The Mirrorverse

Syrhahn

Syrhahn approached the fortress, critically aware of his own mortality. He was standing outside the gates of a fortified mansion, on the outskirts of the city.

His finger hovered over the intercom button whilst cameras fixed their glassy stare at him, while he in turn stared back.

“State your business,” demanded the cold voice.

Syrhahn’s voice was steady as he replied to the disembodied voice.

“I am here to speak with the head of the house,” he informed it, aware that he sounded psychotic again. He really was out of practice.

“State your business,” repeated the voice.

Syrhahn took a deep breath before replying to the emotionless voice emanating from the intercom.

“I have news of Angelli Slavesti, and I will impart it only to the head of the house,” his voice mirroring the icy tone of the creature he was conversing with.

There was a silence, a break where his fate was being decided. Then the gates opened and he was met by four men adorned with bullet proof vests, packing assault rifles and pistols in waist holsters. He thought of the gun in his boot, aware that it probably wouldn’t make it in with him, but there was always hope.

With two men beside him, one in front and one behind, he was led through the picturesque gardens of the ancient stately home and in through the open front door. The foyer was enormous, and would have been beautiful under any other circumstances. A large staircase was at the far end, wide and as grand as the area around it.

In the centre of the foyer, Syrhahn was searched for weapons. They found the gun, as he knew they would, but it was still a crushing blow to go in there without any hope of coming out alive. Unable to think of anything to explain the gun’s presence, he merely shrugged.

Syrhahn was led to the rear of the foyer, and into a room to the left. The door frame was constructed from carved mahogany, matching the door that swung easily on it’s well oiled hinges. There an old man sat behind a desk large enough for a coffin to rest on top. My coffin, since no-one will find me. No-one was looking for him. The only person he had was gone, and he needed to know where.

The old man arose from his seat, holding the armrests for support. A young man to his right jumped up to assist, but was waved away.

“You have news of my niece,” stated the old man, his voice stronger than his rotting frame.

“I do. And I need information.”

“Speak,” said the man, his grey eyes fixing Syrhahn’s filled with anger and something he couldn’t identify.

“Angelli Slavesti was my wife,” Syrhahn informed the frail man, unwavering in posture or tone.

“Your wife?” the old man demanded in disbelief. “Was?”

“My wife died in childbirth twenty three years ago.” Syrhahn scrutinised his face, watching it flicker at the news of his niece’s demise.

“We have a child,” he went on. “We named him Viskra. He has her intelligence, her sparkle.” he softened a little towards the end of his speech, picking himself back up immediately.

“Go on,” the elderly Slavesti advised softly.

“He was taken from me and I want him back. He was taken from Jailepaif Military Unit a few days ago by men that can walk through walls. Tiny men that appeared from mid-air and took my son. Your great nephew. I need to know how to find these men, to get my son back.”

The silence was deafening as the old man contemplated the younger man over his fingertips.

“Tell me, where did you meet my niece?” his voice was even, not belying any emotion.

“On a ship. I was working as an engineer, Angel was a passenger. It was a freight ship bound for Holva, with a few stops along the way. Angel was looking to start a new life somewhere, like me she was without destination, just floating around the universe. Before we married, she told me who she was, what family she was running from. She didn’t want to be a Mafia baby any more. She wanted to determine her own fate, not have it decided for her.”

he paused, barely able to breathe, having not spoken of her in many years.

“I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I knew she wouldn’t want her baby brought up here, so I took Viskra to Cxielo and brought him up by myself.”

He had imparted more information than he had intended, but as long as it assisted in convincing the old man to help him, it was not of importance.

Syrhahn had never allowed Viskra to talk of his mother, he couldn’t stand the pain of hearing her name. But he had never forgotten her face. He didn’t have a single photo of her, only his memories. The only memento he had was her wedding ring, which hung around his neck on a chain where it had rested since she had passed on. His ring was still on his finger, all those years later.

“I cannot help you,” the old man said abruptly.

“But you are my only hope, you must know what men can walk through walls, if you don’t who does?” Syrhahn was desperate, begging a man made of steel to care for a relation he had never met.

“I cannot help you, please leave now,” his voice could have belonged to a computer, or the intercom guy for all the humanity it contained. Realising that complying was his only chance of getting out alive and having any chance of seeing Viskra again, Syrhahn turned and walked from the room. He wished he could believe in the afterlife, so he could see his Angel again if they put a bullet through his head.

He was marched from the property and deposited the other side of the closed gate, alive and intact, minus a gun or any hope, but alive, in a manner of speaking anyway.