Ivy League Illusion, Part 10
The Library of the Mind
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“You aren’t Nidhoggson,” I said. “He’s too busy escaping from the vampires. You’re just…some kind of illusion.”
Fake Nidhoggson chuckled, further undermining the idea that he was real. “Who is to say what is real and what is illusion here? This library and even your own physical body aren’t real here, either. But regardless of whether l am real or not, the spell caster who locked away your memories might have linked me to the real Nidhoggson. That would make destroying me have the same effect as killing him.”
He could conceivably be telling the truth. I had no choice but to try, though. Without my memories, I’d be dead, anyway—or worse.
I raced in his direction, relying on the Helm of Awe to cushion the impact when I collided with him. Instead of bracing himself to meet me head-on, he ran down the nearest aisle, yet another sign that he wasn’t the real Nidhoggson.
I ran after him, but he was already out of sight. I tried to grab a book off the shelf, but my fingers hit an invisible barrier. If Fake Nidhoggson was to be believed, I’d have to kill him to get access.
To do that, I’d have to find him. I couldn’t sense his magically charged presence, confirmation that he wasn’t real. But how could I track him? I heard the echoes of his running footsteps, but following the sound got me nowhere.
I didn’t have time for cat-and-mouse games with a probable illusion. Nidhoggson was clever enough to elude our common enemies for a while, but he was in territory they knew far better than he did. I needed to get my memories back—and fast.
I stopped and stared at one of the shelves for a while. If I concentrated, I could see the barrier holding me back. But without my memories, I had no idea how to counter the magic. I tried ramming myself into the barrier repeatedly. But apparently, the Helm of Awe’s magic was designed only for defense. Hard though it was, it didn’t make a dent in the spell protecting the shelves.
I spent a little time exploring the library. More like wasted a little time, actually. The place was constructed like a maze. Even though the aisles all seemed to run in a straight line, I couldn’t retrace my steps to get back from where I started. And though I heard Nidhoggson running from time to time, I never found him.
There could only be one explanation—even in my own mind, my surroundings were just another elaborate illusion, like the Harvard campus had been. That was the only way to explain how I could get lost by walking in a straight line or be unable to move closer to Nidhoggson even though I could hear him.
Maybe the surroundings weren’t exactly an illusion. Could they be like a dream? They were certainly as mutable as dream landscapes were, though if this was a dream, it was much more vivid than any I’d ever had before.
Whatever this place was, it was created by magic, dark alfar magic, possibly with some duergar thrown in. If only I knew how to overcome such sorcery!
I’d seen that the dark alfar themselves were vulnerable to light, especially sunlight. Could their magic be vulnerable to it as well? Despite my misgivings, I let go of the Helm of Awe, which wasn’t doing me any good right now, and drew Sowilo in the air.
Sunlight shined on the nearby bookcases, but the magic surrounding them remained intact. I pushed harder, driving the light to blinding intensity. That did cause the bookcase magic to feel a little softer, as if it were starting to melt. But I still couldn’t get through it, and I might exhaust myself if I kept pushing.
What I needed was a rune I could combine with Sowilo, something that could break the weakened magic. Thurisaz might do the trick.
Holding on to Sowilo with one hand, I drew Thurisaz with the other. I immediately felt stronger, but I needed more. Striking the magic with my fists didn’t do me any good, even though it had been softened by the sunlight. But Thurisaz had many associations.
Focusing as intently as I could, I caused an image of Mjolnir, Thor’s hammer, to appear in my hand. I could feel the weight of it. I could grip its short handle—too short to allow me to use it like a regular hammer. I backed up a little and threw it at the magic barrier instead. Thunder roared, lightning flashed, and the barrier shuddered. Cracks formed at the impact point even as the hammer returned to my hand.
I was sure Thor could have done better, but at least now, I was making progress. After three more hits, the cracks were becoming fissures, and the magic was barely holding itself together. I felt it trying to regenerate, but presumably, the presence of so much sunlight prevented that.
Nidhoggson appeared, running down the aisle, roaring a battle cry as he came at me. My attacks on the magic must have summoned him.
I no longer had the Helm of Awe, but my conjured copy of Mjollnir might do just as well. I threw it at Nidhoggson’s chest, but he dodged it and reached me before it came back.
Even if he wasn’t a dark alfar creation but was somehow a replica of the real thing, Nidhoggson had been born of venom, cold, and darkness. I raised the sunlight to blinding intensity, and he stumbled. But he managed to tear into my left arm with his claws. I screamed, blood gushed all over the place, and my runes flickered as my concentration failed.
I countered by putting more energy into Thurisaz, and I grew stronger, despite the pain and blood loss. Mjollnir was back in my hand, and I threw it at Nidhoggson’s claw. That move shouldn’t have worked. I was too close to allow the hammer to gain much momentum. But it struck with a satisfying display of thunder and lightning and the even more satisfying sound of bones breaking. Apparently, in this mental realm, my intent was more important than physical variables like distance.
Somewhere far away, I felt Nidhoggson trying to focus on me, but whether because he sensed Fake Nidhoggson’s injuries or my own, I had no way of telling. Nor could I stop him if he realized what was going on and tried to intervene.
The blood loss was already making me dizzy. If I didn’t win this fight quickly, I wouldn’t win it at all.
Howling, Fake Nidhoggson tried to run away. I threw again, this time shattering one of his knees, an injury that caused him to fall.
“Stop!” That was the voice of the real Nidhoggson. Was Fake Nidhoggson telling the truth that destroying him would kill Nidhoggson—and me? Of was Nidhoggson just concerned that I’d get my memories back?
Being cautious now might lose me my only chance at freedom. Gambling that Fake Nidhoggson was a liar, I threw Mjollnir again, this time at his skull. The thunderclap was deafening. The lightning was blinding. Despite that, I heard and saw his skull shatter. I looked away, not wanting to see the spatter pattern of his brain. But I knew two things. I was still here. In the far distance, so was Nidhoggson. Score one for absolute recklessness!
“Stop!” repeated Nidhoggson, but that’s all he did. Perhaps the various efforts to keep my memories out of my reach were holding him back as well. If he had to follow the same path here that I’d taken, it would take him a while to arrive.
Fake Nidhoggson had been right about one thing. His death caused the spell sealing up my memories to shatter into a million pieces like glass hit by a sledgehammer. Getting dizzier by the second, I managed to reach out and grab one of the books on the nearest shelf.
The moment I touched it, I felt pain a thousand times more intense than a migraine. Screaming, I fell to the floor, longing for unconsciousness. Despite the torture within my skull, my wish for oblivion wasn’t granted.
Ivy League Illusion is related to the Different Dragons series. (The action falls after the end of the third book.)
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"... my surroundings were just another elaborate illusion, like the Harvard campus had been." I'm sure many students feel like that on graduation day. :)
Great job of describing the problem, solution, and outcome, albeit ...to bad. Fake & real adversary, too, was a way to keep them straight as I read. Thank-you!