In the Empire of Shadow

Chapter Twenty-Two

Shadow did not give anyone time to protest-not that Pel had any intention of protesting. He supposed some of the others might have said something, if Shadow hadn’t gone on speaking.

“See you, none from this world can serve; the ability to hold a matrix is lost here. Those who e’er could do so, so they did, and so in their time they all, save me, died,” Shadow explained.

“You can’t make a whatchacallit, a homunculus, to do it?” Pel asked-not that he really thought Shadow wouldn’t have tried that long ago; he was just trying to clear away all doubts, to satisfy his own curiosity and tie up loose ends. It was plain that they were nearing the end of the story, when one of them would be offered Shadow’s power.

He wondered who it would be, and whether he or she would accept, and what the consequences would be. Which would be better, to accept or refuse?

This was real life, he reminded himself; he couldn’t rely on the most dramatically-satisfying conclusion.

“Nay,” Shadow said. “No homunculus nor other creation, nor either a dead man, for while I can instill therein a semblance of life, indistinguishable by any normal means from any mortal born, yet some certain spark is lacking. Perhaps ’tis true that the Goddess lives, and blesses each infant with her gift, and ’tis this gift that lacks; I know not, neither do I care. I know only that ’tis lacking.”

Pel trembled slightly; she had said it again, that she could restore the dead to life-and indistinguishably.

“So if none of the locals can do it,” Amy asked, “how do you know we can?”

“Thinkest I’d not have tried thee?” Shadow answered. “Each of you has been tested and found fit. The Stormcrack lord was not, of course, and the wizardling could have held only the fraction, not the whole. None from the Empire save this one have the gift-yet all the four from Earth do. Perhaps ’tis something in the nature of the worlds whence you come, or perhaps ’tis mere chance, but whatever the reason, so ’tis.”

“Maybe it’s connected to telepathy, somehow,” Pel suggested. “I mean, if Prossie has it but none of the others did.”

“You’re really sure that no one from your own world can do it?” Amy asked.

“Sure enow,” Shadow replied. “Further, an I found one who had somehow escaped destruction, or one born a throwback to times past, how could I trust such a one? For in this land, whoever holds the matrix of Shadow is supreme, and whether it be me or another matters not a whit. You, though-thou and thou and thou-this place is not yours, and what wouldst have here?”

“You don’t think any of us would be interested in ruling a world?” Pel asked. Ted giggled; the other Earthpeople ignored him, but Pel was uncomfortably aware how stupid his question sounded.

Still, he felt he had to ask it; he had to know just what the terms were, and why Shadow thought she could make her plans work.

“Not this world,” Shadow said. “Look you, whosoever I choose shall have of me whatever he will, save that it endanger me not. Wouldst go home, to thy native land? Thou shalt be there instanter, upon my return. Wouldst have power there? Shalt have slaves sent thither to do thy bidding, whole armies, an thou wishest it. Riches untold for the asking, whole worlds at thy feet-for I have riches and power without limit, and shall not stint my faithful servants.”

“It sounds good,” Pel said slowly. He couldn’t resist any longer; he had to ask straight out, “But how do we know we can trust you?”

Shadow glared at him, and flickers of light and darkness obscured her features; bands of color chased one another across the walls, and the air seemed to hum silently.

“Thou durst ask?” Shadow demanded.

“I…” Pel’s voice caught in his throat.

“Thinkest thou on thy choice, fool!” Shadow shouted. “To trust, and perhaps win wealth and glory, or to refuse, and surely die!”

Pel hesitated.

“And knowest thou,” Shadow added warningly, “if thou considerest betrayal on thine own part, that though I shall have not my matrix and the power gained thereby, yet shalt thou have my hand ’gainst thee as long as thou livest, and all my knowledge turned ’pon thy destruction. Thou shalt have the matrix, aye, but shalt have the knowledge to wield it? Shalt have the experience to defy me, and mine own foes in this land, and surely the Galactic Empire as well?”

“So we couldn’t use the matrix anyway, you’re saying,” Pel said, relieved-Shadow’s immediate moment of fury seemed to have passed, and besides, he could now see some of her reasoning, which was reassuring.

He much preferred to have the catches out in the open, where he could see them.

“Oh, in this and that, in those appliances requiring neither skill nor finesse, thou might bludgeon a way to thy end,” Shadow told him, “but think not that the mere grasp on power without comprehension shall gain thee what I struggled centuries to learn, to compile and constrain to my will.”

“But if we go along, you’ll send us all safely home, and make us rich?” Amy asked; Pel heard both eagerness and doubt in her voice.

“Nay, ’tis thus not assured,” Shadow said. “I’ll but grant the whims of the one that serves; the fate of the others shall be for the one to determine.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll mean we all get sent home,” Amy said, glancing worriedly at Ted.

“If you’re telling the truth and don’t change your mind,” Pel heard himself say.

He didn’t know just why he had said it; he didn’t really want to antagonize Shadow. This was his chance to have Shadow’s power at his disposal.

If it was true.

“Look you, then,” Shadow said, waving an arm.

The air to one side of the throne rippled oddly, like the air above a hot stove. A dull pressure made Pel’s ears ache. He was unsure what he was supposed to look at; the rippling didn’t seem to be doing anything. He started to say something, then stopped; Shadow was still working at whatever it was, her hands moving in odd, brisk little clutching gestures. Her control of the glare of the matrix was slipping as she was distracted, so that shafts of colored light flitted about, and blobs of shadow rolled suddenly across Pel’s field of vision, vanishing before he could focus on them.

For what seemed like an hour, Pel and the others waited for whatever it was Shadow was doing to be complete; a tension grew, and Pel was unsure whether it was entirely emotional, or whether some force was literally charging the air around him.

Shadow’s face was lost behind a silvery-pink glitter, and blue sparkles were spattering across the ceiling, when the ripple vanished from the air and she spoke again.

“See you here, then,” Shadow said, “a portal to a worldlet in the Empire. Step through, Telepath, and in that place shalt thou be able to hear my thoughts, and to know the truth of what I say, and to so testify to these others.”

* * * *

Prossie stared at the spot where the air had wavered as a rabbit might stare at a wolf, her eyes locked on it even though there was nothing there to see.

Here she was being offered what she had never really expected, a chance to return to the Empire.

Could she take it?

After all, she had broken the law; she had betrayed her trust; she had given up her family. If she stepped through, her own family would denounce her and see her condemned to death; she knew that from her last contact with Carrie, from Carrie’s indifference to Prossie’s danger. If Prossie stepped through and remained in the Empire, she would be hunted down and slain.

But if she refused, Shadow might well kill her here and now.

Reluctantly, she took a step.

“Takest thou a goodly deep breath, Telepath,” Shadow said.

Prossie looked up at her, startled.

Shadow smiled cruelly. “Thinkest me a fool?” she said. “Beyond is no world of men, but a bare, bitter rock, with scant air and none that might be breathed by such as thou; thou shalt have but a moment there to look into my soul, and then must thou return or perish.”

Prossie blinked. She remembered anew what she was dealing with. This was no ordinary wizard; this was Shadow, the cruel overlord of Faerie, the being that had threatened the Empire, had sent monsters and saboteurs to destroy anyone who opposed her. Shadow would think nothing of sending a woman out into the void without a suit, without even a breath-mask-but Prossie could not take it so lightly. She had known a telepath, a great-uncle, who had been present when a ship’s hull was breached, and Prossie trembled at the thought, at the stolen memories of men dying in vacuum, of lungs straining for air that wasn’t there, of the fierce pressure behind bulging eyes, of sweat and saliva boiling off into the emptiness.

And she remembered something else.

“Wait a minute,” she said unsteadily. “No one can read your mind; we tried. My family, I mean-the other telepaths. Reggie died trying.”

“Ah, then that was no false tale concocted by the Empire’s storytellers?” Shadow asked, and Prossie thought she could see a nasty little smile behind the deep orange glow that hid Shadow’s face at that moment.

“No, it’s not a tale,” Prossie said, gasping, on the verge of panic. “It was true! I read it!”

“Fear not, little thought-thief,” Shadow said. “I’d not destroy thee thus. When thou’rt beyond yon gate shall I put aside what I can of the matrix, so that thou might see into my soul without harm.”

“You can do that?” Prossie asked, grasping desperately at the hope.

But she still didn’t want to read Shadow’s mind, and she still doubted she could-to locate a single mind from another universe, in the time she could hold her breath, while exposed to a hostile environment?

And she was just getting comfortable with herself; she didn’t want to be plunged into a mind like Shadow’s, a mind centuries old and full of foulness and treachery, a mind that was not troubled by the gutted corpses over the fortress entry, not troubled by the fiery destruction, just moments before, of three enemies. Prossie did not want any part of that.

But she didn’t want to die, to be the fourth one of the party burned to ash, either.

“An I cannot clear the way enow,” Shadow said, “do not force thyself unto madness, nor death, but return straightway; we’ll find other means.”

Prossie still hesitated-until she saw Shadow begin to frown.

* * * *

Amy watched Prossie walk fearfully toward the portal, and she wished there were something she could do, some way to take away Prossie’s fear, or to make it unnecessary for her to go-but what could she do? Shadow had told Prossie to go, and disobeying Shadow meant dying.

Maybe if she said she’d believe Shadow without Prossie’s word, that she’d take the silly matrix-but she didn’t believe Shadow, any more than she had believed Stan when he said he wasn’t angry, or Walter when he said he wouldn’t hurt her, or Beth when she had said she was just as frightened as Amy was herself. She couldn’t believe a bully any more; they always lied, always, and Prossie’s report wouldn’t change anything, because the bullies believed their own lies.

If only someone could do something to make Shadow stop…

She glanced back at Susan, who had crept into the room long minutes before, virtually unnoticed. She was moving so slowly. Susan’s hand was in her purse, closed around something, and she was inching closer to Shadow from the opposite side while Shadow watched Prossie, while Pel watched Prossie, while Ted stared vacantly at no particular part of the whole scene.

Why hadn’t Susan shot Shadow while it-or she, whichever-was conjuring up this portal to the Empire? Shadow had been distracted, at least slightly; was Susan expecting a better chance?

Amy blinked, as realization struck.

Susan was hoping for a better chance-and she might get it. When Shadow conjured the gateway, it was very much involved in its magical matrix-the colors had been visible, though not the blinding glare they had all seen earlier. And the matrix would almost certainly be able to stop a bullet, even if Shadow was distracted.

But Shadow had said she’d be putting aside the matrix so Prossie could read her mind.

Did that mean she’d be putting aside everything that protected her?

Susan apparently thought so.

Susan obviously didn’t believe Shadow’s lies about sending them home afterward any more than Amy did.

Amy quickly turned away, not looking at Susan, very definitely not looking at Susan, looking anywhere except at Susan, and she watched as Prossie gulped air, stepped forward, and vanished.

* * * *

The stars blazed brilliantly overhead, the rock was black beneath her feet, the cold tore at her like knives slashing at her bare hands and face as the moisture was torn away. She had to struggle to keep the air in her lungs, the pressure here was very low; she had to be careful to shuffle her feet, not to kick, because the gravity couldn’t be more than a few percent of a gee, a good kick could send her right off the surface of this asteroid, or moon, whichever it was, and it might take longer than her oxygen would last before she fell back to the bare stone ground.

And as if the physical pain wasn’t enough of a distraction, the thoughts of a galaxy full of people poured in on her, the minds of thirteen billion people all going about their own business, and scattered among them the thoughts of the four hundred other telepaths shone like diamonds in sand; she had forgotten what it was like, it was like a cold wind blowing through her, and like steam boiling in behind, it was hard to remember her own identity at first.

But there was Carrie, calling to her, asking what was going on, calling her by name, and she remembered who she was, and why she was there; she was Proserpine Thorpe, Registered Master Telepath, and she was there to read Shadow’s mind. She reached back through the…through the dimensional barrier, she took the phrase from some unguarded, unrecognized mind somewhere, she reached into Faerie and she could feel her lungs straining, her lips were dry and cracking and her ears were burning with cold and pounding with the roar of her own blood and roaring with the pressure of her breath.

She ignored Carrie, she reached into Faerie and found minds there, she found the familiar first, the patterns she already knew-Wilkins was still alive in a town she didn’t recognize, Sawyer was still alive and halfway across the marsh, and then she found Amy and Susan and Pel and Ted, there in the fortress, and Susan was pulling the gun from her purse and Amy knew about it and wasn’t saying anything, Ted and Pel didn’t see, and the other mind there was Shadow, it had to be, a dark, narrow little mind that seemed to go on forever.

And Shadow wasn’t planning treachery, she honestly believed she would keep her promises, but down below that, in the tangle of memories and motivations that Shadow wouldn’t allow herself to recall, Prossie saw the dark vicious selfishness that lurked in every human mind. In Shadow it was deep and strong, great and powerful, it had been growing unchecked for centuries, as Shadow’s every whim was fulfilled.

She was not lying-but she would betray them and destroy them anyway, in time.

And at that realization Prossie panicked and dove back for the magical space-warp, aware as she did that Susan’s finger was closing on the trigger of a .38 revolver that still held two bullets.

* * * *

Pel jumped at the sound of the first shot; panicking, he whirled, trying to see what was happening. His first thought was that the building was collapsing, that he had heard a roof-beam crack.

Then he saw the pistol in Susan’s hand as she fired again.

“What are you doing?” he screamed.

She was only about six feet away, shooting Shadow in the back; she couldn’t possibly miss at that range. She was shooting Shadow, and then there wouldn’t be anyone who could send them home, there wouldn’t be any matrix he could use to bring Nancy and Rachel back from the dead.

Prossie had reappeared by the time the second shot sounded, kneeling on the floor, trembling, gasping, frost forming on her hair and hands and the legs of her uniform, and Amy had stepped back to watch, and Ted was just standing there, giggling.

“It’s coming apart,” Ted cried. “I must be waking up!”

And Shadow wasn’t falling, wasn’t bleeding, she was turning around slowly and deliberately.

Susan dropped the revolver; it clattered loudly on the stone floor as she sank to her knees. She bowed her head and waited, kneeling, as Shadow took a step toward her.

This was all mad, Pel thought. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t a proper end to the story. He’d all but forgotten about that stupid gun, about his suggestion that Susan might shoot Shadow. He’d thought Prossie would step back calm and whole and confirm Shadow’s story, and the fat old woman would choose someone, probably Prossie-she’d been singled out to test the truth, after all, so wouldn’t she be the logical choice?

Any sensible storyteller would have made Prossie the hero of the whole thing. After all, she was a telepath, she’d make a great viewpoint character, she’d always know what was going on. She should have come back upright and proud and confronted Shadow.

Or if Susan was the hero, if it was “Wizards” reenacted, then Shadow should be down and dying, and they’d have had to hunt down Taillefer to get home, they’d be here for weeks or months yet.

But Prossie was on hands and knees gasping for air, Shadow was turning to face her attacker with no sign she’d been harmed, and Susan was bowing her head, preparing to die.

That was what she was doing, Pel realized; Susan Nguyen, who seemed to be able to survive anything, to calmly withstand whatever befell her, was preparing to die.

“Dost think so little of me, then?” Shadow said, in a voice that was strained and terrible. “Thinkest thou I’d have no protections left without the full matrix about me? Did think me such a fool as that?” She took another step, and stood over Susan, who made no answer. “I have endured for centuries, ’gainst wizards, warriors, and time itself; thought thou some simple machine could slay me?” She kicked the revolver aside; it skittered away.

And then Susan slumped forward, fell in a heap at Shadow’s feet and lay still.

“Die, then,” Shadow said.

Amy sobbed, a deep, bone-shaking sob.

“I don’t understand,” Pel said hopelessly.

Shadow turned to face him, and glared directly down at him from her throne.

“Dost thou not, then?” she asked. “’Tis plain enough. This wench tried to slay me, with that device from your world, whilst I was distracted and had set aside much of my power; and this other hoped the attempt might succeed. Thus I’ve stopped the heart of the assassin, and would slay the other-but I think thou’dst have it otherwise, and thus I restrain myself.”

Pel blinked.

“Me?” he said.

“Look about you, sir,” Shadow replied. “See my choices. A corpse, a madman, and two women, the one who longed for my death, the other a trickster who can hear thoughts-and you, who called out in outrage when that weapon spat its pellets at me. Who, then, shall stand in for me, shall hold the matrix in my stead while I venture forth?”

Pel swallowed hard.

He was no hero. He was just a spear-carrier, someone along to help fill out the party.

But then, this wasn’t really a story at all. This was real life. He was being offered his chance. If everything was as Shadow said, it was a chance-his only chance-to have everything he really wanted.

He glanced at Prossie, who lay on the stone floor, drawing deep, gasping breaths and shivering with cold.

The telepath looked up at Pel, swallowed, and spoke.

“She isn’t lying,” Prossie whispered, but the expression on her face was a clear warning.

A warning of what, Pel couldn’t guess, and without further thought he ignored it.

“All right,” he said.