Episode CLXVIII - Introspections, Part IV

            Gulliver knew that he ought to be lost.  He certainly knew that he had no idea where he was.  The architecture of the obelisk interior had changed.  It was still made of the same glowing stone, but instead of the endless blocks, devoid of detail, there now seemed to be carving and artistry which increased in frequency and complexity the further he went.  There was a sense of heading somewhere important and so, though he had no certainty, Gulliver was confident that he was heading in the right direction.

            It was funny, really, because he had so very nearly gone the other way, wandering around in what could only be described as a determined daze, caught between the desire for purpose and the still intense feelings of loss.  He had come across a junction, drifted without any particular reasoning towards the right hand fork and then had, almost immediately, felt a waft of warm air and a scent he hadn’t experienced in years.  It was the smell of his mother’s sourdough bread baking in the oven.  No other bread smelled even vaguely like it, not even other people’s sourdough, because Irena Blake had always used a rare spice she had a secret store of, brought back from one of the less fatal adventures of her husband, Harker and Gulliver’s father, the late explorer Sebastian Blake.  He hadn’t smelled that bread since the day he left his mother’s kitchen to join his brother on the high seas, promising to return with riches and spices aplenty and, ultimately, he realised, achieving very little.

            The smell had made him pause, then turn, then drift away from the passageway he had been about to traverse and take the other fork instead, wondering how his mother’s baking could possibly have made it all the way into the obelisk.

            It had faded not long after that, as if it had only been a dream, or a memory dredged up by the painful events of the day, and he had pushed it out of his mind.  That was until the evidence started to mount in favour of this being the correct path to have taken after all.  It made him wonder… had someone manipulated him into taking this path somehow, and if so, who and for what purpose?

            Eventually, however, he found himself at another junction.  Six paths in total diverged from the point he had reached, and all at the same angle as the one which separated them from the passage he had just emerged from.  Each also looked so similar that he was sure that if he spun around for a moment, he would no longer know from which direction he had come.  There were absolutely no clues as to which way he should go and no scents in the air to pull him one way or another.  He stared at the many paths for a long time and then, coming to no conclusions and having the increasing certainty that someone had led him this far, he sat down at the end of his corridor and waited.

            Sarah felt like a broken thing, like a toy built to be played with, only to be discarded after losing a spring.  She felt like all she had been working towards since arriving on Shadow, all the certainty she had gained over those months, had just dissolved into mud and she was trapped in it now, stained by it.  Diana had showed her that she was not a hero, nor chosen for some purpose – both ideas she had unconsciously been developing throughout her journey.  At best she had been used and manipulated – by Frostfire and by Dr. Barkham - at worst she was just a fool who made the wrong choices.

            And where was God in all of this?  She had become so sure of His existence, so certain that He was guiding her along the way.  How could He have let her make so many wrong turns?  How could He have let her betray Diana in such a way?

            These were the thoughts that went around and around and around inside her head as she struggled to make her way along the corridors and passageways of the obelisk.  It felt like the insane layout of the place was just another way of the world letting her know that there was no plan and that which looked like purpose was only an illusion caused by perspective.  There was no logic or reason to her choices in this maze.  Faced with a number of paths at each junction it didn’t seem to matter which one she took.  They all just let back into the tangle.

            And yet, despite all of this, she found she wanted to pray.  The prayer within her was not one of praise, nor a cry for help or mercy – it was a rant, an argument.  She wanted to tell the God who probably wasn’t there just what she thought of Him.  She wanted to demand answers she was beginning to believe did not exist.  She wanted justice for letting her think things could possibly be any different, that her mother could have been wrong all along.

            It was only when she began to hear the echoes of her prayer that she realised she was saying it out loud – shouting it even.  And it was then that she started to cry, hitting the dark wall and all its glowing lines with her fists.  “Why, God?  Why?” she asked as she slumped to the ground and sobbed.

            It all just seemed too painful, too cruel, and yet she couldn’t even think of herself as the victim anymore.  She knew that she had done wrong, she just didn’t know what she could do about it.

            “’Ello?” came a voice echoing along the corridor towards her, “’’Oo’s that cryin’?  Can you ‘ere me?”

            Sarah lifted her head and listened, taking in deep breaths to stifle her tears.

            “Gulliver,” she called, “is that you?”

            “Sarah!” came Gulliver’s reply, “so I’m not alone down ‘ere after all!”

            “Where are you?”

            “I’m at a junction.  If I come to you, I know I’ll get lost.  Can you follow my voice?”

            Sarah stood, nodding to herself before realising Gulliver wouldn’t be able to see.  “Okay,” she called back, “I’ll try.”

Frostfire's claws were still bloody as he made his way wearily along the endless corridors of the obelisk.  He felt drained, as if all the energy had been poured out of him in that one, violent release.  There was satisfaction there too, but it was diminished by the growing exhaustion, and who could be surprised.  He had let this revenge consume him for months, made it his sole focus, his drive and now, in one visceral moment of ecstatic fulfilment, it was all over; gone, spent, dried up.

He had said nothing to Diana after the deed was done.  They had shared a glance, that was all, enough to see that the huntress was trembling, although whether from tiredness, adrenaline or some complex emotion he could not tell.  Then she had turned, walked slowly away and eventually disappeared around a corner, all the while with his eyes fixed upon her.  It hadn't seemed as if there was anything else he could do.  He had felt frozen to the spot, unable to look away, and, especially, unable to look down - to see the evidence of their savagery.

He had turned away eventually, of course, to drift along the corridors, mostly empty of thought or emotion, as the exhaustion began to sink in.  But it was done now.  He could rest at last.  All he wanted now was to leave the obelisk, to return to Ashvault and Spriggan and , finally, to be free.

"Just where do you think that you're going?" came the familiar, cold voice from behind.

"I'm done here," he replied without stopping, without looking up.

"No," Tiberius replied, "I think you'll find that you are not."

There was a muffled cry and the sound of taloned feet scratching desperately against the stonework.  Frostfire froze, turned so very slowly and saw his worst nightmare revealed before him.

"You didn't think I would take on your help without some insurance, did you, Frostfire?" Tiberius continued, caressing Spriggan's slate scales with the back of his hand as she struggled in the grip of a crowd of Lakhmaspawn.  "I knew that once you'd had your revenge you would want to walk away, and I doubted I would be able to hold onto your services any other way."

"Let her go!" Frostfire cried, "She isn't part of this, she-"

"She has become part of this, because I willed it to be so... because Lakhma is not done with you, or any of us."

Frostfire wanted to fight, to do to Tiberius what he had just done to Doctor Barkham, but he was outnumbered here and, as quick as he could move, one of those Lakhmapsawn would still have time to kill Spriggan before he got to her.  If she hadn’t been trussed up like that she would have fought valiantly for herself but…

He had no other options.

“What do you want me to do,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s very simple,” Tiberius replied callmly, “I merely need you to serve as a distraction.”

            They all arrived eventually, each from a different passageway.  Gulliver made each group sit down at the end of their corridor so that no one could get lost and each time he waited, although with greater comfort and ease as there were more and more people to talk to.  First came Sarah, her eyes still red from crying and yet a look of the most unexpected hope on her face as Gulliver explained how he had come to be where he was and why he was sitting there waiting.  They had chatted together for a while about their experiences in the obelisk (although Sarah had seemed fairly cagey about parts of it) until Rockspark had arrived.  He too had seemed a little depressed and was quieter than usual, but even so had a few things to add to the picture they were building of the strange maze they had passed through.

            It became increasingly clear that their experiences did indicate some sort of pattern – that there was someone pulling strings somewhere to force them down one path or another, although Gulliver was surprised when Sarah had suggested that the only such guidance she had encountered was his voice.  He was even more surprised when this seemed to perk Rockspark up a little more.  When Miss. Barkham and Lord Blood Dragon arrived the picture became clearer still, until there could be no doubt that someone wanted them all to meet at this point.  They watched the two remaining passageways with interest.

            Siren, Ellis and Annabella appeared out of one, with more of the same to tell and, when no one else turned up for a long time, it was decided that the final path was the one they must take.

            “Franck and Ember must already be there,” Siren said as, once more, she took the lead.  “They’ll be waiting for us, so we better hurry.”

            Everyone seemed to be in agreement and, to Gulliver’s surprise and wonder, all of them seemed to have been refreshed by their meeting in such a fashion and by the stories they had to tell, even Sarah and Rockspark.  Even himself.

            He had been the first to arrive and, for some reason, he felt he ought to be the last to leave, so as the others wandered off down the final passageway he lingered a moment, staring at the space they had all just filled, their place of respite and wondered.

            Could it ‘ave been you, ‘Arker? he asked himself in the silence of his heart, then added out loud a quiet, “Thank you.”  He blushed, feeling a little foolish and hurried off after the others, so he did not hear the whispered voice which came in reply, soft, distant and aetherial.

            “You’re welcome.”

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