Somber Reflections

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. There was no telling how long it had been tucked away in the cobweb infested basement room in the north wing of the palace, draped with a rotting linen coverlet so old and faded that the original color was long since lost under a dingy grey veneer. I certainly couldn’t ask about it, since it had been declared by my father, the king, that access to the north wing was prohibited to all, regardless of station. “Unsafe,” it was said to be. None asked why the royal architects were not put to work making it safe. The one time I tried to ask I was ignored, my father pointedly speaking over me and pushing me aside. “Go to your lessons and do not trouble me with silly questions,” he muttered into my ear as he nudged me toward the door.

There were two entrances to the north wing. One, the heavy ironwood double doors that connected it to the main palace, had been locked, barred, chained, and locked again. Palace guards passed through the hallway regularly enough to discourage the too curious, the distinct sound of their sword scabbards rattling against their metal studded breeches and the chain maille hauberks of one patrol scarcely faded before the next came rounding the corridor. The other entrance was located where the north wing had once opened out to the lartamis fields, but that entrance had collapsed before I was born, leaving it ostensibly sealed off. Any ground floor windows had also been barred over, rendering them likewise impassable.

As it turns out, however, the collapsed entrance was not as prohibitive as it was believed to be, and I, being the curious type, happened upon a narrow channel through the rubble one summer afternoon while evading my tutor and his interminable lessons. The destroyed section had been cordoned off but was not watched as diligently as the interior doors, so when the opening caught my eye as I slunk by there were no guards nearby to witness me flopping down onto my stomach and wriggling inside. At one point I became lodged for several minutes, and only then did it occur to me that it might be a problem if I were to get stuck with no one knowing where I was; once I slipped free and squirmed the remaining several feet into the prohibited wing, I promptly forgot all about it.

Though the bars over the exteriors of the windows were spaced far enough to admit some light, the decades of grime coating the panes impeded most of it, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a murky riverbed, with dust motes like silt swirling through the space as I passed. I could see no other footprints in the layer of dirt beyond those I left as I made my way through the abandoned space. Slightly less filthy rectangles marked the walls where tapestries or paintings had likely once hung; others no doubt deemed too worthless to save still decorated other alcoves, threadbare and moth eaten beyond recognition. Closed wooden doors rusted shut dotted the length of the hall to my left as I walked. I tested each but failed to budge a single one.

Eventually I came to an intersection, with hallways leading to the left and right as well as straight ahead. I checked to the left first, traversing a hallway all but identical to the one where I’d started, finding dingy windows, immobilized doors, and the occasional decrepit wall hanging, but nothing else. I sauntered back to the intersection, my footfalls all but silent, muted by the sediment on the floor, and went left once again. This passage was shorter, and slightly less dingy, with only two doors on each side and no tapestries to be seen before I reached the other side of the secured double doors that led into the main palace. I pressed my ear against the cold ironwood and could faintly hear the guards passing by on the other side. Peering down I could see tracks through the dust from the last time the doors had been opened, but judging by the layer of sediment undisturbed, it had undoubtedly been a dozen or more years since last they had swung in.

I tried one of the doors here as I turned to make my way back toward the intersection; it started to give but immediately released the screech of a banshee warming up for her lethal performance as it did and I released the handle with alacrity. Straining my ears and holding my breath until I was certain the doors to the palace proper would not be thrown open, after an hour long minute I finally released my pent breath with relief. The miniscule crack exposed was not sufficient to provide any insight as to what the room’s purpose may once have been, so I shrugged and carried on. Moving now to investigate the last remaining corridor, I encountered much the same as I had in the other passages, with doors and dust frozen in time, and mediocre art ravaged by it.

It was here where I discovered the first aberration; as I neared the end of the corridor there were two stone statues tucked into alcoves, one on each side of the hall. The enamel and paint had worn, chipped, or faded in most places, yet even so they demonstrated a commanding presence, towering nearly to the ceiling. They appeared to be depictions of knights, though the style of the armor was unrecognizable to me. The one on my left as I approached looked to be young man, imposing and severe, holding aloft an enormous stone battle axe in one hand, and a simple but sturdy-looking shield in his other. The monument on my right depicted a woman whose gaze took me in, judged my soul, and found it wanting. Her armor was of the same style as her male counterpart and no less ornate. She bore no shield but instead in each hand was peculiar-looking sword, each like a long sword except for the odd curve that made up the upper half of the blade.

Reluctant to approach the stern lady, I moved closer to the knight to my left. As I came up to it and stepped around the massive base, I realized that further back in the alcove was a hidden entryway, impossible to see from the hallway, that was just large enough to admit an average adult without needing to slouch. I shuffled around the monolith and could see the new passage appeared to open into a spiraling stairway descending into darkness. Glancing back across the corridor, I still could not bring myself to approach the other statue and so I made my way cautiously toward the opening and peered down into the depths. The decaying wooden handrail winding down along the curving wall out of sight seemed unreliable, however the stairs themselves were carved stone and appeared sturdy enough.

Carefully making my way down into the depths, I fully expected the slight illumination to disappear, but found myself intrigued to discover that, not only did the light not vanish, it instead got slowly and steadily brighter as I descended. By the time I’d reached the bottom, some fifty feet or more down, a glowing, slightly blue-tinted aura filled the space around me and I could see quite clearly. At first the source of the light was not obvious to me, but as I made my way into the corridor that now opened before me, I noted what appeared to be a blue crystal shard fastened to the wall with a bracket made of some silvery metal etched with some bizarre designs the likes of which I’d never seen. The light was steady and soothing, less fickle than that provided by torches, and spread out from the crystal illumniating the hallway for several feet.

Dust covered the floor here as well, appearing undisturbed as above. Cobwebs filled the space from wall to wall and in many places, ceiling to floor. With no other light source evident, I checked the crystal to see if it was removable. The surface was smooth and cool to the touch, and it slid from the sconce with no resistance. I held it aloft in one hand as I started to advance down the hall, using my other hand to sweep aside the curtains of filth as I moved further along. Ironwood doors alternating with open arches lined this corridor on both sides, these doors rusted like the ones above but not stuck fast. I opened each as I passed, finding mostly what appeared to be small guest or servant chambers and linen closets, as well as a small kitchen and common room. What was left of the furniture appeared to be simple in design, but much of it had been destroyed by the ravages of time and little was left beyond rotted wood and rusted iron scrap.

The archways all led to short branching corridors, each featuring doors that similarly opened into small spaces clearly not designed for comfort. One slightly larger room appeared to be a nursery, with a single intact cradle on its side in the corner, and a few assorted children’s toys scattered around the room. I bent down and reached for one, what was once a little girl’s doll, but it crumbled to dust where I touched it, leaving behind only the arms, legs, and half a face. I stood quickly and backed out of the room; the doll’s remaining eye fixed on me as I groped behind me for the doorway. My hand hit the cool stone of the wall where I expected to find the exit, and my heart missed a beat as I felt frantically for the door that should have been there. I backed along the wall, gaze locked with the single unrelenting pupil of that soulless visage…

I stumbled as my feet tangled with one another, my hand slamming against the closed door with enough force that the crack reverberated through the room and my hand instantly went numb. I cast a furtive glance to the remains of the doll in the middle of the room, but it was simply a decayed toy sitting in a pile of dust, empty gaze staring blankly at the wall. I looked down at the palm of my hand and could see it was red from the force of the impact. The numbness started to recede as the first tingles of discomfort began to filter through across my palm, shortly accompanied by a piercing pain where I now noticed that there was a finger-wide spear of wood driven an inch deep into the meat of my hand. I gingerly tugged at the exposed end, wincing as the pain radiated out, finally extracting the splinter and carelessly casting it off into the room. I saw it land near what was left of the doll, throwing a mushroom of dust into the air. One faded black eye sneered at my injury; I could hear a mocking laugh whisper through the room, or my head. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but it was once again inert, simply the remains of a long-forgotten plaything.

I pulled the door open and quickly slipped back out into the corridor, not bothering to suppress my sigh of relief as I pulled it back into place. I set the crystal into a nearby bracket and tore two strips from the hem of my shirt. One I wadded up and pressed against the hole in my hand that was seeping a steady flow of blood, and the other I awkwardly tied around my hand to hold it in place. I contemplated whether I should return to the palace proper; it was difficult to say for how long I’d been exploring, and my father would almost certainly have the guards out combing the palace grounds and beyond searching for me. “On the other hand,” I considered, looking down and brushing the outermost layers of grime from my clothes. From where I stood it seemed there was only a short stretch of hallway left to examine, and I was undoubtedly in trouble regardless, so I shook off my unease, collected the glowing cyan crystal from its bracket, and put the unsettling nursery behind me.

Five doors remained for me to check, and one last archway. I pushed the first open, revealing nothing new; yet another simple bedchamber and more decaying furniture. As I stepped back and reached for the door handle, a shiver crept up my spine from nowhere, leaving me uneasy. I glanced around the room and down the hall but saw nothing out of sorts. Despite this, the feeling of unease persisted when I secured the door, and the sensation remained steadfast as I went to the next. As I checked each of the four remaining rooms I found nothing of interest and saw nothing unexpected, yet that nagging discomfort did not diminish. Once again I suppressed the urge to flee as I approached the last arch. This one seemed different as I neared, though initially I could not say why. As I stepped through, the illumination provided by my unusual light source seemed to dim ever so slightly, but once through it appeared almost brighter. I looked back at the decorative carving in the stone arch and brushed away some of the decades of dust clinging there, and I noticed that there were carvings that resembled the script-like etchings on the crystal brackets that dotted the corridors. Another shiver danced along my spine and the disquieting feeling became yet more acute.

Shoving the feeling back down, I gazed along this last corridor and saw only a single door directly ahead. As I neared, I saw that this one was bound in silver, rather than iron, and despite that being somewhat tarnished, it looked otherwise unblemished. Leaning in for a closer look, bringing the crystal closer as well, I could see yet more etchings decorating the silver hardware and stone frame. For a moment I knew without doubt that the carvings were not just decorations but words, and their meanings seemed to swim tantalizingly close, almost within comprehension…

Mocking whispered laughter flitted on the air and instantly dispelled the clarity that I was sure had been blooming, leaving indecipherable scribbles and a fog in my mind that was slow to evaporate. The laughter was gone immediately, if it was ever there to begin with; once more the urge to turn and flee rose with bile into my throat and I was nearly turned around before I managed to suppress it. Determined to explore this last area I grasped the handle and pushed the door open.

The door itself looked heavy but swung inward silently and with no effort. The room itself was as infested with dust and cobwebs as the rest of the north wing had been, but the door was not the only thing here that was different. The space here was larger than most of the other rooms I’d seen, and this appeared to be some sort of storage area rather than living space. An odor that contained hints of cinnamon permeated the room, but the best word I could think to describe it was “dry.” One wall was lined with crates, and what used to be crates. Glass vials had spilled out from the containers that had fallen apart, most of them still intact. I picked up one such and wiped away a layer of grime to discover it contained some sort of thick, dark liquid. I set it back down amidst the detritus and peered around the rest of the room.

On the wall opposite the stacks of crates were weapon racks, with a few intact spears and several of the odd swords that the statue on the floor above wielded. Shields were stacked nearby, resembling the one carried by the other carved figure. The interminable military lessons I’d been forced to attend gave me pause to consider that weapons storage in a servant’s wing would undoubtedly be a questionable choice, and so this section of the palace must once have been a barracks. In haphazard piles nearby were pieces of armor and the remains of what were likely the armor stands holding them ready. The weapons and armor were all crafted of a metal I did not recognize, silvery and untarnished by time; when I wiped away a patch of dust the mirror finish still gleamed, focusing and reflecting the soft light of the crystal into a narrow beam.

Making my way further back, I found that the room was much larger than it seemed at first, branching left at a right angle and opening to a space easily double what I’d already seen. Here there were ornate chests and jewelry boxes, there a wardrobe containing elegant robes and cloaks in remarkably good condition, and a literal wealth of baubles and trinkets crafted of various materials. As I moved deeper into this section, the crystal in my left hand began to glow brighter and started to vibrate softly. A shiver started the trek up my spine but remained there and did not pass. I could feel rather than hear the mocking laugh on the breeze that should not have existed this far below ground and I could not stifle the uneasy feeling that had never truly left me.

Curiosity wrestling with fear, I nearly gave in and started to turn when I saw there, near the very back of the room, a large rectangular shape covered with a dingy cloth. I froze in place, gaze transfixed. The vibrations of the crystal intensified, resonating with the shivering that I could feel across my entire body now. Fear mounted, more intensely than my wonder as my feet started forward without my consent. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum thrum thrum thrum thrumthrumthrumthrumthrum… the crystal’s vibration intensified to a loud buzz and its illumination was unbearable as my reluctant body plodded steadily forward. After an eternity I reached my apparent objective, and my right hand reached out of its own accord and touched the rotten cloth, which immediately decayed to powder.

In that instant the vibrations stopped and the light from the crystal seemed to go out. As my eyes adjusted I discovered that it had simply dimmed back to a tolerable level. I could gradually see more as the afterimage began to fade. I found myself standing before an old mirror housed in an elaborate metallic frame wrought of the same metal as the weapons and armor, and along the outer edge of the mirror was a ribbon of the same material inscribed with that unusual script. To my surprise, there was no sign of my reflection within, but looking more closely, I could see the room behind me displayed in its surface, faintly, as if shrouded in shadow. Still not in control of my limbs, I watched my right hand stretch toward the glass, somehow knowing it would be icy cold to the touch.

My open palm reached out, and I noticed for the first time that the makeshift bandage I’d wrapped over my wound was gone. I had only a moment to acknowledge it before I made contact, the mirror’s surface unnaturally frigid. A rivulet of blood oozed from my wound down the glass, and as it did the etchings along the edge of the mirror glowed softly. Pain bloomed fresh in my palm, emanating from the hole in waves. Mocking laughter returned, no longer whispered, echoing through the chamber. The trail of blood slipping down the mirrored surface slowed, stopped, then reversed as though the device was drinking it in. Now in the reflection I could see shadows coalescing into shapes, first formless, then increasingly humanoid. The shapes milled about on the other side, aimlessly, as one more shadow figure gradually materialized before my eyes. Solidifying, inky hand pressed on the inside of the glass against my own, it gradually took my shape. I wavered on my feet, strength draining, and the reflected figure wavered as well, the look on its nightmare visage one of ecstasy. The laughter now a thundering din, a veil of shadow slipped across my vision and I went down to one knee. My image did not stumble, instead stepping forward, becoming more corporeal by the second. At last my hand dropped to my side, breaking contact with the mirror’s surface as I slumped to the floor. The last thing I saw as my sight faded to black was a shadow-shrouded copy of myself stepping out of the gateway and over my body, and an army of figures stepping forward after it.