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HOW THE ‘YOUNG LEGION’ OF EARTH-K2 SHOULD HAVE ENDED
AN IMAGINARY STORY

“We have a latecomer,” said Cosmic Boy. “A walk-in.”

The space-flyer landed quietly in the parking lot. A young man climbed out, at no older than Cosmic Boy.

She was blonde, a little pudgy, and obviously struggled somewhat with acne. In fact, she most resembled a fairer young Cera Kesh-- unfamiliar to the Members, as she did not exist in this Universe.

The young Founders resumed their places on the dais.

“I am Jenifer Jahnson,” the young girl introduced herself. “My father is Ennis Jahnson, a metahuman with the ability to transform humans into animals, and animals into humans, who runs the exclusive resort world Jahnson’s Planet. My mother is Dori Aandraison, once known as Rainbow Girl, a metahuman with the power of super-charisma. My big sister, Meredith, has no super-powers, but through a remarkable set of circumstances, is Queen of Faeryland. A Queen, of a Faeryland.”

“I, on the other hand, have inherited my parent’s metahuman tendencies. I have the power to super-cutify animals.”

“I’m sorry,” said Saturn Girl. “Cutify?”

“I make them cuter,” said Jenifer. “Permanently.”

She pulled a small, bedraggled kitten out of a large coat pocket. It was sad, skinny and wretched-looking. The creature’s fur was short, badly matted, and balding in places, one ear half-missing, one eye scarred shut. It looked like it had lost every fight it had ever been in. “I picked up this poor little guy at a rescue shelter on Mars. They told me he’s been pretty sick during his short life, but he’s had all his shots now. They have done all they can for him. Of course, no one wants to adopt him. He will suffer the fat of all abandoned pets that the Shelter can’t sell.”

Lightning Lass gasped.

“That’s right,” said Jenifer. “He’ll be sent to Cornfield, Planet of the Feral Animals. But wait! Now, I apply my powers.”

The kitten’s ear and eye healed. His eyes grew large and round. His skinny body fleshed out and rounded, and its coat grew sleek, and then long and fluffy. The grey and brown fur gradually brightened into rainbow colors. He was so adorable, he seemed to glow.

“How precious!” cried Lightning Lass. “Can I keep him?” Jenifer handed the kitten over to Dacey, his new owner.

“Yes!” cried Saturn Girl. “I see it now! This is what the Super Hero Club was founded for! This is our destiny! We will travel the Galaxy, rescuing abandoned kittens and puppies and cats and dogs, even turtles and reptiles and fish and birds! Jenifer will cutify them all and we will give them away to new homes, where they will be lovingly taken care of. We’ll even sell some of them. The Super Hero Club will even be self-funding!”


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But this is just an imaginary story.

In the real Earth-K2 Universe, Jenifer never joined the Super Hero Club. In fact, she may have never been born.

Instead...

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Oh, wait. Because so many people are such better writers than I am, a little side-trip, if you are interested.
The Colors of Evil

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And so it was. And they lived happily ever after.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE:
TRYOUTS
TED RIVOLKANE OF WEBER’S WORLD: MASS MASTER

“We have a latecomer,” said Cosmic Boy. “A walk-in.”

The space-flyer landed quietly in the parking lot. A young man climbed out, at least as old as the Ranzz twins. He was simply dressed, in a dark-gray long-sleeved t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. In contrast to his drab clothing, his face was extraordinary: evenly split in half, one side lavender, with black hair, one side tan, with flaming red hair. His eyes were two different shades of blue.

“I know him!” said Cosmic Boy. “Hey, I know you,” he told the young man. “Your dads are friends with my dad. You came to my birthday party once-- five or so years ago? Afterward, the two of us played video games together for hours, while our folks talked.” He turned to Saturn Girl and Lightning Lass. “You weren’t there,” he said. “That was one of the ones you missed.”

“Yeah,” said Lightning Lass, “We’ve occasionally been jerks to you, and you’ve reciprocated.”

“I’m Ted Rivolkane,” the boy introduced himself to the Ranzzes. “Hello, everybody,” he said to everyone else.

“You’re a… pi-something,” said Cosmic Boy. “Something else else cool.”

“Piebald chimaeric fusion,” Ted replied. “My dads wanted me to be unique, and I kind of am.”

“His dads were once members of the Legion Academy, too,” said Cosmic Boy. “Gravity Kid and… Powerhouse?”

“Gravity Kid and Power Lad,” said Ted. “But that was a long time ago. I more or less have their combined abilities. I can independently affect the gravitational or inertial mass of any object.”

“Just what exactly does that mean?” asked Lightning Lass. “Practically, I mean.”

“If I increase inertial mass, an object becomes stronger,” Ted explained. “Decreasing it makes the object light, even insubstantial. Decreasing gravitational mass makes it float, increasing it makes it fall. I can also re-shape gravitational fields, making things fall up, or sideways, for instance. And I should be able to do the same with the Higgs field, but we’re not sure what that would look like. My dads suggest I call myself Mass Master.”

“What do you think, Saturn Girl?” said Ten. “Here’s another meta-human that can alter fundamental, universal forces. Cosmic Boy seems to vouch for him. We’re all here, I say we vote on his membership right now.”

“Slow down a minute,” said Ted / Mass Master. “My dads were members of the Legion Academy. I’m not really confident in the control of my power, yet. I was hoping to spend some time in your academy?”

“Well… er… we don’t actually have an Academy yet,” said Saturn Girl. “We’re just barely starting out our ourselves...”

"Maybe that's what the Super Hero Club should be," said Lightning Lass. "A kind of by-your-own-bootstraps Legion Academy."

“Oh, well, what…” said Ted / Mass Master. “What…’

But he was interrupted by a high-pitched, keening, pulsing, ululating shrieking.

CHAPTER FORTY:
TRYOUTS
PRINCESS POLLITA OF THARN

The young girl materialized out of thin air, her clothing varicolored and flamboyant. She was accompanied by a bright green rooster.

“I am Princess Pollita of Tharn, the New Sorcerer’s World,” she announced.

“Another walk-in applicant!” said Matter-Eater Lad Two. “Or rather, teleporting in.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” said Princess Pollita, “I am no applicant. I’m only a messenger. I have no super-powers, or even magical powers. I am merely the caretaker of Chanticleer,” she indicated the green rooster. “When he crows, he teleports, and can take others with him. I have been tasked with inviting you to stand before the First General Coventry of Tharn. They have been debating sending a magical acolyte to become a member of your New Legion.”

“Actually,” said Saturn Girl, “It’s just a Super Hero Club. And following tradition, it is the applicant who comes here for the audition.”

“One does not ordinarily reject an invitation from the Councilours First General Coventry,” said Princess Pollita. “Still, I am unable to transport you there without your consent, so if I must return to the Council alone and empty-handed, I must.”

“You know, a magical member might be interesting,” said Ffiona, “Even if only a sorcerer’s apprentice.”

“I think Ffarrah once spoke of Adventure,” said Cosmic Boy. “A strange, magical world sounds like it might be at least a small adventure.”

“I advise caution,” said Ten. “Magic is difficult to understand, predict, or control.”

“I agree with my charge,” said Mr. Andrews.

“I’m not sure you get a vote, Mr. Andrews,” said Ffiona.

“Well, has it come to that?” said Saturn Girl. “I propose a vote then. But it needs to be unanimous- we all go, or no one goes. All in favor?”

Ten hands went up. Saturn Girl gradually raised her own.

“Well, ‘Forever and ever farewell, Cassius’,” said Ten. “‘If we do meet again, why we shall smile.’ I suppose I am coming too,” he raised his hand. “And don’t forget Mr. Andrews, Princess.”

The rooster crowed, the air shimmered.

And Ted Rivolkane, the Mass Master, was left alone.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:
WELCOME TO THE SORCERER’S PLANET

The old sorcerer was looking well. His hair and beard 'of formal cut' were well-trimmed, and more gray than white. He wore a modern ‘French Court’ style business suit, in a subtle pinstripe. He looked as though he smelled of peppermint and Macassar oil. His absurd hat, the green fez with eagle’s wings and a great red ruby eye, sat discreetly beside him on the table.

“Welcome, young people, I am Lord Mordru, Chair of the First General Coventry of Tharn, the New Sorcerer’s World; Chief Executive of the Council, and Arch-Chancellor.” He smiled. “Allow me to introduce the other members of the Coventry. From my far right: Counselor Rincewind, Professor Leitseid, Thane Fitzneron, The Sensei, Karannat, and Falco Columbarius. From my far left: Mariam Abraxas, Lady Leshove, Nagromma, Viviane Inwidu, Capella, and The Manananggal. We have invited you to Tharn, as we are considering placing one of our apprentices in you charge. Oh, my, an objection already? The Chair recognizes Rincewind.”

“Why does it have to my Occultress?” Counselor Rincewind whined. He was a slight, stooped man with gray 'Fu-Manchu' moustaches and a scraggly beard. “Why not Strego Stefano, or Zauberlein, or La Bruja Amarilla?”

“All excellent suggestions,” said Lord Mordru. “That is precisely the matter this committee is to take up. The Chair recognized Nagromma.”

Nagromma was somehow hard to look at, as if out of focus. “Might we ask the Durlan to assume some other form?” she asked. “His current appearance is offensive to some of us, as it resembles the Demons of Avalon.”

“Would you oblige her?” asked Mordru, kindly.

Chameleon looked around for an appropriate alternate form. He settled on the Triplicate Girls, choosing shades of purple and gold for his costume slightly different from the ones they were wearing.

Ffey giggled. “Now there are four of us,” she said. “We’ll have to call you Ffameleon.”

“Is there any other old business before we attend to the business at hand?” asked Mordru.

The Coventry was silent.

“Very well, then. You, young people, have appeared before us. We have even now taken your measure, through our refined senses,” said Mordru. “I think I speak for us all, when I say you seem persons of good character. As a group, you display many positive virtues, especially courage. We believe you to be trustworthy and honorable. The portents do foresee any untoward dangers in your immediate future. I believe we can commit one of our acolytes to your care, to begin to experience the worlds beyond the Sorcerer’s World. Understand that this will be a temporary appointment, no more than two or three years.” Lord Mordru turned and addressed the Board. “Counselor Rincewind has objected to sending his Occultress to Mars. Perhaps Professor Leitseid would be more generous with his pupil, Zauberlein?”

“She has only the most narrow and elementary understanding of the mystic arts,” said Professor Leitseid. “But if she will continue her theoretical studies on her own, I would not object to exposure to more practical experience.”

“Then let it be proposed,” said Lord Mordru. “A show of hands?”

The motion carried unanimously.

As the remainder of the Coventry filed out, Lord Mordru motioned the Members up to the stage.

“With Zauberlein, you will be thirteen,” said Lord Mordru. “A propitious number.” There were two large bronze gates behind his throne. “These transport gates will take us anywhere on the Sorcerer’s World in an instant,” he explained. “A perquisite of the office. Please accompany me to Miss Zauberlein’s dormitory. Outside it, of course. We will knock bfore entering.”

The gates opened, and Lord Mordru and the Members walked through.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:
O BRAVE NEW WORLD

The first thing they noticed was that their flight belts had not come through the gate with them. Neither had Mr. Andrews. They were in a large, drab, and smoky warehouse, with a distinct chemical odour in the air.

“This is our Thaumaturgy and Alchemist’s shop,” said Lord Mordru. “The largest such Factory on this world.”

There were some three dozen workers, seated at tables, doing close work, or standing, operating machinery. They mostly appeared in late middle age, and all seemed tired and worn, with dark, sunken eyes. Many spots of clothes and fingers were burned or chemically discolored. There was an undeniable overall griminess to their appearance.

“Come,” said Lord Mordru, “We have found you the positions of employment with which you will be most comfortable.”

Saturn Girl and Lightning Lass were seated with a woman who appeared to be their mother, and two doppelgangers of themselves. Imra Ranzz pointed out their father across the room, a one-armed blacksmith, with Garridan and Graym operating the forge and bellows.

Cosmic Boy was put with his parents as well, and another Pol Krinn, carefully measuring chemicals out with eyedroppers, according to ancient, yellowed recipe pages.

Shrinking Violet was placed at the next table, with Salu Digby, and Ayla Ranzz.

The four Triplicate Girls (including Ffameleon) were placed under the apprenticeship of a Mr. Taine, a slender, badly wrinkled, jowly man who seldom spoke, except to give curt orders or corrections. He was assembling what appeared for all the world to be watch-parts, into small, bizarre machines according to some weathered blueprints.

Phantom Girl was assigned to work with the Nah family: Jo, Tinya, Ronin, and Arna.

Matter-Eater Lad Two found himself with Tenzil and Eve Kem.

Polar Lass was assigned to work with the Bannins.

Ten found himself at loose ends, in a child-care center off the main factory, with Freski and Froyd Bannin, Violet Ranzz-Digby, two little, blonde three-year-old sisters, both named Glorith, and a little Orandan girl known only as ‘Princess’. The nursery was supervised by two middle-aged Chinese ladies who insisted on being called 'Good Ms. Marya' and 'Good Ms. Li'. One wall of the nursery was rather disturbing, as it appeared to house a massive aquarium, containing a single, torpid, ill-looking Hykraian.

Once each day, the little group of children would march out for lunch, and eat in the cafeteria with the teen-agers and grown-ups. There was very little that a Coluan might eat, but Ten satisfied himself with a colored, sugary gel which was available every day.

On their walk back, they always passed another Coluan, a long-haired adult dressed in motley, bells, and fool's-cap, who sat murmuring to himself, occasionally breaking out in spasms of Tourette’s: mad laughter or profanity. There was a small, oval metal box next to the Coluan that continually muttered, “He does not like this place, oh, no, oh, no, he does not” over and over again, as a little light blinked on and off.

They worked ten hours a day for seven days, and rested on the eighth. Their homes were a ten- or twenty- minute walk from the Factory, in a little isolated ghetto. If they came a half-hour early to work, they were given breakfast, usually porridge, occasionally with warm, fatty bacon. If they stayed an hour late, they were served a meager dinner, just enough to drive the hunger pangs away. They often took advantage of this benefit, as there was little time for cooking between work and exhausted sleep.

It was also easier to eat their meals at work, because keeping food in their houses meant another half-hour walk to the town market, operated by ill-tempered goblins. None of the workers ever explored past the market, into the unnamed town beyond: the days were too short, sleep was at a premium, and there was water to bring in from the communal well.

If they were late to work, they were beaten by their taskmasters, Zoe and Thanat Saugin, (whose names meant Life and Death). They were fiercely loyal to Lord Mordru, and had a clear sadistic streak. If they fell asleep at their posts, or were otherwise thought to be slacking off, they were happily beaten.

Many of the jobs seemed menial and pointless. They would be called upon to sort chips of corundum into piles of red, blue, and purple. Then they would need to sort the red chips into burgundy, scarlet, and pink. Sometimes they would be asked to take one color, and sort it yet again. Sometimes, in the middle of a task, the Saugins would pull them off to an entirely different task. Shrinking Violet once found herself pasting together tiny scraps of old parchment into pieces large enough to make labels.

Other work was purely dangerous, such as working with the furnace. Certain chemical compounds would sometimes emit harsh, choking gases.

It was only after a couple of weeks that the spell began to wear off, and the Members began to look around, and perceiving at last that this was not how their lives had always been. Something else else was very wrong.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:
“I DON’T THINK THIS PLACE IS REAL”

It was only after a couple of weeks that the spell began to wear off, and the Members began to look around, and perceiving at last that this was not how their lives had always been. Something else else was very wrong.

It was a few days after the second time that Lord Mordru had returned to gloat.

The sun was setting on Eighthday, and Pol Krinn and the Ranzz twins were sitting in the little alley between their two small homes.

“It’s this place,” said Pol. “It’s because of this place that we don’t have powers.”

“It’s not just us,” said Dacey. “Cargggans, Braaliens, Bgztlrs, Saturnians, Bismollians… They've never had powers. They don't remember ever having powers. Hillarie and Mr. Kem eat normal food, just like the rest of us. It isn’t natural.”

“You’ve noticed, haven't you,” said Dorrit, “It's not just our parents here. It’s all the old Legion. Everybody here. Somehow, Mordru has gathered them all together, without them realizing it, and stripped them of their powers. Retroactively.”

“Yeah,” said Dacey. “I’ve been trying to identify everybody. That green jester is Brainiac Five-- but without his super-intelligence. Without even human intelligence, really. And I’m sure that little box beside him used to be called Quislet. Somehow, Mordru has... ensorcelled them all, is keeping them prisoner here.”

“That’s not quite right,” said Pol. “I was talking to Dad. There never was a Legion. He’s been working in this place since childhood. Recruited from Braal when he was only fourteen. He’s never been back. Mom was recruited a little later. He calls this place Tharn, but he’s never heard it called Sorcerer’s World. It's not just their powers-- he's messed with their minds and memories, too.”

"No, I don't think he's messed with their minds," said Dorrit. "I think he's messed with time. I think this is some kind of parallel Universe where the past was different: no extraterrestrial human colonists ever gained powers, and therefore, no Legion."

“You’re right. I don’t think our parents are our parents at all,” said Dacey. “Only some kind of weird alternate-reality doppelgangers. They may have started out similarly to our parents, but their spirits are completely broken. I’ve tried bringing up leaving the factory, but they won’t even hear of it.”

“Yeah, because why is there another Pol, and another Dorrit, and another Dacey?” said Pol. “They come from here, but we come from… there.”

“And why are there two Gloriths?” said Dacey. “You know, those little identical twin sisters that run around with Ten. But Glorith-- he Legion’s Glorith-- ought to be only a few years younger than Mom and Dad, not a little baby. They just don’t fit.”

“I can't figure the age difference. But maybe one of them is from here and one of them is from there,” said Dorrit. “Like us. There are two Bloks, too, you know..”

“Blok?” asked Dacey.

“Those two big stone statues that guard the door,” said Dorrit. “The door back to the Sorcerer’s World. Only they’re not statues. I know they look empty, lifeless… like burned-out volcanoes. But I’ve seen them move. They… tense up, if anyone walks near the doors, even the Saugins.”

“Glorith… Blok… I wonder if they came from the other Sorcerer’s World with Mordru,” said Dacey. “That would make sense. Only then there should be two Mysas as well, and there’s only one. The two Gloriths live with her and her sister, Nura.”

“Maybe the other Mysa is dead,” said Dorrit.

“No, that can’t be right,” said Pol. “It’s not just who is here. It’s who is not here. I asked Dad if he ever knew anyone called Lyle Norg. He seemed surprised. Said he’d come to work at the factory at about the same time as Dad, but died in a terrible accident. I asked him about Douglas Nolan. Same story. Poor boy, terribly disfigured. Also died at a young age. There is no Legionnaire here who is dead in the our world. The details of the past may be different, but it all leads to the same outcome.”

“Look at our father,” said Dorrit. “His right arm is missing, just as if there wasn’t the technology here to re-grown one.”

“And how do Aunt Salu and Aunt Ayla have a baby?” said Dacey. “The technology doesn’t seem to exist here-- it’s like the dark ages. But they do. And they've lived in the Factory their whole lives.”

“I don’t think this place is real,” said Dorrit. “It’s a copy of our world-- only the past is different. Only I think that the past has only been different for a little while.”

“There’s one other thing,” said Pol. “I can’t use my magnetic powers, but I still have my infra-red and quantum magno-vision. I haven’t been reverted to complete, Earth-base human.”

“Yeah, I notice I still have my ‘shark-sense’,” said Dacey. Pol gave her a questioning look. “You know. I can ‘smell’ electric fields.”

“I think Mordru made a mistake. He only cancelled the powers he knows about. Dacey and I still share our permanent telepathic mind-link,” said Dorrit. “That’s been a comfort.”

“Wait,” said Pol, looking at the two girls. “You two have a permanent telepathic mind-link?” Pol quickly ran through all the conversations he could remember having with one twin while the other was not present.

“Um, yeah,” said Dacey. “Didn’t we ever mention it?”

“Do you think you could link with the other Dacey and Dorrit?” Pol wondered.

“I wouldn’t want to try it,” said Dacey. “They’re so afraid of Mordru… if we have an advantage he doesn’t know about… well, maybe we can use it to escape.”

“He’s suppressed all the super-powers he knows about,” said Dorrit. “He ignored super-senses.”

“And he’s been careless with us,” said Pol. “He’s relaxed his mind-control. Our parents may still under his influence... No, I think he's broken them, and they just don't have the spirit to resist. Either he thinks it will be the same with us, or... He doesn’t think we’re important. But then why go to all the trouble to bring us here?”

“Yep,” said Dorrit. “I just took a peek out the other Dacey’s eyes. I was quick; she didn’t even know I was there. But she and the other Dorrit mind-talk all the time. They keep it a secret from Mordru, but they feel guilty about it.”

“So if Mordru brought people here from the real Sorcerer’s World, why aren’t there two Mordrus?”

“Maybe there are,” said Dacey.

“No, not possible,” said Dorrit. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have to come here every week. He’d already be here.”

“Maybe,” said Pol, “Mysa is the other Mordru. Or vice versa.”

That gave everyone a pause, and a chill, and the three friends stopped talking, and went home.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:
“I’VE GOT YOUR LOVE TO KEEP ME WARM” (K.Z. + H.N.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJdfSXlB_8I

“I can’t stand this food,” said Hillarie Norjay to his foster-parents. “It tastes of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen. The same four elements over and over again, with little variation. It may look different from time to time, but it all tastes the same.”

“I know, son,” said Tenzil Kem. “I’ve had the same problem for twenty-five years. “But you have to keep up your strength. The work is hard here.”

“Hard work is good,” said a voice in Hillarie’s ear. “If you were not working hard, we would not be doing are job,” said Thanat Saugin.

“It’s Sevenday Night,” said Hillarie. “Would you mind if I went over to the Bannins for a little while?”

Eve Kem smiled. “Of course, dear. But don’t stay out too late. Tomorrow is our only day to clean up the house. And I was hoping to be able to go to the market-- maybe find a special treat for you and your father.” She gasped, and put her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry, son,” said Tenzil Kem. “It’s just… after all these weeks with us, we’ve come to think of you as our own child.”

“It’s OK,” said Hillarie Norjay. There had been a time when the thought of being the son of the President of Bismoll would have seemed like a fantasy come true to him. But seeing them like this-- gaunt and worn, a woman who had once been considered the most beautiful First Lady in the history of Bismoll… It was depressing. They were less than ordinary. He thought of his own parents, his brother and sisters, fondly now. The only bright spot in his life now was Kylda.

The Bannins always took a warm and comfortable seat near the furnace and forge. Hillarie hurried over after dinner.

“Would you mind if I came over again tonight?” he asked the Bannins. Mr. and Mrs. Bannin nodded, and their daughter giggled. Their son rolled his eyes.

But Kylda Zimm stood up quickly, and told her guardians, “Hillarie and I will walk home together.”

They walked hand in hand, Hillarie perspiring in the warm summer evening, and Kylda wrapped in furs, barely suppressing shivers.

“Are you cold?” asked Hillarie. “I’m sorry, of course you are. You’re always cold.”

“Not when I’m with you,” said Kylda, pulling him closer. Her ice-blue eyes stared into his green ones, and the next thing they knew, they were kissing.

Little Freski Bannin’s giggling brought them back to reality. They turned and walked casually down the road, as if they had not just been kissing in the middle of it.

Kylda laughed quietly.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Hillarie. “Am I so funny?”

“You are funny,” said Kylda, “But I was just thinking of that silly old nursery rhyme.”

“His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.”

“That describes you to a jott,” she said.

“<And I know how that old nursery rhyme ends>,” thought Hillarie. “<‘The Hero that conquered the Dark Lord’. But I’m not doing any conquering, and I’m a Hero in name only.>”

The Bannins always had a huge fire going in their fireplace, and their home was hot and smoky inside. The family gathered close around the fire, but for Hillarie’s sake, he and Kylda sat far back against the opposite wall, sharing a chair. The six sat silently, watching the flames.

“You may always feel cold,” Hillarie whispered to Kylda, “But you’re hot to me.”

“You may feet hot,” Kylda whispered back, “But I think you’re cool.”

It was their little game.

“Do you think you ever could live on Tharr, where the temperature never drops below 90 celsius?” asked Kylda.

“No,” said Hillarie, “Do you think you could ever live on Bismoll, where the temperature never gets above 40 celsius, and there is nothing to eat but rocks?”

“No, honestly” Kylda replied.

“Star-crossed lovers,” said Hillarie. “But at least, we’ll always have Tharn.”

“I’m afraid that may be literally true,” said Kylda. “Neither of us may ever see our homeworlds again.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hillarie asked.

Kylda Zimm sat silently.

“So what is there to do for fun on Tharn on a Seventhday Night?” asked Hillarie.

“We could sit by the fire. We could go to sleep,” said Kylda. “We could get up, do the once-a-week household chores, then we eat, we sleep, we get up on Firstday and go back to work.”

“That’s one of the problems with this place,” said Hillarie. “No variety.”

He stood up with Kylda, and went over to the couch where the Bannins were sitting.

“Have you ever heard of Fire Fairies?” he asked.

“Fairies aren’t real,” said Froyd.

“I don’t know,” said Hillarie, “We have goblins down at the Market. But Fire Fairies are very real, and they come out whenever a fire is kindled-- in a store, or fireplace, or even a candle. Now, look at the fire, especially around the edges, where the coals have burned down, to red and orange and yellow embers. If you look long enough, you’ll begin to see little shapes. Little people maybe, or horses or lizards or birds. They’re always changing, so you have to pay attention.”

“I see them,” said Freski. “They’re really there!”

Even Froyd was impressed. “Hey, yeah, what do you think of that?” he said.

“Oh!” Freski jumped. “I saw a dragon jump out at me! But it shrank, and now it’s only a kitten.”

“Sometimes,” said Hillarie, “When I stare into the fire, the Fire Fairies act out a story for me. Would you like me to tell you what I see?”

Freski and Froyd nodded. Even Kylda seemed to be paying attention.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
HILLARIE’S STORY

“Once upon a time,” Hillarie began,

There was a king whose kingdom was lost when it was overrun by invaders. His youngest son managed to escape, however, and took it into his mind to wander the world, seeking his fortune. He worked at jobs no king’s son would have imagined doing, feeding chickens and tending swine, or taking odd jobs helping farmers harvest their crops in the Autumn. Still he kept traveling on, seeking his fortune.

One day, he came to a castle in a strange country, where the king of the land had a remarkable custom. One of his courtiers was a celebrated trencherman, and every week-end, the king would set a great table out in front of the palace, with seating for a hundred men. At one end would sit the trencherman, and the assembled guests would try to out-eat him. Those who failed (and it as all of them) would receive ten lashes with a rod, in the presence of the king, but such was the poverty in the land that there was always a full table willing to risk a beating for one good meal.

Now the former prince had a keen eye (for, truth to tell, he had plied his trade more than once as a thief) and saw that at the trencherman’s place, there was a secret hole in the table, and fully half of all he supposedly ate was disappearing down that hole, and into some pit beneath the lawns.

The king's son continued on his journey, away from the kingdom with the cheating, wicked king, but still wishing he could find a way to teach him a lesson. That night, as he traveled through the woods, he was drawn to a fire, at which a great man was roasting four whole oxen on spits. The man was tall, and as wide as he was tall, and was he endeavoring to turn all four spits at once, and he collecting the drippings in buckets, and drinking them up while he roasted the oxen.

“Ahoy!” called the king's son. “There is a great deal of cooking going on in this woods. I suppose you expecting a great company to help you with that feast of beef?”

“Alas, no,” said the fat man. “This is scarcely an decent evening meal for me alone, my appetite is so great. I spend all day searching for food, and eat it up as soon as it is prepared. I would invite you to sup with me, but I hardly have enough for myself.”

“I eat very little,” said the king's son, “Hardly a heart, or half a liver, but if you will share with me, I will tell you of a place where you can get a hearty meal, even for you, in six days time.”

So the fat man shared his meal with the king's son, and the king's son told him of the trencherman’s challenge, and how the king cheated his own people. The fat man was outraged to hear that fully half the trencherman’s food disappeared down the secret hole in the table, for he thought it a great loss to him personally not to be able to eat it.

For the next week, the king's son helped the fat man in his search for food, cleaning the trees of berries, nuts and fruit, and catching and roasting every deer or boar or rabbit that came within their view.

However, as they made their way back to the little kingdom of the wicked king, the game became more scarce, and even the fruit trees bore little. By the day of the trencherman’s challenge, the fat man had become quite slender, and though he still stood head and shoulders taller than the prince, he was most alarmingly thin.

“Is this a skeleton or a scarecrow who comes to challenge my trencherman?” laughed the wicked king.

But the king's son’s champion matched the trencherman bite for bite, even the ones which did not make it past the trencherman’s lips. As one by one, the other challengers began to leave the table for their beatings, the fat man (for now he really was getting quite fat) took their plates, and ate their leftovers. At last the trencherman, unable to take another bite (and equally unable to dispose of his food without doing so) sat upright and frozen in his seat, as the fat man called for more and more to eat, emptying the kitchens, and even finishing the king’s own dinner.

The wicked king called up the fat man (who really was now remarkably fat) to stand before the throne.

“How came you to this country?” the wicked king inquired. “You are not from around here.”

“I owe it all to my good friend here,” replied the fat man, and motioned for the king's son to join him before the throne.

“Did you know,” said the wicked king, “That I had offered a thousand thousand pieces of gold to the man who could beat my trencherman?”

The king's son and the fat man acknowledged that they had not known this, but thanked the wicked king for his generosity.

“You’re quite the clever one,” said the wicked king to the king's son. “Your champion will receive his thousand thousand pieces of gold, and a wagon to carry them in. He may leave our kingdom in peace, provided he never returns. But you, my clever friend, will be locked in our dungeon, and next week when the trencherman’s feast is held, you will watch it hanging by your neck from our gallows.”

The king's son begged for mercy, and even the fat man offered to give back half his thousand thousand pieces of gold, if the wicked king would spare his friend’s life. But the king was adamant, and would not change his mind.

But the fat man and the prince continued to weep and plead, and at last the wicked king, just to make and end of things, declared, “If, while you are locked away in our dungeons, you can find a man who is willing to be hung in your stead on the trencherman’s day, I will give you ten thousand thousand gold pieces, and send you safely on your way.”

So the king’s son was led away to the dungeons, and the servants of the wicked king brought a wagon ten feet long and ten feet wide and five feet deep, and filled it with gold pieces, and sent the fat man on his way.

The fat man traveled as far from the little kingdom of the wicked king as he could get, and used his gold to buy a little house by the sea-side. He hired a great number of servants, to fetch him food, and prepare it day and night. The fat man himself would sit at a great table in the middle of his house, and spent all of the day and most of the night eating. Noblemen would come from all around, to sit at the great table and watch the fat man eat, and to sup on the leftovers from his meals, for which privilege they payed a gold piece a day. So the fat man’s wagon full of gold pieces dwindled very slowly.

The king’s son spent most of a week locked in the wicked king’s dungeons, and the other prisoners nodded knowingly when he told them that his crime was being too clever. The king’s son considered that he had left so seek his fortune, and that this, apparently, was it.

The day before the king’s son was to be hung, he was looking out his window, which showed him a fine view of the feet of the people who passed by on the street above. A little man with a long scarf wrapped around his neck bent down, and spoke to him.

“I am a friend of the fat man,” said the fellow, “and I believe I can help you.”

“I am afraid I am beyond help,” said the king’s son. “And why are you wearing that great scarf wrapped around your neck?”

“My neck suffers from a great stiffness,” said the little man. “As it is made of iron, and the scarf is a little comfort. But as a good hanging can only do me well, I am inclined to take your place tomorrow on the scaffold.”

The next day, the man with the iron neck presented himself to the executioner, who felt that one hanging was a good as another. He carefully measured and weight his charge, put a rope around his neck, and dropped him through the trap. When the man with the iron neck refused to die properly, the executioner hauled him up again, re-measured the rope, and dropped him through the trap again. This time the rope broke, and the man with the iron neck fell to the ground, but he obligingly climbed back up the scaffold to give the executioner another try. On the third try, there was a very satisfying jerk, but the man with the iron neck simply hung there happily, and watched the proceedings of the trencherman’s feast.

At the end of the feast, the wicked king called the man with the iron neck, the executioner to stand before the throne, and the king’s son to be brought from the dungeon. He also called for his best archer, and requested that he put an arrow through the forehead of each of the three. But the archer had heard the king’s decree concerning the king’s son, and refused to do it. Then the wicked king called his captain of the guard, and asked if he would kindly cut their hearts out, but he also refused. So the wicked king was obliged to call for ten wagons, each ten feet by ten long and ten feet wide and five feet deep, and fill them with gold, and send the king’s son, the man with the iron neck, and the executioner out of his kingdom forever.

The king’s son gave three of the wagons full of gold to the executioner, and four wagons full of gold to the man with the iron neck, who declared that his neck felt wonderfully stretched out and supple. He considered that perhaps three thousand thousand pieces of gold might be just as fine a fortune as ruling his own kingdom, and that perhaps he ought to find a place where he could stop wandering, and settle down.

On the way out of the little kingdom of the wicked king, the king’s son stopped at the last house on the last street before the open road. There was an old woman there, sweeping her steps. The king’s son inquired if she could read, and she said she could, having learned letters as a child. So the king’s son gave her a letter, sealed in wax, and told her that this was for her.

Carefully printed in the king’s son’s own hand, the letter read, “There is a hole in the table under the trencherman’s plate.”

Hillarie finished his story, and Freski and Froyd clapped their hands, but old Mr. Bannin took him aside, and told him “It would probably be better if you didn’t tell those sorts of stories anymore.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE FOUR TRIPLICATE GIRLS

“I’m starving,” said ‘Ffameleon’. “Literally, I am starving.”

It was true that she did not look at all well. Unlike the other Cargggan girls, she appeared severely underweight and seriously over tired, with dark circles around her sunken eyes.

“What can I get you to eat?” asked Ffey.

“This is the difficulty. There is nothing for me to eat here,” said the Durlan. “The vegetables are hard and dense, and sit heavily on my stomach, providing no nourishment. The fruits are over-sweet, and make me nauseous. The raw milk is indigestible. I can scarcely find enough clean water to drink; that is why I spend all my free time Eighthday at the well.”

Ffey felt helpless. “What can we do?” she asked.

“My only hope is escape, back to the world we came from,” said Ffameleon. “But that is a slight hope, at best. Escape seems impossible. The older thaumaturgists have been here for decades.”

Ffarrah spoke up. “Maybe there is one thing that is possible for us to escape from,” she said. “And that’s Mr. Taine. I am completely creeped out living with him.”

“I know what you mean,” said Ffey. “He completely ignores us-- makes meals for one, when he does cook-- then out of nowhere, he’s telling one or the other of us how beautiful we are.”

“And those creepy group hugs,” said Ffiona. “There is something wrong with that man.”

“His late wife was a Cargggan, you know,” said Ffameleon. “He may just be old and confused.”

“Well, I am sick of him,” said Ffarrah. “It’s torture in the factory, Does it have to be torture away from the factory? Isn’t there somewhere else we can go?”

“Ms. Mallor and the Nursery Ladies live alone,” said Ffiona. “Ten lives with the Nal sisters, who have two houses between them. The Gloriths live there too, maybe the four of us could put ourselves out as babysitters?”

“Do we need to get the Saugin’s approval to move?” asked Ffey. “That might be hard.”

“I’ve never seen the Saugins, away from the factory,” said Ffiona. “I’m not sure they care what we do, as long as we clock in on time.”

“Well, let’s talk to Ten and the Gloriths on the road to work tomorrow, and see what they think,” said Ffarrah. “I’d kind of prefer not to live with Ms. Mallor or The Queen and The Princess, they seem to have their own problems.”

“You know,” said Ffiona, looking around, “sometimes I think this place isn’t even real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” said Ffameleon, sweeping forward two locks of her hair, which stiffened and waved like Durlan antennae. “I can hear the molecular structure of everything around us. This world is no illusion. The houses, the streets, the scrub… What we see is actually, physically there.”

Unlike most who worked in the Thaumaturgy, Nura Nal was not underweight. She was, if anything, slightly plump. Still, she had the same tired, hollow, beaten look as everyone else. Her stringy platinum hair made her look even older than she really was.

Mysa was as gaunt as her sister was zaftig. Her red hair was liberally streaked with gray, her green eyes dull, her face mottled, as a woman who had alternately spent too much time indoors, and too much time in the sun. Neither was particularly happy to take in the four triplets, but seemed to understandd their uneasiness with Mr. Taine.

With Mr. Taine, it had been five crowded into a single small house. With the Nals, it was now nine crowded into two houses-- not a significant improvement.

Ten and the two Gloriths spent most of their days playing together, exploring the dusty areas throughout the ghetto. Ten showed no sign of his former intellect. He seemed to have the mind of an ordinary seven-year-old Terran child; possibly somewhat less.

“Txarlz,” Ffiona reminded herself. “He’s just Txarlz now..”

Ffameleon was getting worse. When they got home from work, she would go straight to bed. She slept all day every Eighthday.

“I know Ffameleon is really sick,” said Ffarrah, “But I feel like the rest of us are slowly starving to death, too. I’m always hungry.”

“You were always always hungry before,” said Ffey.

“No, I have to agree,” said Ffiona. “Our portions are small at the Factory, it is difficult to visit the Market, and we have only a copper a day to spend anyway. It takes all our effort to keep body and soul together.”

One Seconday, Ffameleon fell asleep at her station. She was taken out by Thanat, and beaten. The next day on the way home, she sat down on the road, half-way home, unable to move on. Her sisters coaxed and carried her home to the Nals, but could not get her out of bed on Fourthday. She missed work Fifthday, Sixthday, and Seventhday as well. The Nals and the Triplicates brought food to her sickbed: soups, mostly, and some soft, mashed vegetables, but Ffameleon did not recover enough to do more than converse weakly.

That changed the next Firstday, when Lord Mordru returned.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
HISTORY LESSONS

Eluia was angry. She was so angry, she wanted to hit someone. But there was no one around to hit.

She did not so much mind working at the Thaumaturge and Alchemist’s Factory. The work was hard, but not much harder than the work she had had to do on her family’s Organic Retro-Farm on Orzde. Of course, she had left Orzde for Mars.

The real problem was a lack of time to adequately rest, the limited socialization, and the sparse meals. Eluia remembered fondly the massive breakfasts on the Farm: tubers and gravy, her mother’s home-made sausage, cutlets, eggs, waffles and fruit every morning.

But it was the injustice of it. Trapped, imprisoned, with no hope of a future.

She liked living with Salu and Ayla well enough. They were friendly, if not cheerful, and she saw the Pol and Ranzzes occasionally on Eightdays, as their houses were nearby. Violet Ranzz-Digby was a doll, and took this strange world in which she had been raised quite for granted. She fully expected to grow up and work in the Factory one day, like her mothers.

Eluia probably had greater knowledge of the Legend of the Legion than any of the Club members besides Dorrit, Dacey, and Pol. She recognized all of the thaumaturgists from Grava of Extal (sans golden exoskeleton) to Jacques Foccart (with the white forelock. Now how had that happened, if there had never been a Legion?). Sometimes, she wanted to walk up to these sad-eyed old people and slap them. ‘Don’t you know who you are?’ But she knew they were not really, never had been, the Legion. None of their remarkable powers and abilities were manifest, and evidently had never been. They had never joined together to form the Legion. Most had worked at the factory since their early teens. But there was something very, very wrong with the history of this place.

“It’s terribly hard work here,” she had said to Ayla. “Everyone is exhausted all the time. The work is exacting and arduous, and never seems to end. Why don’t you quit?”

“Where would we go?” asked Ayla. “Tharn is the one place in the Galaxy where there is work.”

“The Irulan System has been in an economic depression for half a century,” said Salu. “If things were better there, of course I would return home.”

“When I lived there, they called Orzde and Imsk,” they were called ‘The Shrinking Worlds’.”

“Yes,” said Salu. “Everything there is shrinking. Economic opportunity, crop yields, optimism.”

“So do you hear from family back on Imsk?” asked Eluia. “They let you know how things are?”

“My father lives there,” said Salu.

“Oh, I would love to contact my family on Orzde,” said Eluia. “How do you go about it? Is there a sub-etheric communicator here?”

Salu looked puzzled; she did not seem to understand the question.

“The goblins have a mail service at the Market,” said Ayla. “You can post a letter anywhere in the U.P. for a few coppers.”

“Doesn’t your family had a farm on Winath,” said Eluia. “Why aren’t you working there?”

“Winath has been over-farmed and under-producing for decades,” said Ayla. “Almost as bad as Bismoll. Most Winathans are no more than subsistence farmers. When the chance to learn magic on Tharn came from Lord Mordru, my parents were overjoyed at the opportunity.”

“And have you learned magic?” asked Eluia.

“Sadly, no,” said Ayla. “There were over fifty of us in this pilot program, but none of have shown any aptitude. Lord Mordu has been generous in allowing us to continue to work into our golden years.”

“There are a great many less of you now,” said Eluia.

“Yes, I suppose that is why Lord Mordru has generously recruited you and your friends,” said Salu. “The alchemical supplies and thaumaturgical devices produced by the magic factory are needed throughout greater Tharn.”

“But… didn’t most of the employees… I mean, the ones who don’t work here anymore… didn’t they die?”

“True, it was dangerous work in the beginning,” said Salu. “We were young and inexperienced, and this sort of thing hadn’t been tried before. Garth was especially accident-prone. We thought we had lost him once, and then he lost an the arm. But it’s been some twenty years we’ve been working without an accident. Lluornu and Reep passed away a few years ago, but that was from natural causes.”

“Would you say life is hard in the rest of the Galaxy, without magic?” asked Eluia.

“Oh, my, yes,” said Ayla. “Earth and Xanthu are alarmingly over-populated. Braal is infested with metallic monsters. Korlon, not far from Winath, has Lightning Beasts, and is completely uninhabitable.”

“That is why,” said Salu, “Lord Mordu has a plan to bring magic to the rest of the United Planets. I don’t know the details, but the Saugins tell us that this factory plays an important role.”

Eluia was a great fan of the 29th-century mystery writer Agaton Xavier. Especially his fictional detective, Captain Samuels. She hoped that she, herself, was on the brink of unraveling a great mystery.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
A LOAF OF BLACK BREAD AND A BAG OF RAISINS

The Nah family that Irinia Apero was living with were not the Nahs she knew and loved back on Gzbk.

‘Dad Jo’, as she had known him, was built like a retired rugby star, loved his work, and tortured his family with never ending ‘Dad Jokes’.

“I know the puns are bad… I know they make you groan… but it’s my job,” he would say.

Mrs. Nah was a pillar of quiet, unending energy, volunteering throughout the community, keeping in touch with extended family and friends on Bgztl and Gzbk, tending her gardens, and feeding and caring for the pet turtelpotamus that lived in the pond in their backyard.

Arna Nah had her mother’s energy, but it was less well-focused. She was a social butterfly, with dozens of friends, and involved in her School Theater Club as well. She was sometimes out past midnight, but up and gone again before sunrise.

Ronin was, well, Ronin. He knew the most interesting places on Gzbk, and a few on Mars. He had only a small group of friends, all boys-- his ‘dance crew’, he called them. He secretly did painting and drawing in his room. And he counted one girl among his friends: Irinia.

But this Mr. Nah was quiet and sullen. His wife was snappish and stooped. She cared for the house and the children reluctantly, a silent martyr-- and sometimes, not so silent. Arna and Ronin were very dirty. They had recently started work in the factory, and hated it there. Irinia had asked the Nahs about their older son, Dav, but received only shrugs and grunts in reply.

Ronin was still interested in her, but only in the way a cat is interested in a mouse.

There is, among Bgztlrs, a strong taboo against invasion of privacy. In a world where immateriality is always an available option, and everyone can see through walls-- or clothes-- this is an absolute necessity for an orderly society. Nevertheless, all children occasionally peeked, and everyone knew it, and no one talked about it. But to be caught staring-- that was mortifying.

One good thing about 4D vision is that it is possible to do it with eyes closed. So one night, Irinia climbed into bed, shut her eyes, slowed her breathing, and turned her head slightly so that she was facing Ronin’s room on the other side of the house. She peeked.

He was sitting in a small chair, staring straight at her.

Had he seen her looking back? Had he known she peeked? Had her body language announced her shock in seeing him watching her? Was that a smirk on his lips? She did not dare peek again.

The next day was Seventhday.

Irinia loaded a small pouch with her life’s savings from the Factory. She tied it beneath her tunic, and set off for work.

She ate a larger lunch than normal, but skipped the evening meal. She walked straight home. She walked straight past the Nah’s empty house-- everyone was still at the Factory. She kept walking.

She walked to the Market, and purchased a loan of black bread and a bag of raisins for four coppers, a half-week’s pay. She walked through the market, and set off down the road that was said to lead to the mysterious village.

The sun went down. The road was easily visible in the moonlight and starlight. She kept walking.

At one point, she realized she was running away.

Her ‘Phantom Girl’ boots were of better quality than any she had seen in this world, and she felt she could walk a good, long way in them.

She found a waterfall in the darkness. Tested it, tasted it. It was cold, clean, and delicious.

Sometime before sunrise she finished the bread and the raisins.

The sun had reached its zenith, and was descending again when Irinia came to a house, the first house she had seen since leaving the Market. It was not large, although larger than the houses at the factory. The most fascinating thing was that behind it grew a great orchard.

The trees seemed entirely Earth fruits: apples and oranges, peaches, apricots, figs, dates, and at least four types of pears. There was a area of grape vines, and against a back fence, several varieties of berry bushes.

Irinia called up her courage, and went to knock at the door.

It was opened by a small, elfin man, a little over four feet high. His face was broad and cheerful, his hair black, his skin-tone fuchsia, his ears well-pointed.

“You are a long way from home, thaumaturge,” he said, by way of greeting.

“How…?” Irinia gasped.

The little man’s wife came to the door. Her build and coloring were very much along the lines of her husband. “You are not a goblin,” she said, “And you are not the miller, or the miller’s daughter. Who else would you be? This is Harlak Harlack, and I am Varella.”

“My name is Irinia Apero,” said Irinia, “And I do work at the Thamaturgy and Alchemical Factory. I have been walking a long time, and I am tired, and quite hungry. Would you mind if I took a little fruit, and sat here on your porch for a few minutes?”

“Nonsense,” said Varella. “Come in, dear. We’ll give you a proper meal, and a proper rest.”

She sat at a little plate at a small table. Not too small: everything in the house was normal-sized, but with little stools and ladders and boosters to make things more accessible for the small couple.

“These are jagodzianka, with zereshk jam,” said Harlak, placing a platter of muffins before her. He also gave her a metal flagon of cool water, and another of apple juice.

Varalla brought another pitcher to the table. “This is a chamomile iced tea,” she said. “Now, what brings a thaumaturge of the High King out to our humble home.”

“I just… wanted to see the countryside,” said Irinia. “But I think I have come too far. This is the first house I came to since the Market.”

“You have come far,” said Harlak. “Eighthday is well past, and you will not be able to return by the beginning of the week without help. People will worry about you.”

“We supply the Market with our fruits,” said Varella. “There are goblin houses all along the way, between here and there, but they prefer to live deep in tunnels and under mounds, well set back in the woods, so it is no wonder you have not seen them.”

“How much further to the Town?” asked Irinia.

“A good one-hundred-fifty klicks,” said Harlak. “A good three or four day journey. Now, if you knew a wizardess, she might be able to transport you there more quickly.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know magic, would you?” asked Irinia.

“Well, yes,” said Varella. “My husband studied under the High King himself. I myself know some basic, homey spells.”

“I have no innate magical abilities,” said Harlak, “and so I require totems and tokens of power to work spells. Such things are rare, and quickly depleted, so I use magic sparingly. But thaumaturges and alchemists are forbidden magic, not so? These amulets and preparations must be made by mundane means.”

“No, no one is a magic-user where I come from,” said Irinia, “Except the Saugins, the floor managers.”

Harlak gave a short, spitting laugh. “Managers,” he said.

“Is it possible you might help me get to the Town, by magic, or otherwise?” asked Irinia, hopefully.

“You could wait a couple of days here, then ride back in the Miller’s wagon,” said Varella. “He comes out here once a month-- a week-long journey-- to provide us flour on the way to the Market, and take green fruits back to Town.”

“Or, we could spend some magical energy, and send you there,” said Harlak. “Although I’m not sure how you could repay us. Magic is expensive.”

“I’m sure I don’t know, either,” said Irinia.

“Well, you have the look about you of a girl who hasn’t had much sleep recently,” said Varella. “Drink a cup of chamomile, and rest here as long as you like. I can make up the couch for you.” She indicated a long couch which looked invitingly comfortable. “Harlak and I will talk it out while you sleep.”

Irinia found the couch far more comfortable than the beds at the Ghetto, and possibly more comfortable than the beds at the Clubhouse. She was, in fact, dreaming of her own bed at home on Bgztl, when she was awakened by a resounding crash.

Varella had caught up a very little child in her arms, a smaller version of Harlak.

“Now, what did you break?” she was asking, looking toward an open door.

“You will put it back together, young man,” said Harlak, trying to scowl over a smile. The little child hopped down, and quickly ran back through the door.

“So sorry to have awakened you,” said Varella. “That is our son, Mordrak.”

“Oh,” said Irinia. “What time is it?”

“About four hours before midnight,” said Varella. “We really ought to be getting Mordak to bed.”

“Mordrak?” said Irinia, “Named for…”

“The High King, yes,” said Harlak. “You may tell him we are his loyal subjects, should you see him."

“His empty castle lies far beyond the distant Town, over the mountains beyond the horizon, in the City of Mortrigon,” said Varella. “One day Lord Mordru will return to his throne, and all the planets in the Galaxy will bow to Tharn.” She said this matter-of-factly, as though discussing tomorrow’s weather.

“The United Planets know that without Tharn, they would stand no chance against the Dominion, the Dark Circle, and the Khundish Empire. But when Tharn has once again regained its full might, those three will beg for an alliance, and the Four Forces will be forever united.”

“Earth, Air, Fire, and Water,” Harlak explained. “Correspond to the Four Physical Forces. Earth is Gravity, Fire is Magnetism, Water is the Strong Nuclear Force, Air is the Weak Force. There is another correspondence to the Four Great Nations in our sector of the Galaxy. The United Planets is Earth, solid and unified. There is even an important planet called Earth. The Khundish Empire is Fire, energetic and destructive. The Dominion is Air, ubiquitous and invisible, and the Dark Circle is Water, ever-changing…”

As Harlak droned on, Irinia’s eyes began to droop. In another room, she heard Varella singing a quiet lullaby to their son.

Firstday’s Child is fair of face;
Seconday’s Child is full of grace;
Thirday’s Child is full of woe;
Fourthday’s Child has far to go;
Fifthday’s Child is loving and giving;
Sixthday’s Child works hard for a living;
Seventhday’s Child will carry a sword;
But the Eighthday’s Child belongs to his Lord.

“Do I belong to the Dark Lord, Momma?” asked Mordrak.

“We all belong to the Dark Lord,” said Varella. “But you were born on Seventhday, and so will be a great warrior for him. Now go to sleep.”

Irinia was also drifting off to sleep. She once woke briefly again, during the night, to see Harlack and Varella sitting at the dining table, in front of them several black candles with blue and green flames burning, then rolled over, pulled up the covers, and went back to sleep on the comfortable couch.

Firstday morning she awoke on her bench in the factory, with the other workers coming in.

FYI: Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
AN UNEXPECTED GIFT

“Thaumaturgy only, today,” announced the Thanat Saugin. “Put away the Alchemical supplies. Let’s finish our projects.”

Firstday was the day Lord Mordru appeared each, to audit the Factory. Generally, the wizard, walked by each table, giving the work there a glance. He seldom spoke. He would then check the walls of the Factory, making a complete circuit. Then the great bronze gates guarded by the Bloks would open, and he would exit for another eight days.

Today, upon his entrance, the Saugins prostrated themselves before him.

“Pardon and mercies, Lord Mordru,” said Zoe Saugin. “One of our workers has refused to appear. She remains at her home; her sisters claim she is bedridden. We had observed laziness in the performance of her duties, we disciplined her, but she has not returned.”

“And we are unable to go to her,” said Thanat Saugin. “She is beyond our reach. There are Bans against us entering that area.”

“This is disturbing,” Lord Mordru declared. “But I do not hold you accountable.” The Saugins breathed a sigh of relief.

“Please, Lord Mordu,” cried Ffey, standing beside her workbench. “She is dying. It is not her fault she cannot come.”

Mordru wrinkled his brow in thought. “Ah, yes, the Durlan. I see the problem. An unfortunate oversight, but one which can be remedied.” He motioned to the Triplicates to attend him. Ffiona Ffarrah, and Ffey left their workbenches, and joined the wizard and the Saugins.

“You will allow these three a day off to attend to their ‘sister’,” Mordru instructed Zoe and Thanat. He produced a large wooden box, seemingly from nowhere, and handed it to Ffey. “Take this to her,” he instructed. “Remain with her throughout the remainder of the day. Then let the four of you return tomorrow.” He gave a severe glance at the Triplicates. “It is not without reason I am called Mordru the Merciful.”

Ignoring any further questions or discussion, he began his silent, weekly examination of the Factory.

Ffiona, Ffarrah and Fey took turns carrying the heavy box back to the houses of Nura and Mysa. It was of some hard, red wood, and banded with gold. It seemed hollow, but there did not appear any other way to open it. The Nals were disturbed that the Triplicates were home early, but were reassured when told that Mordru himself had given them the day off.

They went in to see Ffamelon.

She lay hollow-cheeked, eyes closed, buried under quilts, although the day was warm. The sisters lay the box down on the small table next to the bed. Ffameleon’s eyes fluttered, and she awoke, reaching curiously toward the box.

It opened.

Inside was what appeared to be a large cantaloupe, somewhat larger than a bowling ball. Ffameleon’s eyes lit up.

“A Gnelo-Melon!” she cried. She sat up in bed, and pulled the fruit onto her lap. “And a copper spoon! Oh, this is wonderful!” She immediately began to feast on the melon.

It looked like cantaloupe, but it smelled sharp and sour, with a musty, earthy, truffle-like scent as well. After Ffameleon has consumed a bit of the flesh, the Triplicates could see it was mostly filled with a thick golden juice. The copper spoon turned green the moment it touched the liquid, and Ffameleon ate and drank eagerly.

By the time the Gnelo-Melon was gone, Ffamelon was looking quite well. She put back the spoon, and closed the box.

“Is this some sort of Durlan delicacy?” asked Ffiona, seeing Ffamelon had recovered.

“Oh, no,” said Ffameleon. “It is a perfectly ordinary, everyday food. A staple of the Durlan diet. And the copper spoon gives needed minerals. But there is also, I think, something magical about it. I feel as though I have been eating well for months. I could wish there were another, though.”

The box sprang open. There was a second Gnelo-Melon. The copper spoon was red-gold and shiny once again.

“I had always heard,” said Ffiona, “That it was Mordu the Merciless.”

CHAPTER FIFTY
TAKING DICTATION

His hair was growing back.

At first it was only a chartreuse fuzz, then bristles, and now it was a full-blown head of hair.

It was annoying, but what could he do? He didn’t know.

The problem of food had been solved. He had begun salting the sweet gelatin at mealtime, and would take a plantain back to his room every day. By allowing them to ripen until black, they became more palatable, and he was able to regurgitate the excess cellulose after digesting them for a couple of hours. In this way, he obtained the needed potassium.

There was something about potassium he ought to remember, but he couldn’t think of it.

He was probably missing some trace nutrients, but he couldn’t be sure what. At least he had most of his nutritive needs covered.

Txarlz Luz was used to relying on his immense intellect. It had been his comfort and his entertainment. He had enjoyed feeding it: voracious, it took all the data he could acquire.

And now it was gone.

He played simple games with the Gloriths. They were remarkably inventive, and it filled the time as the days slipped away.

He spent most of his time in the Nursery, under the tutelage of Good Ms. Marya and Good Ms. Li. Otherwise, his guardians were the Nal sisters, who insisted on being called Nura and Mysa, and neither of them Ms. Nal.

Txalrz tried to remember things, but he could not.

Occasionally at the Nursery, they would draw pictures with colored markers or crayons. Usually, he drew Coluan Gravi-Trees, or just a green sun, and clouds in the sky, or representations of the little houses in the Ghetto. He always brought his drawings back to his room in the little cottage. He even snuck a purple crayon out of class. He needed it.

And he especially needed the other side of the parchment his pictures were drawn on.

He distinguished between the two Gloriths in his mind. Not even Mysa and Nura always got it right. But to them, they were The Glorith From Here, and The Glorith From There.

The Glorith From Here was an ordinary three-year-old, if sometimes a little solemn. She enjoyed the open sky, the little birds, and the occasional wildflower they found growing among the pebbles and the sand. She played the little made-up games with Txarlz and the other Glorith with enthusiasm. Sometimes she was silent. Sometimes she babbled incessantly. She was always hungry.

The Glorith From There was just the same, except when she wasn’t. Sometimes the Glorith From There told him things.

He couldn’t remember them. He needed the crayon and parchments in his room to write them down.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THE FOOL IN THE CORNER

Txalrz found writing difficult.

He found himself no longer able to produce the fine, complex characters of the Yoddish language. Instead, he had to make do with Interlac, and its large, bulbous characters. It was perfectly suited for writing in crayon. He did a lot of writing.

Because Glorith was not the only one who told him things.

There was a green-skinned man who sat in a corner of the factory, dressed in motley and fool’s-cap. He never moved from his place. As far as Txarlz knew, he never ate, never bathed, never even used the outhouse. It was possible he was wearing a diaper under the motley. He smelled badly enough. He simply sat in his spot, twitching and muttering to himself all day long.

The Nursery children passed him every day, on their way to and from the mid-day meal.

He always spoke to Txarlz.

Perhaps he talked to everyone. Perhaps Txarlz was the only one who paid attention to him, or the only one who could hear him. But when the got home at night, Txarlz tried to remember what the green man had said to him that day, and wrote it down.

Somehow, it was familiar, but Txarlz could not tell how. Beyond that, it made no sense.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

After the four Triplicates came to live with them, Txalrz showed his parchments full of quotations to Ffiona. He was a little embarrassed to show her what he had been doing. Sometimes he thought it was important, sometimes he thought it was silly.

“We have to show this to Dorrit,” Ffiona told him.

The meeting was scheduled for two weeks time, under the pretext that is was the Triplicate’s birthday. Whether it really was or not, the twelve friends planned to gather at the homes of the Nals, and have a ‘celebration’.

Irinia volunteered to visit the Market the Eighthday before, and see if she could arrange for a cake. Txarlz said he would accompany her, as he had always wanted to see the Market.

The goblins were surprisingly accommodating, promising to actually deliver a cake decorated with ‘Happy Birthday, Ffiona, Ffarrah and Ffey’ at the appropriate time and place, for only fifty coppers. Txarlz was pleased to discover a bored-looking, rat-headed goblin sitting in a little booth selling Coluan Nutri-Paste. A single tube was enough for a week’s supply, and only one copper. Txarlz ‘borrowed’ four coppers from Irinia, and purchased as much as he could carry.

The teens invited the two Gloriths to attend the party, and Mysa and Nura had agreed, but the girls declined the invitation. They were unhappy that Txalrz would not be available to play with them, and made a little fuss, but when they saw he was determined, they went about other things.

“The first duty of a prisoner of war is to escape,” noted Pol.

“There may actually be a way,” said Dorrit. “Ffameleon, you can still sense molecular structure?”

“All around us,” said Ffameleon.

“And Hillaire,” said Dorrit, “You can still taste the chemical elements?”

“Sure,” said Hillarie. “And believe me, the food here tastes boring.”

“We need potassium,” said Dorrit. “As pure as we can get it, and lots of it.”

“Ah, potassium,” said Hillarie. “Soft and buttery.”
“Leftmost seat, fourth row
yearning of the halogens
on the other side”

“Let’s just be sure not to poison him,” warned Ffey.

“Mithridates,” said Hillarie.

“Pardon me?” asked Ffey.

“I mean, just a little bit at a time,” said Hillarie. “I’ll be fine.”

“I used to think,” said Eulia, “That Mordru had just changed everyone’s memories here. But now, I don’t think that’s right. I think he must have copied a slice of time, and then magically changed the past. Why he brought us into the mix is a mystery.”

“Some people are duplicated,” said Dorrit. “My sister and I, Pol, Glorith, and poor Blok. That means they came from ‘our’ world originally, and are not part of Mordru’s construction. Glorith seems to say there is a duplicate Mysa Nal, too, trapped in a ring Mordru wears. You know, she was the ruler of the Old Sorcerer’s World when it vanished. I would guess that the rest of us have duplicates also, just back home on our own worlds.”

“I’d like to go visit the Market, and see if I can send my family a message,” said Eulia. “Ayla and Salu say there is an interplanetary post-office there.”

“Pol, tell them about the ley-lines,” said Dorrit.

“Well, you know, I can see magnetic fields, in the right light,” Pol explained. “There are a lot of ley-lines-- magnetic lines of force-- criss-crossing the floor of the factory. I’ve tried to figure out the pattern, but it’s way to complicated. It does look like the lines originate from certain objects that decorate the walls: shields, amphoras, and so forth. I’ve counted exactly thirty-six. Mordru touches each one at sometime during the inspection he makes each week. Not in the same order, and he doesn’t make a big deal of it, but I’ve watched him, and he does.”

“We think those objects are magical wards,” said Dorrit. “We think it’s what keeps this place here.”

“So we destroy the wards,” said Eulia, “and break the spell? Get our powers back? Maybe even escape back to the real world?”

“No, probably not a good idea,’ said Dorrit. “Wards are used to maintain a complex spell, and if they were destroyed, this whole Universe would probably cease to exist. But that doesn’t mean we would be back in our own Universe. We might end up trapped in a Universe that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Ffiona nodded her head. “And I don’t think any of us, even with our powers restored, could survive very long in the vacuum of empty space.”

“I think the best plan is the potassium,” said Dorrit. “I don’t want to try my hand at practicing sorcery without any training.”

(This is what Hillarie was talking about):

Mithridates
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
—I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

-- from A Shropshire Lad, by A. E. Housman

And this: Elemental Haiku

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
THE GREAT ESCAPE

Eluia went with Hillarie and Kylda to the Market the next Eighthday.

“Any of you run a postal service?” one of the goblins asked, at her request, snickering. The others all shook their heads. “I could sell you a bottle,” said the goblin. “You could put a message in it, and toss it in the sea.”

“Do you think it would get all the way to Orzde?” asked Eluia.

“Unlikely,” said the goblin. “But it might make you feel better?”

They were not ready the next Firstday, nor the next. During the second week, they began bringing buckets of water into the Factory, and storing them beside their work benches.

“What’s all this?” demanded the Saugins.

“The forge has been sparking,” Pol explained. “And we don’t know what is flammable, and what is not. We thought this might help, in case of an accident. Maybe you should have the forge looked at.”

“You have mentioned this before,” said Thanat. “It would be expensive.”

Pol shrugged. The next day, the Saugins had their own buckets of water.

On the next Firstday, just before the mid-day meal, Hillarie “accidentally” tripped, and spilled a large bucket of metal fragments, right in front of the great bronze doors.

“We have to feed you,” said Zoe, “But you will spend the rest of the day cleaning that up, and then you will feel the rod.”

Lord Mordru arrived on schedule. Hillarie was at his feet, cleaning up the spilled potassium.

The remaining teens began throwing bucket of water on Mordru. The potassium flared, and more of the flaming metal was poured down his robes. The old wizard slipped and fell to the floor, sputtering and burning.

The Saugins ran to assist. Hillarie and Eluia, being the biggest and strongest, attacked them. Caught off-guard, the Saugins were gagged and bound, neither able to summon a spell. The teens headed for the open gates; the Bloks seemed confused at which of a dozen targets to attack.

Mordru raised a hand. The flaring potassium shot away, to all corners of the Factory, turning to sand. The pooling water froze, rose in the air, and vanished. The bronze doors slammed closed. The old wizard pulled himself up to a sitting position, resting on one arm. He suddenly looked haggard, his hair and beard, ordinarily finely coiffed, a tangled mess.

“Oh, good effort, young people, good effort,” he said. “But Lord Mordu…”

But the Fool had awakened from his torpor, had seized the blacksmith’s hammer, and was brutally smashing Lord Mordru’s hand as it rested on the ground.

“The play's the thing,” Querl Dox shouted, “Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King! Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health or goblin… By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!”

But Mordru gestured again, and the Fool flew back into his place.

But the hammer had done its work. A broken ring lay beside Mordru’s hand.

This Mysa Nal was different. Her eyes flashed with green fire. Her red hair was like an angry flame.

Mordru slowly pulled himself up to his feet.

Instantly, he was bound neck to foot with mystic chains. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. An iron gag covered his mouth, an iron blindfold covered his eyes.

But Mysa had been similarly bound simultaneously.

Mordru’s eyes shone red through the blindfold. Mysa’s eyes flamed green. There were no energy blasts, no dragons or imps flying between the two sorcerers; but there was a sense that it would be worth more than your life to step between the two of them.

In an instant, without a sound, the chains and gags vanished. And with them, the new Mysa vanished as well.

Mordru gestured. The Saugins were drawn to their feet.

“Bring the young thaumaturges,” Mordru instructed them.

A door opened into a room the twelve had never seen before. It was set up like a classroom- chairs, desks, even holographic computer monitors. Mordru motioned for them all to have a seat.

“Is this how you repay me?” the old wizard asked them. He looked well again, his hair and beard neat and trimmed, his business suit pressed and spotless. “See what I have done for you. You have all you need: food, shelter, gainful employment, a purpose in life. A whole new world to explore. And yet, you defy me. You know my power, and yet, you continue to defy me.” He gestured. The twelve teens froze, unable to speak, unable to move. “I have allowed you your memories, and your free will, up until now. But see how easily I can withdraw this blessing. And now, you have forced my hand in another matter. Follow me, and see.”

He led the way out of the little classroom. The rest followed obediently, blindly. Mordu approached Querl Dox, Braniac Five, in his usual place on the floor. His motley was torn and burned.

“Rise, Fool,” Mordu commanded. He conjured a large, red cabbage from the air. “Eat,” he commanded.

The Fool had taken no more than two bites, when in his place stood a bright-green donkey. A wicker basket appeared before him, filled with the same red cabbages. Without another word, the sorcerer turned away.

Mordru made an unusually quick circuit of the Factory.

The great bronze doors opened, then shut again with an echoing clang.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, TRY, TRY AGAIN

The following Seconday, the Saugins were gone. In their place were Harlak and Varella Harlack. Their son Mordrak was a new member of the Nursery.

The Harlacks were somewhat kinder than the Saugins, at least superficially. But there was not doubt that they served Lord Mordu, and Lord Mordru alone.

Dorrit walked up beside Irinia.

“I think we may be over-thinking our escape plan,” she said. “Can you see Mordru with your 4D vision before he comes through the doors?”

“I don’t have it active all the time,” said Irinia. “And I’ve never been looking at the doors just before Mordru arrived. But I have tried seeing what is on the other side, and it looks like nothing: not this Universe, and not our Universe. Just a blank.”

“I think what you’re seeing-- or not seeing-- is a Cauchy horizon,” said Dorrit. “Although Mordru seems able to violate it with impunity. I suspect he leaves it open when he comes through; that’s why he has the Bloks guarding it.”

“Are you thinking we should sneak through, while he’s here?” asked Irinia. “I’m pretty good at sneaking, but that was when I had my powers, and could walk through walls, or fall all the way into the Phantom Zone.”

“But I suspect if you could get across the boundary, your powers would return,” said Dorrit. “You, Eluia, and Ffameleon have the best chance of disappearing on the other side. Then you might be able to go for help.”

Txarlz had been walking along beside them. “I’ve wondered why Mr. Andrews hasn’t come looking for us, or contacted my Adult Guardian,” he said. “Once we were separated, he ought to have sent out a distress call immediately.”

“Mordru is a powerful magician,” said Dorrit. “He might have disabled Mr. Andrews, or destroyed him, or magically reprogrammed him. Even if he did send a distress call, how would your Adult Guardian find us in this other Universe? We’re pretty well hidden. But you’ve made my point: it may not be up to us to defeat Mordru. We need to go for help.”

Eluia had joined the whispered conversation. “Mordru not only has potent magic, but political allies on Tharn. It might be hard to find anyone who can help us.”

“Yes,” said Dorrit. “But if it comes out that he is guilty of kidnapping and illegal detention, some of those political alliances might change. And he can’t be more powerful than every other magician on the Sorcerer’s World combined, or he wouldn’t need to play politics at all.”

“Well, I’m willing to try sneaking past the Bloks,” said Irinia. “If Eulia and Ffameleon are willing to go with me, maybe one of us will make it through, to find help..”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” asked Eulia. “We’re all turned into donkeys? He could have disintegrated us all in that classroom, or even made us murder each other. But he wants control, not annihilation. An empty Universe would be no fun to rule.”

“I think the worst that could happen,” said Dorrit, “Is on the brink of happening. We have been here a long time-- weeks, I know. Months, maybe. I imagine Mordru is close to completing the spells that will overwrite our Universe with this one.”

“From what I have read,” said Eluia, “That sort of spell usually requires blood.”

“Well, he has plenty of access to that, from both worlds,” noted Dorrit.

It was easier than they had imagined.

Both the Harlacks and the Bloks were focused on their master, as he made his way around the Factory. While Mordru was on the side farthest from the doors, Ffameleon, Eulia, and Irinia made their break.

It was early winter on Tharn. Eulia shrunk down, hidden deep beneath the snow, warmed by the grass that still lay matted there.

Irina became an intangible phantom, slipping through the nearest wall. When she found privacy, she began the long fall into the Phantom Zone.

Chameleon shed his ‘Triplicate Girl’ form, and became a great, grey falcon-like creature. He soared away into the air.

Back in the Factory, Mordru had completed his circuit. “Ah, but the birds have flown,” he said aloud, standing before the great bronze doors. “Still, still, they resist me.”

A complex magical gesture. A large golden birdcage appeared on one of the empty worktables, and a smaller one beside it. Chameleon, in bird form flew into the larger. Eluia, hummingbird wings now sprouting from her shoulders, appeared in the smaller. In front of them appeared Irinia, in phantom form, floating above the floor.

Mordru turned back towards the exit to Tharn proper. “What more could I do?” he seemed to be talking to himself. “Ungrateful wretches. Still, still they resist me.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
MIRROR-THARN

Or course, neither Chameleon nor Eluia could return to work at the Factory. They were moved into Txarlz’ room at the Nals. Once outside the Factory, the birdcages opened easily.

Chameleon and Eluia were both able to fly freely now. Chameleon was planning to use the opportunity to explore more of their surroundings.

Irinia, on the other hand, found she was unable to leave the Factory floor.

“It’s not at all like being in another dimensional phase,” she told the others in a hollow, distant voice. “I think he has turned me into a real ghost. The doorway is like a solid, invisible barrier. The problem is, I’m feeling hungry and thirsty, just as if I still had my physical body. But I can’t eat or drink-- I can’t touch anything. I don’t know how long I can last like this.”

She tried appealing to the Harlacks, but they ignored her, as though they could not see or hear her.

==================================================================

“A Xanthuan Smokey Magpie Falcon,” Chameleon told Eluia. “Fast flier, sharp eyes, and an excellent mimic, able to imitate human speech. A valuable addition to any shape-shifter’s repertoire.”

“You won’t leave me alone, will you?” asked Eluia. “Can’t get larger, can’t get smaller-- I feel like I am exactly the wrong size.” Chameleon seemed a formidable ally, with sharp claws and a large, intimidating beak, even if he did only weigh about fifteen pounds.

“I could fly out to the village in a few hours,” said Chameleon. “If it really is only one hundred fifty klicks away. If I can catch a thermal, I might be able to soar high enough to get a good idea of this country we’re in. Unless Dorrit can think of a better plan, we may as well get used to being stuck here. I’ll lock the door and leave through the window, just make sure Txarlz leaves you plenty of food and water. I’ll be back before the rest of them return from the Factory.”

It was a long and dull day for Eluia. Chameleon was mistaken-- Txarlz and the rest returned long before he did. In fact, night had fallen when he flew in the window.

“The Village is scarcely larger than the Market,” Chameleon reported. “I would guess only three or four hundred dwellings. It lies in the middle of a valley-- a great, circular depression, surrounded by hills. Our factory sits on one end, at the base of high hills-- on the other side of the bronze doors, if they have another side-- the hills rise up, then fall into a great ocean. There are more hills beyond the Village rising up into mountains, but there is a pass that leads through, as though a giant has taken an axe to the highest point. That must the the road to the castle in the City of Mortrigon that Irinia told us about, but I can see no castle or city, no matter how high I soared-- just the road, going on for another hundred klicks or more. The Factory is quite isolated.”

“And yet the Harlacks go home every night,” said Ffiona. “Through some portal, which links the Factory with their little house. There are ways to get around this world.”

“If only we had access to magic,” said Eluia. “And that is one thing we do not have.”

==================================================================

The green donkey stood all day in the same place, silent, unmoving. He seemed to sleep, but would open one eye if anyone passed. The little metal orb lay at his feet, murmuring.

Irinia glided about the Factory all night, unable to sleep. Her co-workers were gone, and after they had locked and double-checked the doors, closets, and drawers, the Harlacks left as well.

Irinia noticed that that was when the green donkey became active.

He would eat of the ever-filling basket of cabbage. He would make his way to the Cleanrooms, and make his ablutions. Irinia even heard water running some nights, as though he were taking a shower.

“I wish you could talk,” she said to the creature in passing one night. “I think we both are lonely.”

“Come not in here, nuncle!” brayed the green donkey. “Here's a spirit. Help me, help me! He says his name's poor Tom!”

“Good Grife, you can talk,” said Irinia. “But can you talk sense?”

“Who's there?” brayed the donkey. “A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom. Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! Poor Tom's a-cold. I'll go to bed at noon.”

“You go to bed at sunrise,” said Irinia. “Standing up. And the two of us are up all night. At least you have something to eat. I’m starving. I’m afraid I really am starving. Can a ghost starve to death?”

“Who gives anything to poor Tom?” the donkey continued. “Whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and through ford and whirlpool over bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor.”

“Well, all right then,” said Irinia. “That was almost intelligible. I suppose, if you like, you can talk this nonsense to me any night, while I last.”

“Bless thy five wits,” whispered the green donkey.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
THE WARDS ARE BROKEN

Irinia was in bad straits by the time Mordru returned the next Firstday. She was too weak even to plead to the Dark Lord to display his merciful side. This day was different. He avoided the thaumaturges, keeping away from their tables and workbenches. The Harlacks urged them to tend to their work, and stay at their assigned posts.

Mordru took his walk around the outside of the Factory in the opposite direction this time, still touching each of the wards, but in a more deliberate manner.

“The ley-lines are disappearing,” Pol whispered to Dacey beside him. “He’s shutting down the wards.”

Mordru did something he had never done before. He went into the nursery, and was followed out by the two Gloriths. One of the Gloriths aged with every step. After thirty steps, she was a full-grown woman, with an odd facial tattoo. Mordru addressed her.

“I am sorry I can’t take you with me,” said Mordru. “If I could count on your loyalty… but I have enough to deal with keeping the Hag under control.” He sighed. “At least, I can take one of my Golems with me.”

Mordru passed through the great bronze gates. One of the Bloks followed him out. The other, confused, seemed unable to pass.

The gates closed for the last time.

There was a great earthquake. The walls trembled, chunks of stone and plaster falling to the ground. The adult thaumaturges panicked. Those with children ran to the nursery. The Harlacks gathered up their son, and escaped through the portal to their home. The fire in the forge, which never went out, suddenly died.

Chameleon flew in, clutching Eluia in a talon. “What is happening?” he asked. “The sun turned orange, then red, and now is fading altogether.”

“Mordru has inactivated the wards,” the adult Glorith replied. The walls crumbled, the roof fell-- but ceased to exist before it hit the ground. The young Glorith melted away, like a snowgirl in the rain.

The Factory was an empty ruin. Cracks appeared in the landscape beyond, red fires glowing within.

“Even the planet itself will not last long,” said Glorith. “I am sorry, by friends.”

The temperature was dropping quickly. Even the atmosphere was disappearing. The great bronze gates stood, floating in mid-air.

“Our powers haven’t returned, or I might be able to bite through these,” said Hillarie.

Matter-Eater Lad Two noticed, for the first time, above the gates, the inscription intaglioed in glowing gold letters.

"Hic locus est ubi Mordru gaudet docuerunt Legione"

“This place is where Mordru joyfully educates the Legion,” he translated.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
ONCE UPON A TIME…

...there was a little girl who had a secret. It was a terrible secret, which she dared not say out loud. But she felt she had to say it, or she would burst.

So she dug a hole in the ground, and shouted her secret into the hole.

Every morning and evening, for ten thousand days, she shouted her secret into the hole in the earth. But the earth never heard her, and never answered her, and there was no one else that she could share her secret with.

Days passed, and weeks, and months, and years, and the little girl never grew older, and she could never get the secret out of her heart, and it was too terrible to tell to anyone.

And this was the secret she shouted, in her little-girl voice, every morning, and every evening, for ten thousand days:

“Mordru has betrayed you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
HEADLINE

“YOUNG LEGION HOLDS FIRST-EVER TRYOUTS… THEN VANISHES!”

…According to Ted Rivolkane of Weber’s World, he was one of a half-dozen applicant to the New Legion of Super-Heroes. However, in the middle of his tryout, the eleven teens suddenly vanished without a trace. The Martian Science Police have searched the area with the latest forensic technology, but can find no clues to explain the mysterious disappearance...

Yellow crime scene holo-tape has been placed around the area. Science Police Officer Kar has told us that the area is under a homesteading request, and the Mars SP wants to keep out squatters...

Also among the missing is Txarz Luz of Colu, a minor. Colu is contemplating filing a formal diplomatic complaint with MarsGov…

=====================================================================

Imra Ardeen awakes with a start. She thinks she heard someone cry out. Perhaps it was she herself.

t has all been a dream. Her daughters are lying safe in their beds.

There has never been in any ‘Super Hero Club’, on Mars, or anywhere else.

Imra gets up, puts on her robe and slippers, and goes to check on them, just in case.

Of course, their beds are empty. They have been empty for some months now.

It was not a dream at all. It is a living nightmare.

=====================================================================

Three months later...

The “Super Hero Club” Clubhouse, New Metropolis, Mars

“Thank you for coming, Querl,” said Saturn Girl.

“It took some time for the Central Circuit Board to approve my visa,” said Querl Dox. “Although Colu does have a vested interest in this case.”

“As do I,” said Renlo Tagor.

“This story fell off the news feeds weeks ago,” said Garth Ranzz. “It seems we’re the only ones still interested. We really appreciate this, Brainy.”

Querl Dox did not pause in his activities, but remarked, “Garth, that is an infantile nickname. I tolerated it as a child in the Legion, but I am more than halfway to Coluan adulthood now. I’m sure you can think of something more dignified to call me.”

Garth opened his mouth, but Imra interrupted him. “I interviewed Ted Rivolkane, but something has erased a portion of his memory. He doesn’t remember his last few minutes with our kids, and he doesn’t even realize he doesn't remember. That indicates to me nefarious intent, somewhere.”

“You and Doctor Tagor have received nearly identical reports from the Science Police,” said Querl Dox. “They were very thorough in their forensic investigations. It has allowed me to eliminate from consideration a number of possibilities.”

He has set up a set of silver rods, which formed the outline of a tetrahedron. He was now busily wrapping a long string, made of some rough, hemp-like material, around the rods.

“What in Yod’s name are you doing?” asked Renlo Tagor.

“I am constructing a thaumometer,” said Querl Dox. “Unfortunately, it must be built imminently, on-site, and primarily of organic materials. I had to wind this string myself, from plants I had grown and harvested on Colu. It is quite tedious.”

“Thaumometer?” said Renlo Tagor. “That is entirely inappropriate, Dox. Does the Board know you are conducting these experiments?”

“What is appropriate is what gives us correct answers,” said Querl Dox. He suspended a strand of the string inside the tetrahedron, and attached a raw egg to it with a complex knot. It swung freely. In one hand, he held a hand-sensor. In the other, a crystal sphere. The egg-pendulum’s swinging slowed, then came to a stop.

Then, unexpectedly, started again.

“Magic, then,” said Querl Dox. “Unquestionably. There seems to be no deistic component, so that eliminates Darkseid and his ilk.”

“Dox, I have to object,” said Renlo Tagor.

“Do you want our children found?” asked Garth Ranzz.

“Mordru,” said Imra. “It has to be.”

“All signs point to that as a correct conclusion,” said Querl Dox. “However, I should note that it appears by the remnants of this spell, they seem to have gone willingly.”

“Well, it’s obvious,” said Imra. “They’ve been tricked. Kidnapped, willing or no. We need to get together as many of the old gang as we can, and get off to the Sorcerer’s World.”

“Vigilantism is not the answer. I believe a more diplomatic solution is in order,” said Renlo Tagor. “ColuGov can file a direct complaint with Tharn, and a writ of habeus corpus for our children and their friends…”

Imra, Garth, and Doctor Tagor’s Omnicoms began pinging simultaneously. Garth was quickest to answer.

“They’ve been found,” Garth announced. “And they’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” asked Imra.

“Mordru is no longer ruler of the Sorcerer’s World,” said Garth. “Somehow, our kids have overthrown him.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
PART ONE
REPERCUSSIONS

"The bronze doors hang in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't."

"Overhead, without any fuss, the stars are going out."

"It’s the End of the World As We Know It, and I feel fine."

A thousand thoughts screamed through the minds of the youths.

"The quakes have stopped, but the mountains are crumbling."

"Everyone is gone. Even the other me."

"The planet itself is dissolving like sugar in hot tea."

"I wonder-- how long does it take to die in the vacuum of space? Or will there even be space at all?"

"If the spell is broken, why don’t we have our powers back?"

"Why this? Why now? Why?"

The great bronze doors rattled and shook, then blew outward, as if by a huge gust of wind. No one wasted a moment in leaving.

Almost no one.

Chameleon and Eluia were the first through the door, in bird-form. Kylda, Hillarie, and the Triplicates were next, soon followed by Pol.

Txarlz just stood there, frozen, screaming at the top of his seven-year-old voice. The adult Glorith finally picked the child up, threw him over her shoulder, and the two went through the portal together.

On the other side, Txarlz fell to his knees, wracked with sobs. “Irinia,” he choked. “I called her and called her. She can’t move. She couldn’t come out!”

Dorrit and Dacey were last out, just as the portal flickered and died. Dacey knelt down to hug the trembling Txarlz.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We couldn’t wake her. She’s intangible, there’s no way to move her if she can’t move herself.”

“I know,” said Txarlz, through tears. “I know.” He looked up into Dacey’s eyes. “She was my friend,” he said. He looked at Glorith. “I couldn’t help her. And she was my friend.”

A warm rain was falling on the Sorcerer’s World. The sky was nearly as dark as it had been in mirror-Tharn. Red light flickered. They were not inside the palace of the First Coventry, where they had begun, but somewhere out on the street.

Glorith searched the sky. “Merlin’s Beard!” she profaned.

The rest of the newly-arrived group did not, at first, register what they were seeing. It was not until much later, the images burned in their minds, that they were able to recall and comprehend.

Mordru stood some ways distant, a magical shield surrounding him. Lightning, hail mingled with fire, and stones, and storm tore at the shield. Around him-- above him, actually, above and around the city, actually-- stood four figures. Each was at least two miles high-- over ten thousand feet tall. It was difficult to comprehend, looking up from the ground.

The first was a great, man-shaped mountain, soil and rock mingled together, mosses and bushes and small trees decorated its body.

The second was an immense tower of wind, a humanoid hurricane.

The third was made entirely of shifting water and ice.

The fourth was a giant pillar of darkness, lightning, and flame.

“The ur-Elementals?” asked Txarlz Luz.

“Good guess,” answered Glorith.

The ground opened beneath Mordru, and swallowed him.

The four giants vanished.

Shrinking Violet’s wings disappeared, and she grew up to normal size.

Chameleon shifted to his default Durlan form.

The rain ceased. The sky cleared. The day grew colder.

The rock-zombie golem Blok collapsed in a heap of stones upon the place where Mordru lay buried.

Phantom Girl fell out of the empty air. Ten rushed to her.

“I saw the Universe die,” Phantom Girl croaked weakly. “Then I was in the Buffer Zone. The Phantom Zone. I’ve been an ordinary phantom all along, after all. And then, of course, I knew my way home. Hello, Ten. It’s good to see you.” And then she collapsed into unconsciousness again.

A small, slender asian man in damp robes was running towards the group.

“Glorith? Is it really you?” he shouted. “How you’ve grown!”

“Sensei!” said Glorith. “We have missed you on Zerox. So, you made your way to Tharn?”

“I have been serving in the First Coventry,” he replied. “Mordu had a majority in his favor, but that was not good enough for him. He summoned his demons to possess our minds, so that the decisions of the Council would have the weight of unanimity behind them. That has all changed in the past few moments.”

He took a small crystal out of his robe.

“Mordru’s supporters have suddenly fled, gone into hiding. Hopefully they have left Tharn. If they have only disappeared to gather their forces, it may be that a Wizard’s War is imminent. The remainder of the First Coventry are gathering in the palace.”

His gaze passed quickly over the little group. “Your Bgztlr friend is ill. At the very least she is suffering from severe dehydration, possibly starvation.”

With surprising strength for his small, aged form, he lifted Phantom Girl up, and carried her towards the palace. The rest followed close behind. They were joined by Mysa Nal.

“Mysa! Dear Mysa!” said Sensei. “No longer the Black Witch, I see. The White Witch, again, perhaps?”

“Just myself, for now,” said Mysa Nal.

“We will need to re-organize the First Coventry, fill the vacant seats until we can schedule an election. Perhaps you would be willing to serve?”

“Zerox still exists,” said Mysa. “And the Universe which it now occupies is in much need of magical help. We have been away for months. I will need to return shortly.”

“And I as well,” said Glorith.

Five other sorcerers stood waiting in the palace. The Club Members recognized Counselor Rincewind, Professor Leitseid, Falco Columbarius, Mariam Abraxas, and Capella. They provided a bed and drink for Phantom Girl, and blankets for the shivering Polar Lass.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Professor Leitseid asked Mysa.

“As usual, it was Mordru’s narcissism and hubris that destroyed him,” said Mysa. “He thought to rule the Universe by creating one of his own. But it was a flawed, imperfect duplicate. The gods of that place rose up against him, and have imprisoned him in the depths of Tharn. I recommend you do not keep him there too long.”

“The ur-Elementals,” said Ten.

“I thought study of magic was forbidden on Colu,” said Professor Leitseid.

“It is,” said Ten. “Glorith told me of them, when I could learn nothing else.”

“We will return you all to your parents’ homes immediately,” said Professor Leitseid. “Excepting the Bgztlr, who must remain in hospital here, for a couple of days.”

“If… we may impose on your hospitality,” said Chameleon. “The Triplicates and I would like to remain on Tharn, until such time as we can all return to Mars.” The three girls nodded. “We have... nowhere else to go.”

“They may stay with me at Mummersetshire,” volunteered Falco Columbarius. “There is plenty of room.”

“We will be leaving as soon as practicable as well,” said Mysa. “Glorith, are you ready to make the return journey to Zerox, now that Mordru has shown us the way?”

“I am,” said Glorith.

“Then let us all be upon our separate ways,” said Professor Leitseid.