FIRST, A NOTE ABOUT THE "JOURNEY" SERIES

The Journey? It died. I walked away for a few weeks, and when I came back, Journey was dead.

I’ll be honest. I toyed with the idea of finishing Journey. But now it’s dead and decayed, a moth-eaten corpse in my mind. I don’t even remember who the Master was, or what he had to do with anything. Forget Travesdain and Argusdain--which one was which?--they had something to do with the ending, but I forgot.

For the record, this is what I can remember: In the next installment, the Narrator dies. The story is then picked by Jennifer, who continues it. Haman goes... wait, can’t tell you that. It will spoil the upcoming story.

The story I present to you is a full re-realization of the world first set forth in Journey. It has fermented in my mind. It won’t get any readier for presentation than it is now. It’s a re-write, a continuation, all those things. I’m pretty sure it’s a lot better this time around.

The journey continues, and all that junk.

THE ACCUSER: I. Evifolikok reayapus ogar salbtosar yticom Atlantomi busik sevawas.

“Come...”

Lonely, dark, narrow. Claustrophobic.

The corridor was lit by bulbs spaced all-too-far apart, flooding the narrow area with stark fluorescent light. Footsteps on the steel floor gave echoes as loud as the original sound, echoes that assaulted the ears from all directions at once, as though there was someone behind Rick, or ahead of him.

In the lowest depths of the diving submarine, the grumbling of the engines was the only company to reassure him. He was awoken at night by terrible gnashing metallic groans. They said it was the submarine protesting the pressure change, but Rick wasn’t so sure. He heard the noises in his dreams.

“...with me.”

The submarine shook, probably from the currents.

It shook again, more violently.

The lights went out. He was bathed in darkness. The submarine gave a terrible roar.

His panicked stumbling footsteps were echoes in the dark. Were those footsteps ahead of him? Or behind him?

A light appeared in front of him. It was at about eye level. It hovered in front of him, a few yards away.

The light beckoned.

“Come...”

The light retreated. Rick took a hesitant, soft step towards it.

“with me.”

He took another tentative step, then another. The light moved, and he followed.

“Come...”

He followed the light down the corridor and around a corner. It was moving faster, and Rick had to jog. He glanced about nervously—what if someone woke up? But he wasn’t near anyone’s quarters.

“with me.”

He was in a room. Minicomputer consoles lined the walls. They were desks with built-in keyboards and screens, relics from a time when computers were that large. The heat they generated made Rick sweat.

One of the monitors flashed on.

“Come...”

The monitor was in full color, and was laced with static. It wasn’t computer screen, it was a television.

It showed a picture of the ocean floor. The field of view was illuminated, and there was a cave dead ahead.

“...here!”

Through the cave, quickly, round corners and through crevices and canyons, into a vast cavern, so vast the sides and ceiling not visible, of—

—were those square things houses?—

—and Rick realized he must be dreaming.

Wake up, Rick.

And he found himself lying prone in his bunk, his muscles infused with fatigue, coated with damp sweat. His eyes were closed, and he did not open them, though he stayed awake for quite some time. Unlike most dreams, this did not fade away; it lingered for quite a while in his memory, and was still lingering when he was woken up in the morning.

Back at the base, he woke up in the morning by himself about fifteen minutes before everyone else, but on submarines, with no sun to guide you, your sense of time went quickly. Or at least his did.

* * *
“Incredible.”

“Impossible.”

The two hunched over the security monitor. One held a pad with two thick rubber joysticks.

“You aren’t seeing...”

“It looks like a castle.”

The monitor’s washed-out blue flooded their faces with light. The rest of the room was dark.

“It can’t be,” said the one with the joysticks.

“No.”

“Maybe it’s some sort of...”

They exchanged glances.

“...rock formation?”

They stared at the monitor.

“I’d like to see this closer. Can we move the vehicle?”

“It’s stuck.”

“Unstick it, then.”

“We might sever the control line.”

“Oh, right.”

A silence.

“Let’s try to get a closer look.”

He took one of the joysticks and twisted it.

“Zooming in?”

“Look at that.”

“Pan the camera, I can’t see.”

“It’s, like, a tower. A spire. No, a watch tower, maybe.”

“Battlements... Wait, what’s that?”

“What?”

“That black shape there. I’ll zoom in.” He twisted the joystick again.

“It appears to be...”

“It’s human shaped.”

“It’s a body,” said the second one.

They exchanged glances.

“You think?” said the second one.

The first one stood back. “We’d better report this to command...” He twisted the joystick the opposite direction.

“Not him?”

“No, military command. I want to show Banon.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s shown unusual interest in this operation. Do you think he knew about this thing?”

“Come on. You don’t even know what it is.”

“It looks like a castle in a cavern under the sea.”

“How did it get there, though? How would a castle get underwater? Wait. What’s that?”

“What’s what?” He came closer to the screen.

“Give me the sticks.”

“No!” He pulled them back defensively.

“Okay. Fine. See that?” He pointed. “It’s glowing.”

The first looked closer. His face was awash in light from the screen.

“Pan the camera,” said the second.

The first twisted the joystick, zooming in.

The monitor was small, about thirteen inches, and worked in only black and bluish white. It zoomed in until the bricks on the walls were visible. The point of view swept silently up and left, past turrets, past the vast field and courtyard, everything growing smaller in perspective, then straight up the inner keep’s walls. Each story of the castle was more distant than the last. The upper stories were awash in light. It illuminated their faces.

“There!”

Up, and to the right, to one of the castle’s topmost and narrowest floors, and the source of light—a fuzzy, dazzling radiance from the center window.

“That’s...” He could barely breathe.

“...what on earth?”

“...I don’t know...”

The second one turned away suddenly. “We should get Banon.”

“What?” said the first, not really paying attention to him.

“I said, we should get Banon.”

“What do you think it is?” he said softly.

“Either we’re hallucinating collectively, or we found a glowing castle on the ocean floor.” He took a few steps away. “I’d say it’s a dream, but it doesn’t feel like one, does it? My shrink—I don’t have one, but he’d love...” He trailed off. “..to hear...”

“Look at this, it’s getting brighter.”

The second one sighed.

“Look!” the first shouted.

The second one returned to the monitor, and that was when it exploded, knocking them off their feet.

* * *
“So what were these two doing, anyway?” asked Banon, a broad-shouldered general.

“Ah, underwater research, sir. Doing exploration with those, you know, roboty things,” said the lieutenant. They were in Banon’s office. The lieutenant was in uniform; Banon wasn’t.

Banon leaned forward on his desk, brushing his digital clock aside. “And their monitor was shattered. Glass everywhere. They weren’t breathing. What was the cause of death?”

“Nothing, as far as we can tell. Sir.”

“Hmm.” Banon sat back. He folded his hands behind his head, and stuck his heavy boots on his desk. He stared into space. “What about the, ah, robotic vehicle?”

“Destroyed.”

Banon sat upright. “Uh?”

“Well.” The lieutenant fidgeted with the ends of his shirt. “I mean, the line was severed. Sir.”

“Line?”

“Control line, sir. Used to control the vehicle, sir.”

“And where is it, the vehicle?” Banon leaned forward.

“Gone, sir.”

“Hmm.” He rested his elbows on the desk. “So you mean that these guys are dead, for no reason other than that they’re dead, not breathing, but perfectly healthy otherwise, except they’re DEAD, and their equipment’s shot, and their robot vehicle gone.”

“Ah...”

“Hmm?”

“Actually, sir, it was just that one screen. Not all the equipment.”

“Um.” Banon stared at the ceiling.

The lieutenant stared at the ceiling too, thinking there might be something up there.

No, there wasn’t.

Banon looked directly at the lieutenant. “Okay, here’s the deal. Who knows about this?”

“Er, everyone on the boat, sir.”

“We’ve maintained radio silence.”

“As per your orders, sir.”

“Good. You may leave.”

The lieutenant walked away quickly.

“No one is to know about this,” cautioned Banon. Otherwise, he thought, I’ll have to kill you.

There was a black phone on Banon’s desk. He picked up the receiver and dialed.

He held the phone to his ear and waited. It rang once, twice, three times, four times.

“You have reached Gorbachev,” said a soft, breathy, rapid voice. “Leave a message after the beep.” Beep.

Banon said: “Gerard, I know you’re there. Pick up the goddamn phone.”

Click.

“Jesus Christ,” said the same voice on the phone.

“Speaking. Gerard, listen.”

“The hell do you want?”

“I got a story for you.”

“A research boat was picking up some disturbances. Sounded sort of like sonar. So naturally we were a bit worried. It was the bottom of the Atlantic, off Iberia—”

“What were you doing near Spain?”

“Research, Gerard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s nice, Gerard. Listen. So we talked to NATO about what could be causing the sonar-like pings—”

“You didn’t talk to NATO.”

“Okay, Gerard, you caught me.”

“Military’s too bureaucratic for that. NATO hasn’t anything to do with anything anyway. Pathetic attempt at a lie, Banon.”

“That’s enough, Gerard. Is this line bugged?”

“I dunno, you tell me. You’re the army guy. NATO? Sheesh.”

“Okay. So—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said the voice, and Banon flinched. “You were looking for it.”

“What?”

“Damn you. I knew this would happen, Jesus Christ—”

“Gerard, no, no, I swear we weren’t—”

“Yes, you were. I’ll have nothing to do with this.”

“Gerard—”

“Good day.”

“Gerard, wait, there’s—”

Click.

“— something I have to ask you. Gerard. Gerard!”

Only a dial tone.

Banon glared at the phone, then slammed it on the desk. “Christ. God damn.” He threw his digital clock against the wall to his side. It shattered. “Fuck!”

The dial tone was still audible. Banon solved that problem by yanking the reciever from its cord and throwing that against the wall. It struck right next to the dent made by the alarm clock, and the plastic split apart.

Banon’s breath was heavy. He pounded his desk with a fist, and muttered curses.

* * *
“So,” said the voice through the radio, “could you remind me why I agreed to do this?”

“You didn’t,” said the opposite end of the radio, “agree to anything. Banon’s orders.”

The bottom of the sea was black, except for the floodlight on the helmet of a a man in an underwater suit. It looked something like a caricature of a space suit. It was heavy, clumsy and large, colored bright yellow, and with an oversized head. A pipe trailed out.

“Why couldn’t we,” said Rick in the suit, “use a ROV?”

“Banon insisted on a person. No robots allowed, he said.”

“That’s stupid. That’s—that’s stupid.”

“Banon can be, uh, persuasive.”

“Stupid,” he affirmed.

“How did that guy become an officer? He’s like something out of a bad movie. Military doesn’t put up with his theatrical nonsense, or it shouldn’t, anyway.”

Rick walked in low gravity; in long, floaty, slow-motion strides. He was approaching a small undersea shelf. In the side was a cavern, about twice his height and width. The entrance was dark.

“I’m—I’m approaching the cavern.”

“Go in it.”

“This is stupid.” His voice shook. “This is retarded. This is stupid.”

“Yes, you said that.”

Rick was as angry as himself as he was with the mission; he had gone asking about what had happened with the ROV, and the cave it was exploring. It could have been the cave from his creepy dream.

“Rick—”

“I’m going to get lost, or sever my line.”

“Rick, you are not going to sever your line.”

“What if it gets pinched, huh? Then—no air can get through!”

“Just be careful and it won’t happen.”

“Fine.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going in. But this is stupid.”

“Hurry up, will ya?”

The cavern was unremarkable. There were stalagmites and stalactites that cast shadows on the cave walls. There were twists and turns, but no branches.

“Rick?”

“Everything’s fine, so far.”

Around a corner, and another. He looked down. He was standing on cobblestones, blue ones.

“The hell?”

“Rick?”

“Just—the cavern floor. It’s really weird. It looks like pavement, you know, that Old English pavement.”

“Old English pavement. That’s wonderful, Rick.”

“There’s a fork here. I’m gonna follow the road.”

“It’s not a road, Rick. There’s no roads underwater.”

“Shut up. This is stupid.”

“Yes, you said that.”

Rick continued. Around a corner, and then—

“Oh my God.”

“Rick? What is it?”

He was staring down the crooked street of what clearly was a city. He could only see a few dozen yards, but that was enough. There were flat-roofed houses to his left and right, constructed of something like crumbling blue adobe. The cavern ceiling was not visible.

“It’s—it’s a city.”

“Nice, Rick. An underwater city. Any Old English pavement?”

“No, I’ve seen this—”

There was a flash of light. For a brief moment, the entire cavern was illuminated, the crooked street lit bright as day, and in the distance a house-covered hill, topped by—

a castle?

“Whaddya mean, you’ve seen this?”

“Ahh, my head!” He slowly fell over. His helmet made a deep clank as it hit the ground.

“Rick?”

No response.

“Rick!”

Rick got up. His suit was gone. He was still in the city. He was in the open air, not under the sea. The moon was new, but the sky had the dark blue of the early morning. The sun was beginning to rise.

Was it a dream? If it was, he couldn’t wake up. It seemed like a part of him knew it was real, but his rational part knew it could not be possible.

The Navy has free shrinks, right?

Rick looked around him in wonder. There was barely enough light to see, but the blue pueblo-like houses all around him were new and unsullied. They had been built recently.

Rick stumbled about. The road stopped abruptly behind him, and beyond that an expanse of grassy plain leading up to a beach barely visible in the distance. In an hour or so the sun would break the blue horizon. A lighthouse stood upon the beach, with a red light sparkling like a beacon in a lantern.

Rick looked in front him. The crooked street extended into the distance, where it zig-zagged out of sight. The squat blue houses lining the streets were none at all alike in size or height. Above that was a night-shrouded hill in the near-distance, the silhouette of a castle barely distinguishable against the dark sky. Some of the stars were still visible.

He felt something rush past him. He looked for the source, and caught a glimpse of a swift man dressed all in tight black clothes. The man disappeared around a corner.

Rick followed into a dark alley. There was no sign of the man. He continued down the alley, until he reached a wide throughfare.

A pedestrian lay face-down on the sidewalk in a pool of blood around his chest.

A flit at the corner of Rick’s vision. Another man clad in black. His rapid footsteps were near inaudible. He carried a black spear, holding it upright as he ran. He vanished around a corner.

Rick saw that the road he was standing on led straight up to the hill, and probably to the castle. He decided to follow it.

This street was lined not with houses, but with shops. Some were already beginning to man their awning-covered booths. They took no notice of Rick. As he walked, he saw large blue cathedrals, public baths, Roman-style forums, large civic buildings, circular temples, blue pagodas, and a few mansions made of blue brick. None of them had windows except the temples, cathedrals and mansions. Usually, the windows were made of stained glass, which was, of course, different shades of blue. Most of the more important-looking buildings had signs written in a Roman font, though the language was unintelligible. There was no sign of the black-clad warriors.

The hill was not as distant as it seemed: Rick reached its base before the sun broke the horizon. The sky was getting brighter, though, and the stars had nearly vanished. The shops were more numerous and the buildings bigger in this area, and they seemed to get even more important-looking as they led up to the castle. Pedestrians were appearing on the road with regularity, and Rick saw a buggy or two. The buggies were not pulled by horses; they were not, as far as he could tell, pulled by anything.

Rick climbed the hill. The castle was constructed something like a ziggurat, a pyramid of smaller and smaller stories up to a squat belfry at the top. But, Rick saw, this belfry contained one thing other than a bell: a bright, sparkling red light. Towers poked up around the castle, and closed gates were ahead of him.

As he walked, Rick caught a few glimpses of the black warriors.

He was nearing the top of the shadow-sloped hill when he saw the gates open. He could see inside: the area was swarming with the black-clad spearmen.

He heard the sound of wheels on cobblestones. It was from behind him.

A blue buggy that looked like a sedan with wheels was proceeding up the road. It was like the other buggies Rick had seen, except for the curtains, but this one was heading for the castle.

When it reached Rick, it stopped. Rick’s heart seemed to jump, and his mouth was going dry.

A curtain unfolded, and out stepped a thing in golden armor that clinked as he moved. The breast plate had emblazoned on it a red figure; a triangle within a circle studded like the knobs on a ship’s steering wheel.

It wore a helmet with a great red plume and only a T-shaped slit down the front. The eyes; bright, cold, alert eyes; were visible and they looked down commandingly upon Rick.

“Rewom ebom?” it said, in a cold voice.

The language was foreign, but Rick could understand it as though it were his own. It had said: (Who are you?)

But Rick could not speak. His throat felt stuck.

“Ereham lahstomek eban. Eiwtom eiwomek emusam. (You should not be here. You are somehow not like us.)”

Rick said nothing.

“Wonkomek kaepsanom. Lahsum emomom sidesopan ronad. Nactosek simogos ekaman. (You do not know my language. I shall dispose of you, then. We cannot make mistakes.)” It grabbed Rick by the hair and unsheathed a sword. Rick made a noise of protest, but it was cut short as the armored man ran the sword across Rick’s throat. The armored man let Rick fall to the ground as blood was pumped out of his neck.

Two black-clothed spearmen jogged up behind the armored thing.

(That man was not from this city,) it said. (Alert the lieutenants in charge. They should be at their posts by now. They should be wary. Gerard may be behind this, or worse.)