Attar and I moved carefully across the hourglass strewn floor to hide behind the sand barrels while my swords got to work. I wasn’t sure how much longer they’d last, given all the strangeness we’d just experienced with time, so I sent them after both doors, in case the due south path was the wrong one.

  Both flew open with a single strike, stuck in their frame rather than latched. The swords barely scratched them.

  I sent them to scrape along the floor for good measure, which undid what little stealth I might have gained from the unusually easy opening, but I could face almost any foe easier than a lightning bolt to the temple.

  And no foes came.

  Two glowing lights waited for us in the darkened room beyond. Two lights which dimmed as we shuffled our way closer, but which had not dimmed from my assault on the doors. Two more of the strange moving stones.

  No, the same moving stones.

  That wasn’t right.

  And yet, now that I could see the centre of the room clearer, there were the rune carved bones, bundled with leather. There was the bread, perfectly preserved in the centre of the room. And the armour which drowned.

  There had been three stones before. What was more, the door we now walked through hadn’t been a door. I’d checked with my ring. Attart’s ghosts had said it was safe.

  I’d also felt myself drown while wearing the armour, seen the man die to the stone’s poisonous gas.

  Things changed. Or were different from different angles. Different times?

  I was almost tempted to put the scarf on again. Almost. It might do more than change my voice if I relied to heavily on it. I’d heard stories about men becoming mere avatars for their gods, and whoever the being was, she wasn’t even my god. I didn’t even know her name.

  “Don’t touch the armour, whatever else you do in here. Same for the stones.”

  Attar stopped short, “Is everything so dangerous in the dungeons?”

  “Yes.”

  Attar shivered. The floor was warmer than most, but no clothes was no clothes. Especially for someone from the Bronze Coast.

  “How do you learn if something is safe here?”

  “You let me touch it first. I’m far more durable than most. Or in your case you let your ghosts handle it. One of them wore the armour last time.”

  He frowned, “Last time?”

  Right. There was more to the story than simply lost memories.

  “We went back in time before you lost your memories. We returned to this place in order to free your past self from the grimoire, but, as you can see we freed you in a different way instead.”

  “So we’re in the past, but my memories are even more in the past?”

  “Yes, but not as far as you’d think. It is the year 1000. You spent eight years in the grimoire over the course of four years.”

  Attar sagged, “Four years... Everyone will think I’m dead.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder, “You’ll prove them wrong.”

  He shook his head, “Why did I give up my memories? It’s not like I can get back those years. Even if I will live longer and learn more, the world has moved on.”

  I’d been there. Not as extreme, but I’d taken the long way around.

  “The world moved endless eons before you were born and you still managed to catch up. And you were but a babe back then. You will manage.”

  He smiled, and for a moment I could see a glimpse of Attart in him, “Thank you. I will try.”

  I bit down on my lip to stop my heart leaping from my chest. Tears were starting to form at the corners of my eyes. I was going to miss her.

  I looked away. Attar had enough of his own problems to deal with at the moment. No sense confusing him with my tears.

  I approached the bundle of bones with caution. There was a different number of stones and a different number of doors in the room. There was no telling all of what had changed.

  Attar followed in my footsteps, “Is that bread safe? I haven’t ate since I escaped my cell.”

  It was a good question.

  Unfortunately, I was busy drowning.

  I could feel the armour wrapped around me, filling my lungs with water. The shadows grew around me as the light dimmed. It was the shadows I fled, not the water. The armour was the only thing which could keep me safe—

  I forced my attention onto the bread before the potion lost me in the armour’s sins. No one had died making the bread. No one had had an evil thought while baking the bread as far as I could tell. It still might kill the necromancer, but so would starvation. At some point we had to take the risk.

  “It is safer than anything else in this room.”

  Attar peered down at it. He was hesitant, but hunger won out.

  I removed my crayon and spellbook while he ate. On the one hand, the last time I’d written a spell in this room I’d been sent backwards in time. On the other, the corridors near here had been filled with ruby beetles, chimera, and ghouls.

  I formed a triangular barrier about the two of us while Attar ate, then drew my handcannon and removed the cap.

  “This is going to be noisy,” I warned Attar.

  The weapon itself didn’t panic him. Perhaps he didn’t know what it was, or he’d already seen how I could overpower him with whatever I wished if I had meant him harm and so trusted me.

  I sat somewhat awkwardly, trying to balance three things with two hands. It was almost tempting to put the trousers and scarf back on.

  There were a lot of ways to go about the spell. I could record the hand cannon wholesale, letting me scare the chimera as I had last time and projecting a force reliably as I desired. I could fire an object with the force of a gun, requiring ammunition but allowing me to shoot whatever I wished. I could also choose not to record the noise or the flash.

  Given we’d soon be facing the chimera, and ammo was limited, simple was best. For now, at least.

  I pointed the handcannon at the wall and fired. The gun roared a tongue of flame and the shot crashed into my invisible wall, but did not break it, and, praise all good things, did not ricochet, but merely dropped to the floor when it ran out of energy.

  Handcannon: An invisible handcannon fires in the direction of the caster’s choosing.

  The spell was recorded without incident. I’d forgotten that was possible. The noise hadn’t even attracted any attention. Last time I’d worked magic in this room I’d been sent back in time.

  In retrospect it had probably been reckless to risk that happening a second time. But I’d not thought it likely the room itself was responsible. And even if it was, that gave me more time to deal with Tom’s mother, and more spells at the ready for slaying whatever foes I came across.

  The only real downside would be tearing Attar’s soul back through time yet again, and the potential of being taken by surprise by the Mushroom-King.

  I reloaded my gun and replaced the cap once it was cool.

  On the subject of Attar’s soul: he was no longer entangled with Tom. He was also a very small man. I’d not trusted Attart with the ring even though she could wear it, in part due to jealousy, but in larger part the risk of given the power to someone who was wrestling with a hobgoblin’s vices.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The question was, what, if anything, had Attar inherited from his brush with Tom’s soul? There was also a risk of him still wearing my soul and allowing him to cast my spells he could see, even if by accident, with the ring. The runes in my brain had knocked me out for hours, maybe days at a time when I’d first written them. I didn’t want to incapacitate him now.

  But there were some tests I could do once my spells were returned to me. For now, the ring would remain a secret.

  Scorch, Sword, Scintillation

  I was running frighteningly low on spells.

  I pulled aside my bone wall to allow the sword passage and then moved it back into place. The south east door didn’t even slow it.

  When the increased howls didn’t lead to anything of substance I packed up the bones and put them in pouch.

  “Follow me carefully, but keep an eye out. I may still be surprised. We will be facing a chimera shortly if all goes according to plan. Leave it to me.”

  Attar rubbed his arms, “Can I borrow a weapon? I’d feel a little better with something to hold, even if it is just for show.”

  I should have thought of that earlier. I removed my cutlass and handed it to him. My hands would be busy with my spellbook and my handcannon anyway.

  I led the way though the door, careful of the splinters if only for Attar’s sake rather than my own. Though given my weight it was probably prudent to avoid them in bare feet anyway.

  Two doors waited after fifty feet of corridor bent at a right angle. I sent my sword through the one on the left while my fireball guarded the continuing corridor. If anything came through the door straight ahead I’d have to shoot it.

  I flipped the cap off my gun while my sword made short work of the door. The thin wood made no more noise than snapping a twig.

  Naturally, as I was prepared for conflict, the room was empty.

  Attar followed me inside.

  “The wobbly floor room! I’ve been here.”

  I gestured to the things scattered about the room. Without the chimera they hadn’t all been drawn to the centre.

  “Your things are here. Don’t touch the book. Try not to look at it.”

  Attar’s red cloak rose up from the ground and fluttered over to settle around his shoulders

  “That’s better,” he said with a smile.

  It wasn’t. If anything, he looked more naked only wearing a cloak.

  “Were any of these clothes yours?”

  “The nightgown, technically. I stole it fair and square. And the kā?āya there.”

  Is that what those robes were called? I’d never remember it.

  “Grab your things. You might need them to defend yourself while I deal with this book.

  I made sure I had the dream potion in hand before I retrieved the book. I didn’t want to risk leaving it behind, nor did I want to drink it just yet, in case the effect didn’t carry over.

  Once I was sure Attar had retrieved his things I opened the book.

  “Give me an hour. If I don’t return head back through the hourglass room if you can. Past the pit to the right is a mound of waste with a rope leading to the upper floors. Follow the destroyed doorways and staircases and you will hopefully find others to shelter you.”

  I tore a sheet from my spellbook and sketched him a quick map, “You may need to find an alternate means to cross the pit, but I hope your ghosts can provide. Few other paths are as safe. My memory isn’t perfect. If the map deviates too far, search the area, but do not wander too far from the path. Good luck.”

  “To you as well. May the sun set over empty waters.”

  “May the sun rise with warm winds.”

  I opened the book.

  ***

  Fire raged all around me.

  I staggered back from the heat, but there was only more heat behind me. Even the centre of the garden where Attart and I had had tea was ablaze.

  What had she said? “On my first day I burned the place down.” Something like that.

  My hair was fireproof. I knew that already. I pulled it to me and wrapped it around my face like a shield.

  That helped somewhat, but I was still standing in the middle of an inferno only wearing a shendyt.

  I wasn’t in immediate danger of succumbing, but burns would eventually kill as surely as smoke and flame. I needed to stop this.

  I could make it rain, but I doubted it would be enough. Whispers raged through my mind as I sorted through the spells available to me.

  Heat Blob

  All the heat in the surrounding area rushed to the far side of the garden. The flames were snuffed out immediately and my inflamed skin was struck with a sudden chill. The park bench at the centre of the heat blob exploded into brilliant white light as every grain of wood ignited at once.

  KRAKOOM!!

  The sound was a thunderclap and a rush of wind which may have knocked over a lesser man.

  I fled the blast, seeking the door to one of the wings, and the corridor to the door beyond, leading to the outside of the structure.

  The interior was also aflame. The far door and two strides of floor leading up to the door were hungrily being consumed by fire. The rafters above trickled down smoke and the occasional ominous creak.

  All I had were bare feet.

  I frantically dug through my pouch until I found the rune with the flower of flame upon its face. I had no idea how to active the thing so I just threw it at the door with all my might.

  A puff of flame met my efforts, no larger than my head minus the hair. The door shook but didn’t even break.

  As a small saving grace the explosion devoured the fire’s air, temporarily extinguishing a small hole in front of me.

  ?Push VIII?

  The door flew away nearly as fast as one of my bullets. The rush of air drew flame like a siphon, which the opposite of what I’d been hoping for.

  Greater Heal III

  I wrapped my shift about myself and leapt through the flaming portal.

  The grounds were also on fire.

  There was a lake in the distance, half a mile from my position.

  I ran.

  Greater Heal II

  Even both spells together wasn’t enough to keep up with the burns, but it was close, getting less close every passing second. The flames weren’t lesser out here, I ran through sheets of fire, live coals broke under my footsteps, smoke swam in my lungs, my throat felt raw and bloody.

  I’d gotten a little more than I’d bargained for.

  Rain Coil

  A waterspout descended from the heavens and wrapped around me as I ran. Sweet relief on my cheeks as the super-heated smoke was suddenly cut off by a wall of water, sudden pain as stream rose all around me.

  But I could breathe.

  I kept running. The fire was only getting hotter and warlock spells didn’t have a set time they lasted. Not one I’d found.

  It wasn’t the most painful two minutes of my life. It wasn’t even the most painful experience I’d had in the last week.

  Which was rather depressing, because it should have been. It hurt like a torturer’s magnum opus and carried a fear only permanent injury could bring.

  I struggling to breath as I made my final few steps, even with my Rain Coil protecting me the gasps a drew down my ragged throat were limited just enough by steam and smoke to make me feel as if I was drowning, but was never quite enough to do me in.

  I dove into the water in what should have been a cloud of steam, but instead my skin burned even more fiercely and the cold drove what little air I had from my lungs.

  I surfaced desperately and was met with a mouthful of rain.

  This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to drown in a fire. People would laugh at me.

  At least my lungs themselves seemed to be holding up, even if my throat was burning. Whatever had turned them gold had also made them immune to the damage the rest of my body was experiencing.

  My spellbook slipped in my hand. I grabbed it with the other and kept it under the water. The fire would have damaged the outside, but hopefully if I let it cool the wax wouldn’t run enough to damage the spells. I’d check on them once I was out of the worst of the danger.

  For the moment I awkwardly flailed on my side away from the shore. The lake was shallow enough I could almost stand, which I made use of by kicking repeatedly off the bottom as I went. Fireproof though my solid gold lungs may be, they didn’t float nearly as well as my old ones had. Neither did the my cape of feathers, which quickly became water clogged. It was only my enhanced strength in my relatively slight frame which prevented me from drowning with an inch of water overhead.

  The far shore was free from flames, and only about twenty feet from the edge. A large dirt path surrounded the manor, preventing the fire’s spread.

  Awfully considerate of the estate to stop from burning down the neighbourhood. It was probably decorative. Something to further the symbol of chaos the manor had been built in the shape of.

  I dragged myself onto the shore and hobbled away from the still present heat of the flame. It was still raining on me. I was going to freeze to death instead of burn.

  I’d take it.

  My spellbook cracked as I opened it (the wax, not the parchment) but the spells held.

  I had an idea about how to find Attar in this mess.

  Flames of Revenge

  As I hoped, only a single flame appeared. The spell sent a flaming blade after every community I knew, but in this mirror world, Attar was the only community.

  I guess the reflection of the Watcher didn’t count. I doubted the blade would hurt her anyway, she was safe in the pond, a mere murky glimmer and glimpse beneath the rain-rippled surface.

  The blade went straight back toward the manor.

  Damn it.