Split Infinity

Stile felt another chill. This monster really did have information!

“What gives him the notion he is Adept?” Yellow demanded.

“He is Adept, 0 senile one.”

Yellow backed against a wall, almost jarring loose several bottles. “Not only a man, but Adept to boot!  Oh, what a foul pickle I have hatched! Who is he?”

“He is Stile, a serf of Proton, in the other frame, freed to cross the curtain by the death of his Phaze-self.”

“Idiot! I meant which Adept is he?”

The demon scowled. “That is formidable information.”

“Don’t stall, hellborn one!” Yellow screeched. “Else I will apply a pain potion.”

Zebub blanched. “Blue,” he muttered.

Yellow’s eyes went round. “This midget is the Blue Adept?”

“His alternate, yes.”

“I can’t afford trouble with another Adept!” she ex-claimed, wrenching at her own hair in distraction. “Not one of such power as Blue! If I free him, will he seek to destroy me? Why does he withhold his magic now?”

“This calls for conclusions on the part of the witness,” the demon said smugly.

Yellow took a step toward a shelf of small bottles.

“Question him,” Zebub said quickly. “I will verify his word.”

“Stile, a.k.a. Blue Adept!” she cried, her eyes round and wild, yet still lovely. “Answer me, in the presence of Zebub.”

“If thou shouldst free me, I will still seek to release my friends and the other captives,” Stile said. “I will not seek to destroy thee gratuitously.”

“He speaks truth,” Zebub said. “As for his magic, he made an oath to the unicorn to practice it not save by her leave.”

“So only his oath makes him subject to my power?” she demanded.

“That is so,” Zebub agreed. “Thou art the luckiest of harridans.”

Yellow’s beautiful brow furrowed. “If I release the unicorn, she could then release Blue from his oath, and there would be war between Adepts. I dare not risk it.”

“Thou darest not risk harming the unicorn either, beldame,” Zebub pointed out maliciously. “If the Blue Adept is moved by ire to break his oath—“

“I know! I know!” she screeched, distracted. “If I kill him, another Adept might seek to kill me, for that I violated our convention. If I let him go, Blue may seek my life for that I caged him. If I try to hold him—“

“My time is up,” Zebub said. “Please deposit another potion, scold.”

“O, begone with thee!” Yellow snapped.

The demon shrank into figurine size and froze: a dead image.

Yellow looked at Stile. “If thou keepest thine oath to the unicorn, wilt thou honor it for me? I wish I could be sure. I want no quarrel with another Adept.”

“Release all the animals in your compound, and thou wilt have no quarrel with me,” Stile said.

“I can not! I have commitments, I have accepted magic favors in payment. I must deliver.”

Stile, quite prepared to hate this Adept, found him-self moved. She was, for the moment, lovely, but that was not it. She honored her commitments. She did not like killing. Her surroundings and mechanisms reflected a certain humor, as if she did not take herself too seriously. She was old and lonely. It should be possible to make a deal with her.

“I want no quarrel with thee, either,” he said. “Thou knowest me not, therefore trust must be tempered with caution. I make thee this offer: send me through the curtain, and I will not return. I will seek to free my friends and the animals from a distance.”

“How canst thou act from a distance? My magic is stronger than thine, near me in my demesnes—as thine would be stronger than mine in thine own demesnes.”

“Without magic,” Stile said.

“Very well,” she decided. “I will put thee through the curtain with a potion, and set a powerful curse I got from Green to ward thee off thereafter. If thou canst free the animals from a distance, without magic—“ She shrugged. “I have never liked this business; if I am foiled through no agency of mine own, perhaps I will not be held in default.” She glanced at him, her mood visibly lightening. “I never did business with Blue, else would I have known thee. How is it that Blue, alone of Adepts, needs no monsters in storage?”

“I intend to find out,” Stile said. He was highly gratified to have this information. Now he knew who he was, and that the Blue Adept had not practiced at least one of the atrocities that seemed to be standard in this genre. This excursion into the Yellow Demesnes had been mistaken, but serendipitously worthwhile.

Yellow took down another bottle, then led him out of the house and around the palisades to the curtain.  Stile hoped he could trust her to use the correct potion.  But it seemed reasonable; if Adepts avoided trouble with Adepts, and if she feared his violation of his oath were he to be betrayed, she would play it straight. She seemed to be, basically, an honest witch.

At the curtain, she hesitated, hand on the stopper of the bottle. “I do not wish to murder thee. Blue Stile,” she said. “Art thou sure thou canst survive in that bleak realm beyond the curtain? If thou preferest to dally here-“

“My thanks. Yellow. I can survive. I have a prior engagement, and must pass through now.”