looked shocked, which pleased Freda immensely. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

 

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not.” She watched him squirm with discomfort.

Frisa jumped in to save him. “I hope that prince Christopher is well. Is he ready to succeed his father?”

 

He had, unintentionally, pushed her button. The rage built inside her again. She jumped to her feet and vented her anger. The servants, returning with silver trays of tea and assorted biscuits, felt her wrath. The air in the room shimmered with the waves of hatred that flowed from her. The trays went flying and the servants screamed as they were scalded by the hot tea and assaulted by the black fury that tore at their bodies and lashed at their minds. The raven screamed and the cat awoke with a start and shrieked as its fur stood erect. The wizards gripped their staffs and muttered words of magic so that the waves dissipated before they hit them.

 

Finally, the shimmering subsided and the Queen sat down. The servants crawled off and closed the doors on the wreckage. Freda looked at the wizards. “Prince Paul is very well. Thank you for asking.” She hoped that they hadn’t observed her black form while the rage was upon her.

 

Frisa swallowed hard. “Perhaps we can forego tea, your Majesty, and get right to business?”

 

“Perhaps that would be best.” Her honey voice was back.

 

“There are matters afoot in the multiverse that threaten us all,” Frisa began.

She cut him off. “I care nothing for the multiverse. I have no plans for world domination. I have secured Dishley for the future King. If he wishes to embark on bigger conquests, then I shall be proud. However, I have achieved everything I set out to here. I enjoy being a big fish in a small pool. I have no interest in the affairs of wizards. So long as Weylyn the Wolf keeps clear of me, I shall do him no ill. But, if he tries to influence Dishley, I shall deal with him as I have dealt with Jack, who is like a puppet in my hands. Do I make myself clear?” She stared at Frisa, who, to her surprise met her glare.

 

He stood up and Hroc followed suit. She had known that this display would have to come. It was time for the boys to show how big their balls were. The two wizards brandished their staffs. They appeared to grow bigger and taller. Their bodies bristled with blue flames, which crackled down the lengths of their staffs. Frisa addressed her disdainfully.

 

“We have taken enough insults from a second rate queen, who rules by deception and third rate black arts. Be careful, lest Weylyn the Wolf decide to terminate your tenure permanently. Aid us in our quest and we shall ignore you. Resist us and we will eliminate you like a man squashes an annoying mosquito.”

 

Freda laughed, which she observed wasn’t the response Frisa was looking for. She maintained her silky smooth honey voice. “My dear Frisa, don’t you know that the tiny bite of one annoying mosquito, armed correctly, can bring down even the strongest man?”

 

Frisa ignored her. “You have something we want.”

 

Freda didn’t like being ignored. She didn’t like Frisa’s tone and she didn’t like being bullied. The rage grew in her again. This time she channelled it. The wizards would have been expecting something. They had their eyes fixed on her, waiting for a sign of attack. That was their last mistake. She channelled the anger through her familiars. The cat’s eyes were focussed on Frisa’s staff, the raven’s eyes on Hroc’s. She focussed her thoughts, distilled the hatred that burned in her black heart, and concentrated her rage.

 

The event was the antithesis of a flash. Pure blackness erupted from the familiars’ eyes and coated the wizards’ staffs. The staffs dissolved into nothing, rather than shattered. The wizards’ blue flames were doused. They became frail old men again. The cat and the raven were burned to dust. They died without complaint and Freda barely gave them a second glance. They could be replaced. She had an idea where two very powerful familiars could come from, in due course.

 

She waited for two days before visiting Frisa and Hroc. They were manacled and chained to the wall. They hadn’t been given any food or water and they had soiled their wizards’ cloaks so that the smell was ugly. By trying not to breathe too deeply, she came over even more haughty than usual.

 

“I do hope that you are enjoying Dishley’s hospitality. If there’s anything you need don’t be afraid to ask. You won’t get it.” She laughed at her own joke and at the pitiful sight in front of her. “I think that it’s time to introduce Prince Paul to the gentle art of torture. I’m sure that you two must have secret information that would be useful to me. I’ll wait a couple more days until you are ready.”

 

She turned to leave, but the urge got the better of her. She turned back and walked over to the wizards. She gave each of them a couple of good kicks in the general area of their groins. She imagined that she was kicking Jack and Christopher and it made her feel so good.

 

The story continues in A Test of Courage, Book 2 of Quest for Knowledge, which is available from www.FirstWorld.info

 

 

Impressum

Texte: Christopher John Allen
Bildmaterialien: Nat Turner
Lektorat: Gail Nicholson
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.06.2013

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