Korm's Master (Part Eight)

Instead of the low, dim, dripping rooms that he had been expecting, Korm found himself taking dazed, hesitant steps over a white marble floor into a vast, bewildering space. The room, if it was a room, was colossal; the walls, if they were walls, seemed to bow inward, reaching dimly to an unseen point in the hazy purple-blue heights. A kind of bright twilight with no definable source hung about everything. Korm could sense the curve of the wall where the door was set falling away behind, but he paid no thought to it. He was drawn to the mesmerizing spectacle before him.

In the middle of the chamber or courtyard was a vast pool, almost a lake, set round with a massively carved curb of stone. In the center of the pool, rising in a thick, turbulent column, taller even than the Sun Tower in Morg City, was a pillar of water, that rose and fell heavily without spray or splash, just a low rumble like distant thunder as it raised itself up and poured itself back down into the pellucid water below, which received it again with hardly a ripple. Playing on top of that pillar, slowly but continually spinning in the roll of water, danced a huge translucent green globe.

Korm approached the cascade reverently, entranced, eyes wide, stopping only when he finally placed his arms outspread on the stony coping surrounding the water's edge. He gazed up, up, up at the orb, turning ponderously but ceaselessly, looking heavier than a mountain, then had to let his eyes fall, dizzy at the fearful weight held poised so delicately above him. But when his gaze had focused downward, his stomach tied itself into an instant knot.

There was no bottom to the pool, no slow incline, no rippling play of light on a floor, however deep. Just the depths, down, down, ever deeper, until it seemed more profound than the sky above, if sky it was. Korm thought he saw, past the lowest darkness of its abysses, the distant glimmer of stars, as if the world had been turned upside-down and he was suspended, somehow, over a chasm of sky that could suck him into its profundity as inexorably as any vast and heaving sea. To his horror he found himself helplessly leaning over, unable in his vertigo to stop himself from plunging forward headfirst into the waters.

A rough brown hand clamped on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"The Fountain of Forever," the old man said quietly.

Korm turned back, panting, eyes rolling, and gaped at the man.

"Where--?" he stammered. "Where--? How did we--?"

The other swept his arm, pointing back behind them, in a gesture of introduction.

"The Domain of Doors," he said matter-of-factly.

Korm squinted back at the way he had come. Had he really walked that far? Back behind them was the wall or fence he had walked from after he'd stumbled through the door. It curved around until it was lost at either end behind the falling waters. Could that be right? The dimensions of this place seemed to be playing tricks on his eyes. He rubbed his hands over his face, then pulled them down, tugging his beard to try to center himself. He looked up with a clearer gaze, and got another jolt of realization.

The wall behind him, the wall that stretched out of sight to either side, was entirely made up of doors, linked only by short brambly trees growing between them. There were wooden doors, and iron doors, and doors of stone, bound in brass or steel or simply hanging on a leather hinge, some so tall and wide an Ogre might walk through with ease, and some so low a hound might have to stoop to pass in. A dizzying array. And Korm had no idea, looking panicked at the multitude, where the one he had entered by was.

"The thing about the Domain of Doors," the scruffy man said, scratching his beard thoughtfully, "is you really have to pay attention when you come in. These doors go to places all over everywhere in Ortha, and some of them beyond, they say. Walk through the wrong one, and you might end up in a dungeon somewhere, with some real nasty folks wanting to ask you some real nasty questions."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Korm said, turning on him. "What do you think we should do?"

"Eh." The old man shrugged, as if he had no idea and was leaving it up to him.

It should be simple, Korm thought, turning away. Just walk back the way I came. Go back through the door to Tronduhon Library School, back into a place where things make sense. Simple. He sighted a path to take, and strode decisively forward, the brown-robed figure flapping carelessly after him in his wake.

To his dismay, they came to a halt in front of a battered wooden door with brass bolts. Some crude runes chipped into it declared it to be of Ghamen make.

"It's a funny thing about setting out from the inner rim of a wheel to the outer wheel. The smallest deviation from the path increases exponentially the further you travel."

Korm looked over at the man with one eye.

"That's a brilliant observation," the Morg said sarcastically. "What should I do, go back and start again?"

"That would be a recipe for disaster, I think."

"Then I'll just walk along the wall till I find the door."

"Ah, but which way?"

Korm looked again at the wall. He looked left. He looked right. Either way seemed to curve off into a haze. He looked at the old man in frustration.

"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked angrily. "How do you know all about it, anyway? Who the hell are you?"

"I want to go to the right here, because I've been keeping my eye on the door since we first came in," the old man said calmly. "I know all about it because I brought us here by a spell. As for who I am, I happen to be a wizard, and my name," he bowed slightly "is Dunwolf, Dunwolf of Rhavenglast." He paused. "You may have heard of me."

"Dunwolf?" Korm boggled.

"Yes."

"The wizard?"

"Yes."

"That's impossible!" the Morg burst out. "He lived five hundred years ago!"

"One of the side-effects of using magic - or having magic use you - is long life. It's not always the kindest of powers." The old man hitched himself up and began moving to the right. "After the journey I've been on, I feel every day of those years. Right now I want a good breakfast. But first, I do need that bog-stool. To go in this place ... it just wouldn't be right."

"Yes, about this place," Korm said, floundering after him indignantly. "All right you're a wizard, all right maybe you're even Dunwolf himself, but what do you mean by bringing me to this ... this terrible place?" he finished in consternation.

"Shake you up a bit, teach you a lesson. You seemed a little on the smug side to me." The old man chuckled as he strode along. "Thought you could get me booted out, just like that. Let me tell you, lad, the world and the people in it are not only more than you know, they're more than anyone can know, even an old wizard. Don't be so quick to judge."

"Now you're being the quick one to judge." Korm's muzzle kinked in a wry grin. "I've been about as far from smug as I could be for a whole season."

"Hold that thought," the other said. They had stopped in front of a door. Korm recognized the dark green paint and bronze fixtures of the school bog. The old man tapped the wood three times in a triangular pattern, and pulled it open. As it swung wide, the young Morg felt great relief to see the familiar hallways of the school on the other side again. He stepped through eagerly.

The old man pulled it to, and almost immediately threw it open again, to reveal the unmistakable sounds and odors of the gurgling washroom. He sprinted in and slammed the door behind him, leaving Korm to blink alone in the plain light of day.

(To Be Continued...)