Heraclix and Pomp: A Novel of the Fabricated and the Fey by Forrest Aguirre Page A

fortress,” Heraclix said.
    “Yes, this stronghold. A refuge from guilt I constructed using the spoils of conquest. But it wasn’t long after building it that I came to realize that some laws cannot be broken, some rules cannot change. My supposed elimination of variables was merely a shell game. I had hidden a side of the equation from myself. Eventually, the variables themselves crawled back out from under my manipulations and demanded that the rules be obeyed, that the balance be restored.”
    “The ghosts beneath us!” Heraclix said.
    Pomp peeked around Heraclix’s shoulder at the trapdoor behind him, wide eyed.
    “The same,” the Serb said. “I was, am, haunted by my victims. I knew that I wouldn’t be left alone until I could find a way to rectify things. There was no escaping it. But this wasn’t the primary reason for my next course of action. After the epiphany in the girl’s eyes, I wanted to do some good in this world and in the next, to try to undo what I had done, rather than merely drown out the guilt I felt.
    “I studied, night and day, because I was kept awake, for the most part, by the ghosts of the dead. I studied and read the Gnostic texts, volumes of Sufi lore, the Hermetic traditions. I wanted to learn and practice the art of healing—spiritual and physicalhealing. Never again did I want to see such an abyss as I saw in that little orphan girl’s eyes.
    “My self-teaching, however, could only go so far. Books only show, they cannot mentor. I needed help beyond my own to seize my desires. So I left here, for a time, to seek wisdom and power to set things right.
    “I spent some weeks with a group of monks not far from here, then headed toward Pest. I stopped at every church along the way, but found little in the way of enlightenment. Then, on the outskirts of Pest I stayed, for a time, in a gypsy camp. There I met some fortune-tellers, one of whom suggested that I allow her to take my needs to a man she knew in Prague who might be able to help. I agreed, thinking, after I left to return to my tower, that I had wasted my time, that I would never hear from her again.
    “I began to despair, thinking that I might never achieve my aims, that I would die under the burden of guilt, haunted by ten thousand souls, then join them, forever to be tormented by their pleadings.”
    “It is just,” Pomp said, clamping her hands over her mouth, surprised that she had said the words aloud. She thought she had spoiled everything. Now Heraclix wouldn’t get the help he needed.
    “It is just, little one. But providence saw fit to bring me to my senses while there was still time left to try to balance the scales of justice. I just wasn’t sure how to proceed.”
    “Then, a few weeks after I returned here, there was a knock at my door. It was the gypsy, with an unsigned letter that said, in substance, ‘I understand your dilemma and your desires. I can help, if the price is agreeable.’”
    “Of course, money was no object. I sent her back with a response asking for terms. The gypsy never returned. Nevertheless, messengers were sent and returned, back and forth, until I had negotiated an agreeable contract with my mysterious business partner.”
    “The exchange was this: my hand, the hand that had shuffled the shells, hidden the variables, done the evil deeds . . . in exchange for the ability to heal—to reconcile the equation.”
    “Your necklace,” Heraclix said.
    “The necklace, yes. This was the agreement. But there were some difficulties, as with any business transaction.”
    “Difficulties?” Heraclix asked.
    “I had thought we were at the conclusion of our business. I was awaiting delivery of the necklace, when the messenger I had sent with the hand arrived back at my tower with the necklace and a note. The note informed me that while the necklace would, as promised, impart to me the gift of healing, there was a certain key-word needed to actuate it. The key-word would be given to me as