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Chapter Thirty-Six: The Enchanted House
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2021-09-20 22:15:15Ilyria was still a street away from the House of Madame Skia when she was forced to stop running by a crowd milling about in the street. She was out of breath and sweating and used her frustration to propel herself forward, bumping and pushing past people with her head lowered and muttering half-hearted excuse-mes as she went.
As she neared the House, the crowd thinned and she understood why when she took a breath and coughed out a lungful of chariko. A thick fog of the spice surrounded the House. Those who were close to the House looked dazed and happy but tended to wander away, having lost interest in what had drawn them there in the first place. Light pulsed from the House, emanating from the courtyard at its centre. She guessed this was what had attracted the crowd. The chariko and the light were alarming enough. The complete silence that enveloped the House felt worse somehow. It was an absence of sound like black is the absence of color.
She h
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“No,” said Ilyria, “It’s a mistake. You must be wrong.” The ascetic shook her head. “Think about it, Ilyria. You will know the truth yourself.” Ilyria remembered the Princess’s enchantment. Walking along the cold cave, dripping with condensation, the markings hewn into the walks gleaming with ancient silver, the story that could only be understood when looking away from the sigils, and at the center, two beings. A Magos and a Lightning Bird. But enchantments were not reality. “What if you are being deliberately misled,” she said, “What if this is what Zlo wants you to believe?” There was the slap of bare footsteps on the stone and they all three turned to see Bonbon running toward them. Her eyes were wild with panic. “Thassa! Nicos!” she was calling as she went, looking helplessly around her. “Where are they? Madame Skia have you seen them? Have you seen my Thassa?” Madame Skia hushed her. “Bonbon,” she said, “Be calm now,” the
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“There is more,” said Ilyria, “The Mogul was disguised. My mother was convinced that he was a woman—in fact, an Orenian spy.” She watched as Nicos, Madame Skia and the ascetic exchanged glances. “It would make sense,” said Nicos, He stood, folded his arms and began pacing. “It would make sense if he knew about the place of the three stars, Utzed,” Ilyria heard the sharp intake of breath from Madame Skia. Nicos stopped pacing. “Skia, we must say its name. She must know. We will even have to help her find it.” Skia shook her head but to Ilyria’s surprised her response was the opposite. “Yes I know that’s true,” she said, “But we have to help her.” “How,” said the ascetic, “None of us can accompany her. You and I, Skia, we cannot leave here or our lives will be forfeit. You know that. Nicos would not survive.” “I’ll…ow!” said Thassa as Bonbon punched him in the arm. He rubbed his arm and looked at her. It was strange to see Thassa’s scarred face,
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Ilyria turned to look back at the gates of the city. She had to hold tight to the horn of the saddle beneath her as the unfamiliar sway of the camel threatened to unseat her at every moment. Sand stung her eyes and she faced frontward again, wrapping her head scarf around her face. The tears were from the sting of the sand, nothing more, she told herself. At each moment during the days of preparation for her journey, she had hoped—even expected—that Astrapi would come to her, asking her forgiveness and offering her an explanation that would allow her to let go of her betrayal and anger. Yet he had remained infuriatingly away. Skia, Thassa, Nicos and Bonbon were trying to help Ilyria find her way to Utzed. Each time they presented her with a new idea, they would preface it with “If only one of us could be with you …” until she could no longer bear it and told them that even if they had been able to be with her, she wouldn’t want it. This outburst seemed to set their m
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The mercenary still held the stick, though loosely. The splayed form of the traveller did not stir. “He will wake with a headache in the morning,” said the mercenary with a smile that was at once shy and a little pleased with himself, “He is a known scoundrel. He will do anything for any money. Please let me introduce myself, Ilyria,” he bowed low, “I am Suluu of Isfap.” Ilyria lay looking at him. She still could not move. “Oh,” he said, “I think you would like to be released from the poison?” “That would be nice,” said Ilyria with as little annoyance as she could manage under the circumstances. “It’s the Zaraqi,” said the Suluu, “Most of the time it can be used to kill any biting creatures but if the concentration is too high, then it becomes, well …” he spread out his hands indicating Ilyria’s prone form. He only then seemed to notice that she was nearly naked. His eyes widened in shock and Ilyria felt her whole body blush. If she w
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