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Chapter Seventy-Seven: One World
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2021-12-03 16:12:45Ilyria 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
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Inside, trembling and holding back her tears, she hesitated. She had to tell her mother what had happened. Her mother would surely be horrified. She would not have known this about her business partner and once she did, she would be certain to expel him. Or report him to the Mogul. This is what Ilyria told herself. But another voice from farther inside her was saying she was in danger from everyone within the walls of this mansion. Even her mother. And this was why she hesitated. No, she thought, it cannot be so. This is my childhood home. There were happy times here. Weren’t there? She knocked at her mother’s door. Though it was late, light from her mother’s chambers edged from beneath the door. She knew her mother used the night hours for her planning, preferring to rest during the day when she claimed only fools were afoot. There was no answer, so Ilyria knocked again, a little louder this time, “Mother,” she whispered, “Mother, please. I must talk
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Ilyria moved quickly down the alleyway, trying to sidestep the worst of the dirt, trying not to think about what type of muck might have passed through it. Her feet, soft from years of walking on marble floors or gently manicured lawns, were soon bleeding from the sharp cobblestones of the street. She felt foolish when one alleyway led into another and then another until she realized that these alleyways were the streets of the city of Idixat. How had she paid so little attention riding through the city on her horse or in a carriage? She also felt stupid carrying the bag of wine and bread. The bread was at least a day old and probably too hard for her to even hazard a bite without breaking a tooth. As for the bottle of wine … she shook her head. She brought wine but no shoes. If she was Haris’ widow’s only hope for justice, then the widow would not have much comfort. Haris’ widow! She tried to recall the name of the pretty, inane woman Haris had married. In t
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Ilyria looked up at the fragrant shape and saw a set of double chins that shook with laughter. She stepped back, dusting down her trousers, trying to get her bearings. When no one emerged from the street behind her, she allowed herself a sigh of relief. The large woman with the chins finally managed to stop laughing. She smiled at Ilyria and the thick makeup caked around her eyes and mouth cracked and flaked. She wiped her watering eyes. “Sweet Oren’s gods, child,” she said, “You fight with the wiles of a desert cat.” Ilyria was silent, uncertain how to answer this strange woman. The woman went on, “But you are no child are you,” her eyes dropped to Ilyria’s chest, and she raised one painted eyebrow, “nor no boy.” Embarrassed, Ilyria pulled the shirt closed. The buttons must have come off during the fight with the robbers. And her pockets were empty. Ilyria realized that she had run out of ideas. “I need help,” she said to the woman. “
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Ilyria felt as though she had been waiting for this moment all her life. Her eyes locked onto his and she stepped forward. The Lightning Bird folded her toward him, his arms strong and steady. She felt the heat of his body and his fragrant breath on her face, “Don’t be afraid, Ilyria,” he whispered to her as her body become light and they left the ground. Her eyes never left his. She heard the powerful whoosh of his wings as they rose high up into the night air until they were enshrouded in the chill damp of the clouds. Only then did she look down below her to where Idixat was only a place of scattered lights in the vast indigo velvet of the desert. She felt unafraid, even when he wrapped his legs around hers and changed their position, holding her close to him in a lover’s embrace as he flew them both away. Ilyria believed she must have fallen asleep in the arms of the Lightning Bird as they crossed the night sky, as improbable as that seemed. Yet she woke in the warmth of
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Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Seventy-Seven: One World
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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 and the Lightning Bird Chapter Seventy: Early
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
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Palace
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
