The Python of Caspia Read online

  Pythia turned and nearly struck Andy, who recoiled, not wanting to discover her true strength.

  “Why do you hate me so?” She picked up and flung a crystal chair like it was nothing, a frustrated scream leaving her mouth as she did so. The chair exploded into a rain of shards; Andy felt one nick his arm. “This is more for you than it is for me,” she said, giving up.

  Andy realized this place held no solution for him, though he wasn’t surprised.

  Pythia turned away and looked down on the slowly rising sun. “This wasn’t what we were supposed to find.”

  “What was?” Andy snapped.

  She huffed at his tone, and responded sharply, “Artworks, you impatient child! Hundreds of lost masterpieces made by your people and belonging to the greatest Seer heroes. They should be here.”

  Artworks? How would art help—oh. The pieces might contain messages like the ones in Rembrandt’s paintings. Those saved me at least once. If hundreds of important artworks were here—yes, one of them might have a key, some way to stop Ziesqe and make my friends and family safe again.

  “I thought the struggle to find this place and seeing the old masterpieces would help you—” Pythia was silenced by a sudden screech.

  The sound was like nails scraping against glass. She winced and Andy stepped back, reaching for the Argument, before realizing he had left it outside.

  “What was that?” Andy asked, trying to spot the source of the sound.

  There was another screech, and Pythia shrunk away. The sound made Andy shiver.

  “There!” He pointed at a chair.

  “What was it?”

  “The chair moved,” Andy said, stepping further back with her.

  They both held their breath.

  Andy heard a heavy footstep.

  “Something’s there,” he whispered.

  “Can’t you see it? Your eyes should still work here!”

  “Shh!” Andy hushed her and stared. He tried to focus his eyes, but there was nothing.

  Step.

  They backed up nearly to the edge of the platform. Andy felt his foot slip off the side, but Pythia grabbed and righted him.

  “This way,” she said, moving around the table and away from the sound.

  The steps increased in speed.

  “I don’t know how to fight it!” Pythia cried, her fists clenched, “I can’t fold this space.”

  Andy stopped, and struggled to pick up a chair with both hands. With a grunt of effort, he threw it towards the noise. The chair shattered in mid-air. A moment later, the fragments crunched, as if under the foot of something substantial.

  “Yes!” Pythia cried, “I have it!” She leaped over the table.

  The steps stopped and Andy saw a chair move.

  “Keep it distracted,” Pythia said, moving towards the stained section of the table.

  “How?” Andy cried, picking up another chair and hurling it towards the invisible figure.

  The crystal shattered, and Andy watched the fragments crunch again under an invisible heel. It was coming for him.

  Andy stepped back, pulling chairs out to block the path. Every time a chair scraped across the floor he winced. When he reached the end of the table, he saw the chairs jerking aside as it advanced.

  “Hurry! I’m out of chairs!” Andy called to Pythia, who was slowly waving her hands over the table. Andy could just see the blood moving across the translucent surface.

  “Go around to the other side and keep blocking the path. I need a little longer,” Pythia said, strain in her voice.

  “Sure!” Andy yelled, sarcastically.

  He rounded the end of the table and noticed the footsteps getting faster. He nearly tripped over a chair, before running to get away. In his haste, he only knocked over a single chair.

  “We’re coming up on you!” Andy yelled to Pythia. He nearly froze when a chair lifted from the floor.

  He raised his forearms as it slammed into him and then shattered on the floor.

  Andy stumbled backwards and felt the footsteps through the crystalline floor. It was right on him.

  Andy rolled over the broken crystal and passed underneath the table. He scrambled to his feet and his eyes tracked the movement in the broken shards. He absentmindedly brushed the fragments off his arms, barely feeling the sting of a dozen cuts.

  “Watch out! It’s coming your way!” He called out.

  Pythia held her hands out, one above the other, and, floating between, was something Andy didn’t recognize.

  What is that? It looks like a dark-red blob.

  Pythia was ready for its approach. Andy moved closer and realized that the floating blob was blood from the table.

  Pythia growled as she threw the dark mass at the figure.

  It stopped still, as if shocked.

  Pythia hopped across the table and rushed towards Andy, who met her half way.

  “Good trick, is that what you meant when you said you could fold this place?” Andy asked.

  “Not at all,” Pythia said, her breath only slightly elevated, where he was heaving, “under normal circumstances, I could have drowned that thing under an ocean of blood.”

  Andy was startled by her choice of words.

  “That would have worked, but what do we do now?” he asked.

  Pythia opened her mouth, but stayed silent. The figure was moving again.

  It faced them, and Andy got a clearer sense of what they were dealing with. It was man shaped, huge, and covered in blades.

  The blood had stuck to it in some places, but had not reached others. The half-solid, half-empty effect nearly made Andy panic.

  “We can’t fight it,” he said, fear in voice.

  “I would make it writhe! If I could only—” Pythia held her hands out, and they tensed with strain.

  Chunks of broken crystal floated up from the ground.

  Pythia shook her head and spoke through gritted teeth, “I’d crush it under shards until the pressure liquified the glass and then I’d call up a frost to freeze it in place!”

  “That sounds like a great plan—why can’t we do that?” Andy felt helpless without the Argument.

  The bloody figure moved again.

  Pythia exhaled. Her arms fell to her sides, as if weighed down, and the few hundred broken shards tumbled to the floor.

  The figure stared at them from the far side of the table, as if sick of the chase. It brought its bladed fist down onto the table and split it in half with a deafening crack.

  “What do we do?” Andy yelled.

  The figure reached out and grasped half of the table in each hand, and, with no apparent strain, lifted them high into the air.

  Andy’s legs were shaking.

  Why the hell did I agree to come in here?

  He prepared to dodge the split pieces of table. Instead of striking out with them, the figure lowered them, effectively creating impromptu walls that blocked their path of escape. The only choices left were, straight ahead towards the bloody figure, or behind and off the platform into empty space.

  But it isn’t really space.

  It came closer. Shards crunched under the figure’s steps as it raked its blades over the broken table.

  Andy reached for Pythia and pulled her towards the edge.

  “It’s our only chance!”

  Andy leaped off, but felt his grip on Pythia’s hand slip away. He looked to see if she had made it, but he was tumbling and could see nothing, save the swirling stars and the dark planet below.

  He felt his breath grow heavy and his eyes shut, as if pressed down by great pressure. He struggled to open them, but only saw clouds. He felt mist blowing across his skin at such speed it almost hurt. The space around was now more like sky, and beneath, green and blue surface. He spun so violently that all he could take in was color before his eyes shut again.

  After a long moment he took a deep breath and forced his eyes open. The pressure changed direction and he felt a great force pushing him upwards and
away from the land. Though he was still coming down, his descent had slowed.

  Colossal trees reached up to brush against a blue-green sky. Between spans of lush forest were lakes as smooth as glass, and bluer than anything he had ever seen.

  A moment later his feet touched down on soft grass.

  I can’t pretend this is all a dream anymore.

  He shook his head and looked up to the sky.

  Did Pythia escape? If she fell, she might be anywhere in this forest.

  Andy turned about and considered his surroundings. The trees were huge, larger than redwoods, and the canopy was towering, it made him feel like he was in a cathedral. There was almost no sound, save for the slightest hint of flowing water. He took in a deep breath and felt the moisture.

  The air is incredible. It’s fresh and clean.

  He saw flocks of colorful birds flying so high it made them difficult to spot, yet they were still somehow beneath the canopy.

  Not knowing what to do, Andy picked a direction at random and started walking. The thick grass underfoot made it feel like he was walking on a rubber floor, with a slight spring.

  Andy shook his head in astonishment.

  This place is too perfect. Nothing in nature was ever like this.

  He stared with defiant eyes, but still felt himself to be immeasurably small compared to the space around him. It made him feel relaxed and serene, despite his fear for Pythia.

  I shouldn’t feel this calm. Forget the surroundings; I was nearly killed.

  Andy paused for a moment.

  Was I nearly killed? If this place isn’t real—

  He inspected the small cuts on his arms from rolling through the glass. They didn’t even sting. He remembered the blood on the table and the chair that hit him.

  I did throw the first chair.

  Thinking back, he felt certain that the bladed figure could have killed him.

  But Pythia—she must have made it. She’ll be down here somewhere.

  Andy felt like calling out for her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, realizing that thing might be nearby as well.

  He picked up his pace and noticed how easily his body moved. It felt like he weighed half what he should.

  Is there less gravity here? Wait—

  Far off through the trees he saw a speck of quicksilver sparkle with a violet afterglow. Light bounced off it like the sun’s reflection on water, but only for a moment, and then it was gone.

  I have to get over there.

  Andy broke out into a jog and arced around a calm lake. The air whipped as he ran. It felt like he had never moved faster in his life. The grass rushed by at such a clip that it blurred, but he kept his focus on the spot where he had seen the shine.

  He couldn’t see the strange speck of violet, but there was something off about the trunk of the tree ahead. It looked to have a square shape on its surface.

  It’s a painting.

  Andy approached and stopped. He noticed that his breath was even and calm, despite the run. He would have given that more thought, but the painting took his complete attention. It looked like a portrait, though there was something more.

  The painting was large, four feet wide and twice as tall. It was a portrait of a lady in robes; she was holding a set of unbalanced scales in one hand, while the other held a golden arrow, pointing at her right eye.

  Andy felt his eyes tense. He feared becoming dizzy, like he had at the museum. If that monster was nearby, he had to be ready to run.

  His head buzzed, but it wasn’t disorienting enough to make him look away.

  There, on the lintel of the building behind her, appeared glowing Latin characters. They shimmered like quicksilver with the glassy violet sheen he had seen from across the lake.

  This must be what Pythia was looking for.

  Andy stopped. He heard a brushing sound somewhere in the distance. It sounded like someone scraping against a tree.

  He held his breath and looked around. He spotted one, then two, and then several other canvases hanging from the trunks of the surrounding trees.

  There’s a whole museum down here.

  Andy listened for a moment longer, but there was nothing.

  He looked back to the woman in her robes. Her face was tranquil, save for a hint of mischief around the eyes.

  I wish I had my sketch pad.

  Andy nearly jumped out of his shoes when a sketch pad appeared on the ground before him.

  In disbelief, he reached down and picked it up.

  Flipping through the pages he realized that it was his sketch pad, the one he had at the museum. He even found his rough drawings of the Infiniteye.

  He paused.

  How about a pen?

  Nothing.

  Andy held his hand out, and remembered Pythia trying to fold reality.

  There is a pen in my hand.

  There was a pen in his hand.

  Hmm. I wonder how over the top I should go with this.

  Andy felt a grin growing across his face. He gazed over to the lake and imagined a hundred-floor skyscraper exploding from the water. Then he considered a dozen tanks rolling out of the water onto the shore, and then he imagined commanding them to blow holes in a newly summoned school building.

  I don’t hate school, but you’ve got to take advantage of something like this.

  Andy raised his hand, the stupid smile on his face began to hurt his cheeks. He wanted so badly to make a tank appear. He took a heavy breath, gritted his teeth, and finally sighed.

  He let his hand drop.

  If I start, I might not be able to stop. Pythia said she spent years at a time in here; this is why. I will only change the Juncture if I need to.

  Andy looked back to the painting and opened his sketchpad. He began a sketch of the figure, and then carefully added the characters. After a few minutes, he felt his legs straining.

  Maybe I can have a little fun.

  He paused and considered what would serve his needs best.

  There is a chair—a comfortable chair, that rolls, and has a cup holder—right here.

  A plush chair on wheels appeared. Andy hopped onto it and continued sketching.

  There is a can of my favorite drink in the cup holder.

  The can appeared. It featured a charging animal. Andy popped the tab and took a sip. His face pinched at the sharpness of the drink.

  He laughed to himself. I hope my parents don’t find out; I’m not allowed to have these. He leaned back in the chair and gave it a slow spin.

  He thought back to where it all started. Jumping out of the car that day was the first thing I shouldn’t have done. He tried to consider the staggering numbers of choices he probably shouldn’t have made since then. I don’t know why I’m in such a rush to get back. Even if I don’t tell them a single thing about any of this, they will still kill me.

  Laughing, Andy gave the chair another spin and looked at his notes.

  La révolution n’a jamais pris fin. Le Lyceum se bat sur.

  Andy read the message as well as he could. He was glad for the Latin characters, though it was still beyond his comprehension.

  Something about a revolution? I think it’s French. That’s progress, at least.

  Andy wanted to stay at this painting and take time filling in his sketch with the smaller details. There were newspaper clippings on the floor and angry looking people following the lead figure, but he needed to move on.

  Andy narrowed his brow.

  Camera!

  An old, throw-away camera appeared.

  I can’t use that! I need a digital camera. Several dozen mega-pixels or more—charged, with a memory card.

  The camera changed into a contemporary design. Andy powered it on and took a few snaps of the painting. He looked at the images on the camera’s screen and noticed that they weren’t right. The writing was missing from the digital image. It reminded him of when he looked for Rembrandt’s work online. Realizing he couldn’t depend on the camera, he tapped hi
s sketch pad.

  Maybe I can find that art girl when I get back, I have her email address. She might have something to say about these paintings.

  Andy tried to scoot his chair towards the next painting, a good hundred paces away, and hanging from the trunk of another tree, but his chair refused to roll on the turf. Andy nearly stood to walk, but that grin returned instead.

  Engine! Joystick! Paved sidewalk!

  All three appeared. The engine connected to the chair’s wheels, the joystick on the chair’s arm, and a pleasant sidewalk led the way forward, to the next canvas. Andy laughed like a maniac as he leaned back and drove his chair to the next canvas.

  The second painting shone so brightly of quicksilver, he had to cover his eyes.

  Andy peeked at the painting, bit by bit, to let his eyes adjust to the color.

  The whole canvas undulated with waves of soft color appearing over the quicksilver. It glittered as if touched by some unseen light.

  Andy stood, his hand still half-covering his eyes, and stepped closer. He leaned in and inspected a small section. There was something familiar there.

  It’s writing. The painting is covered in tiny writing. Wait—it’s English!

  Andy thought for a stepladder, and it appeared. He climbed up to the top and started at the left.

  ‘To those with the sight, stare not too long at this canvas—’

  Andy shook his head at the contradiction. What do you mean, ‘stare not too long’? You wrote a novel here. Andy felt like complaining, but he had a sudden fear of tempting fate, and continued reading.

  ‘—even if you have the stomach for the violence of the color. My name is Vincent Denofre, and I fear that, despite my efforts, this work might be hanging in a public gallery. BE WARNED! If this is so, you must be on guard against our enemy. Museums are dangerous for us. I have learned to frequent salons and small galleries instead. Thusly I have chosen to compose in the revolutionary fashion to avoid popularity—’

  Andy climbed off the stepladder.

  Revolutionary fashion?

  Confused, he grabbed his camera and snapped a photo.

  Oh, he means modern art.

  The image showed none of the writing and was so different that Andy had to look twice. His writing really does cover the whole canvas. This painting would stand out to anyone with eyes like mine. What he saw in the snapshot was concentric shapes: large and small circles and squares. The colors of the mundane composition shifted between the layers of overlapping shapes. Any one shape was one color, but when two shapes overlapped, the space they shared would be filled with a third, complimentary color. The effect was engaging, though Andy couldn’t say why.