Thassa did his best to allow himself to be led by Ilyria. But he would stop suddenly, or abruptly turn at any noise. Once, he stumbled and pulled Ilyria down with him. Her eyes flew open as she fell, her hands bracing for the fall …
… and she found herself kneeling at the door to Daria’s chambers where she was conducting a meeting. Ilryia, had been twelve and spying through the keyhole because her twelve-year old self had already begun to mistrust her mother. She knew they were talking about eliminating a competitor.
“I will invite him for a drink,” her mother was saying.
The merchant laughed and said, “Your drinks are a health tonic, Merchant Daria, but not a good one.” He didn’t notice that her mother was not laughing as well. Ilyria suspected he should watch his drinks too.
Then the merchant had begun to walk toward the door. Feeling the same terror in her body though she tried to tell herself this was not real, Ilyria stumbled backwards again, as
She found Astrapi playing with the kitten. For a moment, she just watched the unlikely pair. Astrapi was crouching down, his wings flowing down his back, relaxed and trailing into whisps of mist across the tiles of the courtyard. He was teasing the kitten with one of his own strange feathers and the little kitten was enjoying lunging at it, her sharp teeth closing on air each time she thought she had finally caught it. They were both completely engrossed in their play. “What are those things on her back?” asked Ilyria finally. Astrapi started and turned his head. “I’m not sure,” he said, “She is something new that I’ve not seen before. Ilyria,” he said, standing up and leaving the kitten to her conquest of the confusing feather. “Come away with me. For a little while.” Ilyria thought, “Will you tell me about the First War? And about Izben?” Astrapi smiled, his head tilting to one side and in that moment, Ilyria thought he really did look bird-like. “I
Once Ilyria had drawn Astrapi inside the cave, she turned and walked to the bed where she had woken the first time he brought her. The light from thousands of fireflies on the cave ceiling, flickered off Astrapi’s skin as he followed her. He stood before her and like her, seemed to be holding his breath. “Ilyria,” he started to say, and she heard the question there. She put her finger against his lips. It was no longer the time for talking. She thought briefly of the night weeks ago when she was to be married to Dirk. She would have had to have this moment with a man she loathed. She was sure of what she wanted. She wished she was wearing the midnight hued cloud silk dress. She wished it would show her in its way, how to act. She wished she had perfumed her body with oils. Instead, she stood in front of Astrapi in a simple tunic she had changed into after helping to clean the House. What would the dress have done? Something complicated that involved slapping her legs
Ilyria froze. It could not be. Surely this was not her mother? The exquisite Daria Agrio? Ruin of souls. Torment of men and women. The old woman reached out a hand for the wall to steady herself. She looked up and Daria saw her eyes were pale and glassy. She seemed drugged, ill, dying even. She did not see Ilyria, or anything at all. Yet the lines of Daria’s beautiful face were still there, stark beneath the withered flesh but still recognizable. What had Dirk done to her mother? Say something, she told herself. This is your mother. But the nausea had returned, and she found herself unable to hold onto her thoughts. Something about a mother. Whose mother? My mother, this is my mother. Ilyria clutched the map to her chest as if it might still hold some of the protective magic from her father’s chambers. And maybe it did, because her head cleared a little. Her mother opened her mouth and Ilyria saw that all her pretty white teeth were gone, leaving only
Ilryia clawed at the hands around her neck, her feet kicking out. She felt her face swelling with blood, her eyes streaming. She could barely see anymore, but she could see enough to know that that Dirk was no longer just Dirk. The strength in his one hand was terrifying. Her fingers could find no purchase on that iron grip. He squeezed tighter and a thought came to Ilyria of a twig snapping from a tree. He could kill her easily. But he was not done toying with her. “You stink of him,” said the Dirk-thing. “You stink like a whore.” He grinned Dirk’s grin with the snaggle-tooth catching his lower lip, but his eyes were not Dirk’s. Not even close. They were blacker than a starless night. She felt her head buzzing and her vision faded. She came to coughing and spluttering on the cold stone in front of Dirk’s boots. One boot reached back and almost in slow motion, it came toward her then connected with her jaw, sending her sprawling on her back. She heard a cry. She thou
“We have to rescue them first. I have to go back,” said Ilyria, taking the map from Astrapi. As she began to roll it up, something caught her eye. She looked closely. At first, she thought it might be a smudge, but the line was clear not smudged. Then she thought it was a tracing, the faint ghost of a line left by the cartographer either when they were making this map or perhaps another with this one carelessly left underneath. Then, she knew. Excited, she scanned the map again. She found the ‘A’ in the top right corner of the map. “You said Benguzi is south, but this shows Benguzi as south-east?” Astrapi tilted his head in his questioning way, “What if this isn’t the real map?” “There is another map?” “Yes,” she said, “underneath this one. Imagine if the person who created the map of the lost cities wanted to keep it hidden, but they also wanted someone to find it.” “That doesn’t make sense,” said Astrapi. “Astrapi,” Ilyria tried not to let h
“Astrapi,” she whispered, trying not to panic at the sight of his pale face. He did not answer or look at her. “Astrapi,” she said again. He glanced at her quickly, then understanding what she needed, his hands worked to help her to loosen herself from the harness, still staring ahead. As soon as she was free, she turned to see what he was seeing. Now it was no longer so thrilling to be standing on a glass floor in the clouds. Now, she felt afraid and vulnerable. She felt in her pocket for the switchblade. Her eyes once again had to make the adjustment for the glass. From where she stood, she was staring into thunderclouds as dark as night. She could hardly make out any shapes at all until slowly the archway emerged and beneath the archway …She gasped and clutched at Astrapi’s arm. For she saw him now. A winged man, his outline barely visible against the dark clouds behind him. “Nemachi,” said Astrapi under his breath, his voice raspy with anger. Then, his fists clen
Ilyria clamped her hand over her mouth, trying not to call out to the man. He sounded so desperate, so afraid, she wanted to let him know he was not alone. But that voice inside her warned her to listen more closely. So, she did. She once more heard the man’s groan. But there was also something else underneath. She held her breath as she listened, trying to picture the silence as something physical, a curtain that only had to be pulled back. The man groaned again, and the whispers grew more excited. It was as if the whispers carried the sound of the man’s voice. That was it! Ilyria was certain the whisperers had replicated the sound and were trying to lure her away from the path she needed to take. Fumbling in the dark, she felt the walls around her. There was the path ahead, from which came the moans and the frightening whispers. And there was the path behind from which she had just come. There had to be an alternative. A path the whisperers did not want her to take.
During the trip back to the Nemachi air fortress Ilyria experienced none of the exhilaration she had felt on the trip out with Astrapi. She felt sick with worry for Astrapi. She replayed the last moments she saw him over and over in her head, trying to persuade herself that the whispering things had not reached him, that he had not been sucked back into the tunnels. But the truth was that she had not seen enough to know. Her and Nicos’ ascent had been so swift, she had seen only enough to recognize that they had unleashed something from Izben. They were silent until they landed at the air fortress. Again, Nicos was skillful in landing the damaged machine. He quickly helped her out, asking if she was alright. Ilyria was astounded. He was completely recovered. She did not need to ask the question. “What is inside the enchantment is often left there,” he said, “Not always. But I was lucky.” “What about the Princess?” asked Ilyria. “Was she
Ilyria woke to the smell of warm bread and blossoming plants, and another damp salty smell she could not recognize. She sighed and turned over. Her eyes flickered half-open as she felt Suluu’s warm body lying on his back next to her. Her hand lazily traced the contours of his smooth chest, delighting in the way his skin puckered beneath her fingers. He turned to look at her, his lips parted in a smile and his eyes hooded with his desire. “Hello,” he murmured, pulling her toward him, “You’re awake.” “I am,” she said, tracing her fingers over his lips. Then her stomach rumbled noisily, “and I am so, so, so, so hungry!” She sat up trying to recall when last she had eaten and suddenly a rush of images flooded over her. She sank her face into her hands. Astrapi, impaled. The Princess and Zlo’s blood dripping from the spines of The Shackled One. Madame Skia’s wounded body lying shrouded by the shimmering moon dust. The monster’s final moments. She looked up
The monster reached out a nightmarish tendril, twisted and hard and riddled with fungus. The tendril scratched Ilyria under the chin as an overly familiar uncle might and she gagged on the smell of rotten animal flesh. “You don’t look like him at all,” said The Shackled One, “Lucky for you. We hated him for what he did to us.” “Us? There is more than one of you?” “Us,” said The Shackled One, and dark spikes shot out from its body, impaling the Princess and Zlo. A spike missed the Mogul only because Loulou had pushed him out of the way. They stood open-mouthed with dread and fear as the Princess and Zlo twisted and writhed on the spikes, howling in agony, their blood dripping to the ground beneath them. Thassa ran to the frozen pair and pulled them away. Think, Ilyria, what does it want? came Madame Skia’s question. Ilyria tried not to hear the howls of the Princess and her son. She looked around for Madame Skia the darkness was so com
They all heard it making its way. The ground rumbled with its passage as the Sister Moon shone down with relentless brightness, Brother Moon no longer able to temper her cold light. And Ilyria saw her own fear reflected in the faces of her friends. Even the sirens cowered, and Madame Skia looked uncertain which was maybe the most terrifying thing of all. What could be worse than Zlo? Ilyria knew. It was the thing that Zlo feared. The thing that lived deep within his own dark tower. She looked at the Princess. The Princess knew too. Her face had turned so pale, it seemed to reflect that horrifying moonlight. Suddenly the Princess reached out one hand and the crowd of sirens parted around her as if she had sliced through them. She curled her fingers, and the Mogul was dragged through the mud toward her. He twisted and turned reaching out for Loulou. Loulou, her cheeks flushed, tried to follow but the Princess flung her away with a flick of the other hand. She lifted her summon
Then the air was torn apart by a woman’s scream. It was filled with such rage that every one of them who heard it fell to their knees with their hands over their ears, desperate for it to stop. Zlo alone stood, his head bowed as the Princess appeared beside him. She was beautiful and terrifying in her anger. She appeared to float off the floor, her white robes billowing around her, her long, burnished hair streaming as though she were the wind itself. Behind her stood Nicos, his expression glazed. His hands hung at his sides. He appeared to see and hear nothing. “Fool,” said the Princess to Zlo, “I did everything to help you. I sent him away,” she tilted her head toward the Mogul, “I distracted the brothers and the stupid girl-child Magoses with their little quest. I sowed division and strife. I ensured the Laws were broken. All you had to do was make sure they,” here she swept her arm around to indicate Astrapi, the companions, Thassa, Miasma and Ilyria, “were all h
Ilyria could not have said exactly when she had understood the truth of the relics. Had it begun when she realized that the map to the Lost Cities was really the knowledge of one man, Nicos? Or when Astrapi’s breath activated the perfect chord on the gold harmonicus. Could it even have been Zlo who pulled the scant threads of ideas together for her when he pointed to Fierce as a Nemachi device. Ilyria knew Fierce was a living, breathing creature. Had Zlo missed something? Having forfeited so much of his humanity for power, he no longer understood the value of that humanity. Now, as she watched Thassa’s slow, reluctant appraoch, felt his sorrow as he dug in his pocket and brought out the necklace to place it on the altar, saw his dejection as he walked past her back to where Bonbon waited, she wanted to yell out her understanding. She wanted to scream at Thassa that the necklace did not matter. Only his memory of it was worth anything. The things that bind us to
Astrapi fell, Bonbon fell. Sidian, Flame and Loulou, they all fell. But it was not with the bone-rending shatter that Ilyria, Miasma and Thassa anticipated. Thassa, with his arms outstretched was surprised to find them filled with soft, warm, living, breathing Bonbon. Ilyria cried out as Astrapi landed with the thud and slap of flesh hitting floor. Likewise, the other companions, released from their marble prisons, fell to the rumbling, caving floor with cries of surprise and pain. Except for Bonbon whose tears were of joy to be in her lover’s arms. Ilyria had no time to feel bad about her inaction for the white roof and shattered walls of the reception chamber fell away as easily as if the marble had no more substance than eggshell. The smell of the garden filled the space but instead of the intoxicating perfume of earlier, it smelled as over-sweet and rotten, like over-ripe fruit. She held her hand up to her nose. The marble floor beneath their feet dissolved into the dark
Ilyria kept her eyes on Astrapi even as she felt Zlo feeding off her pain. Her limbs grew numb and heavy as Zlo drew all that heartache from her. Ilyria willed Astrapi to open his eyes. Just show me you are alive, she thought, If I know you are alive, then I can do anything, I can … A soft hand on her arm and she groped blindly for Miasma. Miasma took her hand and stood on her one side and as she did so, Thassa took her hand on the other. She was not alone. Somehow, miraculously, she was not alone. She felt the blood return to her limbs and they tingled almost painfully with the returning pain. She would claim it back from Zlo. It was not his to steal. A rumble and the marble walls and floor shook. The three stood firm. “Look,” whispered Miasma, “They are all here.” Ilyria tore her eyes from Astrapi and looked around them. On the walls were each of her friends. Captured in attitudes of struggle, their faces bore the signs of their to
Ilyria, Miasma and Thassa paused at the iron and gold gates. The Gates of Perception they were called. Ilyria had never been this close to them. As a child she had been told they were enchanted. Any person wishing to see the Mogul had to pass the test of the Gates of Perception. Those who did not come with noble intentions would be incinerated as they passed through. Perhaps that was why the three hesitated. The heavy iron had been wrought with gold into the history of the Moguls of Idixat. There was the first with his high, noble brow, hands aloft, providing benediction for the new city. There was his successor, the same noble brow, bending to drink the water from the underground river on which the city relied. There was his successor’s successor, digging the first spadeful of dirt for the city’s ramparts. And so on. Each Mogul’s face was rendered in gold, his body in iron. The arid land in iron, the city he drew from its earth in gold. It was a study of how a man was made
A woman at the back of the procession gave a long guttural howl. Every hair on Ilyria’s body stood on end. “Use the glamour,” said Miasma, “Help me, use the glamour.” “And do what?" said Ilyria, "Where do we even go?” Aerie? No then they would be too far away. They had to be in the Palace. Palace? What part of the Palace? The Princess’s chambers? The Princess’s garden? She felt for the token in her pocket already knowing it wasn’t there and that she wouldn’t use it even if she had it. The Princess, she decided, could not be trusted. Vatra? Yakip?No. They had to be here. “Make a run for it,” said Thassa, readying himself as if to do just that. The procession moved with purpose now, bearing down on them. Their fac