Harry is Marooned

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Five: The Best Laid Plans

Harry is Marooned

* * *

Being mummified in bonds I could neither feel nor affect was almost enough to make me panic.

Almost.

That my own kid did it to me mattered not at all. My daughter by blood the Fyre Child might be, but I felt no filial ties; she was conceived by repeated rapes, after all. Also, she wanted to bring back an empire that had been the very definition of ‘oppressive’ in its final years. That, I would have killed my own father to prevent.

Yet here I was, bound by forces I could not fight, to begin the rebirth of the Templars. I had to admit to myself that it was chiefly rage at my impotence that kept fear at bay.

I had no idea why I was so important to these loons. Someone had to have known. I spent the time trying to decide whether, if I survived, I should beat an answer out of Drago or Abram, first.

I could barely see what was going on around me. The opening of a Portal was startling. It was common knowledge that no Portal touched any analogue of Oerth. From cynical experience, I knew to distrust what was commonly known, but this was still a nasty surprise. To think what might happen if the bulk of the Thirty Aions could access the home of humanity added another chill to my already cold, cold heart.

As the spiralling light enveloped us, I spared a thought to wonder where we were going.

Then the light exploded.

For a while, it seemed the whole world was dying.

I blacked out.

* * *

There were nightmares and other less monstrous dreams. Someone was showing me something, something of which I tried desperately to make sense. A feeling of urgency, almost panic, flooded these visions. They went on for an eternity.

The last one lingered. I was lying on soft grass, the sun shining on my closed eyes. A warm breeze smelling of tree blossoms made me smile.

Wait.

Not a dream. I was awake, finally.

I opened my eyes, still smiling, feeling happy.

I was not outside.

The ‘grass’ was a carpet. The smell seemed to be coming from a vent just by my head. The breeze, the same.

I creakily climbed to my feet.

A large atrium domed in stained glass was where I found myself. The walls were criss-crossed by elaborate walkways connecting what looked like apartments. The grey stone of the courtyard receded outward as it climbed. The light, tinted in a thousand shades, was brighter, now dimmer and flowed past left to right. ‘Must be a hell of a wind outside,’ I thought.

Inside, it was as still as the grave.

I lit one of my dwindling supply of cigarettes. Pulling my crumpled hat out of my pocket, I did my best to punch, squeeze and fold it back into shape. Shaking my head at the result, I put it back on. Time to get it reboxed, assuming I survived to get back home. A sudden painful homesickness for Santo Mortis’s gloomy days and black, rainy nights struck me. I sighed and closed my eyes till it passed.

I considered the glass ceiling, far above. I could almost make out what must be cloud, scudding across the sky. Again, I wished I were home.

Why had my psychotic daughter brought me here? Where the hell was everyone?

My innate curiosity and desire to find the scam pulled me along behind it, looking for an exit.

There were three spiral staircases leading up from the ground floor, but exploring the rooms seemed a task for another time. Perhaps if I could find no means of egress…

A tall, arched exit at ground level was the obvious place to go.

That exit led to a tall glass ceilinged hall, arcaded to either side with shops. Most seemed open, at least the doors were. Still not a sign of anyone. It wound, snake-like, denying me a glimpse of its end.

As I walked, I began to notice something strange about the air. I felt—not resistance—but something like I would feel when swimming. Like the air had a texture. Moving through it was like brushing past soft fur.

Twenty minutes and two cigarettes later, I finally saw what looked like an exit. A soft white light, contrasting sharply with the dimmer amber of the fixtures, appeared ahead.

I was right.

A pointed arch of clear glass was the source of the light. It outlined the shape of a door. As I approached, the landscape beyond became frighteningly clear. White clouds sped across a grey sky. Vainly, I looked for the land I was sure had to be there. Once I got to the door, I could see almost straight down. Only more clouds.

So.

An exit that was useless to someone who couldn’t fly.

Now what, Tranker?

* * *

I had been staring listlessly at the panorama for some minutes, letting the swirling, tearing clouds shred my plans for survival, when I saw something unmoving against the flow.

It was only a flash just at the edge of my vision. I turned to it, more curious than hopeful, so far had my mood descended. When it did not appear after a count of twenty, I turned away.

I saw it again.

Again, I looked. This time a count of forty.

At thirty-seven, I saw it again. It was black and lumpy. Impossible to tell its shape at that distance. Bits of it were squarish, I thought. Clouds obscured it before I could tell any more.

For the next few minutes, my eyes were glued to that spot, hoping for a more prolonged look. When it came again, it wasn’t in the same spot. It seemed closer, too.

My heart leaped in my chest. It was almost certainly artificial.

Shreds of cloud passed in front of it again. I wasn’t so bothered by that this time. Where there were other structures, there was the possibility of people.

I began to think, for which I needed my epad.

One: this other place would pass close to this one, perhaps even connect to it. This would give me a chance to go to it, find people, find out where the fuck I was, and maybe even get transport back to where the fate of the Thirty Aions was being decided.

Two: If there were more than one structure, there likely was a way to travel between them. I could begin looking here for it. Again, getting back to the action would hopefully follow my success.

Three: This whole world seemed dead. My prospects were grimmer but not gone. Transport to other ‘islands’ was less certain, but there might be a way off this world, right here. I was thinking of Portals, now.

Sight of that other floating island had lifted me out of my fatalistic gloom. My devious, mistrustful mind was firing on all cylinders again. Of course, there had to be a way off this world, unless I was outside the Thirty Aions, of course. A possibility I thought extremely unlikely.

Partly out of hope there might be people on that other island, partly out of boredom, I decided to try to leave this one.

I had spotted it a couple of times in the last few minutes. I knew it was closer and likely to get closer still but I no longer thought it likely it would actually touch the one I was on. I could search this one for some sort of transport but was unwilling to lose sight of the other. Thinking for a moment, I hit upon an idea.

Quickly ducking back inside, I searched the shops until I found one that looked rather like a hardware store. Grabbing a box of what appeared to be three headed nails, I rushed back to the exit.

Picking up one of the silver nails, I dropped it over the edge. It fell for a count of three, then began moving away from me very quickly. I lost sight of it before I had an idea where it might have gone. I dropped three, trying to reproduce the same trajectory.

This time I was able to follow them a fair distance. Twice more, I dropped handfuls of nails. I was sure they all followed the same winding path. It seemed to be headed in the direction of the other island. Wanting as much reassurance as I could get, I emptied the entire box.

I was able to keep them in sight what looked like half the distance to the other island. I was as sure as I could be that I had discovered some sort of aerial highway. What was more; it seemed it would take me to that other island.

I debated with myself for a moment before deciding not to look for something to travel in.

Grabbing my hat, I jumped.

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, October 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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