​​​​14 Manic and Mania

THREADFIN STOOD ON the cliff edge with thousands of the odd creatures behind him. At least in the mirrors’ reflections, they were there. He held one in each hand as he twisted left, right and every which-way. When he lowered them, and turned his head, no one was there. A faint chittering told him he wasn’t imagining it. He began to wonder whether not seeing them was better.

‘It is a long drop,’ said a voice to his left. In his surprise, Threadfin nearly put those words to the test. He managed to catch himself, arms flailing. He lost one of the mirrors, and whirled to face the speaker, feeling irritated. A woman in a red robe, with luscious blond hair stood beside him. She had a curvaceous figure, visible through the diaphanous material. He forgot his irritation. After all, he was only half dead.

‘Such a drop wouldn’t kill him, my sweet,’ said a second voice, and Threadfin spun again. Who or what was going to jump out next? A man stood behind him in a white woollen tunic, breeches, and robe, all incongruously embroidered with gold. ‘This one isn’t like the others, I do believe.’

On impulse, the viral used the remaining mirror to examine these new-comers, but ... they had no reflections. Oh, the scrawny chitter-chatterers with the bug eyes were there, but not these two. It was vice versa without the mirror. I don’t feel well, he thought. Even among the undead, Threadfin’s previous lack of a reflection was an oddity. How did one explain this?

‘What is he doing?’ asked the woman. ‘He seems to be having some sort of fit with that bronze mirror.’

The man sighed. ‘Perhaps, he likes looking at himself? A strange one we’ve caught. Such an odd face. Horns and scales, oh, it’s a look so a thousand years gone, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Two thousand, dearest.’

‘The dragon-craze swept through at least ten thousand worlds, though I never succumbed. Horns, ugh, how outdated and primitive. Wings I can appreciate, but not the horns. Although, the fashion might be coming back, do you think? I certainly hope not. Dragons. It took the deaths of hundreds of billions to bring an end to it.’

What’s a dragon?

‘You’re too sensitive, brother.’

‘To terrible fashion? Who isn’t?’

The woman nodded while frowning at the viral. She stepped around him as though uncertain if he was dangerous. Threadfin wasn’t at all certain of them either. He said nothing, deciding not to give anything away. They had not attacked him, so why not listen?

‘This is the one, yes,’ said the woman with finality.

‘Are you certain?’

‘He can see them using the piece of metal as a mirror, but he can see them. I wonder ...’

Threadfin glanced at the mirror. Those creatures remained though it appeared they couldn’t touch him. Their chatter was louder, excited. He assumed they were the, them, she was referring to.

‘I do believe he can hear them too,’ said the woman. ‘See, how he cocks his head, hmm, how odd.’ She took a step closer.

Threadfin reached out with his magic to touch her life, to drain her to the point of death if she forced him to, and found nothing there. He wasn’t at all certain his magic would have any effect if he needed to fight.

He began to reach for a dagger, when she stuck out her hand in greeting. He had to forcibly restrain himself from drawing the weapon.

‘This is how humans say hello is it not?’ She glanced at the man. ‘Am I not doing this correctly, dear? I do recall several hundred worlds did it like this.’

Her brother kicked at a rock, looking about.

The woman’s white skin looked softer than silk. Her eyes were grey-blue, like twin puddles of rain reflecting stormy skies. She offered him a warm smile. ‘The little blade you carry won’t do much good, I’m afraid. Now, please, let us be civilised. I despise unnecessary violence. I am called, Mania, and this,’ she added, with a gesture towards the man, ‘is Manic.’

‘Must you touch it?’ Manic asked, his face screwing up in revulsion. He looked like someone examining a diseased grolg for slaughter. He shuddered. ‘Disgusting enough when they are alive, but dead?’

Mania hissed in irritation, before offering Threadfin another smile. ‘He is half dead, dearest.’

Threadfin decided he might like this one, after all.

‘Well, where has the other half gotten to?’

It was something he had never given much thought to. Where was his other half? Did it exist?

‘Somewhere else, of course.’

Threadfin gaped, before remembering his manners and taking her hand. He gave it a shake, her skin indeed soft.

‘Yes,’ said Mania, giving him such a sultry look it almost did start his heart. He was certain he felt a beat at least, a flutter. It might’ve been moths. ‘Definitely, this is the one we’ve been waiting for. We can use him without a doubt.’

Uh oh.

Manic gestured towards the ruins. ‘Perhaps our visitor would feel comfortable sitting while we negotiate?’ Without another word, they turned as one and walked towards the ruins.

Threadfin stood staring after them. Negotiate? Who in the name of the Holy Spectrum above were these two? He told himself he had no intention of following. After they disappeared into a particularly large building, another five minutes passed. They didn’t return. Muttering several curses, he realised he had no choice. Whoever they were, they might have information on Lorn. At the least, he might learn what they wanted. He suspected they had brought him there, and they would not let him go until satisfied.

He discovered there were doors in the buildings after all. A switchback opening, which was invisible until he was upon it. Inside was a large open space, overgrown with the first vegetation he’d seen in these mountains. If it could be called vegetation with no green, but different shades of blue or purple. They were hideously shaped leaves on withered stalks. Black flowers poked up at intervals. Amid this was a large stone slab serving as a table, and stone benches. There were stone stools and smaller tables by one wide wall, and the remains of a wide hearth.

Manic and Mania both sat facing him. As though in judgement. Nope, he did not like this. He approached the table, and sat. They both watched him with amused smiles. On impulse, he used a mirror to look about. The scene transformed into a bustle of activity, as those creatures prepared a feast. Orange and yellow tongues roared in the hearth as two of the smaller ones used bellows to fan the flames. A strange looking beast, skinned and spitted, rotated slowly. Fat sizzled as it dripped onto the fire, not that he could hear it. His imagination filled in those bits. It was no animal he’d ever seen, six legs, with the snout long as his arm.

Threadfin gave a start as he twisted the angle of the mirror. On the bench beside him was a child. It was staring up at him. With some effort, he tucked the mirror into his robes. Not seeing was better, he’d decided. He glared about the large roofless chamber reassuring himself they were alone. He didn’t feel better, but he was a firm believer of lying to oneself.

‘He looks confused,’ said Mania, smiling at him.

‘Unintelligent,’ suggested Manic.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Threadfin demanded. He was tired of this. Whatever all of this was, it might have nothing to do with Lorn. Worse, it might be an attempt to delay him. An inventive method, true. Over the top, most definitely. But possible.

‘It has a voice,’ said Manic. ‘I had begun to wonder. I dislike mutes. You can never know what they’re thinking. Plotting away behind those little round wet eyes of theirs.’

‘Supper will be ready shortly,’ said Mania. ‘He will dine with us of course. He looks like a meat-eater, doesn’t he, this one?’

‘Not at all like the others, I agree,’ said Manic, ‘and not least because he came of his own volition. I do despise all the shrieking and pleading, the spurting blood, not to mention the mess afterwards. A dignified death is no longer the fashion I suspect.’

‘Of his own volition,’ agreed his sister with a sly look, ‘with perhaps a little push.’

‘Who are they?’ Threadfin asked, feeling weary. ‘Those bald, shark-toothed, whatever-they-are?’ He had to play their game it seemed, a bit like Soul & Fury, although he felt more like one of the playing pieces instead of the players. A pity he didn’t know the rules.

Manic appeared to be spooning food into his mouth, though with no spoon, or food. Mania copied him. She was tearing into something with her teeth and with a ferociousness belying her appearance. It certainly ruined the illusion for Threadfin.

‘Won’t he eat?’ she asked between vicious bites of air. ‘Perhaps he isn’t hungry, the poor dear.’

Threadfin reached for a mirror again, sliding it from his robes. He was almost reluctant to look, as he angled it. They were eating food, at least, within the reflection, but again he couldn’t see them, just the food and utensils. A wooden bowl sat in front of an invisible Manic who was shovelling what looked to be some sort of stew into his gob. Something, he guessed it was Mania, was tearing thick slices of meat off a bone, the joint smothered in gravy.

In front of Threadfin sat a wooden plate, covered with slabs of meat and sauce, a knife on the table beside it. He tried picking up the knife, but he just felt the stone table top. In the mirror, the youngster with the big eyes was staring at the meal. Threadfin hesitated, and gestured at the plate. The creature smiled, and wasted no time diving in.

It wasn’t as though Threadfin could have any. How was he supposed to eat something he couldn’t see or touch? Was any of it real, or some elaborate illusion? What would be the point of such a thing? This was magic, he had no doubt, but a form of magic he had no experience or knowledge of.

‘What is all of this?’ he asked of the twins. It was what they were, he realised. They were too alike to be anything else.

Mania glanced at her brother, who lowered his spoon. ‘Shall we proceed with business?’

‘It seems we must, my sweet.’ Manic’s eyes became augers drilling into Threadfin’s skull. ‘You can see them. You can hear them. You should not be able to do either. You are not part of their world, and they are not of yours. This place is a memory. Explain yourself.’

Threadfin offered Manic a long stare. They knew who he was. Instead of answering, he asked, ‘What are they?’

‘A world known as the Styx was theirs once,’ Mania answered, her brother scowling. ‘The kobolds are lost to it now,’ she continued. ‘This memory is trapped within a protective fragment, all that remains of what they once were.’

‘Why?’ He attempted to hide his shock. There were no records he knew of, which mentioned such a people. A protective fragment? The White Daemoni did mention a place known as the Grimstyx, or abode of the Grim.

‘To help them survive,’ answered Manic. ‘They cannot return to their world, imprisoned as they are. This memory serves to maintain our link with them.’

‘So, they’re not really here?’

‘Come now,’ said Mania, ‘such a rudimentary understanding of existence. I expected better of a mage.’

‘Uh, well, I haven’t been one for long. Can’t you explain it to me?’

Manic paused. ‘I am not encouraged by this interaction, sister. Is it not we who ask the questions, and he who answers?’

‘Patience,’ his twin replied.

‘Not one of my innumerable virtues. Overrated.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Threadfin. ‘I’m here looking for someone. She may have come this way. Taller than me with dark brown hair, pale skin, gets angry a lot, doesn’t smile much. Got a tongue like a rusty blade. You’d remember her if you’d met, trust me. Her name is Lorn Larthuz.’ Giving such information was a risk, but he needed help.

‘He seems desperate,’ said Mania to her brother.

‘You are certain this is him? He does not seem like much. Panicky with a nervous streak. Not at all the heroic type you mentioned.’

‘Oh, forget it,’ snapped Threadfin, rising from the bench. He would take his chances and head back to the others, if it was possible. Pole was likely beside himself with worry, cursing all virals to Hell’s Teeth and back. This latest incident wouldn’t help.

‘When she entered,’ said Manic, ‘she was heading north, towards the centre.’

Threadfin was halfway to the exit. He halted and turned. ‘Entered where? Here? You’ve seen her?’

‘We also search for her. She has proven most stubborn in her flight.’

‘What do you want her for?’ Both offered him blank stares and he swore in frustration. ‘Fine, the centre of what? Is it this memory fragment you told me about?’

‘Why, she entered the Styx,’ Mania answered. ‘This is not the Styx. Why would you think it was? The Styx isn’t a mirror, although shadow is a darker form of reflection. I and my brother created this fragment.’ She glanced at Manic. ‘It seems the humans of this time, alive or undead, don’t understand such things. Let me see.’ She watched Threadfin with a penetrating gaze. ‘From within this fragment you see a glimpse of the kobolds as they once were. This is nothing but a window of time into the Styx.

‘Your friend, however, entered the actual Styx, which is a treacherous path to take. There, every way you take leads north and one inevitable destination.’ She turned to her brother and shrugged helplessly. ‘He doesn’t seem to know, dear.’

‘Humans are never bright, sister, but you do persist.’

‘Indulge me,’ she said, giving Manic a warning look.

‘Well?’ Threadfin demanded, almost hopping with impatience, ‘which way do I go? How do I follow her?’

Mania shook with laughter, and Manic stared as though Threadfin was a dunce to trump all dunces. ‘North and north or north and north,’ he said as though it made perfect sense. ‘Walk and you will find her, but to enter the Styx at all, you first must meet an old friend.

‘One with an axe to grind. Isn’t it how you mortals phrase it? Ah, the pain of a broken heart is the most terrible. He is the means to your entering that world. I understand you are having difficulties with your abilities? Well, we cannot help. You would not survive our methods, even one such as you. Our entry to the Styx is forbidden, and therefore fraught with complications.’

‘Not that it stops us, my dear.’

‘Spectrum above,’ said Threadfin. ‘Does everybody speak in riddles? Is there some bloody riddle school I wasn’t aware of, where everyone attended but me? Okay, fine,’ he said, forcing himself to calm, which he seemed to be doing a lot of lately, ‘is there anything else I should be aware of?’ Threadfin watched them warily. They knew of Lorn. Something tickled his memory. Astra had mentioned he would meet an old friend. Too big of a coincidence. ‘Who is this person I must meet? Is he in Tiral? Can you give me a name at least?’

‘Why would we tell you a name you know?’ asked Manic in a perplexed voice. He sounded almost sincere.

‘Other powers,’ said Mania, ‘seek to prevent your meeting him, but we have matters in hand. He resides within another memory fragment. We maintain several for various reasons. You will meet him soon. We have arranged it. He is an excitable and unpleasant individual with whom we have an understanding. Not at all interesting or enjoyable, like you.’

‘I think the word you seek is, tedious, sister.’

Threadfin didn’t know what to ask next. It seemed questions led to riddles, to questions. He felt frazzled and spun about, no doubt as they intended.

The mage left the ruined town and was perhaps a hundred feet gone, beginning his trek back down, when he heard a voice call to him.

‘Beware, viral,’ said Mania. ‘You are not the only one who hunts her. You also hunt her.’

Seriously? he thought, and kept walking.

‘His influence in your world is limited, but in the Styx, you will be powerless against him. Beware.’

Her warning halted him in his tracks. He turned to look back, her words hitting him like a rock in the head. Her diaphanous robe was no longer red, but blue. There was but one other him, she could mean. My reflection. Always knew the smirking bastard was evil.

‘You must find her before you find her,’ Mania continued. ‘To find her, you must first lose her. When you see her stood before you, know she is far behind. Farewell, mage, until the next time.’

‘Utter lunatics,’ he muttered continuing down slope. Next time? Not if I can bloody help it. His brain felt fried from trying to decipher what she’d said. Another minute with those two and he’d be leaping off the cliff. Suicide wasn’t a viable option for the undead. Still, he’d break a few bones. Anything was better than riddles.

His mind shifted back to what he’d learned. Lorn was in the last place he wanted to go. To get to where he didn’t want to go, he needed the help of an old friend who hated his guts. Apparently. He thought he knew who it might be, but well, nah, it couldn’t be. The man was dead, and not the undead sort of dead. Died from grief, as it happened, and as far as Threadfin could remember, it had all been his fault.

Could it have been anyone else’s?