Out of Reach

       History was repeating itself. Just as on X000, I was finally about to deal with the Prince, and he was casting a whole spectrum of shadows. Despair, frustration, anger. But again, no fear. And without fear, the bouquet was incomplete. I tightened my rings around him. At last, the spicy shadow of fear flared up—but he was still looking away, not at me, calling out to Rose. What now?! If the gloomies were bothering her again, I’d… It wasn’t the gloomies. Violet patches of algae merged into a ring around Rose, her emotional spectrum darkening further. No, not her! I shoved the Prince aside and rushed to her. But why so quickly? I’d thought I had an hour or two to persuade her to uproot herself. If I tore her out by force, without her roots, she’d die again, just like the last time. Now, I had a minute at most. “Get out and come with me! I can save you.” “No,” she whispered, forcing the words out. The diatom must have already reached her. “Never.” Her head drooped. Crimson petals closed, and the tangled shadows of her fears scattered. No, no… Why? Why did she care so little for her own life? I didn’t understand. Every living thing in the universe wants to stay alive. Where was her survival instinct? Did it only work with the Prince around? I turned to where I had left him. He was still clinging to the edge of a giant petal, now mould-covered. Whether from the diatom or the fall, he’d soon follow the Rose and the others. There, he’d already slipped. Oh, blast him! I caught him with my tail and flung him next to the Rose—if he mattered more to her than water and sunlight, he could stay with her—then slipped out of space into my native shadow non-realm, deeper still, beyond time, to stop the clock for myself, to think, to plan. Sadly, I couldn’t go back in time, so I had to fix things here and now. Technically, all the planet’s inhabitants were already dead, technically it was no one’s, which meant it was entirely under my control, and I could destroy anything without permission. Right now, that anything was the diatom itself, up to the very last spore and cell, on the surface and inside the barely living bodies. I didn’t want to surrender such an elegant victory—they deserved to die! But there was no other way to save the Rose. If I cleared just the area around her, the algae would recover faster than I could persuade her to uproot, since she was determined not to abandon her hero or her people. “You mustn’t die, Rose,” I muttered to myself, leaning over her closed corolla, still without leaving the shadow realm. Saving these pests was infuriating, and to delay a few more seconds, I tasted someone else’s words, spoke what the Prince had seen long before I had: “You’re the only creature that I’ve ever loved.” Destroying a planet was satisfying, of course, but the pleasure wasn’t worth losing the only thing I needed. Oh, dear, you’re costing me dearly. Through the shadow realm, I slipped into the chamber where the incubator bud spewed streams of spores. I admired the most perfect biological weapon in the world, shuddered, and swallowed the phosphorescent cluster whole. For a second, everything went dark. For half a second, I was surprised—why? I’m invulnerable to any physical impact! Wait, no, physics or chemistry had nothing to do with it. I’m part of all darkness, I can hear the negative emotions of any living thing in the universe, so that must be a reaction to my own frustration. Sure enough, the illusion passed, leaving slight dizziness, and a riot of shapes and colours around instead of the even purple fuzz of the diatom. And the clatter of crab claws, damn them. Alive, that bio-trash. The Rose should be alive, too, presumably. But best to check. I slipped out of space-time into the shadow realm to cut the journey short… Tried to, that is. And failed. As if I’d forgotten how to do that. The sensation was clear in my memory; pushing off from the world, time freezing, everything darkening a shade or two… I had just transgressed freely! All I ever had to do was want to lose materiality. But this time, nothing happened. I remained in the here-and-now, sharp, bright, and disgustingly colourful. And too noisy. The clatter of crab claws came from all sides, louder and louder, enough to drive one mad, and nowhere to escape—the shadows still wouldn’t take me back, and the noise was unbearable, and covering my ears didn’t help… Wait. Covering? Ears?! What the… Stunned, I stared at… my own hands. When had I taken this fake human form again? And why? I certainly hadn’t wanted to. And now I couldn’t shed it to return to my usual shadow substance or even my serpent body. Why? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to draw strength from my own confusion. Nothing. In some seconds, there was still the same chamber-lab around, and crabs were already looming in the gaps between the leaf walls. Oddly, I couldn’t sense their emotions, though they should’ve been furious. But that was a lesser mystery; escaping the encirclement took priority. Ah, two rose-keepers of the diatom stirred, rising to their feet and groping for their water spoons. Right, they’d been here the whole time, so they wouldn’t recognise my human form, and they hadn’t heard about the truce with the crabs. Perfect. I could set them on the others. I ducked behind the roses. Naturally, they were surprised, but an unarmed humanoid clearly scared them less than their long-time arthropod foes. “Who are you?” one of the rose-botanists finally asked. “An enemy of your enemies,” I clarified, backing toward the empty diatom pod. Veins of nutrients ran up into the ceiling. I tugged one, but it snapped easily. No escape that way. The roses fended off the crabs as best they could. The crabs, remembering the truce, held back, trying to communicate by clacking, but my two involuntary bodyguards, luckily, didn’t understand crab Morse code. “To me, now!” I mentally called to the shadows and gloomies, but again, nothing. No response, not even confirmation they had heard. What was going on?! Time was up, crabs were crawling through the leaf gaps into the chamber. I tried once more to reach the shadow realm, but no, dead end. Roses were never fighters, hence their eagerness to acquire the ultimate weapon of diatom. Razor-sharp claws quickly shortened their long spoons; crabs flanked me—they could sense me even in this form—and more of them poured in from the entrance. The clatter of claws was joined by voices, and in the opposite passway, the leaders of both local folks appeared side by side, with the Prince. He was holding the Rose, I noticed that much. So, she was revived too. Good. At least something was good for once. Because everything else was bad. The leaders were arguing, but their words were lost in the clamour. No time to watch royal squabbles: one particularly cheeky knee-high crab decided to charge. I recoiled on reflex but stayed put. Let it attack. The slightest damage would dissolve this illusory body. That’s why I had run from the crabs initially, before the Prince knew who I was: to avoid blowing my cover, not out of fear. The little crab lunged and scraped its claw just below my knee. I jerked back involuntarily, yelping because… it hurt! So this was “pain”? I’d used tactile senses before, but never this intensely. Then again, recalling all the brawlers I’d set on each other, the trapped, the run-over, the fallen… They’d screamed too, hardly looking pleased. Edging along the incubator, I glanced down—a red streak spread diagonally across my white sock. What the—?! Memories flooded in—slaughterhouses, fights, rotting and fresh corpses, scaffolds… All things I’d witnessed dispassionately. Did this mean I was now as vulnerable as any ordinary human? Why?! I barely dodged a larger crab’s swipe, only tearing my trousers. The first cheeky one attacked again; I kicked it under the jaw, sending it into a third crab, but a fourth or fifth got behind me, shoved my knees, and knocked me down. The next claw snapped inches from my face… Suddenly, the world was covered in blinding white shapes, rapidly spreading until everything vanished. Blast it! This had happened once before… I’d been trapped in the Prince’s notebook. When had he gotten close? *** Now I had an eternity to think about what had happened, and why. I looked at my hands. Still human. Of course, I tried dissolving the form. Maybe in another dimension, the illusion would break? No. All I could do was sit on the invisible floor amid bright nothingness and ponder. The pages glowed an irritating cream instead of darkness. Not pure white, at least. And far from silent. Strange and ordinary objects stored in the notebook creaked, rustled, grated. Sheep bleated somewhere, paper wings fluttered. Quite the menagerie. At least the internal sensations dulled: no pain, no blood pounding in my ears. I checked my leg again, rolled down the sock. The deep scratch remained, but the bleeding had stopped—odd, given my knowledge of human anatomy. Then again, anomalies of pocket dimensions. I closed my eyes. What had occurred out of the way? Eating the diatom? It shouldn’t have harmed me, it only kills ordinary living things. I’d walked unscathed through mould that killed roses and crabs in seconds. What else? Fighting the Prince before the almost-end? He had nearly strangled me, yes. I’d admit, in humanoid form, I was slightly weaker, though a tad taller. But I had shifted back to serpent form before he could do serious damage. He hadn’t done anything else unusual. As far as I knew. So… what? Had the Prince invented something new? As if I’d get peace to think. Human voices joined the menagerie. I froze, listening. “…Royal flush, Your Majesty.” “Damn it, you cheat!” “Prove it! Slander without proof is libel. I can sue you.” Ah, right. The Prince kept his cavalry in the notebook. But that’s odd—weren’t items or beings supposed to be on separate pages, like me? These people were chatting freely, even playing cards, which would be impossible unless gathered together. Maybe I could… At least it would be something to do while brainstorming failed. I stood, listening for the loudest voices, then coughed to get their attention. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m new here!” Silence, then a reply: “Er… yes?” “How’d you group up? It’s boring alone, so I’d love to join you.” “Oh, of course. It’s simple,” another voice answered. “Close your eyes, picture a door, and open it.” That’s it? I tried… or rather, failed. The door refused to solidify, and my hands met only emptiness. How did they manage it? Not the brightest, yet they succeeded where I couldn’t? Especially now, when I was barely different. The group grew tired of waiting, and someone grabbed my arm and yanked me forward. I barely kept my balance. This page was just as empty and bright, but more crowded. The Hunter had pulled me in; the other three sat in a semicircle with cards, eyeing me with polite curiosity. Except the Hunter. “You again!” he exclaimed with such zeal I flinched, then forced calm. Right, he’d seen me human before, we’d quarrelled, but that was before my reveal. The others hadn’t met this form. And I had chosen the most harmless look: who’d suspect an eleven-year-old boy in a jumper and knickerbockers was the embodiment of darkness and chaos? They wouldn’t guess unless the Prince had told them. Which was unlikely since he’d been busy lately. So, business as usual. I sighed in relief and smiled. Sure, the losses were great—no more instant travel, invulnerability, or backup. But my mind was intact, and I could still talk. My venom remained. I’d just need better escape plans. So, Little Prince, leaving me with four adults was very unwise. Adults are easier to manipulate. Then I scowled and cursed silently. Blasted human perception. I couldn’t sense their negativity as shadows anymore. Fine, the difficulty upgraded, I’d have to read reactions from faces, words, and body language. “Is this your friend?” the King asked the Hunter. “A friend?! Hardly,” the Hunter grumbled, not taking his eyes off me. At least he didn’t reach for his gun. “I met him on the Planet of Roses with our blondie. That’s… ah, right, Louis. And this brat called me a coward! Hope you’ll take it back now, after I solo-led the crab pack away from you and the Little Prince! I want an apology!” Perfect. The Prince hadn’t briefed them about me yet. Time to exploit that. “Hold on,” the King cut in. “Can’t you see the kid’s hurt? He needs help. You,” he tapped the Businessman’s shoulder with his sceptre, “got any bandages?” “And disinfectant,” the Geographer added. “Who did this? Might need a rabies shot.” “There was a green plaster somewhere…” The Businessman rummaged in his suitcase. “Ah, here. That’ll be fifty talers, boy.” Three silent stares pierced him. “Fine, fine,” he backtracked. “First buy for free.” I took the rectangular patch, frantically recalling how to use it. I knew how humans harmed each other but never cared for healing. Ah—peel the transparent film, sticky side underneath. “Damn crabs,” I muttered, kneeling to apply it. “Rabid, maybe. So, Hunter, I had the guts to face them. Unlike you.” He bristled, nearly lunged, but the King held him back, proposing a duel to restore his honour. The Businessman suggested monetary compensation over apologies, while the Geographer tried to calm everyone and ask about the Planet of Roses. I barely got a word in. “No, I won’t apologise because…” The Hunter turned purple, on the verge of a fit. I raised a hand to finish. “…because any coward can act brave when safe. You risked nothing. However many crabs—or tigers! —chased you, you could’ve waved goodbye and fled here anytime. Which you did. Try being trapped like me, with no way out, and then we’ll see.” The Hunter gaped but couldn’t object. Even he saw the logic. The others stayed silent, not siding with him. “By the way,” I addressed all four, hit by another promising idea. “I didn’t get to ask our young friend, but… can you leave this notebook on your own?” “Well, no,” the Geographer adjusted his glasses. “The Little Prince releases us when he needs help.” Pity, but I hadn’t expected a “yes.” A “no” was still useful. I whistled. “But… doesn’t that strike you as unfair? That way, we’re rather prisoners than guests.” “Nonsense!” the King snapped. “We joined willingly and are happy to help!” “But he doesn’t always need help. Aren’t you bored? Cards are fine, but you all have passions that define you. Won’t you lose yourselves sitting idle? Might even vanish. You,” I eyed the Businessman, “our friend mentioned you’re a businessman. How’s revenue lately?” “Not bad.” He glanced at the abandoned cards. “1,280 talers from the King and 71,000 from the Hunter in gambling debts.” Interesting. So, those two now had reason to dislike him. Potential conflict, always handy. Time to press further. I turned to the Hunter. “And what do you hunt here? Paper sparrows? Wheeled toasters? Wouldn’t you prefer a real crab, a real test of courage? Or can you only shoot unarmed boys point-blank?” “I,” he spluttered, “I’m out of proper ammo! Just paintballs, stinkers, salt rounds left. So you were never in danger. And I could only salt a crab, not fry it.” “Besides,” the King cut in, “why kill crabs? They seem fierce, but they’re reasonable, peaceful creatures. At least the ones we met. The big one even speaks like us, and…” He scratched his head with the sceptre, turning to the Businessman. “Come to think, the big crab asked the Little Prince about a dark-haired boy with him earlier… What did our friend say?” They exchanged glances. Oh crap. “The Prince said,” they chorused, “Louis was the Snake!” All four stared. The Hunter finally reached for his gun. Blast. I could’ve claimed the Snake had replaced me, but they’d stay wary, and I’d need triple the caution. And the lie would last only until the Prince opened the notebook and enlightened them. Honesty, though, could disarm. “Yes, that’s right,” I shrugged and bowed. When I straightened, the Hunter’s gun and the King’s sceptre were aimed at me. The Businessman rummaged for a weapon. Only the Geographer leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Honestly,” I spread my hands, feigning harmlessness, “three against one? How brave and noble.” “Last time, six of us couldn’t handle you,” the King muttered but lowered his sceptre. The Businessman wedged between them, clutching a water pistol. Seriously? His suitcase was clearly subspace. Worth rummaging later. “Notice any differences from last time?” I touched my chest. “And remember, you walked away unharmed then, though I could’ve killed you easily. I didn’t want to. You attacked first while I’d done nothing to you. Then or now.” “Don’t try to find excuses!” the King brandished his sceptre. “We’ve followed your trail and witnessed the wars, disasters, strife left in your wake!” “You popped in for five minutes to solve the Prince’s problems,” I interrupted, “heard his side, obeyed, and left. Had you stayed longer or asked the locals, you’d have seen their own stupidity and greed caused their ruin. I just watched. Our ‘friend’ is biased—he blames me for everything.” A loud bang, a hard shove to my shoulder. I staggered but stayed upright; the Hunter fell over from recoil. “Don’t you dare slander the Little Prince!” he yelled, kicking free of the Businessman’s suitcase. I clutched my shoulder. No damage, barely any pain. My hand came away yellow. A marking pellet? Creative. “And if I do?” I wiped my hand on my jumper. “You said you’ve no proper ammo, so you’d merely litter the Prince’s notebook. How will you hurt me?” “Salt in the ear’s no joke,” the Hunter growled, biting a cartridge to prime his gun. Best neutralise him before he found real ammo. Luckily, I knew his pressure point. “Why fear me? I can’t harm you now even if I wanted.” He scoffed but didn’t aim, just held the gun ready. “Inconceivable…” The Geographer, blind to the action, stepped closer, shielding me. “But how? We all saw the Snake—a giant serpent being. And you… Is it really you? My apologies, I suffer a cognitive dissonance.” “Me too. Yes, it’s me. I am unique.” I smiled, though his towering over me irked. “You’re the only sensible one here among barbarians. As a researcher, you must have questions. I have answers. I’m older than the universe, have seen every corner of it across eras. You,” I suppressed a smirk, “must lack data to update your atlases.” He hesitated. Good. “Thank you,” he said weakly, “but these ‘barbarians’ are my friends. You aren’t. And I only record from trusted travellers, like the Little Prince. While you are an infamous liar.” “Here we go,” I sighed. “Any proof to that? Or just rumours? Geography holds no value for me, so why should I lie? Right, I am capable of lying, just like any living being, but rarely do. No more often than your so-called friends.” I glanced at the Hunter. “Like, do you believe hunters’ tall tales?” He protested but didn’t shoot because the King had grabbed my collar and flung me aside. The Businessman rolled up his sleeves. “Don’t listen!” the King warned the Geographer. “He’s poisoning us!” “Poisoning,” I turned to him, “is metaphorical. Science deals in facts. And why the double standards? You punish me for truth, while he,” I nodded at the Businessman, “cheats you daily yet goes unpunished. He could swindle your crown and trousers for debts anytime.” “Lies!” the Businessman shrieked as the King turned on him. “Has he never cheated you before?” I fuelled the fire. “He sold me tiger orchids as roses!” The King levelled his sceptre at the scammer, who backed away. While they bickered, I returned to the Geographer, who was already primed for the key question: “Why do I need to update atlases? Geography books are eternal as mountains seldom move…” I laughed. “Seldom?! They do it constantly! And not just mountains. Those changes are too slow for you to notice, but in a few generations, your work will be outdated. Nothing’s eternal. Mountains rise and erode, lakes dry, rivers carve canyons, life evolves and dies. Same in space. Stars burn out, asteroids collide. You saw the chaos I caused in your galaxy. And the countless celestial bodies I’ve erased?” He clutched his atlas, lips tight. Push harder. “All I’ve said is true. Check your books. Look up continental drift or erosion. Or recall Asteroid B612 zipping around on paper propulsion. Did you update its coordinates? Oh wait, it’s gone now, shattered in a meteor swarm en route here.” He flipped through his astronomical guide. I stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. Oh, how I missed the ability to change height and tower over the victims. Yes, Earth’s entry was still there. “Wait!” I grabbed a page. “You’ve kept Earth’s data? It recently became the second asteroid belt in its system, all its geography, zoology and other data obsolete.” I tore out two pages. For metaphysical reasons, that was a very good sign. At least one new ability for all the lost ones. The Geographer froze. The Hunter tensed but stayed put, clearly missing the thread of talk. Alright, no more sudden movement. “What’s so surprising? Your book says this belt was once planet Phaeton. And—” He yanked the atlas away. “Even if true—which you can’t prove—it’s still a historical record, a source of knowledge…” “Knowledge of what?” I pocketed the pages. “You’ll never return to your galaxy—you told the Prince so. The locals won’t visit it either. What use is this priceless data here, where they have no practical use? Just paper with words and pictures. You don’t have a spare life to study this galaxy. How much lifespan have you left?” He chewed his lip, shoulders slumping. The venom was working. Time to probe for answers about my condition. “Only metaphysical laws are universal. Maybe. What does your encyclopedia say about elementals?” Out of various philosophical systems of different ages, elementals as personified embodiments of forces were closest to what I was. “I don’t study metaphysics,” he mumbled, flipping through the pages. “It’s unprovable—thus, nonexistent.” Nonexistent?! Then how did the Prince’s feats fit his worldview? Then a better idea struck. If my predicament was the Prince’s doing, he’d never explain it to me. But he might’ve told his friends. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to dismay you,” I feigned concern. “I merely stated facts and would’ve helped you—if I could.” I gestured to my human form. “In my prime, I could’ve sent you home in a blink and saved your life’s work. But we could help each other. Ask the Prince what he did to me. Once I regain my power, I’ll take you home…” He nodded vaguely, but the others protested. After a pause, he vanished. Back to his page, most probably. One down, three to go. “Well,” I said lightly, “where were we? Cards? Let’s continue.” Silence and suspicious stares. “You don’t trust me, right? Okay, trust is unnecessary in games. Everyone bluffs. And I couldn’t cheat more than someone here.” The Hunter snorted. Even the King eyed the Businessman. A gust shuffled by. The notebook had been opened. But the “ceiling” remained, meaning another page was accessed. Voices barely audible—the Prince and Geographer. “Fancy a stroll?” I asked the Hunter. He fumbled his cards and grabbed his gun. “Ask loudly, and the Prince must release you. If he refuses, you’ll know you’re as trapped as I am.” I was sure the Prince wouldn’t refuse—and I’d hitch a ride out. But let them doubt. “You’re staying put!” the King declared. None begged for freedom. Fine. Plenty of time to erode their trust in the Prince. And what if the outside trouble required all hands? The others vanished to their pages, except the Hunter, on whose spread the company held the party. The Businessman snatched the cards, eyeing me warily. The Hunter stood guard, glancing between me and the “ceiling.” I sat to conserve energy. Another gust, and the “ceiling” opened. The Prince looked straight at me: “So it is you! How did you get on this page, and what did you do to the Geographer?”