AC: Round 3 - Sagequeen

[Sagequeen]

“Not now. I am having the most lovely dream...”

The smell of blood infiltrated the elf’s consciousness, and she raised her head quickly, a single page sticking to it and fluttering to the ground.

“By the gods,” she breathed, “into what have I awakened?” Erissa looked around herself, oblivious to the dried blood that flaked from her cheek. “Someone is injured,” she breathed softly, peering at the maroon-streaked desktop. “Someone needs help.” Her determined eyes followed the splattered trail to the clock, and the elf rose slowly to investigate. She knelt by the foot of the grandfather clock, where the droplets upon the glossy, white tile appeared to end. The elf glanced back quickly at the austere room, the desk obscuring her from a full view of it.

“There is nothing in here,” she mumbled, and turned her attention back to the fine purple wood. “Where...” she breathed, and her eyebrows furrowed. A smear of blood was drying upon the small brass knob, and Erissa pulled open the door of the clock's pendulum housing. A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Enchanted liviol. It figures,” she said. Behind the pendulum, Erissa could see a light at the end of a dark passageway. “Hang in there, whoever you are,” she whispered.

The Ixian wrestled with the pendulum, cutting her hand on the sharp edges, but finally freeing it from the clockwork mechanism. She crawled through the tight space, sideways and wriggling her body to inch forward. The darkness of the passage overtook her vision, leaving her only the vague light in the distance.

[Sagequeen]

The tunnel had narrowed toward the end, tapering until Erissa found herself unable to inhale fully. She grasped the open edges of it, and the elf heaved mightily. Her head emerged into grand hallway, and the Ixian peered out at the rich decor, velvety reds and golden-gilded fixtures and accents glinting from every surface. She slid forward, freeing her hips and legs from the tunnel, and flopped down upon a floral scented rug, woven, it seemed to her, from living greens. Beneath her nose was a vibrant flower, its petals extended in a glorious reach from the ground.

Erissa looked around warily as she gathered her legs beneath herself and stood. She had not caught another whiff of blood since she entered the tunnel, and she was beginning to think she had gone the wrong way.

“Hello?” she called, her voice without echo.

“Ah, Ms. Caedron,” a man’s voice responded. He stepped from against the wall into the middle of the hallway, dashing in his formal black suit. “Congratulations are in order! You’ve found your way to the final challenge. You don’t realize it yet, but you’ve learned some very important lessons for the one who may, one day, wield the Book of Destiny.”

“Have I?” Erissa asked, her head cocking to the side. “I only just followed a trail of blood, found a passage in an old, broken clock, and crawled my way here.”

“Of course you did!” the man replied with a laugh. “And so much more.” The elf shook her head slowly, a look of dumbfoundment on her face.

“Would you care to explain? I came here thinking there was an injured person to help. I am afraid I have no idea of that to which you refer, good Sir,” Erissa said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to her right leg.

“Now is time for introductions, not explanations,” he said merrily. “You might remember me from when we met in the maze of hedges. There, I am known as Alabaster. How fortuitous and wonderful that fate has paired us again!” Erissa raised an eyebrow and released an audible sigh.

“Ah, yes. The trickster,” she said suggestively. “And who might you be here?” The man laughed gleefully.

“The usher,” he said wryly. “You may call me Pennyworth. Now, Ms. Caedron, to the grand stage that is time. Come,” he said, extending the crook of his elbow. Erissa sighed heavily.

“So I assume there is no one injured here, and I am to accompany you.”

“I do hope you aren’t as slow as you seem, or your final challenge will prove too great,” Pennyworth said slyly. Erissa smiled primly and slipped her hand into the bend of his arm. Immediately, an updraft caught her, wreathing her in the same odd, living fabric of the rug below her feet. The gown it created was a lovely, powdery sage color, studded with tiny, purple and white stitchwort flowers, whose aroma was sweeter and more pure than the finest perfume. The elf looked down at herself in surprise, for as lovely as the dress was, she was still barefooted.

“Shall we?” the man asked. “The show is about to begin.” Erissa nodded once and he led her down the long hallway. The dun colored walls were draped with well-tailored, flowing curtains. To her left, the elf saw a tapestry detailing the events of her life, from her birth to her time with her mentor, Troyas. On the right, Erissa recognized herself, but not the events or scenes she saw depicted.

At the end of the hall, a set of double doors, tall, elegant columns carved into the mahogany wood, swung open as the two approached, and beyond, the elf saw a theater, luxurious and filled with padded chairs. Beyond the chairs was a stage concealed by a fine, golden curtain.

“It is empty,” Erissa said warily, glancing at the much taller man at her side.

“Not anymore!” he laughed, leading her down the aisle toward the stage.

“Besides us, I mean,” Erissa quipped, and Pennyworth stopped short, his eyes meeting hers.

“In that case, yes, it is, and so it will remain.” He winked at her and the elf saw something of the trickster surface in the way his eyes glinted. "Your seat, Ms. Caedron," he said, gesturing to a row in the front of the middle section. It was the row Erissa would have chosen anyway, and with a shake of her head, she side-stepped to place herself in the center of it, giving her the best view of the stage.

Pennyworth turned on his heel and sauntered back to the entrance. The man took his place near the door and waited, hands folded before him.

[Sagequeen]

When she saw the ceiling above her, the elf gasped, taken by the image of a starry night, the points of light twinkling as wisps of clouds drifted across. Erissa thought it strange, but was not surprised when she was unable to recognize a single constellation.

Erissa sat quietly, her right leg crossed over the left, hands still upon her lap. The theater was silent, without even the pre-show noise of an orchestra warming up, nor did she hear stagehands making last minute adjustments to the set.

“This evening,” rang the clear voice of an announcer, “we are pleased to present a new production, entitled The Room. Our feature tonight stars the illustrious Ms. Erissa Caedron.” The elf’s brow furrowed at the call of her name, and she looked back at Pennyworth questioningly.

“What is this?” she called softly, but earned only a harsh shhhhhhh from the man, his index finger placed over his lips condescendingly. Erissa clucked her tongue at him and huffed, turning toward the stage once again. The curtains split in the center, the heavy fabric drawn into an accordion of folds as the gap between them widened.

A familiar sight was unveiled before Erissa, a bare, white room, a desk, a door, and a grandfather clock. An elf lay sleeping at the desk. From her chair in the audience, the Ixian’s head snapped back at Pennyworth, but he was no longer guarding the entrance.

“The lovely elf lays sleeping, unaware of the trials to come! Will our heroine ever find her way out?” Erissa whipped her upper body back toward the stage, and the man was perched there, his arms spread widely as he addressed his audience. He bowed and backed away gracefully into the wings, hidden from her view.

The Ixian watched her first life unfold, aware that the actress was her, but without the understanding that she was, in fact, watching her own actions. She heard her voice lamenting with indecision over the door and its inscription, and watched herself pace the room looking for another way out.

“It is the clock,” she muttered, sinking down into the posh cushion of the theater seat. “How obvious does it need to be?”

The figure on stage sat at the desk resignedly, putting quill to ink for a time before curiosity claimed her. She opened the door and stepped through the threshold. The curtains swept shut, ending the scene.

[Sagequeen]

“And now,” Pennyworth called from the stage, his reemergence smooth as silk, “watch as our heroine begins another attempt at the room, completely unaware of her previous actions! Watch what happens as her mounting failures linger! Will her fear overcome her, or will she be victorious? What will decide Erissa’s fate?”

Erissa shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the curtains drew back once again, revealing the same scene as before, with a very noticeable difference - a body heaped in the corner. The elf watched the flood of emotions her double encountered, down to the arrogance of penning a grocery list.

“What are you doing?” she asked herself, blushing at the spectacle. Moments later, her double fled the room through the door. The elf muttered with disgust as she awaited the opening of the curtains once again.

Erissa watched scene after scene, life after life spent, realizing quickly that she had, in fact, lived each one. In spite of her growing anger, she watched with morbid fascination as she penned a letter with her own blood, babbling incoherently in some foreign sense of insane reasoning. The arcanist watched herself awake again, this time to blood smeared upon the desk, and a warning not to look back.

“Oh no... what in the many names of Hell are you doing?” she all but screeched from her seat in the theater, and she pleaded with the Erissa on stage not to look back, but to see the answer right in front of her, the door of the clock. However, the actress did not listen, and Erissa watched herself, yet again, explore the depths of madness, ripping all but one piece of paper into tiny squares and tossing them over the pile of bodies. The single remaining page she placed upon the desk, and laughed gleefully as she pranced through the door.

The final act in the play was one which Erissa knew intimately, and it was the shortest. The elf gasped as she saw herself awake, the damning page fluttering to the floor unnoticed. That simple coincidence was her saving grace, that and the desk's placement, and Erissa knew it from her seat in the audience. Everything else she recalled, up until her escape through the clock. As they did between every scene, every life, the curtains swept shut and Pennyworth took the stage.

“It has been said,” he spoke richly, his smooth tenor carrying to the very last row of seats, “that a butterfly flaps its wings in New Aurient, and civil war breaks out across Corone. Cause and effect, Ms. Caedron, cause... and... effect. It's easier to see in hindsight, is it not? Some believe that major events govern the flow of history, but the truth is, it’s the simplest of things, a grocery list, spilled ink, footprints, a note, an inadvertent glance, that can alter the entire fate of a person - or a world. How, do you think, do the world-changing events come into being?

“For you, Ms. Caedron, it was the flip of a captain's gold coin. Had it been heads, your brother would have had a different patrol and a long, glorious career as a soldier. You would have never left home, and you most assuredly would not have found yourself allied with the Ixian Knights.” Pennyworth paused for effect, the flick of his wrist a flourish of punctuation. “The flip of a coin,” he repeated, “the flap of a butterfly’s wings.”

Erissa stood abruptly, the pitch of her anger flaring.

“This is humiliating and exceedingly cruel!” she accused, pointing her finger at Pennyworth. The man gave a contemptible giggle.

“Humiliating, perhaps,” he countered. “But cruel? I think not. Cruel would have been confining you to that room with this.” From his coat pocket, he produced a freshly carved reed flute, one with which Erissa was intimately familiar. “Despite my badgering, Mr. Stern wouldn’t hear of it.”

“The faun’s flute,” she whispered, remembering Pennyworth’s offer as Alabaster in the hedge maze. Playing the song of Gabacef the Tender would take her back to the garden, her eternity known and assured, and she would never more walk upon the face of Althanas. It represented the second reality she could choose, and one in which the secret hope of her heart, one she hardly acknowledged herself, would be fulfilled.

“Indeed, Ms. Caedron,” Pennyworth said quietly. He tossed the flute across the room, and it spun end over end toward her. The elf caught it, mid-revolution, and held with both hands. “The offer still stands, in case you were wondering. Think about it, Erissa. Consider awakening into a life with no memory of the past to burden you, and with a future assured.”

“The spirit of a trickster never truly leaves you, does it?” she breathed. “I might as well be one of the statues in that garden.” Pennyworth’s face twitched slightly, his deception undone. “And the truth of it comes to light,” Erissa said, catching the slip. Her voice strengthened as her courage waxed. “You would have me as a lawn decoration!” The elf flexed the reed between her dainty hands, the woody crackle thunderous in the silent theater. Pennyworth cringed at the inevitable snap that followed.

“Gabacef will be most displeased,” he sighed.

“So, that is it then,” Erissa said. “The final test is complete.”

Pennyworth chuckled.

[Sagequeen]

“The final challenge?” The man doubled over in laughter, grasping his midsection. As his chuckles subsided, he lept from the stage and approached Erissa. “That seems a bit anti-climactic, don't you think? No, Ms. Caedron,” Pennyworth said, genteelly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “that was just for me. For my amusement, though I daresay I am a little disappointed in the result.”

“Enough with your games, Mr. Pennyworth,” Erissa chided, side-stepping through the row into the center aisle. “There remains another challenge, and I intend to face it.”

“Them, you mean,” Pennyworth corrected with a knowing waggle of his eyebrow. The elf tilted her head quizzically.

“Is there more than one?” Erissa said curtly.

“No, not in a manner of speaking,” he commented, nonchalantly offering the crook of his elbow, which she took grudgingly.

“To which manner of speaking do you refer,” she asked, “because it most decidedly is not the plain sort.” Pennyworth snorted as he led her to the side of the stage where a door to its back awaited them.

“Words, Ms. Caedron, are dicey, and often minced without regard to meaning.”

“True enough,” she quipped. “And you are a frustrating imp of a man.”

“Had you been correct,” he sassed, “you’d have stopped at imp.”

“Dear me,” Erissa said, bringing her hand to her chest in mock surprise, “and here I thought imps were short creatures with horns and a pointed tail.”

“And it was a cherished belief of mine that elves were wise and patient,” Pennyworth said with enthusiastic sarcasm.

“Then I suppose I am no common high elf,” she said.

“Or perhaps it is the company you keep. You’ve heard the saying, lie with-”

“Yes, of course,” Erissa interrupted. “Lie with dogs, rise with fleas. I hardly think that applies, unless of course, you are referring to my time with you.”

“My, my, how you’ve changed,” Pennyworth laughed. “And how much more you will change in the future.” The man swung open the backstage door and held it for her. “I do have a message for you from Mr. Stern,” he said, handing Erissa an envelope. “And through the door you go. Don’t worry! It’s perfectly safe. I swear by my horns and pointed tail!”

[Sagequeen]

Erissa eyed Pennyworth, whose stoic grin revealed nothing. She wedged a slender finger beneath the lip of the envelop and broke the seal; the elf removed a single page, folded in half.

Dear Erissa,

To consider what was or what might be your destiny, and to view it in the present with fear, or any other strong emotion, is to give it the substance to trap you. You become a slave to time itself, which your mind has made real through the emotions to which you cling.

You spend each waking day in servitude of your attachments to things that, in all truth, do not exist. Consider your time in the room. You feared the bodies behind you because they represented both your failures and your possible fate. And for all your efforts to change a future you feared, you only served to make things worse.

So, you understand the danger of owning a book that can allow you to see what was and what might be. The traps and snares that could entangle you are innumerable. To wield the book auspiciously is to understand a simple, fundamental truth.

Time is the illusion, and we only exist in this one, continuous moment of flux, in which we create history, and in which we defy any number of futures that might have been. Consider that, and good luck in this, your final challenge.

--K.S.

“One more thing,” the imp interjected as Erissa folded the note. He removed his hand from his pocket. “The coin that killed your brother,” he said, spining it into the air and catching it. “I went to some trouble to retrieve it because I thought you might like to have it as a souvenir.” He flipped it to the elf who caught it on its downward arc. Erissa grimaced when she opened her hand, revealing the exposed side as tails.

With a cool nod to Pennyworth, Erissa stepped through the threshold.

[Sagequeen]

As Erissa passed through the doorway, what appeared to be a normal backstage setting dematerialized in a spectacular show of color and light. She looked down as the living gown was stripped from her, replaced by her own maroon leather pants and jacket. The leather flexed as she fingered the hilt of the elvish dagger hidden in an interior pocket.

For a few moments, it was as if the elf were suspended in a void, until giant, brass cogs slammed upward, meshing together in their places below her feet. More of the toothy, metal discs swooped from above, then rammed themselves on upon phantom walls, pegs unseen, sending shockwaves of low frequency sonances through the elf’s body.

A second array of smaller cogs arranged and layered themselves in a new wall of movements. Set after set of cogs materialized and whirled around her, in sizes ranging from her own height down to the width of her thumb, each finding its own unique place in the great mechanism. The sound of clamoring chains filled the air, grating as if they were being hoisted through pulley systems. At once, every shining, brass cog jolted to life, lumbering with the groans of heavy machinery. Erissa was nearly knocked to her feet as the gear below her jerked clockwise, and she whipped her arms outward to regain her balance.

From among the spaces between cogs slipped another being, an elf dressed in Erissa’s family’s trademark cloth. She walked at an angle, negating the direction of the spinning cog beneath her, and timidly approached the leather-clad elf. Erissa was not surprised to see it was yet another of her clones. The Ixian turned to keep her front to the approaching elf, holding her position on the cogwheel as it spun.

“Greetings,” Erissa called, wondering if this clone of herself could -or would- acknowledge her.

“Well met,” she called back, stepping onto the cog and taking a place across from the leather-clad elf. The two stared awkwardly at each other for several moments as they spun a circle upon the rotating gear.

“So,” Erissa said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Um... If you do not mind my asking, why are you here?” The cloth-clad elf tilted her head quizzically.

“I had thought to ask you the same question,” she replied. “It was quite a shock to see you - or me, that is, but you cannot be me, because I am right here. I assume you are a part of this place.”

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” Erissa breathed. Her fists were clenched, and she realized she still held the gold coin. The Ixian slipped it into her jacket pocket.

“How can you be sure?” the tailor asked. “I feel quite real.”

“Allow me to explain,” came the call of another voice, clear and ringing from the recess of a cog high above the other two. She walked comfortably upon the thin, circular ledge in the center of the gear as it spun, her elven heritage apparent in the grace with which she held herself. She proudly flipped her silver hair behind her shoulders. “We are here for the same reason: to emerge as the winner, though our motivations are quite different. And the winner, my imposters, will be me.”

“And who might you be to make such grand proclamations?” Erissa asked, crossing her arms over the open front of her jacket. She glared at a very haughty version of her own face.

“I am the Sagequeen, the Knower of All Things, the Only Wise Judge, and Harbinger of Truth and Peace.” The regal elf leaped from the cogwheel, her chainmail glinting beneath a silver-threaded tabard bearing the sigil of an eye. As she approached, she rested her hand upon the hilt of a long, straight sword, whose wooden scabbard was encrusted with gold and jewels. “I should warn both of you now, your endeavors here are pointless. I have read the book, and I know the outcome.” The tailor shifted uncomfortably, the fine cloth flowing with her movements.

“What book?” the young elf asked, looking at Erissa and the Sagequeen. The two glanced at each other, the mail-clad elf’s eyes sparking with a sense of knowing.

“The Book of Destiny,” Erissa said quietly, looking worriedly at the tailor. “That is why I am here - to win it. Are you not here for the same reason?”

“No,” the tailor said. “I am in search of-”

“A trifle,” mocked the Sagequeen, eyes darting to Erissa.

“The life of my brother is hardly a trifle,” the tailor said, frowning. Erissa’s eyes widened momentarily with word of her brother.

“And what about you?” she growled, tugging on the leather jacket in frustration. “Why are you here? And why do you speak of the book like you already have it?”

“Me? Oh, I have no doubt you would love to know,” the regal elf purred. “Although, I must disappoint you both. You will die,” she said, pointing at Erissa. “Then you will die,” she promised, levelling her finger at the tailor. “And then, I will claim my prize.”

“Not if I have any say in it,” Erissa growled, pulling the dagger from her jacket. The Sagequeen unsheathed her sword, laughing.

“I knew you would make this an exercise in futility, and so I must oblige. But be warned,” she said, rotating the blade smoothly around her body, scribing large, invisible circles in the air, “I already know your every move.”

The tailor backed away slowly, hoping to go unnoticed, and as the mail-clad elf approached the other, she spun on her heel and fled among the walls of cogs.

[Sagequeen]

The Sagequeen coiled her body, rotating to her right slightly before leaping forward in a pirouette, her blade dancing with double swiftness around her, creating a barrier of steel. Erissa stumbled back, summoning a shield of energy against which the blade sparked and groaned.

“I can do that as well, and more,” the regal elf declared. The sword’s thin blade began to glow a prismatic white as she channeled energy into it. She whirled the blade in an arc above her head, kicking her left leg out to begin a form that resembled dancing. Erissa could not tell where the spinning blade would circle next, nor when the elf might strike.

The energy trailed the path of the steel, a tattered, flashing banner that Erissa could hardly track through the revolutions. The Sagequeen spun to her left, the sword countering the flow of movement with its own ebbing path to the right. The Ixian heaved her body aside as the the wielder unexpectedly thrust the blade at her throat, the gathered energy streaking from its tip and dissipating against a gear. Erissa crashed to the ground.

“You are outmatched,” the Sagequeen attested, strutting counter-clockwise as the cog spun opposite. Upon the same piece of brass, Erissa struggled to her feet again, desperately trying to avoid being delivered to her opponent. With a nimble leap, the Ixian fled the gear to its mate, and she was hauled away along its edge, putting more distance between the two elves.

Erissa sprang from cog to cog, and on the final leap, the elf spun in the air to face her pursuer. Her dagger flashed through the space between them, telekenetically aimed for the regal elf’s neck. Erissa hit the floor upon her back, and to her utter shock, the blade slowed slowed as it approached her target, and the Sagequeen plucked it from the air as if it were a drifting leaf.

With a condescending smile, the Sagequeen began her form anew, the sword still working its flowing circles while the dagger added another stratum of threat, ready to strike as quickly as a serpent. Erissa crouched briefly before standing, her body tensed for movement.

“Can you believe,” the mail-clad elf mused, admiring the sword as it cut a figure eight before her, “that in my lands they call me the Mad Queen? I have only ever sought to assure that what should happen, does. The people should love me for such sacrifice on my part. I remove their murderers, thieves, rapists and slavers before they ever have the chance to become such. Sadly it is their own ignorance that prevents them from seeing that truth, which brings me to you. This, my dear self, is one of those instances where the greater good takes precedent. Your world is filled to bursting with pain and sorrow, and has no one to set it right. Consider yourself a martyr for the sakes of all.”

Each elf stood her ground upon their respective gears, their paths came dangerously close to crossing.

“I cannot even fathom why you are here! If you are the future me, why do you seek to kill me?” Erissa asked, walking backwards as the gear’s revolution was coming full circle to the Sagequeen’s. “Would you not also undo your own existence? Besides, if you are a future version of me, then you do not even exist!” The regal elf released a beleaguered sigh. She sheathed her weapon and flipped the elven dagger, catching it nimbly before levelling her gaze at Erissa.

“I recall when I acquired this weapon. It was the Red Forest, and I had slain my first sentient being. It was, of course, self defense. By the gods, I was so weak then. So naive.” The Sagequeen flipped the dagger again, and the two elves passed by each other, each of their cogs rotating in opposite directions. “I will humor you this once, because it is quite an interesting tale regarding me, specifically.” The elf could not hide the self-righteous pride that emanated from her words.

“Much obliged,” Erissa said in riposte.

“When the old gods created reality as we know it, they created realities for every possibility that could exist. In short, an infinite number of worlds, some differing only by a heartbeat.”

“The slightest, most insignificant things,” Erissa breathed.

“Yes,” the Sagequeen said. “And this is the best part: it is a unique ability of those like us, psionics, to exist in multiple places at once. What this means is that I have the ability to exist in many realities, bringing peace and justice to them all.”

“And that is your prize,” the Ixian said softly. “You cannot exist in a world where another version of yourself exists.”

“More or less; it is your psyche that is in the way, my imposter. You will continue to exist in the world, but the you that is you will be me.” She flipped her silver hair behind her shoulder. “It was most fortunate,” she said, “that our realities spring from the same branch. The tailor was born to her world some time after you, and even longer after me. I am the eldest, but our moment in time is one in the same, providing this exclusive opportunity.”

“By the Thaynes,” Erissa said, her eyes wide and fearful. “How many worlds do you already inhabit?”

“Not enough,” she said. “There will never be enough. It is my life’s work, and as you know, I have a long life to live.”

“You intend to spend you life murdering innocents?”

“Innocent!?!” The Sagequeen drew her weapon once again, her eyes malicious. “I have lost count of the number of lives I have saved by removing a select few criminals-to-be from existence.” The elves approached one another again, the gears steadily winding beneath them, and the regal elf’s sword was at the ready. Erissa looked around in a panic, but a glinting bit of metal from below caught her attention.

Just as the Sagequeen began her thrust, Erissa stepped forward and fell down through the empty triangle within the junction of three cogs, leaving the tip of the blade to pierce thin air.

[Sagequeen]

Within the clockwork, Erissa darted through more cog-lined passages than she could count, hoping to put distance between herself and the self-proclaimed Sagequeen. She had heard neither footfall nor whisper from the tailor, but was unsure whether she should hope for her death or her safety. Chest heaving, the elf slowed her sprint to a jog, and finally to an exhausted walk.

Multiple realities, she thought, dumbfounded. I have stepped from the frying pan, into the fire! Erissa wandered the seemingly random pathways that filled the void she had seen earlier, her ears perked for every sound that might betray another living being. She came upon a circular wall with several smaller cogs enmeshed, and the elf planted a foot on one of the hand-sized teeth. The gear lifted her upward to another, higher mate, and she nimbly stepped to it before her foot was crushed. Erissa continued that way, passing level after level of boulder-sized hunks of spinning brass, wondering if there were a top, and an end, to the climb.

As the elf scaled what seemed to be a tapering, central support column, she heard crying. Her own voiced sobbed with despair, though it seemed the source of it was trying to be as quiet as possible. The elf peeked over the final layer of gears, and to her relief, it was the tailor. Fearing a trap but being unable to remain on the wall Erissa leaped from the smaller cogs onto the spinning floor.

Her rough landing alerted the silver-haired tailor, and the Ixian could see the relief on the other's face as she recognized who it was. The elf adjusted her robes around her knees and drew them up to her chest, hugging them with fear.

“You again,” she whispered, wiping her moist cheeks.

“Is the other one here?” Erissa asked warily, looking around the large dome that encased them.

“No,” the tailor said with a sob, shaking her head. “At least, I do not think so.”

“Why are you crying? I could hear you before you even knew I was close!” Erissa chided. “She could have heard you!”

“Just... just kill me now. I would rather it be a mercy from you. I am no warrior, and I was a fool to think I could save my brother’s life.”

“Wait,” Erissa said. “Does Tanus still live?” she asked, hope in her eyes. The prospect of another reality was tempting, and she wondered briefly if she, too, would one day be able to exist in multiple places.

“Yes,” the tailor said, searching the Ixian’s face. “But not for long. In two days' time, he will die.”

“How?!? And how do you know that?”

“Well,” she said, wiping away a fresh round of tears, “an old wizard visited me. At least, I thought him a wizard, and he had a kindly face. He told me of Tanus' impending death, and said I had an opportunity to save him. All I had to do was-”

“Just like us to take the high road, eh?” The sound of another voice, a colder version of their own, demanded their immediate acknowledgement. Her mail rattled as she dismounted the cog wall, and the wood of her scabbard muffled the drawing of her blade. Erissa wasted no time, launching a bolt of prismatic energy at the Sagequeen and stepping in front of the tailor. The regal elf dodged the bolt and returned one of her own, which Erissa caught, to her surprise. The pulsing energy was much greater than her own, but it obeyed her command; the Ixian struck back, splitting the orb into a trio and releasing each of them toward her reeling opponent.

There was a look of shock on the Sagequeen’s face, and that minute detail did not escape Erissa. As the cogs had materialized around her once she stepped from the theater, so too did the realization and understanding manifest in her mind. One of the bolts caught the Mad Queen in the shoulder, knocking her to her back near a gap.

“You went through the door!” Erissa cried, stuttering through an idea too big for her to voice at that moment. Her wide-eyed expression was caught in the first trappings of hope.

“What?” the downed elf hissed through clenched teeth. The Ixian shouted as she released another bolt of energy at her opponent.

“That is it! You never saw this battle in your book... you lied!” Erissa accused. “By the gods...”

“So what if I did?” the Sagequeen replied, countering the bolt with one of her own. “It changes nothing. You cannot outmatch me.” She rocked back to her shoulders and whipped her body upright, into a crouch.

“You have already lost, Mad Queen,” the elf said to her mail-clad doppelganger. “You could not help yourself, could you? You saw something in your future that frightened you so badly, you... you went through the door. But what did you see?” The Sagequeen screeched with rage and rushed at the Ixian, her sword spinning and seeking a fatal opening.

"You!" the elf shrieked, and hurled herself at Erissa. The Ixian conjured a shield just as the blade was inches from her chest, but the regal elf’s momentum was incredible, surprising them both. Her sword sparked against the shield, slicing through it. As Erissa toppled backwards, the edge of the keen blade sliced across her cheek, through the ridge of her nose, and upward against her brow to her hairline. The sword slipped from the Sagequeen’s hand and lodged itself between two smaller cogs, bringing them to a grinding halt. The entire structure quaked and groaned, but it held.

The elves landed in a heap of knees and elbows, each scrapping like rabid wolves for the best position. The tailor screamed, a sound to curdle blood, and it echoed from the trembling brass. The Sagequeen’s elbow met with Erissa’s sliced cheek, knocking her to her back. With all her strength, the mail-clad elf threw her leg over the Ixian and went for her throat bare-handed, choking the life from her.

“You worthless bitch!” the Sagequeen hissed. “You were going to take what was mine! You filled the pages that were mine, and I had to act.” Erissa’s face was smeared with blood, and her skin almost as red as she struggled for breath. “I do not know which door you speak of, but I did what I had to then, and I will kill you now!” The world began to fade, splotches of white encroaching on Erissa’s vision, and she beat against her double’s back feebly.

“NO!” cried the tailor, and she flung herself at the Mad Queen, knocking her from atop Erissa. Ever wiley, the regal elf wrestled to the top when they hit the ground, and she punched the helpless maiden with ruthless abandon. The Ixian struggled to her feet again, swaying. She saw the tailor’s legs go limp just as her own vision blackened.

Erissa collapsed again, her arm reaching toward the sword lodged among the gears.

[Sagequeen]

The Sagequeen rose to her full height, laughing smugly.

“So it should be, and so it is,” she said, the trademark proclamation she delivered with every impending death she decreed. The regal elf strode to Erissa, who lay passed out on the ground and spinning revolutions with the cog beneath her. With a booted foot, she shoved the unconscious elf’s shoulder, flopping her to her back. Her maroon jacket creaked, the unzipped front of it whipping to the side and freeing its contents.

The Sagequeen heard the sound of metal, a high, tinny sound above the groaning of the obstructed clockwork, and she was surprised to see a golden coin rolling on its edge toward the cogs of the dome that sheltered them. The coin hit the rim of the gear and bounced upward with its momentum, amusing the elf as it once again landed on its edge and careened toward the wall. With the precision only destiny can afford, the gold piece missed the lip of the final cog in the path of its ricochet and firmly entrenched itself between two small cogs. The gears ground, tiny teeth breaking from among them and sending another quake through the already hampered machinery.

The Mad Queen’s attention was already elsewhere. With all the revelry fit for one person, she paced toward her sword and, with a heft, jerked it from between the gears. They sprang into movement once again but spun wildly, brass teeth flying like tiny bullets. The smallest of the cogs was ejected from the wall, striking her in the midsection. Another cog was expelled forcefully, relieving the strain of the larger brass gears behind it. Her face twisted in dismay as several cogs were freed, clattering to the ground around her feet, and she backed away from the ensuing chaos. As the gears around the coin broke free of it, hell was loosed.

With a quick look at the tailor and the Ixian, far to each side of her, the Mad Queen broke for the support column, meaning to climb down it to escape the disseminating failure of the mechanism. The gears continued falling, cutting a treacherous swath through their larger mates, up the dome to the final, central gear, which, to her great terror, was released with an abominable screech. The man-sized, glinting clog pitched downward, colliding with the support column in a wild spin. The rest of the clockwork slowly came to a halt.

The Sagequeen back-peddled, unable to predict the path of the gear as it careened helter-skelter toward her. She attempted to leap at the very last moment, but the cog bounced on its edge and caught her in the chest, crushing her against the floor before ripping a gaping hole through the dome. The brass pieces dropped through the void beyond in a tinkling shower.

Erissa groaned, awakened by the din and the prodding of several rolling cogs. Her bloody face was alight with pain, and she concentrated on healing it first. She rose to her feet slowly, her mouth agape in a silent O as she viewed the wreckage around her.

“Help me.” The weak voice beckoned to her, and Erissa followed the sound to find the crushed form of the Mad Queen, laying in a pool of her own blood. “Help me,” she pleaded. Erissa shook her head solemnly. “You would let me die then? You are the cruel one,” she coughed, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. “You are unworthy...”

“No,” Erissa said softly. “If you think that I would let you die to free the many worlds you terrorize, well, that would make me no different than you. But fortunately, I will not be put to that test now. The truth of it is I am not powerful enough to heal your fatal wound.”

The Sagequeen closed her eyes, breathing painfully as crushed ribs ripped at and restricted her lungs. She fought with every fiber of her being to mend the wounds, but they were too extensive.

“Tell me,” she said, fading with each passing moment. “What of the door?”

“A metaphor,” Erissa replied. “You defied wisdom and went where you should not have. You feared your future, believing wrongly it was a certainty. And by your actions, you sealed your fate and made it so. Did you ever stop to consider that I might never have tried to stop you if I did not know of you?” The Sagequeen grinned, her teeth red with blood.

“Time is a tricky thing,” she said.

“Only when you try to circumvent it,” Erissa replied. “Otherwise, it is quite simple.”

“The coin...” she said, her breath leaving her for the last time. “Accursed coin.”

Erissa closed the eyes of the Sagequeen, and along the edges of the piles of gears, she found the golden coin. The elf turned it over in her hands, and it told its story by the square toothmarks embedded in the soft metal.

“The flip of a coin,” she breathed. Another voice groaned pitifully in the silence, and Erissa chided herself for not remembering the tailor. She leaped over the piles of cogs and found the elf-maiden groggily pulling herself up.

“By the Thaynes,” the maiden said, her face red with fresh, angry bruises, “I thought for a moment you were her. Did you...”

“No,” Erissa said with a relieved smile. “She was her own undoing. Let me help you.” Under the Ixian’s practiced hands, her double’s face was mended, her flesh renewed. “One day, Erissa, you will be able to help others like this.” The tailor’s face drooped.

“I could not even help my brother,” she sighed. “All I had to do was...” Her face darkened with sorrow, and the sobs began to wrack her.

“What?” Erissa asked, her heart breaking. “What did you have to do to save him?”

“I,” she began, fighting the tears, “I only needed to find the captain's lucky coin. When I returned home, the captain would find it missing, and Tanus, our brother, would have been sent on a different patrol. He would have survived.”

Erissa looked with wonder at the elf, and then beamed with joy. She grabbed the tailor’s arm and pressed palm against palm. When she drew her hand back, the gold coin glittered in the maiden’s hand. The cloth-clad elf looked at it with amazement, and a smile broke across her face as she embraced the Ixian. Bittersweet tears burnt down Erissa cheeks as the world around her dissolved into nothingness.

It is enough, she thought, that one of us still has him. Thaynes forbid I become like the Mad Queen and try to take that reality for my own.

She fell into magic induced sleep, her face calm and a beautiful smile across her lips. Thoughts of her brother filled her mind.

Some time later, she rest upon a comfortable bed. A figure nudged her shoulder to wake her and she groaned.

“Not now. I am having the most lovely dream...”

The End