Chapter 6: The Mirror

How long had it been now? How many precious minutes had slipped past since I had first heard the news of the Vizier's despicable plot from the dungeons? How much longer would it be before all hope had utterly deserted me? These thoughts went through my head, but they were without serious substance. I was in no mood or shape to spare myself such luxuries, even if I had wished to.

At the top of the first flight of stairs I had encountered no guards, something which confused me, but now I did find a rather unusual obstacle on my path: a mirror was now over the narrow doorway, set firmly into the walls at either side with no room to move around it. This had never been here any other time I had been to visit Sheherazad: how did it come to be here now? I was momentarily puzzled, but then realised I did not have the time. I moved a few paces backwards and ran forwards with a yell, covering my face with my arms and ducking.

I felt then the most curious experience: time itself seemed to slow down for a moment. There was no hard impact or sharp shards as I had expected: rather, it was almost like jumping through a bubble: the impact felt like that on water, but there was no liquid on the other side. I landed uncertainly and stumbled, spinning around to look behind me. There was my reflection looking back at me. But then it suddenly smiled, and jumped into the air, beyond the top of the mirror. I walked to the glass: there was no longer any image of me in the mirror-image of the corridor: it seemed to have vanished. Unnerved, and filled with trepidation, I yet had no option other than to continue moving.

I had by this point come to know and recognise the signs of the palace's traps easily. Thus it was that I saw the slight groove in the floor and roof in front of me, and stopped only inches in front of it to watch as two huge, razor-sharp metal blades sprang from floor and ceiling simultaneously, meeting at the middle. Had I been less vigilant, I would have been a most grisly sight. The two blades then separated at the middle and both began to withdraw with a clinking noise like that of springs: I stepped through them as soon as they had parted enough to allow me to do so. Almost immediately two guards came at me from a room beyond the corridor, denying me a moment's peace. Fortunately the narrow space of these halls came to my advantage yet again: they could not attack me at the same time. I unsheathed Khaveen's blade and parried the blow that came towards me, throwing the sword away from the guard's body and leaving his guard wide open, which I exploited and stabbed him. Khaveen's blade was very high quality, as sharp as a razor, made of excellent steel and very well looked-after: it impaled the man with ease. I placed my foot upon him and wrenched it out, kicking the spluttering body towards his companion. The distraction allowed me to advance and slash at him: both hand and the sword that gripped it fell uselessly to the ground. He grabbed the bloody stump of his wrist and screamed, giving me a chance to slash his left knee and then run: with a leg like that and without a sword hand, he would be in no shape to pursue.

I carried on and soon came to another flight of stairs: just one more after it and I would be at my goal! But no sooner had I reached it as I was greeted by a most fantastic sight: standing there already, grinning mischievously at me, was my double. I was struck dumb by the sight, and stopped in my tracks. The man way the perfect image of me, even bearing the same prisoner's clothes, even with the same scratches and wounds I had gained from making it thus far. He laughed once and stepped backwards unto a pressure plate. The gate to the stairs slammed shut before my very eyes. The spell was broken: I rushed forwards and slammed my fists on the closed door and cursed at the top of my voice. But there are few gates in the world which open from such provocation.

There was another corridor out of the room that I could yet take, but I had no idea where it would lead me in the end. However, it remained the only path that was open to me, and so it was the path that I took, muttering under my breath a ceaseless barrage of curses at myself for not reacting fast enough. I could feel the precious time slipping through my fingers as I ran, finding no way up, my mind tearing itself apart with questions. Finally, once I had rounded the tower, I saw another, narrower stair at a dead end. I breathed a sigh of blessed relief and made my way onward. But when I reached the base, there was my mirror-image again, his hand on a lever on the stair's wall: once again I was momentarily frozen with shock. With a smile he waved goodbye with his free hand and tugged on the lever with his other. The ground beneath me gave way: the floor swung downwards. My cry all but drowned out the sounds of my own laughter echoing from above me…

I could by now barely see at all, the only source of light being a dim glow coming through the trapdoor above me that was rapidly diminishing. I could just barely perceive the narrow walls of the pit, and by some blessed instinct I thrust out my arms and legs. My hands and feet braced against the stone walls and skidded across them, slowing my descent. They are few things I can say that can properly express the feeling that this created, other than: it hurt. But this does not quite do it justice. I screamed as I could feel the friction tearing the skin from my palms but I did not move them. Gradually, ever so gradually my fall slowed until eventually I stopped entirely. My arms and legs shook with the effort of keeping myself suspended as I was, so I glanced downwards to see what landing was promised for me. The floor was not a long drop at all; indeed my feet were almost on top of the rusted metal spikes that lined the bottom. I could see a dusty skeleton laying there, its armour rusted through, a spike coming through its empty eye socket. Some ancient attacker of the palace: who knows how long it had lain there? I decided that dropping down would not be the best course of action, so the only way I had left to go was up.

I looked up. Far above me was the light of the trapdoor. There was simply no question: I began to climb up, bracing myself against the two walls with my bleeding hands and feet.

Once again, I am left with few words to adequately describe my ascent to the reader. My hands were torn and bleeding, my arms shaking, but still I continued to use both to support my weight as I climbed ever upwards towards the light. Three times I slipped and fell, and was forced to slide to a stop again. How long did it take? I cannot begin to guess, for it felt like hours. I am not in the least ashamed to say that tears were streaking my face even before I finally, with quivering limbs, hauled myself out of the hole and lay on the cool, hard tiles. There I lay panting and feeling my limbs hang by my side like dead weights, my mission forgotten. I felt as though I had climbed out of hell itself. I closed my eyes.

When again I opened them, I found myself before a bridge that stretched far off into the distance. The opposite end was lost in heavy fog. The supports of the bridge were as tall as human towers, and it was held by chords so thick that I would have only just been able to wrap my arms around them. I set off to walk across it.

For hours and hours I walked across its steady surface, listening to the gentle whistling of the wind and creaking of the enormous structure. Eventually though, I came to see another walking towards me: an indistinct shape in the fog. As he neared, I saw that this other was me: my mirror image. How had he come here too? My hand moved warily to my sword, and I noticed him repeat the gesture.

Eventually we reached the same place and stopped, both seemingly unsure of what to do. It was then that a carving on the floor of the bridge caught my eye: there very same symbol I had seen upon the fountain that I had drunk from, which had reassured me to its goodness. I dropped to read it, as my image did too. We both read aloud what we saw:

"This I tell thee, I tell thee truly: A great artist indeed has constructed the light and the darkness, sleep and waking, morning, noon and night. These were created together and cannot exist apart"

We then, the both of I, looked up into our eyes.

It was at that point that I awoke and sat up, suddenly finding myself once again in the corridor of the palace of Azad. I panicked immediately: how much time had passed while I had been out? Was the hour run, and Sheherazad dead? How would I know? What was more, as I stood up and looked around, the staircase where my double had stood earlier had now vanished: there was simply a wall there instead. I began to wonder if I had taken leave of my senses, and perhaps the reflection did not exist at all. Had the stress and exertion driven me mad? But then I saw that the trapdoor I had climbed out of remained open in the floor beside me. Maybe the staircase was a secret passage? In which case, there had to be a way to open it. I looked all around, but could see no sign of any lever or button. I jumped in desperation, hoping to maybe jostle something on the ground, but was then struck with an idea and pushed the roof. Sure enough, the tile moved inward at my touch and the wall slid aside to reveal the stairs, now devoid of my other half. I desperately ran up them. Maybe I was now too late? But there was no other option open to me except to hope…

The stairs were uneven, narrow, and dark. I was moving too fast for much caution and often stubbed my feet or momentarily lost my balance, but did not pause to consider such things. Even if I had not run out the rest of the hour, I certainly would have precious little time left. Such a strange hour it had been. In the space of this night it seemed the entire world had been unmade and now I, who had once been a prince, was now some sort of spirit or machine whose sole purpose was to reach Sheherazad's bedroom.

After a short time I emerged from the passage, pushing a sliding door out of place. I then emerged behind a pillar into a place I never thought I would reach: the grand hall which served as the entrance to the Royal Chambers. I was very nearly at my destination.