Songbird

1. Dislocation-2

Consciousness returned so abruptly Irenya gasped. She heard the rattle of the trolley escalate into a wild bounce, peaked by a crash, a tinkling of broken glass, and the patter of a small jar rolling over a hard surface. An eerie hush followed. Irenya pushed up off the floor and got to her feet, amazed to find herself unhurt. She had fallen on the landing of a wide marble staircase, rising to another level at either side. Below her, the stairs swept down to a foyer and a pair of massive doors. The building appeared to be deserted and unusually quiet, no hum of air-conditioning or rumble of traffic. She peered down at the trolley now lying near the flared foot of the staircase and sighed at the mess. Her handbag and groceries were scattered over the floor. She turned, expecting to see how she had entered the building.

What she saw was a huge black rectangle. Like a painting. The only thing visible in the lifeless black was Harvey’s concrete ramp and the fluorescently lit doorway. The edge of the ramp protruded right into the stair landing, as though it was some kind of 3D art installation. She reached out and touched it with the tip of her finger. Solid, cool concrete. What happened to the wall? Is it some kind of door? Whatever it was, she had run down the ramp and straight through that opening. She stepped closer and stretched out her hand, expecting to feel the warm humid air of Melbourne. Instead, she touched the cold hard surface of invisible glass.

Mystified, she hesitated, uncertain what to do first, clamber out or retrieve her things from below. My bag. My mobile. I need the car keys. Best thing is for me to get out of here, talk to the checkout fellow, and go home.

As she started toward the staircase to get her bag, she heard a distant shout and the sound of someone running. Good. I don’t know what this place is but at least help is on its way. She was two steps down when a man ran into the foyer. He checked mid-stride at the sight of the trolley and groceries. He saw her just as she opened her mouth to apologise. Next, a blur of movement ended with a blade in his hand. His weight shifted forward and one booted foot lifted. Irenya didn’t hesitate. She ran back toward the opening. Behind her, she heard him curse the broken glass underfoot.

The edge of the ramp stuck out at thigh height, rough with stone aggregate and rusting steel reinforcement. She might rip her jeans but she could do it. Once in the store, she would yell a warning to the checkout assistant: ‘Lock the doors. Call the police.’ She threw herself at the ramp but the moment she made contact, Harvey’s doorway and the ramp vanished. The invisible glass materialised and her outstretched hand slapped against its cold surface. Her reflection rippled into view. She looked stunned, confused, her features a little warped in the glass. The man appeared suddenly, as if he had leaped down the stairs two at a time. He wore close-fitting trousers and a long jacket belted at the waist, the skirt of which flared open at his knees. His fair hair finished in a straight swing at chin level.

She held her breath and turned. He was little more than a youth. His eyes were almost leaping from their sockets and his mouth hung open. She saw his jaw clamp tight and he swallowed hard. He planted his booted feet wide and raised his sword, but made no attempt to come closer.

The man couldn’t possibly consider her a threat, and once he understood, he might help her. She smiled and fluttered her fingers in greeting.

‘Hi. I—’

‘Hold!’ His command and the lift of his weapon brought her up sharp.

Another man leaped down the stairs on her left. They closed in, tense as hunting dogs. Irenya forced herself to ignore the churning in her stomach, determined to be reasonable and explain what had happened.

‘Look,’ she said, making eye contact with the first man. ‘Some kind of weird accident has happened. I need to get back to my car but—’

‘Throw down your weapons.’

‘Weapons? I was shopping.’ She pointed to her scattered things, certain their presence explained everything.

A third man ran down the stair on her right. ‘Yashi, who is this woman?’

The youth half-sheathed his sword. ‘I know nothing of her yet, Captain.’ He eyed her length, her jacket, the fit of jeans, and the runners.

Irenya cringed under the scrutiny. ‘I was next door shopping. I fell here.’ She pointed to the mirror behind her, then faced the captain. ‘I’d like to get home. Would you please—’

‘Your name?’

Why did he want her name? Maybe she wasn’t the first; maybe the wall had done this before.

‘Irenya O’Neil,’ she said.

‘Oh-neel? There is no such princedom.’ He cut short her attempt to speak. ‘You have entered the citadel of Ilkyrie with no authority,’ he said. ‘Your freedom will be granted only at the discretion of his grace, the archprince. I ask again—’

‘The what? Oh, I see! This must be the Liberty Cinema. I knew it was in this area.’ Not being a fan of cult movies, she had never ventured inside the place. Her best friend Natalie had come here once, just for a laugh, and told her about the weird clothes and weirder patrons. The regulars were proud of a certain reputation, everyone knew that, but Nat hadn’t mentioned a citadel, and certainly not swords.

‘I just want to get to Harvey’s car park,’ she told the man. ‘I am so sorry for the intrusion and the mess, but I do need to get home. I have a baby at home and my partner is sick. Please, would you show me to an exit?’

The men were staring at her, distrust palpable in their stillness. She swallowed around the thickness in her throat and pointed at the mirror. ‘You should fix it. Such a large door shouldn’t open just like that. There’s something wrong with it.’ She turned to the mirror and attempted to prise the ornate frame from the wall. It was fixed rock solid. She pulled harder. Her face flushed with the effort and the cold scrutiny at her back. The frame wouldn’t budge; it looked as if it had been there for years. She touched the glass surface. The change was instant. Their reflections were snuffed out like a candle, replaced with a grey cloud as lightless as unpolished pewter. She stumbled backward in surprise.

Hands gripped her wrists. She stuttered, but no recognisable words emerged. She heard her voice muttering polite, clumsy protests, while inside her head another voice screamed… Do something. Kick, for heaven’s sake. But the message wouldn’t move from her brain to her legs. She was stuck in idiotic good manners, unable to convert her sense of outrage into action. As the captain knotted a cord around her wrists and tightened it, her limbs came to life. She aimed a kick at the youth’s knee. He didn’t bother to move and her shoe scraped across his shin.

A new voice cut the air. ‘Captain, what is happening here?’

The knot of people around Irenya unravelled. She craned her neck to see the newcomer at the top of the stairs. If she had hoped to see a business suit to match the voice, she was disappointed; the man wore voluminous robes that brushed the floor. The state of his shoulder-length hair suggested a hasty arousal from sleep, but his air of authority was unmistakable.

‘Lord Gedric,’ said the captain. Irenya felt herself propelled forward. ‘This woman is an intruder. The manner of her arrival is suspicious.’ His voice dropped a tone. ‘Look what she has done to the mirror.’

‘There’s something wrong with it,’ she called out to the man at the top of the stairs. ‘Call the police. It was just an accident. Please, I have to get home to my baby. And if this is some sort of joke, I’ve had enough.’

‘Who sent you?’ he asked. His face was shadowed, but she could feel his eyes boring holes in her.

A flicker made her glance at the mirror. Something in the tarnish moved. The grey surface shimmered like a gauze veil, billowing in the centre of the mirror before snaking off into the strange depths. The mirror lightened, as if someone had thrown a switch dissolving the gloom of the landing. The captain barked a command. The men spread out, their swords raised, but the gleaming surface did nothing except throw back their wary reflections. Her skin crawled. No experience in her thirty-one years could make sense of it. She looked at the man standing at the top of the stairs. In the renewed light, his features were more visible. One corner of his mouth turned down, setting his face into a sneer.

‘What is this place?’ she whispered.

‘Captain!’ Gedric commanded. ‘Keep her confined until daybreak. She will answer to his grace.’ He inclined his head at the floor below. ‘Do not touch those items. I wish to examine them.’

The grip of hands jolted Irenya out of paralysing fear. ‘No!’ She struggled, but they were already dragging her away. ‘Stop it. Call the police!’ But her protests stuck in the thickness of her throat. The men half-carried her along narrowing passages and down stairways, the rope biting into her skin and grinding her wrist bones against each other. In a dank stone passage they untied her wrists and pushed her over a threshold. The door clanged shut.

In shocking blackness she stood very still and tried to remember the room before the door closed. The air pressed close, filling her nostrils with the reek of damp stone and stale urine. When the rasp of her breathing subsided she whispered, ‘Is anyone there? Hello… is there… is anyone here?’ Somewhere, Mikey was crying. The sound punched the air out of her lungs. She sank to her knees. Another sound welled out of the darkness, the five-note Valkyrie motif. She searched the door with shaking hands but could not find a latch. David! Please. Please. Help me. With her fingertips she felt along a wall of stone, using her foot as a sightless person might, inching sideways, testing each movement, terrified of what she might step on. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She recoiled at the feel of soft cobwebs and then the sudden solidity of rock; she had turned a corner. Without warning her knee connected with something solid, something jutting out from the wall. Her voice emerged as a child’s squeak. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’ She put her hand down and flinched from something soft. She listened, then tried again, felt along it. Thin cushioning and maybe a blanket. They smelled musty. At the next corner, she let out a cry when one foot touched something hard. She froze at the smell. Urine. s**t. Vomit. Not fresh. At last she felt a change of surface. She was back at the door, quietly sobbing, retching and shaking with fear.

She sank to the cold floor and huddled against the door. Time stretched and squeezed, and the silence hurt her ears. She could not remember when misery gave way to oblivion.