10 The Other

THE YOUNG WOMAN cried out in pain. It wasn’t a pain of the flesh but a part of herself she didn’t understand; her inner soul. Shadows flitted past, wraiths taunting and berating her. Astra ignored them.

The surface beneath her feet, as she stepped out into the void, was something impossible. Lit by a sourceless glow each step revealed a glossy surface, a see-through blackness filled with white cracks. It was like black marble, but this stone was translucent. It flexed and swelled as she walked, moulding itself to her feet.

Nearing a crater’s edge, its centre filled with deep night, she fell to her knees and as they struck the surface, they produced concentric ripples. Black jagged stone surrounded the crater. She gripped it until blood smeared its dark surface. She fell back onto the strange ground, twitching. She could feel him.

The other one.

She was conscious of the irony; the disintegration of who she was becoming, mirrored the fragmentation of her soul a thousand years earlier. Scores of different lives had usurped the person she was meant to be, the person she could have been. Former lifetimes and experiences; each now a piece of her though not as she had been. Not as she had known herself. Not as she knew herself now. She flirted with insanity and it had never seemed as alluring.

I am not me, she thought, struggling on the hot surface like a piece of frying bacon. The Darkness tore me apart, but now it wishes to knit me back together in whatever manner it chooses. She had been the last fragment to be reborn, but those others were claiming her. Instead of becoming a seamless part of a whole, they became a patchwork ripping at the seams even as they attempted to combine.

Also, it had turned out she was not the last fragment though she had been born last; there was another, resilient and resistant. It prevented the Darkness from completing the ritual, but her resistance was crumbling. Silently, Astra begged her to keep fighting for she herself could not.

After a while, the agony subsided and Astra found herself staring up at two faces. Both mirrored one another in some sick parody of humanity. Unfortunately, Astra’s soul-memories told her she knew them a little too well.

‘An odd creature,’ said Manic. ‘Look at it squirm and gawp at us like some dead fish. Ugh! I dislike the sea. Too wet and salty.’

‘A tool does not need beauty or symmetry,’ Mania said, ‘to perform its function well.’

‘No,’ agreed her brother, ‘but it does need to be in one piece. This one is not. See there the fractures within her soul? They are too numerous, and the fault lines, see them grind against one another? How is it she exists? An enigma. Well, I do like those I suppose.’

‘Oh, yes brother, but it is her very fragmentary nature, which thwarted those despicable Tormented Ones. The oblivion chains could not bind a soul so divided. It is what saved her from his clutches and what has doomed her, for she has become a doorway.’

‘To where?’

‘From where, dear brother and for whom.’

‘The Spectrum works in mysterious ways.’

‘So true, brother, so true, yet this doorway does not lead from the Spectrum but beyond.’

‘Ah,’ said her brother. ‘I see.’

Astra sat up, and examined her surroundings. The strange ground bubbled in places, spewing forth a volume of filth, which erupted into the nothingness like volcanoes, but there was no sound, no fire and no stench of sulphur. Within the filth from the erupting funnels emerged millions of winged shraeds.

Astra then spotted pin points of light, like dim stars grouped in clusters. These rushed to meet the invasion of Darkness and lightning struck the skies in a coruscating display as both light and dark clashed in shadow. Astra knew she was witnessing angels in battle with shraeds. The angels seemed too few. They fought heroically, but she could see the way this battle would go. Each time the angels defeated the Darkness they were fewer, weaker, with many wounded who would in time become Fallen Ones. Time was a traitor on the side of Tartaros, of oblivion. It had ever been so.

As though sensing her thoughts, Mania said, ‘This is the edge of existence, my dear. The war rages on while the Spectrum of Existence is shrinking. Soon, there will be no one to stop the onslaught.’

‘And I suppose you expect me to believe you care, you a shraed? Have you not brought me here to gloat over your coming victory?’

Mania sighed. ‘You remind me of someone, a girl, a Forlorn One whom I had grown fond of. Yes, we care. We are no longer as we once were. The shraeds of Tartaros have no will of their own. We however, do.’

‘An aberration,’ said Manic, ‘an unanticipated reverse infection.’

‘A twist of fate.’

‘A thread of hope.’

‘Yes, dear brother, just a thread.’

Astra recalled Lorn’s memories of the shraeds and how she hadn’t trusted them, and yet how something about them had touched her. Lorn had been fond of these two against her better judgement. Perhaps sometimes our better judgement is wrong. ‘How did I end up here?’

‘You travelled far after you escaped your chains. Those poor fool Tormented Ones, you left them in a terrible state.’

‘I murdered all those people,’ Astra muttered to herself, remembering the devastation in Icarthya. ‘How many innocents died, all to save myself. What am I becoming?’

‘Well now,’ said Manic, folding his arms. ‘If you are going to get into a huff over a few measly mortals, whose worthless lives mean nothing against the vastness of existence, then I do not see the point of this conversation. Sister, I’m getting bored.’

Astra glanced up at him. ‘If you do not see how the lives of a few measly mortals is worth anything, then you do not understand what it is you claim to fight for.’

‘Claim?’ asked Manic, with raised eyebrows. ‘Dear child, I make no claims. Nasty things, which often end up binding one into disagreeable agreements.’

Astra got to her feet with a helping hand from Mania, who smiled at her. ‘Don’t think on it my dear. My brother is correct, if tactless. Their lives do mean nothing. There are millions upon millions of worlds hanging in the balance these dark and terrible days, though their number is reducing. The lives of a few cannot be weighed against the immensity of the Spectrum.’

‘Then we disagree.’ Astra tottered slightly. ‘What is happening?’ She placed a hand to her head, willing herself to calm and clarity.

‘Tartaros is knitting the fragments of your soul together, but you know this. I must admit, it lacks a certain artistic flair with no symmetry.’ She sighed. ‘Still, however crude, it is effective for its purpose.’

‘What purpose?’

Mania’s smile faded. ‘You feel him, don’t you? A manifestation of the Darkness. You are a doorway for him now.’

‘Personally,’ said Manic, ‘I appreciate fragmented art. It is a niche area I will admit. We could frame this one and hang her on a wall in Volg, sister. You do like to collect them after all.’

Astra thought of poor Threadfin, a half-soul who cared what happened to her. Perhaps it was because a part of her was Lorn. I guess he’s the one person who does care. Poor old, Fin. He did not deserve the pain inflicted on him or the pain to come. A pain she was in part responsible for. The woman, Dessa Tone, did not deserve it either, but Astra was not in control and she couldn’t stop the events she had set in motion. ‘You two are renegades of Tartaros,’ she whispered.

Manic scowled and took an angry step towards her, but Mania stopped him with a hand to his arm. ‘Yes, although, it seems my brother is not the only one lacking tact. Whatever happened to diplomacy in this age I’ll never understand. Diplomacy is the beating heart of civilisation, is it not?’

‘I thought it was economy,’ said Manic, ‘or is it slavery?’

Mania kneaded her temples as though weary with the vagaries of mortals. ‘We exist aside of Tartaros, yes. What is your point, dear?’

‘I feel it,’ said Astra, tears welling in her eyes as she fought to hold back the anguish. ‘The screaming of my soul, the yearning of all those lives I’ve lived pushing at my mind trying to shove it aside, to take control. As it knits me back together, it then rips me apart. Over and over. Do you know what that is like?’

Manic sniffed.

‘Vaguely, my dear,’ said the female shraed. ‘I am afraid we cannot help you. Just use you.’

Astra blinked at the honesty of her statement. In the background the battle between angels and the emerging streams of shraeds continued, lightning causing actinic flares throughout the heavens. ‘This power I feel within me, it is greater than anything the original Astra possessed. It is filled with ...’

‘Darkness,’ Manic finished for her. ‘Oh, the poetry of it, sister. We can use this power of hers and turn it upon itself. We can paint the Spectrum with her soul. Poetic artistry on a scale no mortal could dream of.’

Mania shut her brother up with a glare. Manic, the budding artist, appeared to pout before turning away to examine the strange landscape. He stooped to pick up a dark rock.

‘Our old enemy, the Grim,’ said Mania returning her attention to Astra, ‘serves Tartaros’ interests though he knows it not. The fool believes his mind is his own and always has done. It is why he hates us, for we took a part of his humanity from him. It is how we know him so well.

‘We are a dark mirror to his soul and he cannot accept it. He also believes you and he are destined to rule. King and Queen of the Spectrum or some such. That, or you will destroy each other. Arrogance is not sufficient a word. The fact he believes his way is the only way to save existence does not absolve him.’

‘Why should I care?’ Astra asked. ‘I didn’t ask for this, for any of it. I don’t care what he wants or what Tartaros wants. Or what you two want for that matter. I want to be left alone. To exist, and then to die in peace.’

Irritation knitted Mania’s brow, before her face relaxed with visible effort. ‘Tartaros seeks to use you and the Grim both. It will tie you to one another or pit you both in opposition, depending on which serves its interests. It will force you both to tear your world apart, delivering into its hands the Shathra Stone and the Aura Crystal. Then it will set you both loose on the rest of the Spectrum. Nothing will stop you. We would rather not see this bleak future occur.’

‘We need you,’ said Manic turning back and dropping the rock with a look of distaste, ‘to help us defeat the Grim for a start, while you are still in control of your mind. Rasnal Nalrost will derail all our plans and Tartaros will then use both of you as its greatest weapons. It will take one of you if it cannot have both, but if we at least remove the Grim from the game we have gained an advantage.’

‘And then,’ said Astra, ‘when I succumb to Tartaros you will both try to destroy me too.’

‘You are losing yourself,’ said Mania, with a look of concern. The shraed stepped closer to lay a hand on Astra’s shoulder. It felt surprisingly warm and human. ‘You feel it and I can see it in you. Soon, the war your soul fights will be over and there will be nothing left of you. Tartaros is nothingness and it will have its vessel of destruction through you. You don’t wish this fate, do you?’

‘A doorway you said, and the one coming through me?’

The look Mania gave her was grave. ‘A true manifestation of Tartaros. His name is, Lucifer, a prince of the Darkness. You cannot defeat him. No one can. We desire to help you my dear. We desire to prevent this fate.’

‘And what do you want in exchange?’ The picture Mania painted terrified Astra more than she was willing to let on. A creature of Darkness who would consume her, mind, body, and soul. If she were alone, she would’ve wailed in grief and pure terror. Death was preferable to this.

‘Oh, my dear, we are no longer mindless,’ said Mania. ‘Still, we are shraeds filled with selfishness and oh such unhealthy desires. We however, will not see the end of all things and so we aid you without a price. We will avoid such a fate for you with your help. However, time is not on our side. Therefore, we must act fast. First the Grim, and then we shall see to your salvation. One problem at a time, dearest.’

‘You will fail,’ Astra whispered, and as she said the words, she knew them for truth. It was instinct. Nothing could hold back this, Lucifer. Not the mind or the soul, not the worlds or myriad of stars, not even the angels themselves. It was folly.

‘We will save you, my dear.’

The girl shook her head. ‘No, you won’t.’ She stared into those otherworldly eyes, but didn’t know what she was seeing. Was it compassion or a cold emptiness? All she saw was herself reflected in those dark orbs. ‘I want an end,’ was all she could say, ‘to it all.’

Mania smiled, although there was a deep look of worry in her face. ‘Well of course you do, my dear. The question is what sort of end?’

To that, Astra had no answer, but it appeared both Manic and Mania did and so she put her fate and perhaps the fate of all, in their hands.