Martyr (The Martyr Trilogy) Read online

  “I don’t appreciate your tone, Simon,” said the Dean. “Given the serious nature of these concerns, I might have expected a more contrite response.”

  “You mean boot-licking, Dean,” said Maitland. “You won’t get that from me.”

  “No matter. In light of these facts I’m afraid I’m going to have to recommend an administrative leave. You can call it a sabbatical.”

  “Sabbatical? You can keep your pity, Rackliff. And you can get out of my office!” These last words were laced with menace. I knew the Dean would be exiting presently, and I knew we did not want to be seen to have been eavesdropping. I grabbed Mana’s hand and strode briskly toward the nook where we had begun to talk. Just in time, as it happened. Dean Rackliff emerged from the office just as we rounded the corner, and mercifully turned the opposite way, toward the nearer stairwell.

  We waited until he had cleared the landing, then followed. We were directly in front of Maitland’s office when we heard a click, and the scrape of old wood swollen by time. I hesitated. Mana bolted past, bounded up the stairs and out of sight. Too late for me to do the same, I spun and raced back down the hall, hoping against hope that he would spend some amount of time fumbling with keys, that he would turn the other way. “Mayer?” I heard. I saw a faculty washroom, ducked inside. “Mayer!” Curses. Positive identification. He would know that I had heard something. He would make me suffer. There was a lock on the inside of the door. I turned it, heard the clunk of the bolt sliding into place. It might not be safe to go out, but at least he couldn’t get in. I’d just wait him out, and eventually… What? He’d stop pacing in front of the door and go in search of easier prey? This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to hide out in the bathroom. Maitland was just a man, and from the sounds of his meeting with the Dean, I wouldn’t have to worry about him for a few weeks anyway.

  I reached for the lock. The lights flickered. I turned the knob, and heard it click. Another flicker, and then the lights went out entirely. There was no window, the room was completely dark. The power must have been out in the hallway as well, because I couldn’t detect even a sliver of light around the edges of the door. I had seen that the door had a large lever style handle, it wouldn’t be hard to find. I reached for the handle, but it wasn’t where it should have been. Perhaps in the darkness I had taken a step back. I reached further, but encountered nothing. Palms forward now, I advanced a step at a time – three, four, five steps – and still nothing. Panic was beginning to set in. I took one big, lurching step forward, and saw a flash of white light in the darkness as my head met with unyielding stone. The world began to spin, a feeling made worse by the total lack of visual cues. Tumbling, falling, my head met stone a second time, and I slept.

  3

  Had I imagined it? I would have thought so, were it not for the unfamiliarity of my waking surroundings. Not just unfamiliar, but in fact quite unpleasant. As I gradually regained the use of my senses, I felt overwhelmingly cold, and realized I was lying naked on damp stone. There was an odor of mildew and urine that caused me to gag as I inhaled deeply. I was unable to determine if my eyesight was impaired, or if there was simply no light in this place. I started to turn in an attempt to raise myself from the cold floor, and felt an intense, throbbing pain in my head, and aches all over. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I forced myself onto my side and managed to get my right arm underneath me. I rose onto hands and knees, then to a seated position. The throb in my head intensified briefly, resisting the change to a vertical posture. I held steady until the pain subsided somewhat, then attempted to stand. I held a hand over my head as I rose, unsure of the dimensions of my current abode. I inched forward, shuffling my feet so I wouldn’t encounter any unexpected obstruction and topple in the dark. But the floor appeared to be composed of fairly level cobbling, and the only thing I felt was a wall a few feet forward. A memory was triggered. Maitland…the washroom; what had really happened? I planted both hands on the wall, slid them upward as far as I could – no ceiling that I could reach. I worked my way along the wall to my left, discovered a corner, then an adjacent wall. The stones here were moist and slippery – some sort of fungal growth? Bringing my fingertips near to my nose there could be no doubt: blood. Fresh, not coagulated. I touched my forehead with my other hand and felt, along with the resurging pain, the same moist stickiness. My blood on the wall? Maybe. Probably.

  Continuing my exploration of the wall, I came to a line of division. To the left of the line what felt like cold steel, heavily corroded but solid. Sliding my hands up and down along the edge, I found no hinges. I began to slide my hands in large circles over the surface, and found no handle or latch. What I did find, just below eye level, was a narrow, rectangular slit, apparently open and unobstructed. I strained to detect any distant light source through that opening, but saw nothing but the all-consuming blackness. I focused my hearing, but no sound met my ear. Everything about my surroundings suggested a cell of some sort, but there were no clanking chains, no scurrying rodents, no flickering torches – nothing that my lifetime of movie-watching had led me to expect from a proper dungeon. Then, suddenly I did feel something. I felt a warm breath on my ear, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread. The breath was followed by a sharp, audible inhalation, still inches from my ear.

  “Who’s there?”, I demanded. “Is someone there?”

  …Silence…

  “Please! I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where I am. Won’t you…”

  “Wait!” A whispered command.

  I waited. Before long, muffled footsteps. Not just beyond the door, but close. The sound stopped for a moment, then resumed, receding slowly over a span of seconds that seemed like hours. I wanted to ask again, but heeded the voice that had spoken and kept silent.

  “We must move now.” A dull clunk, then I felt the door receding from my hands. “Put this on.” Something soft was thrown over my shoulders; I felt my way into sleeves and found a belt at the waist – a robe of some sort, a welcome defense against the cold. Something warm was pressed into my hand. “I’ve brought bread. Eat it quickly.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. Suddenly aware of a gnawing hunger that had seemed secondary to the pain in my head, I tore into the tough, small loaf. I wasn’t about to complain about the texture. “Who are you? What is this place?”

  “Not yet.”

  I had to blink as a blade of light defined the edge of another door. I could see now that the reason I had seen no light was this airtight outer door. It too locked from the outside. That made sense if this was indeed a prison; in the event that the inner door were compromised, the captive would make it no farther. Normally, there would be another guard on the outside door, with a separate key. But it appeared that protocol was not being followed in this case.

  As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a dim silhouette of my savior. It was a woman, or more properly a girl, fully two heads shorter than I and dressed…well, not as I expected. In keeping with the dungeon theme, I’d have thought to find her in the simple frock of a scullery maid or serving wench. Instead, she wore faded jeans and a torn, filthy hooded sweatshirt. She had long, wispy, dirty-blond hair, brown eyes, and slightly chubby cheeks. There was something vaguely familiar about her, though I couldn’t place it. She took me by the hand and coaxed me into the candle-lit passageway. She pushed the door closed behind us, then led me around a corner where I saw four more doors like the last. The first on the right was ajar, and she guided me toward it. When we entered, she pulled the outer door to within a couple inches of closing, but left it that way.

  “A little information, please?” I said.

  “Not yet. Quiet.”

  “Please!” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on! Who are you, at least?”

  A slow, irritated sigh…

  “OK,” she said, “but we don’t have much time. My name is Maaike. I’m not important. You are. You’ve been a captive of lord Magus. Sorry, ‘Magus’. I hea
rd them say they just found you in the cell one morning. I don’t know why you’re alive, and they seem as shocked as I was. I think they are unsure what to do with you, but whatever they decide, it won’t be good. We have to go now! A reconnaissance party is waiting to meet us, if I can get you to the east gate. But the sun’s nearly up.”

  “Wait, Maaike, who is Magus? Why am I so important? And why does everyone seem to think I’m supposed to be dead?”

  She stared at me for a moment, clearly perplexed. “You…don’t remember anything? OK, look, it’s not my place to give you those answers. The time will come. But right now, there’s really no time for this.”

  “What’s going on?!?” We both froze. A third voice, but not from the hallway. It came from the cell at our backs.

  Maaike answered. “Nothing! Be quiet, you’ll alert the guards.”

  “Guards? Who are you then? Oh my God, this is an escape! You’re taking me with you!”

  “No! I mean, we can’t, not now. I’ll come for you another time.”

  “No, you’ll take me now, or I’ll alert the guards!”

  Another sigh. “Fine. All right. Just be quiet!” Maaike nimbly unlocked the cell. A gaunt man with a sparse goatee joined our party. He was dressed in brown corduroys and a striped jersey. He looked older than he probably was.

  “OK, let’s go. Be advised, we actually have to pass through the lord’s chambers in order to get out. I drugged the dogs, but he will still be in there. It’s the only part of the plan that is subject to chance. We’ll just have to be swift, silent, and hope he’s preoccupied.”

  “Not exactly a fool-proof escape plan, huh?” That from our uninvited guest.

  “Yeah, well I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to plan. Nobody foresaw this.” I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but opted not to further stall the operation.

  We turned another corner, and Maaike listened against a heavy-looking wooden door. After a pause, she unlocked it and we proceeded past it, up a short flight of concrete steps, through another door, and into a maroon-carpeted hallway. I heard footsteps. Maaike turned white. She pushed us back through the door and closed it, remaining on the other side. There was silence for a few seconds, then the rumble of a man’s voice. It was followed by a female voice; it sounded like Maaike. The man spoke again, and Maaike apparently responded. Then a long pause…

  The male voice again. Then light footsteps, receding. Oh no! Maaike had been sent away. I hadn’t heard the heavier tread – was he still there? There was silence for a long time. My companion started to say something, but I silenced him with a quick hand. Then the worst thing I had imagined - the rattle of the latch. He was about to descend into the dungeon! I thought of running to the nearest open cell, but knew we’d never make it, would be heard if we did. Then the rattling stopped as quickly as it had started. It seemed he had changed his mind. The next sound was that of heavy footsteps, mercifully receding.

  We waited. I had to shush my tag-along once more, but nothing else happened. Maaike didn’t come back. But neither did the guard. After a time I made a choice. I cracked open the door. The hallway ran straight ahead, and straight to the right. It appeared to skirt a columned central area. There were no walls on that side, only scarlet curtains that ran floor to ceiling between the columns. There were doors at the ends of the hallway in each direction, but instead I ducked through a gap in the curtain. This appeared to be a sort of lounge, with a bar on one wall and several couches covered with an obscene number of gold-embroidered pillows. There was a full wall on one side, hung with photos of idyllic landscapes, impossibly green and inviting. Adjacent to that wall, another partial wall was interrupted by an arched door. I peeked around the edge of the doorway, and saw a wider hall leading into a similar, but larger, lounge. I motioned my new friend forward.

  In the bigger lounge three beasts lay on the floor. I took these to be the “dogs” Maaike had referred to, though they looked like no species I had ever seen. For one thing they were absurdly massive. Lying on their sides as they were, their rib cages rose to the height of my knees at least. They also had a grotesquely exaggerated underbite, which housed four tusk-like canines that the mouth could not contain. They looked to be sleeping, but I knew better. And I was grateful. At one side of this lounge was a big set of double doors. They were not shut completely. I approached them, and as I drew near, I heard the male voice we had heard through the door earlier. I could make out the words of a conversation, and when the other party responded, I was sure it was not a human voice I heard. That wasn’t what really caught my attention, though. The man’s voice…I knew it, had heard it before somewhere…recently. I tried to listen closer.

  “But how is this possible? I watched him die!”

  You watched someone die, not him.

  “How can this be? I know that face. It has haunted my dreams for three years now.”

  The face is the same. The man is not. Tal-Makai is dead. Truly do you say you watched him die.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Then I shall try to explain it in terms you will understand. Do you know of genetics?

  “I have read of the matter.”

  Strands of DNA, like the coils of a serpent, define each of your traits. Normally, each strand defines its own trait.

  “Yes, I understand the concept, but…”

  But occasionally, a piece of one strand is exchanged with a piece of another. The results can dramatically alter the resultant organism.

  “Are you suggesting that Tal was altered in this way?”

  Try to stay with me, mortal…we are talking about worlds. Worlds are like this – disparate strands that are not supposed to cross. But rarely, there is a crossing, an exchange in the substance of reality itself.

  Silence…a blank stare…

  This is what must have occurred. Tal-Makai is dead in this world. But there has been an intersection of worlds. The Tal-Makai of that other world has come to us. There is no reason for it. It was not anticipated, much less planned. Let’s just say the Deity has made a mistake. The only question is, what do we do about it?

  “I thought it would be over when I killed him. Even without this, his death has only served to increase his legacy. ‘Martyr’, they call him. Like it’s a badge of honor! He died, I prevailed, and somehow he is the victor! Smirking at me from beyond the grave. Gods! What should I do?”

  Tell me what you see as the options.

  “I could reveal him to the resistance. Use him to demand their surrender.”

  But to show what would seem to them a living Tal-Makai…to their simple minds it would seem a resurrection from the dead. It wouldn’t matter if you killed him again, the fools would find hope in it; they would wait forever for another resurrection, fighting all the while.

  “Indeed. Then it would be no better to stage a public execution. There can be no advantage to retaining him alive. Here is the situation as I see it: the Deity has made a mistake. It falls to me to correct it.”

  Like lichen creeping over a stone, it dawned on me that I was the object of consideration. I took action. Grabbing my companion (I would have to remember to ask his name when time was not such a key factor), I ran back into the previous chamber, and dived behind one of the larger couches. I heard the fall of heavy feet behind us, but he didn’t seem to have detected our presence. I could see his black boots as he passed beyond our chosen hiding spot, and my eyes panned to his face. It was only the briefest of glimpses, but there was little doubt. The voice, the smug look….it was Maitland. He headed for the door to the dungeon. A dungeon he would soon be finding disappointingly empty.

  “We need to run.”

  As soon as we heard the door clamp shut behind him, I edged toward the door at one end of the hallway we first emerged into. I tried it, and found it unlocked. As I pushed it open I encountered some resistance, and discovered why; Maaike was standing on the other side. Clearly relieved, she said, “Oh, thank Chaer-Ul! Come on!” There was another hall
way leading to the right, and a high-ceilinged room with big bay windows to the left. That was the way we took. I could see some leafless treetops from the windows, and I drew closer. I was able to see a portion of the building we were in. Not a castle or fortress, it had paned glass windows and a peaked slate roof. The structure itself was constructed of stone. In the front I could make out fragments of asphalt amidst the yellow-brown grass that could have been the remains of an old driveway. It looked like the private mansion once belonging to someone of means, long since neglected. Two guards wearing what looked like mechanics’ jumpsuits conferred near a broken stone wall about fifty paces south of the building. They appeared to have swords at their belts.

  Maaike took my hand, leading us through another door to the top of a carpeted staircase. Without a sound, she reached a hand behind her to stay us, and we watched as another guard paced slowly to the right on the floor below. We waited until he passed out of view, and a few seconds longer, then Maaike said, “Let’s go.” We descended the stairs with a few quick steps, turned to the left, and started toward a windowed door. Before we had gone more than a few paces, we heard a shout from above. Turning, we saw the guard we had so cleverly evaded emerge from around a corner and start to run our way. Other guards were flying down the stairs, barely touching the ground, shouting commands. Without a word, we turned again and ran for the door. Maaike didn’t bother to fumble for her keys, but met the door with a well-aimed kick without breaking stride. The latch shattered and the door swung wildly on one intact hinge. We burst through and ran straight ahead, toward a stone gate about a hundred paces away. There was a guard between us and the gate, already drawing his sword and readying himself for our arrival. We were unarmed.