Richard: Part V

“I’m dead, you know,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence of the room.

The fire still crackled away merrily, and the enormous black dog in front of it whacked its tail against the stone hearth, no doubt expecting some attention at the voice.

The King turned to look at Master Richard.

“Well, this is the Dreamlands… many of us are dead, or were dead, or were never alive.”

“No, I mean I actually died, back in Wakeworld. I lived my life, grew old, and died.”

Richard’s voice was soft, conversational, as if he were discussing his laundry.

“Master Richard, you’ve been… odd… of late. What’s bothering you?”

Richard didn’t answer immediately, but seemed to be thinking, or listening.

His head tilted a little, his eyes focused on something far, far away.

“I’m not sure any of us were ever alive,” he said quietly. “What is life, after all? Just a brief flicker between nothingness and nothingness again.”

The King frowned, and picked up the decanter of red wine, reaching out to refill Richard’s goblet.

“I think perhaps you need a little more wine, Master Richard. And perhaps I should call for some amusement? Or would you…”

His words trailed off as he noticed that Richard was leaning to the side.

His whole body was angled a little, and as the King looked more closely he realized that Richard was no longer seated on the chair at all. Or his feet on the floor.

He was floating in the air, only a few millimeters, and oriented ever-so-slightly off the vertical of the room.

“Master Richard? Richard!”

There was an audible crack, like an arc of static electricity, and Richard dropped down again, suddenly seated solidly, feet on the floor.

“Excuse me? My thoughts were elsewhere…”

“Try some more wine, Master Richard. Another excellent red from the moon orchards, with the barest hint of lilac and strawberry.”

Richard picked up his goblet, swirled the wine, smelled, drank a mouthful.

“Oh, yes, that is quite good! Thank you.”

He set the goblet down again, paused, then “I’m sorry, I’ve just recalled something very important that I must attend to. If you’ll forgive me?”

“Of course, Master Richard. On the morrow, then.”

Richard rose, bowed his head the merest fraction in respect to King Kuranes, and walked out.

The King watched him leave, then rang a small silver bell.

Master Chuang appeared shortly.

“He did it again,” said Kuranes. “He was floating above the chair, and his up and down were not mine.”

“Did he talk about it?”

“He didn’t seem to be aware of it… he talked of death.”

“Again, death,” said Chuang, pacing with hands clasped behind his back. “Something happened to Master Richard. Something to do with Factor Chóng and that problem in Penglai. Or perhaps even earlier… You heard Belphoebe’s tale about their trip to see Poietria Sylvia, the mysterious woman, and how he may have been involved in the death of Britomartis.”

“But we can’t tell how much of that was true!” countered the King. “Nobody experienced what Belphoebe did, nobody remembers Ricarda, nobody saw Britomartis fall off that cliff… nothing!”

“But Master Richard did suddenly appear at Poietria Sylvia’s home… Do you think he’s hiding something from us?”

“I have no idea,” said the King, “No idea at all…”

* * *

Britomartis was just about to leave the Pinnacle, speaking briefly to the guards at the lower gate, when Richard approached from the park in front.

“Oh, good afternoon, Commander. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

“Master Richard! Yes, lovely. I’m just leaving.”

Richard handed over something heavy looking, wrapped in a small cloth.

“Here, I saw this today and thought it would be perfect to replace the broken one.”

She took it, asking “What is it? Nothing’s broken, I don’t think…?”

She opened the cloth to reveal a beautiful ceramic teapot, decorated with flowers and bluebirds.

“A new teapot, of course,” said Richard. “Clive mentioned you liked bluebirds.”

He nodded to the guards and went through the gate, walking up the incline to the Palace.

Britomartis stood staring at him.

She had no broken teapot, although she did indeed like bluebirds.

And who was Clive?

It was a short walk home.

She absent-mindedly set Richard’s gift on the shelf, handed Belphoebe the fresh-baked loaf she had bought on the way home, and closed the door behind her.

It had been a long day in the hot sun, checking the new ballistae on the Pinnacle and making sure they were ready for use at a minute’s notice. They were the primary defense against aerial attack, and while Celephaïs had not suffered attack from the air for over a century, she took her job as Commander of the King’s Guard seriously.

She dropped her twin scabbards on the floor, stripped off her sweat-stained leathers and clothes, and headed for the bath.

Belphoebe, who usually would be out in the woods or the mountains hunting or tracking, was at home this week, and they looked forward to their evenings together.

After she bathed and dressed in more relaxing clothes, Britomartis joined Belphoebe in the tiny garden. Their home was very small, one of four similar homes in a single stone-walled structure in Skala Eresou. From here it was only a short walk to the Pinnacle, where Britomartis spent much of her day, or to the Avenue of Boreas and the gate through the city walls.

Dinner was fish, spitted and cooked over the fire, with rice and fresh vegetables, all purchased earlier that morning from the city markets, washed down with chilled ale.

Later, Britomartis plucked at her lute, humming, her head resting on Belphoebe’s leg. Belphoebe stroked her hair gently.

“Is all well with the ballistae, Bee?” asked Belphoebe.

“Well enough, Belle. They all know how to use them already, but there are always last-minute problems getting them set properly. The concrete on one foundation was badly laid, and it took most of the day to get it done properly… we should be able to mount that one tomorrow or the next day, weather willing.”

“Good. But you seem to be worried about something else.”

Britomartis set the lute down and sat up, turning to face Belphoebe.

“Belle, there’s something strange about Master Richard.”

She held up her hand, stopping Belphoebe’s outburst.

“Yes, I know you don’t like him. He’s a strange man… but he did save my life, after all.”

Belphoebe fell silent, flushed with anger but unwilling to reveal that terrible secret to Britomartis: that she had died not once, but twice.

“I saw him today, in the minaret atop the Pinnacle, and waved. He seemed not to see me, but just stood in the window, staring out to sea. He didn’t move at all throughout the entire day, that I could see, but when I met him later, leaving the Pinnacle, he seemed perfectly normal.”

“He is a strange man, if man indeed, Bee. Let him be, and let us enjoy this night.”

“But I’m worried about him, Belle!”

“Let Chuang and the King worry about him, Bee. He is not your problem!”

“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Britomartis. “Maybe I’ll make some Tang white… you want some?”

“Some hot tea would be wonderful, Bee, thank you.”

Belphoebe stood and walked to teapot. “Let me help you,” she said, stretching her hand out to take the teapot.

Their hands collided, and the empty teapot smashed to pieces on the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” cried Belphoebe, dropping to her knees to pick up the pieces. “I loved that teapot.”

Britomartis stood in shock, hand over her mouth.

“Belle… when I left the Pinnacle today… Master Richard gave me a new teapot. He said it was to replace the broken one…”

Belphoebe’s hands stopped moving. “Master Richard, again…”

“But how did he—”

“Where is this teapot?” asked Belphoebe, cutting her off.

“I left it at the door…”

Belphoebe dropped the fragments onto the floor again, and rose, walking to the door to pick up the cloth sack.

She opened it, pulled out the teapot, held it up to the light.

“Bluebirds. Your favorite.”

“He said someone named Clive had told him I loved bluebirds,” recalled Britomartis. “Do you know anyone named Clive?”

“A strange name. No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

Belphoebe placed the teapot back on the shelf, and went back to pick up the pieces of the shattered one.

“I think I’ll have more ale, instead of tea.”

* * *

“The Godsworn,” said the woman at the door, opening it to usher in Tovari Beklamandalee, Godsworn of Nath-Horthath, and one of the most powerful men in Celephaïs.

He was dressed in the same simple robes as all Godsworn of that god wore: dark red, with the black and white lightning streaks running through the fabric. His head was bare, and shaven but for a single forelock.

“King Kuranes,” he said, bowing.

King Kuranes rose from his throne and stepped down the stairs to greet the Godsworn personally.

“Godsworn Tovari, thank you for coming.”

He shook the man’s hand—an old custom he still practiced at times, and one that only a few of his closest friends accepted—and guided him toward the cushions waiting to the side.

“Tea?”

“No, thank you,” replied the Godsworn. “But if you have some water…”

“Of course.” The King turned to the waiting servant and nodded; the servant bowed his head briefly and trotted off, returning shortly with a decanter of ice water, condensation already dripping down the sides.

“I see the walls of the temple were cleaned last week,” said the King, pouring a goblet of water himself for the Godsworn. “The turquoise is more beautiful than ever.”

“It is a tribute to the glory of Nath-Horthath, and Celephaïs herself. It would be grander still if the statues along the Street of Pillars were similarly cleaned and polished, however.”

“Yes, well, I shall tell Artificer Marcus to look into it. He’s been busy of late with, um, a rather difficult matter.”

“The new ballistae, you mean.”

The King laughed. “Not a secret anymore, I gather… Well, no matter. It will do no harm to let our enemies know we’ve installed new ones, and might well do some good.”

“Are you expecting an attack of some sort?”

“No, not at all. Just being prudent.”

“I see. So it has nothing to do with why you wanted to see me, then…”

“No. This is rather a more delicate matter,” said the King, sitting up straighter and setting his teacup down on the table. “It’s about Master Richard.”

“Master Richard?”

“Something strange is happening. Something that no doubt involves the Gods, and as such may be more a matter of your realm than mine.”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“Please, walk with me,” invited the King, standing. “It would be best if you were to see it for yourself.”

Kuranes led his guest out of the throne room of the Palace of the Seventy Delights, to the stairs leading up into the Minaret of the Stars, the highest point of the Pinnacle.

The stairs wound up steadily, with small landings every so often for weary climbers to rest, before finally reaching the uppermost chamber, a hexagonal room with openings cut into in each wall.

One of the windows faced the Celephaïs Strait, and it was there that Master Richard stood immobile, staring out into the sea. His back was to the door, and his feet were well above the floor. His body stood tall, but was at about a twenty-degree angle from vertical… he hovered in mid-air, seemingly unaffected by gravity.

“He doesn’t notice us at all,” said the King. “but may suddenly speak, as if talking to someone else.”

The Godsworn approach slowly, studying Richard.

“He is not entirely in this world,” he said. “His feet do not touch the floor, and he stands at an angle to it.”

“Yes. That is part of the problem. If you touch him you will see another part.”

The Godsworn slowly stretched out his hand to Richard’s arm, pressing his fingertip gently into the fabric of his tunic.

“Touch his skin,” suggested the King.

The Godsworn moved his fingertip to Richard’s hand, as if to stroke it… and his fingertip sank into it.

He jumped back in astonishment.

“His flesh…! It’s… it’s not there!”

“He’s been like that now and again for several weeks now, and it seems to be getting more frequent. His clothes still hang on his body, but he can no longer be touched, a phantom.”

“Does he eat?”

“Nothing that we offer him. The morning dew, perhaps, or the fragrances the wind carries.”

“Master Richard!” called the Godsworn.

There was no response.

“He does seem to be breathing,” he mused. “Does he blink?”

He stepped closer, to be able to see Richard’s face, and staggered in shock.

“His face…!”

The Godsworn turned to King Kuranes.

“My King, I think perhaps we might best continue this conversation at the Temple.”

“The Temple? But why not here in the Palace?”

“Now it is my turn to lead you, and say it would be best for you to see it with your own eyes.”

They walked down the stairs, this time with the Godsworn in the lead and the King behind.

“Should I call Chuang as well?”

“Yes, by all means, but no one else.”

As they entered the Palace proper, the King called out commands, summoning Chuang to the main gate, and calling for three horses to be readied.

By the time they reached the front gate Chuang was already waiting, along with Britomartis and a six of the King’s Guard.

“I will escort you, Lord,” she said. “Where are we bound?”

“To the Temple of Nath-Horthath, at once.”

“Yes, my King.”

She turned to her swords, directing two of them to clear the way, but the King called them back.

“I think we can just ride, Commander. There is no need for haste, is there, Godsworn Tovari?”

“Probably not…” Tovari said, almost to himself.

The group rode down to the Cirque of the Moon, and the Street of Pillars running from the Pinnacle to the sea docks.

The people parted at the sight of the King and his retinue, stepping back to let the horses through, pulling back carts and wagons.

The King was no stranger to the city, often walking or riding through it on some business, or merely enjoying its pleasures, but for him to ride the Street of Pillars with the Godsworn was unusual, for it was no sacred day.

And with beautiful Britomartis, and Master Chuang!

A hubbub of conversation sprang up behind them.

The Temple was located in the Cirque of the Moon, flanked by the hanging flowers of lelai trees on one side, and the brilliantly colored lily pads of one of the ponds of the Necklace, fed by the crystal-clear waters of the Hippocrene Spring.

The turquoise temple was brilliant in the sunlight, carven from a single block of the blue stone by master artisans over countless years, its surface incised with ancient T’picytl glyphs running in columns down in walls. Very few of the city’s residents could read T’pictyl; neither the King nor Britomartis were among them.

Chuang, however, knew the lines from the sacred books well.

They told of life, and death, the balance, and the evanescence of all things.

The Godsworn dismounted with surprising agility in spite of his age, and waved the Godsworn at the entrance out of the way.

“Just you and Master Chuang,” he said, leaving the King to shrug helplessly at Britomartis and her guard.

The Godsworn, followed closely by King Kuranes and Master Chuang, strode briskly through the enormous room, and straight into a doorway into the pedestal supporting the “eternal flame,” a conflagration of red and orange flames that produced no heat and burned forever without fuel nor smoke. As they passed under it, leaving astonished Godsworn and worshipers in their wake, he felt once again the sense of spiritual peace and comfort it radiated.

The King had never been inside the inner temple before. He doubted that Chuang had, either.

It walls were of rough-hewn stone, a dramatic difference from the stunning turquoise of the outer temple.

Godsworn stopped in the halls, bowing to the High Priest as he passed, and raising their eyes to wonder at the appearance of two interlopers into their sacred temple.

Ahead, the hall ended at a huge gold door, inlaid in onyx with a single character in T’pictyl.

“What does it say, Chuang?”

“It just says ‘ka,’ but I have no idea what it means, my lord,” he replied.

The High Priest lifted a finger at the robed Godsworn standing on either side of the door, and they silently slid the massive bolt to the side, and pulled open the door.

Inside all was darkness.

The Godsworn guarding the door handed each of them a sunstone, wiping it dry so it began to emit the equivalent of torchlight… they must keep them charged and ready at the door.

They stepped inside and the door slammed shut behind them.

They heard the bolt slide into place with a dull thud.

Ahead of them was a simple stone doorway, with steps leading downward into shadow.

The Godsworn strode into the stairway, descending at a normal walking pace, obviously unafraid of the darkness.

The stairs were spiral, just like the stairs of the Minaret of the Stars, but the King realized the radius was vastly larger… they could no longer be under the Temple, and as they walked ever deeper he wondered if they had somehow walked below sea level. How could such a structure have been built under Celephaïs, and when?

The city had been here for thousands of years, but even as King he had never heard the faintest whisper of such a thing.

The Godsworn stopped, and took a small key from his belt, inserting it into a tiny, innocuous hole in the wall.

A click, a grinding noise, and the wall slid back to reveal… light.

It was a huge chamber, brilliant with radiance after the relative darkness of the torchlight from the sunstones, and the King shadowed his eyes with his hand for a moment.

The light came from a giant face carven into the wall of the chamber.

A man’s face, a handsome, perfectly normal man.

“This is the true face of Nath-Horthath,” said the Godsworn. “Few have seen it over the years, and none but myself and Godsworn Vivocheç, the abbot here, in the last hundred.”

They looked at the carven face in astonishment.

It was the face of Master Richard.

As they watched, it slowly blinked.

* * *

Tovari led them back up the stairs. The Temple and its Godsworn were usually silent, and now the King and Chuang fell silent as well, staggered by what they had seen.

He knocked on the bolted door, and called out to open it.

The bolt slid back immediately, and the door opened once again.

As it was closed and bolted behind them, the Godsworn led them through the hallway to a small room.

It looked out onto the waters and flowers of the Necklace, though the window was barred.

“Please, sit,” he suggested, waving his hand at the scattered cushions. “I will have some tea brought, and we may talk.”

The King and Chuang sat cross-legged, across the low table from the Godsworn, who kneeled facing them.

“How is that possible…” began the King, but Tovari held up his hand, cautioning him to silence.

“Please, wait a moment, until our tea has arrived and we may talk freely.”

“Of course, of course,” muttered the King, relaxing a fraction.

Two young acolytes came in bearing trays, one carrying a large pot of hot water, teapot, and cups, and the second a plate heaped with fresh fruit of all varieties.

“That will be fine, thank you,” said the Godsworn as they started to kneel down at the table to prepare the tea. “I’ll take care of it.”

One of the acolytes—a boy, thought Kuranes, though it was difficult to tell with shaven head and shapeless robes—looked surprised, but they both bowed and left.

The Godsworn carefully measured tealeaves into the pot, and poured in the hot water, swirling it gently, pausing, then filling their cups a little at a time in rotation, so that each cup received a little of the first, second, and last pour. Filled, he handed the first cup to the King, and the second to Chuang, taking the third for himself.

He savored the aroma of the tea, and took a sip.

Opened his eyes.

“So, King Kuranes… you see the difficulty, now.”

Kuranes held the edges of the teacup in his hands, slowly rotating it on the tabletop, It made a quiet scratching noise as it turned.

“Yes, quite… How old is that… that… face?”

“Older than Celephaïs,” said Tovari. “The Books say that the Pinnacle is newer… and that the face of Nath-Horthath has never moved.”

“But it blinked, didn’t it? I saw it blink.”

“Yes, Master Chuang, it blinked. We all saw it,” said the Godsworn. “To my knowledge that is the first time it has ever been seen to move at all… we thought it a carving.”

“Master Richard’s face… but you said it predates the city, which means many thousands of years. Richard only came to us recently, called by Reed’s stratagems.”

“Did he? I wonder…” mused the Godsworn.

“There is no doubting that face,” said Chuang. “Time and space, cause and effect, reality and dream, all are fluid here… but while Reed strove to become a god, Nath-Horthath is one! Is Richard, then, an avatar of the god, come among us in the flesh?”

“The gods have always walked among us, but Master Richard…” The King fell silent, then looked into the Godsworn’s eyes once more. “What can we do? What should we do?”

Tovari lowered his teacup.

“I have no idea. I have never met my god face-to-face, or touched their hand with my own.” The teacup clinked on the tabletop. “I must summon the Council, and investigate the earlier, more cryptic Books. It may have nothing to do with us at all.”

“Or it may.”

“Yes. Or it may foretell the end of all,” agreed the Godsworn. “As with most sacred books, ours also tells that when the time has come for the Dreamlands and Wakeworld and all the myriad universes to be returned to the nothingness that birthed them, Nath-Horthath shall return.”

“All? What comes after?”

“Only the gods would know, but the Books talk of new universes born of the forgotten dreams of this one.”

The teapot gave a tiny rattle.

Chuang quickly set his own teacup down and looked out the window at the waters of the Necklace, waves rising.

“Earthquake!”

The cups on the table began to dance and the stone floor itself bucked beneath their feet with a terrible roar that they could feel in their bones, walls swaying, Godsworn shouting, through the window—bars shattering—people screaming, terrified horses galloping in search of safety, walls and statues swaying and toppling, the Palace itself, high on the Pinnacle, rose-glinting fragments spinning off into the air, a maelstrom of birds in the air, crying in fear and surprise, and the sun, shining brightly and serenely as ever, looking down on it all.

The floor gave one final shake, the smallest hiccup of an earthbound titan, and fell still again.

The King jumped to his feet, followed immediately by Chuang.

“I must go… Celephaïs!”

“Go, Kuranes, and succor your city,” said the Godsworn. “I fear the worst may come to pass…”

The two of them raced through the Temple and stopped outside the entrance.

Britomartis and the guard were waiting, calming their horses.

The damage did not appear to be as bad as they had feared, although they could see fallen statuary and terrified people and animals. Beyond the wall, in the Cirque of the Jade Bull, smoke rose from fires here and there, but far and few between.

The King looked up at the Pinnacle, at the Palace. It seemed unharmed, although they had seen fragments falling to the earth below.

There was something strange, though… the King stared, trying to discern what had changed.

“The Minaret of the Stars,” whispered Chuang. “The Minaret is gone…”

Kuranes looked where it should have stood… and saw the figure of Master Richard, floating untouched in the air above the broken remnants of the tower, still staring into the waters of the Celephaïs Strait.

* * *

Someone was calling me.

I looked around.

Nobody.

Oh, down there…

I found myself floating in mid-air, and realized this must be a dream.

Strange to be aware that I was dreaming.

I drifted down to stand next to him.

It was Kuranes.

“Master Richard! You can hear me!”

“Of course I can hear you, Kuranes… I’m right next to you.”

“I mean… You’ve been floating up there for a week now, never moving even in the wind, never talking, or answering when we call…”

“I was…? A week?”

I laughed.

“You’re jesting, of course. I couldn’t survive a week without eating!”

I looked around… I was standing on a pile of stones, some building must have collapsed, I thought.

Where was I…? Oh, there was the Palace of the Seventy Delights!

And that was the King’s Aerie… so this must be… the Minaret! The Minaret of the Stars!

But it had been destroyed!

“What happened to the Minaret?” I asked in confusion.

The King didn’t answer, but just looked at me, and slowly raised his hand, finger outstretched, to mine.

I watched it approach, wondering at his unusual solemnity.

It came closer, slowed, touched the back of my hand… and passed through, still faintly visible through my flesh.

“What!? Kuranes! What happened to you?”

He withdrew his hand.

“Not me, Master Richard, not me… something has happened to you.”

“But I don’t remember anything…”

“What do you remember?”

“Well, I just went up to the Minaret a little while ago to watch the sunset, and now it’s gone!” said Richard. “Oh, but of course. This is all just some silly dream, and I shall awaken shortly.”

“You climbed the Minaret nine days ago, Master Richard, and have been floating in the air since.”

“I have? But what happened? To the Minaret, I mean… it’s gone!”

“There was an earthquake yesterday, and it fell.”

“An earthquake!? Here in Celephaïs!? But you’ve never had earthquakes!”

“No, we never have.”

The King waved toward the Palace.

“Can you come with me, Master Richard? I would talk at more length.”

“Of course, Kuranes, I’d be happy to.”

I looked over toward the Palace, and saw Chuang and Britomartis waiting there.

“Master Chuang, Britomartis, why the long faces? You were not so unhappy this morning when we talked.”

Chuang just bowed, but Britomartis reached forward to grasp my hand in hers.

I felt her, and she lifted my hand, squeezing it between both of hers.

“Oh, Master Richard! We were so worried!”

Kuranes stared at her hands holding mine.

“Commander, you can feel him? Touch him?”

She turned, still holding my hand.

“What? Of course I can! Why?”

I gently removed her hands from mine.

“The King tried to touch me, and couldn’t. This is a most bizarre dream indeed…”

“Dream, Master Richard? But this is no dream!”

“Oh, of course it’s a dream,” I laughed. “Look, here is a rose,” and I held out the red rose I held in my hand to her.

She backed up, staring at it.

“How did you…?”

“It’s a dream, of course! Roses, butterflies, a crimson bird, it’s all just a dream!” and as I spoke, they were simply there, as if they had always been there, as real as the Pinnacle itself.

“And the Minaret of the Stars, too!” I turned back to see it soaring to the sky once again, newly built bricks of rose-red quartz and coral instead of the pink marble of the Palace itself.

I laughed. “Quite a funny dream, don’t you think?”

Britomartis backed away from me.

“Richard, when we met the other night at the lower gate, you gave me a teapot, to replace the broken one, you said. What did you mean?”

“Exactly what I said… your teapot was broken, and you needed a new one, so I thought I’d pick one up for you.”

“But my teapot didn’t break until later that night!”

“It didn’t? But I saw…”

I fell silent as Britomartis told the King and Chuang what had happened.

“He said somebody named Clive had told him I liked bluebirds, but I don’t know anyone named Clive,” she ended.

“He said Clive? You’re sure about that?” pressed Chuang.

“Yes, definitely.”

He turned to the King, who was staring at me.

“Master Richard, Chuang and I have had you watched all day, every day… you never left the minaret, while it stood, and never moved after it fell. You were there when Britomartis left that day.”

“I find the minaret a good place for thinking.”

“But you met Britomartis at the lower gate.”

“Yes, of course. And gave her the teapot.”

“When did you buy this teapot?”

“Why, as soon as I knew she needed it!”

“When was that?”

“When I met her at the gate she mentioned it was broken.”

Britomartis spoke up: “I did not. I said nothing of a teapot, because it was not broken!”

“And you had the teapot in your hand at the gate already,” said Kuranes.

“Most strange,…” I said.

It was Chuang’s turn to ask a question.

“Master Richard, who is Clive?”

I was quite surprised; he of all people should know.

“The King, of course. Clive Rains.”

The King staggered.

“How did you… nobody knows my name, except Chuang. Who…?”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about it. “It’s just something I know; don’t know where I heard it…”

Chuang straightened up, looking straight into my eyes.

“Master Richard, what would you of us? Speak, Nath-Horthath!”

Nath-Horthath… Nath-Horthath… their god. Why did he call me that…?

The name echoed, reverberating in the still air like distant thunder, the Pinnacle shaking with confined energy on the verge of bursting forth.

Nath-Horthath… Why, yes, I am Nath-Horthath!

No, I am more than Nath-Horthath… I am Richard, and I am Kuranes and I am Britomartis…

A giant eye appeared in the sky above Celephaïs: Reed.

Huge cavities began to appear in the Palace, the Pinnacle throughout the city of Celephaïs, leaving destruction and gaping voids in their wake, massive thunderclaps, sonic booms as the air rushed to fill the sudden spheres of vacuum.

The Pinnacle itself began to tilt, crumbling in upon itself, the Palace wobbling, collapsing, rose-colored walls sliding into oblivion.

Chuang lost his balance, slipping off the increasingly steep slope of the Pinnacle’s uppermost face.

Britomartis grabbed the King’s arm with one hand, and a nearby elm with the other, supporting them both against certain death, until the elm itself slowly uprooted, toppling with them into the flaming ruins of once-proud Celephaïs.

Chuang, King Kuranes, Celephaïs… all gone. Britomartis, gone.

I floated in the air as the sea, towering dozens of meters above the city’s walls, came crashing in to drown their screams and pleas before it plunged steaming into the red gash that had opened in the earth, spewing lava and smoke.

I felt every soul, every thought, the searing pain of every death, every loss… because they were me.

I am every one of them, I am Reed, I am the earth itself, Wakeworld and Dreamworld, Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth, I am the All.

The eye looking down at the destruction from above—Reed—jerked, and began to crumble into ash from one corner.

It blinked, or tried to, and the eyelid turned to black dust, blowing away in the whirlwinds of destruction.

The massive walls of Celephaïs shook, and shivered, and exploded into clouds of sand, to dust, to nothingness…

And as the universes folded in on themselves in their uncountable numbers, as galaxies and electrons collapsed to the raw stuff of creation, and all was dark once again, I knew the truth.

I was All, and there was nothing else.

I was All, and alone, and had been alone for an eternity, and for an eternity to come, for time did not exist here, only the Now that always was and always would be.

I had created universes, and galaxies, and suns, and worlds, and life, dividing myself into ever smaller fragments so I could no longer recall my eternal, solitary existence, until once again my unquenchable desire to know, to understand reassembled me in the eternal cycle.

I could not flee, because there was nowhere… only me.

I could not weep, for I had no eyes; could not end myself because there was nothing other than this. Death only had meaning for life, and I was not alive, I merely was, and always would be.

Was I any more real that the myriad of people, of living things, or worlds and universes, that I had created? Or was I but a dream, an idle whim of some entity as far above me as I was above humanity?

Outside of me there was nothing. No sound, no light, no vibration… nothing. Did I have an outside and an inside? I could not tell—there was only my Self, and nothing and no-one to hear me.

I could not bear it.

I exploded into a billion billion fragments, a Big Bang of anguish to escape self-awareness, and as my consciousness split, diminished, I saw Celephaïs once again coalescing from the darkness, Kuranes and Chuang and lovely Britomartis solidifying from the darkness back into existence, and—

“Why, Master Richard, you’re weeping!” said Britomartis.

“I was suddenly so very sad,” I said. “But I cannot recall of what…”

“A bad dream,” she laughed, and handed me another cherry from the basket. “What wonderful weather it is today! Everything looks greener, and fresher, and even more alive!”

There was something, some memory, hovering right at the edge of my awareness, but I couldn’t recall what it was.

A daydream, no doubt.

I bit into the cherry.

It was delicious.

END