World between Worlds

  A violent wind blew through the carriage, raising a dust storm along its path, eating away at the colours, erasing the chairs, the tables, the passengers from view. Charlotte saw Antony’s worried face turn towards her, as he felt that something was amiss, but even he was consumed.

  For no one but her was allowed to come here.

  Charlotte stood still in the middle of the swirling currents, watching the sands of time rise to the skies, then fall to the ground. Civilizations bloomed and crumbled in front of her. Continents drifted. Trees grew into lush forests, burned in wild fires, and regrew again.

  She marvelled at the scenery for a while, then raised her hand, whispering a single word, and the world around her abruptly came to a halt, not daring to move any longer.

  She landed in the middle of an ancient battlefield. Old rusting suits of armour, pierced with arrows and spears, or shattered by a blow from a spell, were piled on top of each other. There was nothing remaining of their owners. Not even a skeleton or a lonely skull. The living had long turned into the grey dust that muffled her steps as she walked on.

  There were no winners here, as both sides annihilated each other, and annihilated the very world they lived in. This dust carried no life with it. There was not a drop of vitality, not even to nurture a single blade of grass.

  A few more steps, and she finally stood in front of the raven she had seen in Mr Flint’s cup.

  Charlotte raised her head.

  “I know that You have a rather morbid sense of humour, and Your temper leaves a lot to be desired, but did Mr Flint truly annoy You this much? The poor man will have a heart attack, given what I told him but minutes ago.”

  There was no answer, but for a brief moment, one of the heavy steel grey clouds above subtly changed shape. Almost as if it were grinning.

  “Of course,” Charlotte sighed. “And what did Antony do to You? You do realise that he will have to come up with a plausible excuse, and fast, if I pass out for the entirety of the evening just because You grew so impatient? And Cardinal Whitesand? He, too, will be in a state of distress until I come back to my senses. His hair turned white as snow when I was barely sixty, and that wasn’t due to old age, let me remind You. Finally, need I remind You that my father is on this very same train? Have You no pity for me?” A gentle breeze ruffled her hair in response. “And You should be. Oh well, what is done, is done. Besides, I doubt You would have dragged me in here just because You grew bored and decided that listening to my complaints was a fine form of entertainment.”

  Having finished with voicing her displeasure, Charlotte once again shook her head, just to make sure that she got the point across thoroughly. Then she finally kneeled down to examine the hapless bird. It was the only thing standing out in this grey landscape.

  There was nothing odd about the raven, apart from perhaps the fact that, while being undeniably dead, it also looked full of vitality. Its beak was half open and its eyes still shimmered with whatever little light that managed to pierce the heavy clouds. No milkiness, no frozen gaze. The jet black wings were spread out, as if ready to take flight, should she order it to do so.

  What was fascinating was the arrow that seemingly had struck it down. It kept changing its shape, size, and material every time Charlotte had to blink. It was golden, then silver, then made of crystal. It was so tiny that she barely could discern it, and then as big as a mountain.

  If only you could talk. Unfortunately for both of us, She is not about to simply tell me what She wants from me. You look as if you’re trying to accuse someone, though. Demanding I bring justice to your assailant. Is that correct? Not that she expected an answer, let alone an answer to her thoughts.

  “This is only part of what You’re trying to show me, isn’t it?” Charlotte reached out and touched the shaft of the arrow.

  The landscape immediately came to life. The arrow left the raven’s chest, and it stood up, folding its wings, then spreading them again and springing into the air, only to fly backwards. Charlotte continued to watch it move in reverse. It soon disappeared behind the horizon, which, too, started shifting. The battling armies rose from the ashes. The final confrontation was denied to them, and they moved away from each other, leaving behind a green meadow. Trees rose up from dust, obscured the skies, and shrunk back to become small saplings, then seeds that disappeared in the blink of an eye. Mountains shook themselves into existence, then slowly receded. A sea briefly filled the endless plain, only to become nothingness again.

  Finally, everything came to a halt. She was standing in what looked to be an endless corridor with hundreds of doors stretching in both directions, with a shadowy figure standing still next to each entrance, their hands clasped in a praying gesture.

  The corridor swayed, as if she were on the train again, and took on a more recognisable interior design. Ornaments manifested themselves and ran across the upper part of the walls, while a soft carpet appeared under her feet. Charlotte made a step forward, and the shadowy figure to the left of her turned to grey sand. The wind picked up again, carrying it into the distance behind her back. Soon, there was a storm again. The carriages rumbled. The current roared around her. Yet, she paid little mind to it as she continued forwards.

  The raven was there once more. Now it kept changing shape, akin to the arrow previously. She saw it in the form of an egg, an elderly bird, a skeleton. Then it was young and full of vigour again. It glided forwards, using the ever growing current in a way that defied the laws of nature, and Charlotte unhurriedly walked after it, watching her surroundings for any new clues.

  A door slammed in front of her without warning, startling her, and her guide disappeared from view.

  No, this is not right.

  She watched two shadows walk out. Smaller than the ones guarding the doors, having no dignity or air of mystery around them, they gestured at each other, as if caught in the middle of an argument. Then, one of them made a stabbing motion, and its opponent fell to the ground.

  “You wouldn’t just–”

  From the fallen shadow, slowly rose a single fiery red flower that unfurled in a mesmerising display. Yet, Charlotte had no time to admire it, as together with the intricate bloom, the thing also spawned giant thorny roots. They rapidly spread across the walls and the ceiling, grabbing the assailant and choking them out of breath, then continued on, slamming down doors, dragging those inside towards what was now a gaping maw of a beast. The shadows twitched as they were swallowed whole, their silent screams reaching no one.

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  And if she weren’t careful, she, too, would fall victim to the insatiable hunger.

  As a root rushed towards her, Charlotte took a quick step back, only to realise she had nothing to stand on, and plunged into the abyss.

  ******

  “Are you alright? You did mention you were feeling somewhat unwell, but I didn’t realise you were that unwell,” Charlotte opened her eyes to see Antony gently holding her by the shoulders, his face having lost all colour. They were still sitting at the table, with everyone present looking at her with differing levels of worry. “Do you want to lie down? Should we call for a healer?”

  “It’s just a dizzy spell, nothing more,” her worst fears did not come true this time. By the looks of it, she was gone for no more than a few seconds. “Though you might be right. I should probably get some rest.”

  “That doesn’t look ‘dizzy’ to me,” Lady Flowers remarked, “but if you believe that to be the case…”

  “You didn’t get a premonition, by any chance?” Mr Flint tried to make his voice sound nonchalant, even somewhat bored, but the way his eyes darted from side to side betrayed what he really thought of the matter. “Say, saw me die a gruesome death?”

  “Nothing of the like,” Charlotte once again peered into the cup. The tea leaves had indeed formed a shape that could be loosely interpreted as a bird with its wings spread out in a somewhat unnatural manner. However, if one applied a bit of imagination, one could also see a flying fish, or a dragon, or even a very fluffy cat enjoying the sun on the window sill. And, as Professor O’Neill suspected, there was indeed a bit of undissolved sugar visible underneath. “Truly, it was nothing. I’ve been reading a lot these past few days, well into the early hours of the morning. My lack of proper rest finally caught up to me, it seems. Good night, and my apologies for getting you so worked up over nothing.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Antony, too, stood up. “If only to make sure you don’t get dizzy again, fall, and sprain your ankle, or worse.”

  “I would appreciate the company.”

  Once the two of them were well out of earshot of everyone in the restaurant carriage, Charlotte quietly said, “I did get a premonition, but it was definitely not about Mr Flint dying a gruesome death.”

  “What was it about then? If it’s something you can share, of course,” Antony supported her as the train swayed and she almost lost balance.

  “I’m… not sure,” Charlotte ran her fingers along the wall, leaving a thick layer of frost. Antony frowned as he saw that. “I saw a cycle of death and rebirth, rewinding of time, something… It was an allegory. Does any of this strike a chord with you?”

  She closed her eyes, recalling the dead battlefield, the suits of armour frozen in agonised poses, damned to eternity. That alone had to mean something, and she felt like she should have recognised it.

  “Not exactly. Careful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Antony thought for a bit more, then once again shook his head, “I doubt any of this should be taken at face value. In any case, apart from me, no one on this train is capable of time manipulation. At least as far as I am aware.

  “I’ll stay with you, just in case.”

  “It’s really nothing.”

  “You’re barely in control of your magic, and I can only hope that none present at the table paid attention to what was going on with your hair. And if they did, quickly wrote it down to light playing tricks on them, or, at worst, thought you were doing this for added effect. I feel pity for Mr Flint. He’s a stubborn mule, but doesn’t strike me as someone truly deserving of this level of trickery.”

  “What do you,” she noticed it, too. The curls were gently swaying, but not in tact with her gait. It was as if an otherworldly wind was caressing her hair. “I guess it won’t hurt. Besides, I still feel a trifle dizzy.”

  She let Antony in and walked over to the berth, throwing off her shoes and lying down, but he stayed at the entrance, leaning on the door with his arms crossed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel like you’re not telling me everything,” he quietly sighed. “When you said that the vision you received was too vague to understand, you hesitated for a moment. And the question that followed, followed too quickly. Is there something you cannot share with me after all?”

  “Oh, that,” she looked at the ceiling. “I’m not hiding anything from you, more so I just realised something. It might not have been that vague on purpose. I think it got either changed or interrupted.”

  “I don’t remember something like that ever happening.”

  “Because it would be the first time,” Charlotte agreed. “I really don’t know what to make of it. It was quite coherent, until it wasn’t. Either She realised that showing me more would put too much of a strain on me, and I would end up bedridden, or there was something, some force that prevented Her from doing so.”

  “Who could even accomplish such a feat?”

  “Not the one you’re thinking of,” she watched him worriedly walk over to her. Antony thought for a moment, then, too, took off his shoes and lay down next to her. “I cannot explain how I know this, so you will have to trust my judgement for now. It would have been something from the Mortal Plane. Ugh, now my head is starting to hurt.”

  She curled up, pressing her forehead against his chest. Slowly, she explained what she had seen, trying to describe the interrupting sequence as best as she could, while Antony silently listened. He, too, was quite puzzled by the imagery.

  “I guess one thing to take away from this is that you, too, need to be careful,” he finally said, sitting up for a moment to place his glasses on the writing desk. “I don’t like those roots.”

  “Frankly, they scared me. I never feel threatened when She summons me, but this time… I wanted to run. No, I knew I had to run,” Charlotte shivered. “I hope we won’t have to find out what any of this means, and if we do, it won’t be too late.”

  ******

  Ms Glancy sat on the berth, scoffing to herself, quite pleased with the results of the evening. It went much better than she could have ever anticipated, especially with Lady Dawntreader’s sudden bout of dizziness adding a wonderful dramatic effect. When she left, Mr Flint was all but shaking for fear, even though he tried his best to hide it.

  Still, she could not help but wonder what that illusion earlier in the day was about. And why did Mr Flint overreact so much?

  Regardless. It played into my hand perfectly, all things considered, and even if… Who cares?

  She reached out to the writing desk and adjusted the perfectly stacked pile of papers, then counted the remaining Sending Scrolls. She should probably take a few with her. As a souvenir, if nothing else.

  Ms Glancy looked at the ceiling, considering her next steps.

  “I might have gone a bit overboard,” she mused. Yes. She needed to let Mr Flint simmer a little. Calm down and lower his guard again. He only seemed harmless, but she knew very well – no one truly harmless could survive the ruthless competition in the world of steam and mana technologies. And those few who did, such as Mr Lr’mon, were surrounded by people who looked out for them and dealt with the business side of things. Mr Flint had no such person among those who worked with him, or, rather, for him.

  She picked up a piece of paper from the stack. She should probably write down at least a few lines, shouldn’t she? Following Roberta’s little introduction, she probably should.

  Still… What he said the other day. Would that be a cause for concern?

  There was a quiet knock.

  Ms Glancy got up, puzzled by the late visit, but as she opened the door, she saw the corridor completely empty.

  “How weird,” she closed the door and went back to the berth, but never reached it.

  She suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over her, then an odd chilling sensation pass through her entire body, ripping her soul out and carrying it away in a whirlwind. And then, she was no more.