The World Turned Upside Down

A thin sliver of blurred light illuminates the darkness.

I don’t want to wake up.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t. It’s a feeling. A mood. A hunch.

Something’s not right.

The only smudges of colour I see is a dark grey surface beneath me, and auras of gold from above; nothing like the whites, creams, browns, beiges and oranges of a room lit by firelight. Each aura ebbs and flows like a hearth should, but there’s no heat in the air — it’s cool and stale, and feels heavy to breathe. Not unbearable, but noticeable.

I’m slumped over too, lying on my side, head, shoulder, hip, knee and feet resting on smooth stone. There are no dark lines in the surface that I can see, which means the floor isn’t tiled; concrete, perhaps, or carved rock. Whatever the case may be, it isn’t wood, and I’m not in a position I’d be in if I were on the bench.

The smell is off as well. Instead of freshly baked bread, I’m welcomed to the waking world with… age. Dust and moisture and years upon years of slow, musty neglect and decay. A place doesn’t smell like this unless it’s been abandoned to the passage of time — a home without an owner. Or at least, not a loving one. Amber takes care of hers.

Took care of hers.

Now we’re somewhere else. Not the cottage, not the lake, not the pass, and I think I can hazard a guess and say not Vancouver either, or whatever it’s called. My memory’s still a little fuzzy, but I can remember something bad happening — a shock, and then a pain in the back of my neck, which is now sore and stiff. There was red too. And green fire. And black birds. And… deception.

That word sticks with me, for some reason. I’ve heard it a few times already. Warnings.

…I should’ve listened to her. I should’ve been more careful — I should’ve…

…I need to focus. Focus on the here and now. Focus on what I can address.

I need to get my bearings.

With a weak grimace and a soft whine, I try to lift my arm, only to find it held back. Not pinned under my body or too limp to move, but bound at the wrists behind my back. Braided rope, by the feel of it, with a few fibres fraying, but not nearly enough to snap, and tied too tight to wrangle out of, not that I’d have the strength for it anyway.

Instead, I roll onto my stomach, and after I’m finished giving myself a breather from such a simple action, I slowly — excruciatingly so — edge my knees as far as I can to either side. Another rest later, I grit my teeth and scrunch up my face and let out a long, pained groan as I heave myself up to sit on my knees. A minute more of panting, and I open my eyes and blink a few times, then squint at the world around me.

A circular room. Dark, barren, rather featureless at first glance. Upon a second, the lights dangling from above aren’t lights, but glowing, crystalline rocks, too bright to look at directly, but somehow not bright enough to illuminate the space.

What they do illuminate, however faintly, are the walls; smooth as the floor — probably plastered, and flawlessly so — and every square inch decorated in frescoes too faded to make out. Inset gems shine in the light and draw attention to where there may have been an eye, or a star, or a piece of jewellery. The rest is guesswork.

Ahead of me, sitting atop a stone dais, is a stone throne. Elaborately carved, covered in gems of red, blue and green, decorated in silver and gold, it truly is a sight to behold. Above it is a banner, so still I could mistake if for part of the wall; an auburn field, in the centre of which is an azure diamond framed in an eight-pointed halo of amber.

I stare at both for a while, transfixed by the artistry and coming to terms with the fact this is indeed the real deal: I’ve been kidnapped. For what purpose, I’m not entirely sure, and I’m not sure I want to think about it too hard, but the why isn’t the problem here: it’s the what. And it scares me.

My mouth suddenly feels very dry.

I look over my shoulder, then shuffle on my knees to get a better view. Circular double doors behind me, metal reinforcing wood, with slots for a bar to jam it shut. Either side of the only entry into the room, two figures stand guard — not pony, but not human either. They’re too far away and too well shaded to pick out the finer details, but they’re big and bulky — quite easily twice my height on two legs — and their eyes glow in the dark.

It’s one thing to be kidnapped and left alone in a room, but to be watched from the shadows in absolute silence by creatures that I can’t properly see, and are probably far more dangerous than they look… That’s something else entirely. And I find myself beginning to shiver, and my teeth begin to chatter, and my skin tingle, and my chest tighten, and that bottomless, gnawing pit of dread open up again.

I slump and stare at the floor as the chill sets in, and I try to find something to latch onto — some event or word or phrase I can use to calm myself down, because focussing on the present isn’t doing me any favours. The immediate past is hazy and muddled, so I shut my eyes and shake my head, desperately trying to delve deeper, but all I can focus on is how much strain I’m putting on my cheeks and brows.

This is happening. I can’t shy away from it, and I’ve never been able to. Telling myself otherwise is just… foolish. Unproductive, dangerous — whatever I’m supposed to call it. And I feel wretched because of it.

I glance around again. Why, I’m not sure — some primal instinct to find a single ray of hope, I guess. Predictably, I find nothing, and I don’t know what I’d do even if I did, especially with two menacing pairs of eyes on me, watching my every move, and waiting.

Whatever they’re waiting for, I doubt it’s anything good, but it’s not like I can sprout wings and fly out of here, wherever here is; dark and cavernous, like a… cave…

…I’m in the mountain, aren’t I? Knocked unconscious and stolen away, trapped beneath a million tonnes of rock and stone and earth and sand and gravel and… everything else above, which could very well come crashing down at any second and…

I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

I can’t do anything.

All I can do is sit and wait.

And I pray the walls don’t crack.

They haven’t moved.

In the hour or so I’ve been awake, neither creature has moved a muscle. They’re more like statues than sentries at this point, but they blink from time to time, and keep their eyes on me always. I still can’t pick out any specifics, but they seem armoured, judging by the subtle sheen on their heads and shoulders, and that just adds to the mountain of trouble I’m already in.

I hate feeling like this. Helpless. Pathetic. Walking blindly, and sometimes knowingly into traps every which way, never sure what to do, and when I am, too late to realise it. Running on autopilot, essentially, lacking the confidence to take control, because every time I have, I’ve only made things worse.

How could I have thought I was in control of anything?

How could I have thought I could make a difference?

Why did this have to happen to me?

Suddenly, three loud, heavy knocks on the door echo throughout the room, each like the toll of a cold and terrifying bell, and I shrink at the sound.

In response, one of the guards turns and pulls on a knocker, and a soft light pours through as a small gap is formed. With it comes a shadow, large, long, and imposing. And as it steps through into the space, the visitor takes on a familiar shape: another one of these creatures.

It stops and waits for the door to close behind it, then shares a look between its comrades and mutters something.

They whisper something in return.

It appears to nod, then locks eyes with me, makes some kind of gesture, and strolls onward.

The guards follow.

My teeth start chattering again.

Every step they take is a soft thud — a vibration through the stone — though none of them are stomping. Their silhouettes gain a little clarity; details catch the light, and colours seep through. The new arrival walks on all fours, kind of like a gorilla, and is built like one too, though its fingers are stubby and tipped with blunt claws, and look more like paws. The guards, on the other hand, walk upright, towering as high as a truck, and if they weren’t hunched over to keep balance, they’d be even taller.

Their bodies are visible now: furred. Their faces likewise. Canine. Not wolves or even dogs, but something else. Beneath large, heavy brows, three pairs of eyes are trained on me, beady and shrewd, pupils thin and narrow. Fangs protrude from exaggerated underbites, which don’t seem to be abnormal. Their arms are thick, their legs stocky, if short, and their tails unkempt and bristly. One’s grey, one’s brown, and the visitor’s a pure, sooty black.

The guards each hold a spear as long as they are high, heads angular and sharp, glinting in the glow of the crystals. They wear open-faced helms, each with a short visor like a hat, cheek guards patterned like scales, and a flowing plume of dark hair. On the dominant arm is a splint vambrace, and on the other, a rectangular shield mounted on the shoulder. Protecting the torso is a vest of scales, with what appears to be a plain, padded tunic beneath. Simple pants cover the legs. Every piece of metal varies in a pattern of iron and bronze.

Unlike its friends, the visitor wears no armour, and is instead well-dressed. At least, as far as I can tell. It certainly looks rather impressive, with a red, long-sleeved tunic, hemmed at the edges in elaborate designs of yellow and blue, fastened around the waist by a belt of gold squares. Over the tunic is a brown waistcoat, trimmed in grey fur, buttoned-up from the front. Its pants are zigzagged in stripes of red, white and blue. Around its neck, bizarrely and jarringly enough, is a spiked collar. A golden diadem, bejewelled in gems of so many colours, sits upon its crown.

Another leader, no doubt. Probably royalty, knowing my luck.

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, I sit and wait and dread my fate, and shudder at the thought of it.

They stop within arm’s reach, staring at me in silence, chests rising and falling in slow, measured breaths — the only sound in the room. They judge, but show no judgement. They anticipate, but hold no expectations.

The leader takes an extra step and brings a forepaw to my jaw. Four padded digits and a thumb carefully angle my head this way and that, claws pressed into my skin. Even though it’s being surprisingly gentle, I’m in no position to resist, and I can sense the sheer strength in those… fingers? Toes? Whatever they’re called, it doesn’t matter; if it chose to, I’m sure it’d do a lot by damage by simply squeezing.

All I can do is watch on in mute horror, and hope I don’t do anything to provoke it. I try to stop, or at least lessen my trembling, but the chill’s set in, as has the fear, and that bottomless, gnawing feeling of dread. Like cold, silent tentacles from the darkest depths of the ocean come to drag me under.

It seems satisfied with its mock inspection after a while, and so releases me and backs up half a step, sitting on its haunches, ears tall and attentive, eyes never leaving mine.

“Speak.”

His voice is deep, gruff, and rumbling, and echoes very faintly despite the quiet, slow tone.

I continue to gape, lost for words. Stuck. Frozen in place. Petrified like the two rabbits, except I’ve no one to cling to; one’s far away at a fancy ball, and the other’s missing in action.

“Speak,” the gorilla-dog repeats, louder, but less of a command and more a request. Not that he’d sounded completely hostile to begin with.

I frown to myself and lower my gaze, narrowing my eyes as if to peer through a fog. There’s a question here worth asking — I know I’ve asked it before — and I’m sure they have the answer, if only I could remember what it was.

“Please.”

Amber… is missing. She was taken. My… not friend… but not enemy… was taken.

They stole her.

“You stole her…”

The creature doesn’t reply.

It came out as little more than an absent whisper — a stray thought caught in the wind — but as soon as I realise I’ve said it, and no more than a second later, what I’ve said, the full weight of my words crashes down on me: she’s been kidnapped. These are her captors as well as my own. And with that, I share my hurt, betrayed, accusatory frown with them. “You stole her.”

Still, the gorilla-dog says nothing. And then he slowly nods.

“Where’s Amber?”

“The pony is safe.”

The quickness of his response takes me by surprise somewhat. It didn’t sound forced or unnatural, just prepared; he was expecting it. But I don’t let anything show. “What are you?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You.” With my newfound confidence already waning, and hoping to latch on to some semblance of control, I glance at and throw the spotlight on the two guards behind him. “All three of you. What are you?”

His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t look away. The guards don’t react either.

The silence drags on, and my breath begins to stutter again.

“Diamond dogs,” he finally says, calmer than before. “And you?”

I give myself a moment, swallowing, thankful to be thrown a bone. “Human.”

“Where from?”

The pit at my core opens up again, and I don’t doubt it shows on my face either; I’ve been in this exact same position before. Not kidnapped and bound and stuck under a mountain, but sharing a midnight snack with a princess who can move the stars. And I remember all too well how that ended: caught out in a baseless claim with no way to defend myself, where the only saving grace was her mercy.

The circumstances have changed, and yet they remain the same. Poetic, but unwelcome. And there is one major difference: she never abducted me.

As for these creatures, their ill will has already been established. One wrong move and I could find myself at the sharp end of a very long and pointy stick, or worse. I don’t want to consider the possibilities too much. If I do, the fear will come back in full force, and I’ll have less legs to stand than I do now; namely none.

But honesty will do me as much good as lying here, and saying nothing will make me look just as guilty. But what could I say? A half-truth? Like what? I don’t know what they know, so how can I be sure I won’t be found out?

I’m a stranger in a very, very strange land, and I’m in way over my head.

Shamefully, I lower my gaze once more. “If I told you… you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Maybe.” His shadow cocks its head to the side. “Maybe I would.”

I crease my brows and return to him.

“You’re human. Not dog, not changeling, not pony, griffon, hippogriff, dragon, yak, buffalo, minotaur, kirin, zebra, donkey, deer, Abyssinian, or storm creature.” He leans a little closer with a small, sly smile. “The world’s known, Adam. You aren’t.”

I don’t think he means to be unnerving, but the teeth jutting from his lower jaw don’t help my nerves in the slightest. And using my name like that leaves me with an unpleasant tingle. But if he knows mine, it’s only fair I get to know his. “Who’re you?”

“Duke,” he answers with a cordial bow of the head, then glances back and gestures to the two other dogs. “My brothers, Ziggy, Rex. Pups of Clan Topaz. Founders of New Dimondia.”

“…New… what?”

“This.” He pats the floor, softly by his standards, but I feel it from here, and he looks up and scans the walls with a hint of pride in his eyes. “This city. Abandoned, it was, long ago. Lost. Forgotten. Found it by chance, we did. Attracted others — hundreds. Changelings too. Now it lives again.”

“Changelings?” I echo, remembering the word, and a split second later, where I’ve heard it from. “You mean, like… Chitin?”

“Among others.” He meets my eyes again, but keeps his chin up, pride fading to a certain smugness, and his smile turns sly. “You saw through him. Admirable. But also his fault.”

I don’t reply. At the very least, he respects me, but that doesn’t change the fact I’m the one restrained — I’m at a disadvantage. An equal in name only. And wanting to have a simple chat wouldn’t be why a group of… maybe not bandits, but whatever these people are, they wouldn’t kidnap two random travellers out of the blue; we don’t have anything of value, and I don’t think I’d be that much of a curiosity. Which leaves only one explanation.

Duke’s eyes narrow, and his smile widens. “You know why we’ve brought you here.”

I slowly shut my mouth, and I feel my expression harden. Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t, but in any case, they’re treating me like an enemy, and I don’t know their true intentions.

“You know what we want.”

My frown deepens. Whatever it is, a hunch tells me it’s nothing good. Maybe it’s their appearance, the rope around my wrists, the dungeonlike atmosphere, or that they stole Amber and lured me into an inescapable trap, but I don’t feel like being cooperative. I have as many questions as they do, so if they want answers, they’ll have to do some answering of their own.

He rotates his jaw in a small, slow circle, emphasising the fangs, intentionally or not. “Tell us, human…” he lowers himself to eyelevel and leans closer again, to where his nose and mine are a finger’s length apart, “what has she told you?”

Still, I say nothing.

“You know of whom I speak. You’ve confessed as much to Chitin.”

Something grabs the inside of my chest. I’m not short of breath or emotionally devastated, but now I know I can’t deny anything — which I really should’ve figured from the start — my only option is to delay, delay, delay. Coax out what info I can and give them the run-around in return; a process I’ve grown all too familiar with.

“So, tell us. What does your friend want?”

“Amber?”

He pauses, unphased, face unreadable. “The princess,” he corrects, no louder than a whisper, with a deep, rumbling undertone that betrays his true feelings.

“You mean… Selene Flurry Heart?”

Ziggy sharpens his gaze and narrow his eyes, and the fur on his arms and neck bristles. He tightens the grip on his spear and pulls back his jowls in a low, predatory growl. Rex, on the other hand, appears unmoved.

My heart almost skips a beat.

Duke merely raises a forepaw, never looking away, and in an instant, Ziggy backs down. His expression has darkened somewhat — smile falling completely, ears angled to the sides — but he remains calm and collected. “The Great Destroyer, we call her,” he coolly warns. “Remember that. My brother’s more brash than I.”

Once more, I don’t reply. And I hope I don’t show just how rattled that little display has left me.

He lets his paw fall gently to the floor, then leans even closer and takes a deep, long sniff of my hair. And then he snorts and sits back on his haunches. “You stink of her,” he says with a faint snarl at the end. “She’s not one to give gifts idly.”

“Why’s that?”

He pauses again, letting the moment pass, and he dons an irritated frown. “I’m no fool.” His tone has taken on a distinctly hostile quality, but he wields it with care and diligence. “Tricks have humbled dogs before. You aren’t the enemy, but you work for her. She trusts you. Spoils you. We don’t take that lightly.”

I keep my mouth shut. She’s not spoiling me, but I don’t need to correct them. The less they know about me, the better. Besides, I’d appear to have a fragile ego. I’m not sure how they’d use that against me, but they could. Somehow.

“But why? Why trust you? Why spoil you?”

I offer no response.

“What’s your purpose, human?”

My lips remain sealed.

Duke continues to stare into me for a good, long while, half expectant, half doubtful, and when no answer comes, his gaze becomes cold. Without so much as a sigh, he rocks back and stands up, balanced on his hindlegs, almost twice the height he was before and many times more intimidating.

My breathing quickens, and my jaw quivers.

His eyes stay locked on mine for a moment, and then, slowly, he pads around me.

I watch him closely, wary of the claws and the sheer bulk of him. He doesn’t swagger, but strolls, and slightly bobs with every step.

“Loyalty’s good.” He continues to the wall two or three metres behind. “It inspires. Motivates. Keeps us strong in times of doubt. Dogs know this more than most.”

I glance at Ziggy and Rex.

Their eyes are still on me, and still as piercing as ever.

“But we also know its flaws.”

I return to Duke.

He’s stopped beside a fresco, facing me, forepaws behind his back. What little that remains of the scene on his left depicts, as far as I can tell, another dog sitting upon a pile of diamonds, holding one up to inspect it, a sceptre of some description in the other paw. “Too little, and the world’s meaningless. Friends don’t matter, family doesn’t matter — the ones who love you don’t matter; they’re tools, if that. Too much, and you’re the victim.”

I stare at him, then look at the painting, and then back to him. “That’s why this place was abandoned, right? Infighting?”

Without warning, Duke suddenly returns to all fours, scowling, growling, ears pinned back, and with an unexpected burst of speed, stomps toward and glares down at me.

I scoot away as far as I can, feeling small and insignificant, and I don’t doubt my panic shows. But when Ziggy’s massive paw grabs my shoulder, and his claws press into my skin, I know there is no escape.

“Don’t feign ignorance,” Duke thunders. “There’s no use in stalling. Your loyalty, your pride, your… arrogance, will be your end. Try us, human, and you will fail.”

Ziggy’s grip tightens. His claws are going to leave marks, if not tear through my shirt outright.

I look up at him, and see an upside-down face full of contempt and disdain. One who’s surely had experience in dealing with unwelcome guests and overconfident pests.

It chills me, like ice to the heart.

“The princess never risks betrayal,” Duke rumbles, lowering himself to eyelevel once more. “You’re the exception. Why?”

My teeth are chattering feverishly, and I’m shivering like I’ve swum in the Arctic.

“You’re magic-resistant.” He leans close again. “You pose a threat. Why side with a threat?”

I can’t even remember the answer anymore. All I care about is making sure those teeth stay as far away from me as possible, because his eyes are starting to look ravenous.

“He’s useful.”

Duke looks to his right.

Fearfully, shakily, I follow.

Rex stares back at me. Not unkindly, but studiously. “There’s a greater threat,” he says in an even tone, then shares his thoughtful gaze with Duke. “Enemy of enemy is friend.”

He lingers on Rex for a short while, then turns back to me, still as riled, but with a new and dangerous look of understanding.

I shake my head. Why, I don’t know.

“You know this threat.” Duke nods. “What is it?”

“Who,” Rex corrects.

Duke gives him a curious look, which soon becomes something else: realisation. His scowl lessens, his eyes widen, his ears perk up and his jaw droops open. And then he returns to me. “Who do you search for?” he mumbles, as if his breath had been taken away.

I shake my head harder, grimacing as my teeth continue to chatter away.

He latches a forepaw around my neck. “Who?!”

“I can’t,” I choke.

“Give us a name!”

“I can’t!”

“SAY IT!”

“No! I can’t! I swear!”

He sneers for a moment, tensing his digits and threatening to squeeze, but then lets go.

I pant and gasp, less to catch my breath and more to calm myself — get over the fact I’d nearly been strangled by a monstrous creature twice my size. “I can’t,” I wheeze, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head at the floor. “I can’t. I just… just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“…Selene promised me—”

“THE GREAT DESTROYER PROMISES NOTHING!” he barks, slamming a fist against the floor. “Nothing but ash and heartache! She scatters clans, burns homes! I won’t hear you tell me otherwise!”

I freeze, stunned. The echoes fade, and silence takes its place. My mouth is open, my eyes are wide, and still I say nothing.

Duke seizes the initiative, taking one, two steps closer, bringing himself to full height on all fours, glowering down at me with malice.

A whimper tries to escape me, but catches at the back of my throat.

“Ask this,” he growls with a scornful snarl. “When you’ve outlived your purpose, what then? Would she just… let you go?”

No answer comes. I simply stare and gawk and shiver and sweat.

“Her words are poison. Her kingdom is sick with it.” Once again, he leans in. “She will betray you, human. That’s all she knows.”

My eyes are welling up. I’m not at risk of breaking into tears, but all this preaching of darkness and despair, and my inability to think straight anymore, and this constant, oppressive fog of doubt, where nothing is true and no one can be trusted… And I can’t have a moment to wrap my head around it…

My companion? A liar.

My guardian? A liar.

My enemies? Liars.

There’s only one thing I know for certain anymore — only one path that gives me the best chance of getting what I want. Morals be damned. If everything’s false, it doesn’t matter anyway.

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head with pained expression. “I need to go home.”

Duke stays there, staring into me for a good, long while, making me feel hollow and pathetic under the gaze of his piercing, luminescent eyes. And then he rises again. “Maybe you can’t,” he muses, though his tone’s just as menacing. “Maybe your friend can. Maybe we can hurt her.”

If my heart hadn’t skipped a beat before, it sure as hell does now. “You wouldn’t…”

“No?”

“…Amber’s… done nothing to you.”

“You’ve doing nothing for us.”

My whole body aches and burns. I’m not sure if that’s the emotional torment, fear-induced shuddering, a bit of both, or something else entirely, but whatever it is, I’m exhausted from it. “Please…” I beg, shaking my head yet again. “Please…”

Duke remains where he is, watchful, cold, and calculated. Unmoved by my words, it seems; his mind is already made up. And the longer he waits to respond, the worse the feeling of dread inside. And then he looks up to Ziggy. “Put them together. One final goodbye. Maybe they’ll change their minds by then.”