He caught glimpses of himself as he ghosted down the shattered pave of bone and brick. His connection with the spirits of this place was strong, and as they traveled around him, curiosity drawing them to their visitor, their senses got a little tangled with his.
He stopped before a heavy, ancient statue that had once been a warrior; it was carved in the likeness of a race that had been extinct for a thousand years.
"You push your boundaries, mortal," the statue ground out using the shattered bones that lay in drifts and piles around it in the dimness as sounding boards. Its language was one designed to describe pain, an ancient language from before the short lives of men measured time on the planet.
"My quest is urgent," the thin man replied in the same tongue, not yet raising his mystic defenses. "I am the defender of Prime. There have been stirrings there, tremendously powerful stirrings, as though some entity were trying to break through the veils that protect that world. Yet I have been unable to identify my enemy. I have searched long," he said, raising his hands in supplication. "I have bled much. Yet I cannot find him. His minions draw veils of shadows over themselves, and as yet I do not know where to look. You see much. Can you add insight?"
The Guardian shifted, rubbing its vast eye. "I see much, and feel more," it rumbled. "There has been a disturbance. There is a force that surrounds your world and seeks to squeeze it. I can tell you no more. Your fight is not my fight."
"When one dimension falls, those who defend it suffer," the thin man said. "This force; do you think it would be content to stop once my realm has fallen?"
The Guardian grunted. "More so if I do not attract its attention, your time runs thin and danger grows all around you, mortal."
"I will be gone in a moment," the thin man said, raising his hand. "First…" His face creased in pain. "I am desperate to know, Guardian. The Flames of Faltine are at my disposal, and the Precepts of Crymorn obey my call. I may not be in my home dimension," he added, squaring off, "but I will have the information I seek if I must tear it from your shattered form." Dark fires began to flicker along his outline.
"You play a dangerous game, wizard," rumbled the stone beneath the thin man; the bones fell to powder with the force of it, the wizard's nose began to bleed.
"What force," the thin man said, implacable. "You have seen it."
A long moment of silence seemed to reel off its own dimension. Then the statue grunted again, allowing the energies to relax their grip on the insolent mortal.
"I will tell you a sign, and you will leave now," the Guardian said.
The thin man nodded.
"That which seeks your world," rumbled the vast statue, "dwells in darkness."
The thin man was not one to push his luck. "My thanks, Ancient One," he murmured, and then he slid through the ground as though he was nothing but a ghost himself.
An instant later he was free of that dimension and once again in the ether.
"A solid lead, as wizardry goes," he murmured to himself. "The dark presence grows stronger. I must search more actively if I am to find out more…" He began to retrace his path back to his solid, inert body that was so far away from the when, where, and what of his thoughts that there was no measure.
xXx
The violin was wailing uncertainly to itself as Illyana kissed the little pink pill and then popped it in her mouth. "One a day," she whispered to herself. Then she glanced over at her roommate.
"What's that you're playing?" she asked, a wince in her voice.
"Sounds like nothing to me," the tall blond sighed. "Sounds like an animal being tortured, slowly, for information it doesn't have."
"Very poetic," Illyana said, grinning. "Poor thing. I'll call the ASPCA immediately."
"What's that pill you take every day?" the blond asked, nodding towards the small bottle Illyana quickly moved out of sight. "Does Strange know about it?"
"Who can tell what Strange knows?" Illyana said. "I prefer to keep my enigmatic aura of mystery, if you please."
"Suit yourself," the blond said, shrugging. She raised the violin to her shoulder, and attempted a firm steady stroke across the strings that instead sounded a little drunken. She set her jaw, refusing to be discouraged in the face of complete ignorance.
Illyana walked to the window seat and looked out at the rain-swept street below. "Awful dark for ten in the morning," she murmured to herself. The bright lights inside the apartment threw her reflection into view on the glass. For a moment she looked at her petite form, her slim waist and womanly shapes, her sleek reddish hair, her eyes. In her reflection, her eyes were dark holes to the street beyond.
"Strange is coming," she said, noticing the doctor walking down the sidewalk. "You want to play for him, Valeria?"
"I'd just as soon not," Valeria said, quickly stooping and putting the violin in its case. She picked it up and headed out of the living room. Illyana was grinning as she watched her roommate go.
"Burns you up that you're not perfect at it, I bet," she said.
"Shows what you know," drifted Valeria's voice from the other room. She stepped back into the living room, arching an eyebrow. "I enjoy challenges."
"Sure you do," Illyana said with a knowing smile, spotting the telltale signs of consternation in the corners of Valeria's carefully maintained expression.
Three rapid knocks hit the door.
Illyana opened it. "Enter at your will, O Mystical Presence," she intoned with a deep bow.
"That's lovely," Strange said, stepping in. He was thin and dapper, his red coat snug against him, streaked with water droplets that rolled off and spattered the floor, leaving the fabric dry. His mouth curled up in a saturnine smile. "Have you been practicing?"
"My studies of the deep enigma of the mystical arts leave me little time for etiquette," she murmured, only a trace of puckish glee behind her eyes. "I endeavor to serve with my meager store of knowledge."
"Let's see what we can do about deepening that meager store today," Strange said. "Did you do your homework?"
"Yes," she said. "I learned the Seven Sigils of the Vistanti so I could repeat them, in order, forwards or backwards."
"Excellent," Strange said, looking pleased. "That will be useful to you once you learn what can be built on top of such a foundation of power."
"If you don't mind my asking," she said, "I haven't seen you invoke greater powers. I want to learn the magic you know."
"When I am sure of you," he said quietly, "we can revisit that issue. Until then, it would do you no good to learn about what I use if you have no sound foundation to build further learning upon. Until you are confident as an invoker, we will not move on to other methods and styles. The pilings are the most important part of the bridge."
"Yes," she sighed, "and elegance is simplicity, the more we know the less we show. I'm familiar with the rote."
"You know it verbatim," Strange said with a slight nod, "but not by heart."
"Your timing is good," Valeria said. "I was just headed to the library." She picked up her jacket and book bag.
"Before you go," Strange said, reaching into his coat, "I've crafted a gift for you."
"A gift?" Valeria said, arching an eyebrow.
"Indeed," Strange said. He pulled out a case and opened it as though it contained precious gems. "These should serve you well."
Valeria put her book bag down and picked up the case. She looked at Strange, puzzled. "Glasses?"
"I know your vision exceeds perfection," Strange said with a nod. "But these are special glasses. Try them on."
Valeria tossed her jacket over the back of the chair and put the glasses on. They had slim steel rims; they were neither attractive or unattractive.
Illyana gasped. Valeria had changed, subtly. Her hair lost its luster, her skin became less perfect, her eyes unnoticeable and ordinary, her figure slightly shifted.
Mortal. She looked… mortal.
Strange nodded thoughtfully. "You are still a very attractive young woman," he said, "but now even to the trained eye and the mystic probe you are mortal, one who could have been born on this planet."
Valeria looked down at her hands, her expression unreadable. "I don't feel very… different," she said.
"Your powers remain," Strange said with a shrug, "but they are in check, weakened a bit. Your excess life force that makes you so much more than human is diverted and concealed. You won't want to wear those for a battle or excessive action. They may smooth your everyday life, however."
She looked him in the eye, then looked down as she slung her jacket on and picked up her bag.
"Thanks," she said, squeezing his arm gently as she moved past him to the door. "Now maybe I'll fit in." She didn't make eye contact as she opened the door and moved out into the rain, trotting down the steps and walking down the slick puddled sidewalk. She didn't look back.
"Perhaps it's time we went," Strange said absently as he watched Valeria walk down the street, eyes to the pavement.
"Perhaps so," Illyana said. "Where to?"
"Take us to your Limbo," Strange said, looking at her. "I'll direct our travel from there."
A flaring dark wreath of energy slid into being beneath them and whirled up around them. The apartment was empty.
xXx
"Can't say I'm fond of the smell," Illyana said, glancing around the studio.
"Beauty comes in many forms," Strange said, shrugging off his coat. He wore a simple tee-shirt beneath, and Illyana noticed he was wearing jeans and sneakers.
"So what are we here to learn?" she asked.
"I'm here to learn about you. You're here to see what you can glean from watching me instruct. And, of course, the riddles."
"Of course," she said dryly. "The riddles."
"The first riddle," Strange said, holding up a clay jar. "How do you reshape this?"
She bit her lip, thinking for a moment. "You mystically re-weave its structure," she said.
Strange maintained eye contact as he hurled the jar to the floor. It burst into dozens of shards.
"First you smash it," he said, "then you mix it in with wet clay."
"That was my next guess," she said.
"Have you ever thrown a clay pot?" Strange asked.
"I think you just did," she said sweetly.
"Not exactly what I meant," Strange said. He pulled a tarp aside, revealing squatted mounds of damp clay. "Take some of this… some slip…" he said, moving a bucket with a thin oily slick of clay in water and putting it next to a flat disc-shaped table. "Then…"
She watched him quickly go through the preparatory steps. He seated himself on a short stool, and put his foot on the pedal under the table.
"You get the wheel spinning," Strange said, and as he worked the pedal the wheel began to turn, faster and faster. "Then, you touch the clay. Fingers—so. Thumbs—so."
She watched, fascinated, as his hands became one with the clay. As the wheel spun, the clay at the center rose under his deft touch, and she could hardly tell whether the clay shaped his hands or whether his hands shaped the clay.
"Now that's magic," she whispered.
He smiled. "In its way," he murmured, "just as the miracle of birth is magic, the weaving of a spider's web in its intricate and senseless detail is magic, the shimmering of sunlight on water is magic. The whole world is made of magic," he said, "and there are few mortals gifted with the sight and the taste for it."
"Is that another riddle?" she said.
He raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes from his work. "The greatest riddle of all, the riddle that will underlie all your teaching, is the distance between what I teach and what you learn. In spite of our best efforts," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the clay, "that gap will never be fully closed. I will teach. You will learn. In the end, if we are successful, you will be transformed into a creature of power and compassion."
"What a lovely title," she said. "Perhaps I should do a cross-stitch with that phrase and put it over my bed. A creature of power and compassion."
Strange shifted his hands just slightly, and the beautiful shimmering vase became a twisted broken neck of clay. A smooth motion and he scooped it up and tossed it back in the kneading trough.
"Your turn," he said.
"My turn?" she echoed, not entirely pleased.
He stood, dragged a smallish wad of clay from the trough, and slapped it down on the wheel. He smiled at her. "Your turn."
She sat down hesitantly. Strange pulled up a stool next to her and began to gently pump the pedal, spinning the disc and the clay.
"Hands, so," he said, demonstrating. "Thumbs, so."
She touched the clay, and it came alive under her hands. Her breathing grew unsteady, her eyes shone as it moved and shifted under her delicate touch. "Incredible," she whispered.
Then her hands closed a touch too tightly, and the clay crumpled and buckled. She stared at it blankly for a moment.
"What have you learned?" Strange asked with a smile, a peculiar light in his eyes.
She glanced over at him, then set her jaw. She reached deep inside herself, closed her eyes, and focused. Then she opened her eyes, gesturing with her slick hands, and the clay twitched, then smoothed, rising into an oddly graceful sweep of earth.
"I have learned to make a superb vase," she said with a touch of triumph.
Strange looked at the curve of clay for a long moment.
"Nothing to say?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
He looked her in the eye. "It would shatter in the kiln," he said softly. He stood, and walked into the back of the studio. "Let's get cleaned up. The rest of today's teaching is in Limbo."
She sat staring at the vase, her jaw tight, seeing nothing.
xXx
"You're here for the half hour, eh?" the middle aged man said. He smiled. His face and his hair were gray, and he wore a black turtleneck and slacks, and converse hightops. He smiled, a tired smile. "Let's see what you know."
"I'm self taught," she said, a bit apologetically.
"What's your name again?" the man asked, squinting.
"Valeria," she said. She tucked the violin under her chin and drew the bow across the strings.
"Say," the teacher said, looking over his glasses. "You have a fine touch. Excellent wrist control. Instinctive, almost. That's good, very good."
"You'll teach me to fiddle, not play the violin, right?" she asked a bit anxiously.
"You bet I will," he said with a smile. "You'll be ready for the ho-down in no time flat."
"That's what I'm counting on," she said, her returned smile just barely short of brilliant.
