Black Water

The Adept Veteran of Magic, Grigonne Gosphodinno Garga, trimmed the tattered sail to catch the cosmic winds and the shabby orbital dinghy sailed into the interstellar wastes of the Sea of Endless Fatigue. Now, all he had to do was find a way around the Chaotic Spider Nebula and make it to the Sea of Eternal Serenity in one piece. He would be safe there, if anywhere. Fleeing the Dungeons of the Strategema Magna tower with little more than a loincloth to cover his crotch felt like an eternity ago. His fellow colleagues knew no mercy. He had no doubt they would have him killed after they pulled the secret out of his tortured body. A secret worth more than all treasures in the Boundless Magha.

After he stole the dinghy from a crew of comet hunters, he was forced to kill them to buy their silence. It made him feel ashamed as he was a man of honour considered by many to be among the wisest and most influential mage masters. Even so, Garga got over it with ease, having received first class training since he was a little boy – the Mage Order groomed its disciples with skill, precision, and relentless tenacity. After all, proving yourself worthy of following the ideals of infinite war was an extremely competitive endeavor – the powerful military wing and the ruthless witches of the Hive spared no effort or resource to take the lead as conquerors of the Boundless Magha. Savage assassination attempts and shady conspiracies accompanied the battle for supremacy in the shaky alliance between the mages, the military and the witches but the high goal of broadscale expansion and all-out war prevented things getting out of hand. The construction of the grandest battle station ever assembled in the Boundless Magha – The Defender of Magha, was a somewhat excessive tribute paid to this precarious doomsday alliance. It was a truly stunning assault-type battle pulsar of the Death Horizon class. Work on the Defender had started many cycles ago and the sheer size of it defied description. The monstrous structure loomed like a tombstone over the once beautiful planet Ygamagha, which Garga called home. Stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, the Defender allowed glimpses of the planet on occasion through one of the many holes dotting its huge skeleton.

To avoid detection, the Adept Veteran of Magic had maneuvered the dinghy through just one such hole. The battle satellites orbiting the Defender as a shield and shining down on Ygamagha as a crude replacement of its sun Yga, had taken the dinghy for trash floating in space and ignored it. Garga had drawn the dinghy near a cloud of garbage passing through the hole. Getting away from Yga’s system could be put down to luck but the Adept Veteran was certain that the Order would send a pack of elite spies after him. Others would follow too.

Changeable weather and the thick astral fog over the Sea of Eternal Fatigue would help him cover his tracks, at least in the beginning. Still, the danger of getting lost in the vastness of the Sea was quite real. The effort to slip away from his pursuers was beginning to take its toll on his ability to focus. The orbital dinghy was not meant for long-distance travel and was in urgent need of maintenance. It made disturbing noises which set his teeth on edge. Tremors often convulsed its frame and its multiple reductors vomited smoke leaving a visible trail behind. It took all his skill to camouflage the ponderous movement of his battered vessel and urge it to go the distance.

Grigonne Garga wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty rag and collapsed on the ripped captain’s couch in front of the bridge console. He took a breather for the first time in a long while and cast a forlorn glance through the panoramic viewport at the pale void around. It was as if he was sailing in a thin cream soup with very few spices. The screens showed nothing and for once he felt safely invisible. He made small adjustments to the vessel’s speed taking care not to change the course he had set or risk getting totally lost. After he put the long-range scanner into silent mode, he addressed the matter of personal hygiene – he soaked his loincloth in a washtub and took a shower in the narrow service room. Despite the general state of disrepair on board, Garga felt good for the first time and with something approaching bliss he plopped down on a bunk and fell in deep sleep.

Sometime later he got up slightly disoriented. The loincloth had not yet dried up, so he wrapped it around his head as a headband to clear his mind and wake up. He found a worn overall in a storage cabinet and put it on after drawing two protective symbols on the sleeves. He took in his surroundings and glanced at the reports from the sensors. Then he decided to study the dinghy in more detail.

He felt like a pirate.

There was not much to look at - a few useless odds and ends, some old maps of meteor streams, comet schedules, hologram posters of nude witches and tools for disarming comet tails. He read the captain’s logs and the latest cargo manifests. A border control inspection form drew his attention. It concerned illegal import of unclassified dangerous cargo. Most likely the owners of the dinghy were smugglers. The form revealed they had tried to smuggle an object claiming it was a strand from a comet’s tail. Authorities had protested, classifying the object as a container subject to inspection and duties. It looked like someone had tried to pry it open but failed and then the authorities had issued an order to seize it. An altercation had ensued, and the officers had sounded a retreat to get the assistance of border patrol to enforce the law. This was the very moment Adept Veteran Garga had stolen the orbital dinghy.

The log had no more entries and the mysterious cargo was still being listed on board. Garga‘s natural wariness, which he had honed to perfection during his time with the Order, raised a red flag and his brain heated up. The band around his head, which was keeping him cool, soon dried up and he dipped it in cold water once again to take away the pain around his temples. He turned to look at the cargo area with something close to sullen resentment.

What was hiding in the container?

A biological weapon of alien origin?

Or one of those aggressive new drugs that injected themselves in the body when they sensed a suitable host?

Or stowaway pacifist terrorists?

He looked around for some kind of weapon and lamented the absence of his mighty emerald-wood staff, which his colleagues had destroyed in the despicable rigged case against him. He needed something to channel his magic powers. Nothing suitable was lying around so he rummaged in the toolboxes and storage cabinets. Just when he was getting desperate, he came across a long aluminum pipe commonly used as a spare part for antennae reductors. This would do for now, but his newly found staff needed a name to embody magic power. In these dire circumstances, Adept Veteran Garga decided to name it Helgarog after the parrot he kept as a child.

The moment its name was spoken, magic power poured into Helgarog stirring it to life. Having regained much of his might, the Adept Veteran Grigonne Gosphodinno Garga stepped inside the orbital dinghy’s cargo area. Despite the humble size of the vessel, its cargo area did not feel cramped even with all the rock samples the hunters had hauled from various parts of comets. An obelisk-shaped stone occupied its center, which was clear of rubble. It lay on one side, with strange markings all along its length. Garga approached warily and knocked on it with the bottom end of Helgarog.

Nothing happened.

The mage took a step closer and examined the intricate patterns on the lifeless stone, knitting his eyebrows. He recognized a few symbols as he squatted by the mysterious stone. His curiosity grew but he remained alert, clutching Helgarog in his right hand. Among the maze of scribbled symbols, he recognized a few Scitimaghan glyphs, signs like the runes used on Necromagha and an assortment of pictograms featured in the apocryphal literature of the Pacifists. They all seemed so familiar and yet he found them completely unintelligible.

The object’s shape reminded him of a sarcophagus but was perfectly symmetrical. He ran a hand over the surface and felt a tingling on his fingertips. His nervous system registered a jolt, and he quickly withdrew his hand putting Helgarog between himself and the sarcophagus. The electric charge from the glyphs that passed through his body had probably reached the darkest corners of his mind and stirred the faded memories of the Order’s earliest teachings. The incantation lit up in his mind and without even thinking he brought the improvised staff down onto the stone with a bang and spoke the words.

Nothing followed at first and Garga paused to wonder how he had suddenly turned into a reckless amateur. Maybe his risky maneuver would go unpunished. He had to get back to the bridge and throw all treacherous rocks into space!

On his way, he saw the writings on the sarcophagus begin to glow with a soft green light slowly getting brighter. Grigonne jumped back nimbly and grabbed Helgarog with both hands. Tiny droplets formed on the stone surface like beads of sweat. The Adept Veteran immediately raised a defensive wall and prepared for the worst, arming himself with an impressive arsenal of the finest offensive and defensive spells. The stone flashed a blinding light, and everything went dark. Then the emergency lights came on.

Garga heard a popping sound beyond the improvised wall followed by a creak and a thud. The sarcophagus, for it was indeed one, had split in two halves which now lay asunder. A small creature lay in the middle. It looked half crocodile and half pinecone. Its feet were shorter than a crocodile’s and the muzzle – longer, while its body was covered with scales much like a pinecone’s.

It showed no signs of life.

The Adept Veteran loosened his grip on the staff – the creature looked dead, not dangerous. Nevertheless, he stayed alert because in his long life he had seen too many untimely deaths caused by tiny and innocent-looking things. Grigonne kept his eyes on the creature and was just about to cast an intricate spell to cripple the enemy and buy some time to reassess, when an angry voice came from the sarcophagus:

“What are you staring at?”

Grigonne peered at the critter but did not see any change in its posture or countenance. He did not expect the beast could speak, but was ready for all kind of emergencies, so he gave his spell an imperative slant for silence – after all, words could be an extremely dangerous tool in the hands of a skilled user.

“It won’t work!” the creature’s voice sounded cocky for someone presumed dead just a few moments ago but the follow-up really pushed it too far: “You’re too young and inexperienced to play such games with me!”

Still in shock, the Adept Veteran noticed that the crocodile had opened its eyes a bit and two red dots were now locked on him.

“You speak the Common tongue?” was the best Garga could come up with while he was quietly readying complex offensive spells.

“I speak all languages. As a matter of fact, I can speak all anti-languages also.” The red dots kept glowing, and the eyelids were half closed.

“No such thing as anti-languages!” snapped back Grigonne, believing the creature was taking him for a fool.

“You really have no clue!” sighed the crocodile and fell silent.

The Adept Veteran knew that fire spells were not particularly effective against scaly creatures so, showing great skill and finesse, he wove a powerful volt arc, which could have reduced a whole dinosaur to ashes, and released it. The magic struck home and the space between Garga and the crocodile turned white-hot. Comet detritus and everything else turned into molten glass but the defensive wall held. Mostly! Grigonne’s singed eyebrows were smoking. Beyond the wall, the small scaly crocodile had dug its sturdy legs into the middle of the charred floor. Its head hung low, and it was glowering at the confused veteran.

“Putting on a show before we have been properly introduced!?” said the little one through clenched teeth.

Then, it lashed its tail and several things happened at once. The creature’s smoky appearance was replaced by the healthy countenance of a newly hatched flightless dragon. All fires died down, temperature returned to normal, the magic wall disappeared, Helgarog turned into a wet rope and sagged in the hands of the mage, who went numb.

In these dire circumstances, Grigonne Gosphodinno Garga, Adept Veteran of magic, Fair Lord and Master Magistrate of Magha decided he would heed the frantic call of his extensive life experience and adopt the play-dead survival tactics of freezing on the spot. The invincible gnome shook off like a dog, went round the stock-still mage and headed for the bridge. Garga knew he struck a ridiculous pose like the intrepid conqueror holding a limp rope in his hands while the dismissive enemy explored his own orbital dinghy at leisure. Garga felt he had a duty to quietly observe his opponent at least so he tentatively opened his mind’s eye and glanced at the bridge. The intruder looked round. The Universal Creator provoked only mild interest, then the creature peered through the viewport and went on to poke inside the various recesses and tool cabinets on board. It had already made quite a mess when it came across a small box full of coated waffles wrapped in tinfoil. It fell on them like a barbarian on a virgin. For some time, the only sound one could hear was the rustle of wrappers and the tail wagging. Grigonne suddenly felt hungry too. He could not remember the last time he had a proper meal.

The crocodile suddenly looked up right into his mind’s eye.

“I treat others with more respect than you. Come and join me on the bridge,” said the creature and Garga’s feet obeyed of their own accord.

Still clutching the rope, the mage frowned at the mess but remained graciously silent keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.

“You look hungry, but there are only two waffles left,” the creature admitted somewhat guiltily. A moment’s hesitation and it added magnanimously: “Let’s share!”

The generous offer finally drew a response:

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear… traveler! I mean no disrespect, but I’d rather use the Universal Creator. Keep the waffles!” By the time he finished speaking the waffles had disappeared and the little crocodile’s eyes followed him to see what he would get from the Universal Creator.

“You can get the same waffles from here,” said Garga invitingly but it was obvious he did not mean it.

“No, thanks! They taste different,” said the crocodile dismissively, without taking its eyes off him.

The Adept Veteran decided he had done the creature a good turn and it was time he ordered some food. During his long exile and endless torture, the mage had often wondered what his first meal as a free man would be and ordered marinated pork cooked slowly with annatto sauce, orange juice, garlic, and served with caramelized calotte, salsa salad and steam-cooked vegetables. He also ordered the famous wine from the cellar of the Zenith wizard of the Boundless Magha. He chose hazelnut ice cream for dessert with forest fruit liquor and extra cream.

Garga read disappointment in the crocodile’s eyes and thought he heard a sigh. He did not expect this, but the smell of food was so mesmerizing that he forgot the creature altogether and attacked his meal, forsaking all decency. Meanwhile, the crocodile, who found itself getting bored, struck up a conversation:

“My name is Adalmarchet, Olivesko Poonty Shorty Adalmarchet,” said the stranger and let it hang.

It was some time before the mage, who was too busy munching, registered the silence. He swallowed noisily, wiped his beard with the palm of his hand and took a deep breath:

“I am the Keeper of the Secret fire, Adept Veteran of Magic, Fair…”

“Oh, come on! Keep your fancy titles to yourself and those two or three of your buddies who care. Don’t you have a name?” His brows arched quizzically, inviting the mage to answer.

“Garga,” stammered the Adept Veteran “Grigonne Gosphodinno Garga.”

“A bit too long,” smiled Adalmarchet amicably and added: “I will call you Grinn!”

This hurt so much that Garga stopped eating.

“Now, this is most improper!” Garga felt a surge of courage now his stomach was not empty: “You are making fun of me which makes you a bad man, mister Adalmarchet!”

“Calling me a man is pushing it too far!” said Olivesko with a grin. “I am the kindest creature in the world. If that weren’t true you would be dead, eaten, and robbed by now.”

Garga hastily went back to his food – it was not worth dying over principles. He would suffer the little creature talk.

“Don’t mind me!” said Olivesko as if he could read his mind. “Would it interest you if I told you that your friends – the ones from the Order – have picked up your trail and are presently in pursuit on board two Assault Interstellars, Obliterator class? At least that’s what this paranoid full spectrum radar detector of yours is reporting!”

Grigonne nearly choked. He rushed over to the central console while Olivesko looked like he was enjoying himself immensely.

“I don’t get it… I set them on quiet alert,” the mage kept mumbling while his hands were flying over the control panel.

“On second thoughts, I might have pushed something… or it was faulty in the first place,” the smile never left the crocodile’s muzzle.

“I’m dead!” It was a statement of defeat and Garga sagged back in the captain’s chair feeling helpless. “What can we do against them!?”

“You are not dead, just primitive,” pointed out Olivesko and then commanded: “Give up the seat, quickly!”

The mage slumped to the floor and kept repeating “I am dead!”, “Oh dear, I am done for!” while chewing the wet end of his staff-turned-rope at the same time. Still smiling, Adalmarchet took a seat, putting his hind legs down on the floor with dignity.

“Stop wailing! You are spoiling the fun!” said Olivesko and peered into the fog. “I could easily wipe them out, of course, but…”

“Kill-them-kill-them-kill-the-bastards!” Garga jumped to his feet, excited by the prospect of a miraculous rescue.

“…as I already said, I am the kindest creature in the world,” finished the crocodile.

In that moment, the holo-display lit up, indicating an open communications channel. Olivesko nodded to the computer with contempt and an angry voice filled the cabin:

“Garga, surrender immediately! We promise not to do you any harm and keep your physical integrity intact if we can. Our interstellars have secured your dinghy and can blast you to pieces in a wink. We appeal to your common sense as a responsible Master of…”

“Are your friends always this boring?” Olivesko frowned at the mage who was staring to see through the murk in the viewport. “I’m talking to you, young man!”

This gave Garga a jolt and he stammered in horror:

“Th-they w-w-will tear our dinghy ap-p-part, we’re as g-g-good as dead! I can’t breathe out there! No such s-s-spell and I have asthma…”

“… but if you choose to share the secret, we can find it in ourselves to forgive!” concluded the menacing voice from the speaker.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” said Olivesko firmly and turned to the speakers: “Dear dummies, you should be thankful I did not waste you. Farewell!” Then Olivesko looked at the bridge console and muttered under his breath: “Ha, there’s one alright!”

He closed his eyes and a swirl of strange symbols shone around him before slowly drifting away to the walls. They stuck to them briefly then sank through and froze on the hull’s armored surface. A blinding light pierced the fog and then – nothing. Gone was the dinghy, the fog quickly swallowed up the empty space while the confused interstellars hung out there to dry.

“What just happened?” asked Adept Veteran Garga gaping at the blazing plasma through the viewport.

“I hitched a ride on a comet moving in the right direction,” replied Olivesko without a care.

“Hitched a ride?” repeated Garga raising his brow at the small creature in the captain’s chair.

“It’s how I travel – on a strand of a comet’s tail. You will like it – It’s fun and very practical,” explained Adalmarchet.

“How did you do it?” asked the Adept Veteran with newfound awe.

“It’s simple,” replied the small creature but then saw the amazement in Garga’s eyes and added with a wan smile: “You wouldn’t understand – It’s just that… your species is too primitive. How you managed to capture my capsule is a mystery. Of course, it was set on automatic anyway and would have attached to a comet the moment it appeared. I would have been on my way long ago if it wasn’t for you!” Olivesko looked at the mage intently.

Garga flinched.

“Don’t worry! I forgive you,” smiled the crocodile.

The mage felt awkward and after a moment decided to change the subject:

“Are you a deity of sorts?”

Olivesko narrowed his eyes.

“I may be the object of worship to some more advanced civilizations. I never asked for it if that’s what you are thinking.”

Adalmarchet went silent for a second and then suddenly asked:

“What is this secret of yours, which your friends are prepared to kill for?”

The question took the Adept Veteran by surprise. He looked at the good crocodile and cautiously said:

“Given the circumstances, I must point out that I understand why everyone would show interest in…”

“Let me guess – you are worried that I am no different than your friends and will torture you to learn your secret,” interrupted Olivesko and continued with a playful smile: “I know a lot of things you might call secrets – the secret of eternal youth, the secret of magic, love and creation as well as others you haven’t even heard of. This preoccupation with eternal youth is extremely entertaining especially the twist those cheerful buddies on Necromagha gave it. Their Grand Lord scares poor souls with frightful visions of death, thinking he is so clever after learning a few tricks from the Eternity recipe book. If only you knew that most forms of life in the Boundless Magha are multidimensional. If you could get your head around this, then eternity would not be a secret to you.”

While he was talking, Adalmarchet was observing Garga’s reactions closely. The mage did not seem to care much for immortality, so Olivesko went on:

“On the other hand, the secret of magic…,” The crocodile noticed the change in the Adept Veteran’s eyes clearly. “Ah, this is it. You believe you know the secret of magic!” This was meant as a slight.

“I wish it was that simple, but it is not,” retorted Grigonne.

“Come on Grinn! Stop sulking! You are lucky I was in the mood for play,” admitted Olivesko. “You know nothing of the nature of magic. Your military are closer to the truth, guessing it is the totality of phenomena their science hasn’t explained yet.”

“This quite frankly…” started Garga indignantly but Olivesko interrupted:

“This conversation is losing its appeal fast so here’s what we’ll do: I’ll make some guesses about your secret, and you will tell me if I’m wrong. Here we go: You have no clue about the nature of magic and your head is chock full of ritual mumbo jumbo on top of some occult alakazam.”

The Adept Veteran kept silent feigning hurt pride.

“I’ll take this as a ‘yes’,” decided Olivesko. “You believe you have found a way to figure out magic and how it works.”

Grigonne was visibly getting uncomfortable with and losing a game he wanted no part in.

“I knew it!” said Adalmarchet smugly and continued: “You also realized that you need some kind of special agent and somehow found there really is one.”

It looked like the little demon was teasing him, but Garga would swear these were the cold and calculating eyes of a formidable foe. The mage tried to hide his thoughts and steady himself but felt he was failing.

Suddenly the crocodile lost all interest in the Adept Veteran and gazed at the liquid plasma trailing the comet.

“Take it easy buddy and stop chewing the rope!” chided him Olivesko achieving the opposite effect.

In a fit of anxiety and paranoia, Garga had taken up the end of his staff between his teeth again. Experience told him he should compose himself and be nice to the little devil whose reactions could be unpredictable and possibly deadly.

“Say you’ve been right so far,” said Grigonne conversationally. “Even so, I am the only one who can find the means to discover the secret!”

This bold claim rekindled Olivesko’s curiosity, and he turned to face Garga.

“See, see,” The game was on again. “You have found the vial of wisdom and drunk from it. Probably ignoring the warning on the label.”

“There was no label,” croaked Garga as if he had a lump in his throat.

Adalmarchet grinned and announced cheerfully:

“Right! I did not put any! It’s amusing to see you panic when you feel threatened. I brewed the potion which led you to me. I am the agent!”

The Adept Veteran gaped in shock at the triumphant crocodile. He could not believe he went through so much trouble just to meet the hateful reptile.

“No…,” mumbled Grigonne weakly.

“Oh, yes!” rejoiced Olivesko. “Stay calm and shut your mouth – I can reveal the secret to you.”

The crocodile jumped to his feet and started pacing around the mage.

“You are one of the few in the Boundless Magha called upon to learn the nature of magic. In a way, it was I who chose to bestow the honor on you. Now take a seat and listen carefully.”

The Adept Veteran eased himself into the chair and Olivesko Poonty Shorty Adalmarchet explained the great secret of magic to him - a mere mortal. The concept was complex and went against all that the mage and his cohort earnestly believed.

Water appeared to be the mainstay of magic.

Not just any kind of water but Black water. It was magic itself, the nature of it, space, time, location, and source thereof. It coursed through the Boundless Magha and all possible Boundless maghas, their projections, variants, and moments. Apparently, Black water was everywhere at once.

“Of course, you can get there… Hey, are you listening!?” Adalmarchet snapped Grigonne out of his reverie. The mage was doing all he could to wrap his head around new ideas and part with long-held beliefs.

“Get where?” interrupted Garga awkwardly.

“The place! Do you understand?”

The mage nodded slowly and Olivesko continued:

“No one can get to the Black water without my help, because only I can open the passage to the straits between infinities. To do this, I must find a suitable chaot. Do you know what that is? I thought not. The chaot gave its name to the Chaotic Spider Nebula. At specific moments the nebula spins chaots – they are like threads running through the various Endless seas and have limited lifespan. Chaots come in all sorts but the ones that I alone can follow, to the straits between infinities and the Black water, are something special.”

The crocodile paused for dramatic effect and turned to the central console. The mage looked at the indicators but had no clue how to read them.

“Look! There’s one!” exclaimed Olivesko and latched onto the console. Garga had no idea what Olivesko was doing but suddenly he felt the dinghy shudder. There was a flash and they found themselves in a vortex which pulled them along forcefully.

“Heading west!” bellowed Adalmarchet.

“Heading west!? You have noticed we are among the stars!? There is no west up here…,” blurted out the mage before he could catch himself.

“You really have no clue!” confirmed his verdict Olivesko. “The cardinal directions have always been there but accommodating them within the complex coordinate system of the Boundless Magha and all other infinities, is beyond you.”

Garga chose to ignore the slight and watched with amazement how the tiny dinghy hurtled through the space between stars on a red-orange stream of supercharged cosmic dust. He looked at the mast and the tattered sails. Then he noticed sparks jump from the current and stick to their hull. Some of them went through the armour and into the command room where they searched out Adalmarchet and sank in his body without making a sound. The baffled mage realized the sparks were glowing symbols just like the ones on the surface of his sarcophagus. One, glowing in green, sank in his forehead and Olivesko doubled up, letting out a steady stream of air. The dinghy spun violently like a wheel making Garga retch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cosmic dust current explode like a wave crashing into a rock and felt the dinghy splash into thick soup made of interstellar ink. The dinghy lurched forward into the darkness of infinity and the vastness of emptiness. In one of those forever moments, the Adept Veteran felt the acceleration peel the skin back from his face like a disposable mask.

Then suddenly it all stopped.

Except Garga, who crashed head-on into the panoramic viewport and passed out on the floor.

Sometime later, he came to and looked around. The cabin was just as messy as before. Sitting on the captain’s chair, Olivesko was watching him with mild concern.

“I hope you are alright!” It was more a statement than a question. “Pick yourself up. We need to get moving!”

The mage got up unsteadily and gave his head a vigorous shake. Pale dirty light was coming into the cabin, and he cast a glance outside. It was cloudy. Garga could see bare black trees as if winter had come. Adalmarchet got up and nudged Garga. The mage reached the outer hatch, and punched in the access code, still slightly disoriented. The massive hatch opened to reveal a barren landscape. The dinghy had run aground in shallow water with black trees sticking out as far as the eye could see. Clouds blanketed the sky and the fog-draped trees looked like ghosts.

The water was black.

“Why is it black?” asked Garga sheepishly.

“It isn’t! Just your senses and those of many other creatures are limited,” replied Olivesko plainly. “Jump down because I need you to carry me. Don’t worry – it’s knee-deep.”

Garga leaned forward and set his foot down cautiously. Adalmarchet jumped in his arms like a cat. The Adept Veteran registered a change in the way he felt and cried out in surprise.

“Steady!” instructed Olivesko, holding on to him tightly. “You are going through a shift! This was inevitable – everyone looks the way they really feel about themselves here.”

The feeling was both terrifying and wonderful.

Garga gazed upon the horizon self-indulgently and though he could not sense a change in the landscape’s mood, his eyes were now able to pick up impossible details. He looked at his reflection in the water – he was young again! His lean body was wrapped in a star-studded dark-blue cloak, and he was wearing a black pointy hat sporting silver patterns. Beneath it, his unruly hair fell in waves to his shoulders while his beard could do justice to an emperor. He was holding the crocodile in one hand and the other was clutching a magnificent emerald wood staff.

He nearly passed out with excitement.

Then it suddenly dawned on him:

“Is this why you won’t put your feet down? Because you will appear as you really are?”

“No! That I always do!” retorted Olivesko. “I hate getting wet! Besides, if you put your head underwater by accident, you will see all other Boundless Maghas. I am rather short and unfortunately this happens a lot. It makes my head hurt. Go this way!”

Shorty pointed somewhere ahead beyond the trees with one foot.

“So, I am literally walking in magic now?” asked Garga, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Catching on, finally!” said Olivesko teasingly. “This is magic itself. It is both magic and its source so watch your step!”

The Adept Veteran looked worried and Olivesko smirked:

“You are such an easy target!”

Then he added more seriously:

“You are not the first to set foot in this place. Long ago I brought other mages to these parts and in a way, they are with us now. Look over there!”

The crocodile was peering in the distance. Far ahead, the outlines of an endless arcade carried on top of giant columns gradually emerged from the fog. Behind it, buildings, the likes of which no one could imagine, rose to meet the clouds and beyond. Grigonne Gosphodinno Garga, Adept Veteran of Magic, Fair Lord and Master Magistrate of Magha, stood dumbfounded, having realized that the Black water stretched forever in infinities beyond count and without end. His own lofty titles and magic skills now rang hollow.

Olivesko’s voice brought him back.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? You understand now what I was talking about. But this is not all. About time I told you that none of those who came this far has ever gone back.”

Then Adalmarchet added more cautiously:

“You must know that everything around us is a process. We play a role in this too. You are the unlimited and eternal source while myself, I am, in a sense, one of the agents responsible, in this case, for dinner. Believe me, you will be part of something great!”

And with these words, Olivesko Poonty Shorty Adalmarchet looked at the mage, smiled amiably and smacked his lips.

“You can put me down in the water now!”

THE END

Bio: As co-authors, Radoslav Radushev-Radus and George Petkov-Mareto believe in equal rights so their stories often take unexpected turns and never arrive at their destination unchanged. Their writings first go through a process of cross-examination by a lawyer (Radus) before ending up on the desk of a long-time dedicated teacher and mentor (Mareto). All this is accompanied by much drinking of coffee, raising of eyebrows and a general lack of sympathy for broken pencils and software updates.
Radus believes in the power of free speech to teach responsibility and Mareto hastens to add that it must be properly punctuated, grammatically consistent and socially aware.
Some of their stories actually survive...

E-mail: Radoslav Radushev-Radus and George Petkov-Mareto

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