Fractured Infinities

Puzzle Pieces

"So, let me get this straight." The huntsman drops onto a low marble bench after glancing warily at the surrounding hedges. "Ya saw a bunch of images as ya were flying through the mist, and ya recognized most of them, but ya didn't know all of them. And the last picture was a cracked mirror?"

I materialize in the mirror and nod. "Correct. Did you see something different?" I suspect I already know the answer, but I want to give him an opening to explain. When the farseers and I dropped back into the tower, his face was dead white, but he refused to say anything about what he saw. Even my attempts to draw him out by describing my own visions elicited nothing more than a grunt or a nod.

But now we're in the sprawling gardens, hidden in one of the vast hedge-mazes that surrounds the court; the farseers' tower is nowhere in sight. I'm sure they can still see us if they choose – peering through space is a trifle compared to gazing through the veils of time – but, with any luck, they're done with us for now. We're safe, or as safe as we'll ever be Underhill.

The huntsman sighs. "Mary... I..." He glances around and grimaces. "It's hard to explain. It felt like..." A shudder drifts down his body. "Like I was a rider in my own body. I couldn't control it a bit. I just had to sit there and watch as all the horrible things happened – as I did all these horrible things." His hands clench tightly around his knees as his gaze darts towards my mirror, then hastily skitters away.

He's clearly distressed, which bothers me, but I'm not sure how to help. "Ah... it couldn't have been that bad," I try.

It's the wrong thing to say. His face tightens and his lips press into a thin line as he snarls, "How could ya say that? It was damn awful! It was..." He trails off, shoulders slumping. "Ya weren't there; ya won't get it."

I make a mental note to avoid telling mortals that events aren't as bad as they seem, then offer him an attempt at a reassuring smile. "So, will you tell me? I promise I'll listen." I've noticed that lovers often say this to each other when one of them is mad; it appears to help them calm down. I hope it works in other contexts as well.

Ben grimaces, but some of the tension eases out of his shoulders. "Well..." He huffs a sigh. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning, then go to the end," I suggest.

It seems logical enough to me, but he barks a humorless laugh. "It's not that easy, Mary. But... I'll try." He lays my mirror across his lap and folds his hands. "At the beginning, I thought I was back in the real world, tending the horses. I could smell the manure and hay, feel the handle of the rake against my hand. There was even this chestnut mare that could have been the twin of Sparky, the princess's mare back at home. But the rest of the horses were different; I didn't recognize them. So it was confusing."

I want to ask him to get to the point, but I suspect that would not be appropriate etiquette. So I wait, mustering my patience, as he falls silent for several long moments.

When he speaks again, his eyes are dark and unreadable. "Then a soldier came and summoned me to the queen, and that was when things got weird." He shrugs. "Or, well, weirder. She was gorgeous, covered in black lace, but her skin was this dark brown color, like some of the travelling entertainers. I've..." He blushes faintly. "Never seen a woman like that before."

He sounds puzzled, which confuses me. If he finds brown skin 'weird,' what about turquoise or silver? What about fur or scales or feathers? I know mortals put far too much stock in appearances – my wielders are more than enough proof – but I didn't quite realize that small differences matter so much to them.