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 could not bear to look at the smoke billowing from the destroyed air fortress behind them so she stared at Astrapi instead, not even sure if she wanted to hear his response. She felt the pressure of Nicos’ hand on her arm. “Ilyria …” said Nicos. “Leave her,” said Astrapi and Ilyria was startled by what she saw. His face had transformed completely. His lips were thin and tight against his gums, his mouth bared in a snarl, his eyes were narrowed and had darkened to the color of a storm-whipped forest. He looked wild, like a creature not quite human. Not quite human. Later, Ilyria would remember this image of him, holding it in front of her to remind her of what he was and what he was not. Ilyria glanced at Nicos. He seemed neither offended nor surprised. He squeezed her arm before removing his hand. She knew that he was thinking only of Madame Skia. He knew they needed Astrapi’s help though at this moment Ilyria could not think why. “Why
Nicos asked Ilyria to bring out the map of the Lost Cities. "There is nowhere for us to go right now because we need the Lightning Bird to travel to the Between Realms," he said, "And I should like to see what is shown there." He was yawning, "And also to stay awake." He was able to point out a few places that Ilyria had not learned about in Astrapi’s brief summary of the wars in the metropolises that had become the First War. “How do you know of these places?” asked Ilyria, “Have you been there?” Nicos answered so softly, Ilyria almost did not catch his yes. Ilyria again wanted to know more but Astrapi returned. Nicos carefully rolled up the map. The sky had turned a pale shade of lilac and Ilyria’s heart skipped in her chest. The night was done. Today was the day of Madame Skia’s execution. Astrapi glanced at Nicos and Thassa but lingered on Ilyria. He tried to smile at her, but she looked away. “What did you find, Lightning
Ilyria woke, gasping and fighting. She fell with a thud onto the hard floor and the pain brought her all the way out of the lost place where she had been. She sat up, rubbing her shoulder which had absorbed most of the force of the fall. Her heart sank as she saw the perfect pale smoothness of the walls around her and realized she was still in Yxat. Still separated from her friends. Behind her was a narrow ledge on which she had been lying. Dirk. He must have put her there but for now, to her relief, she was alone. She struggled to stand then had to sit down again almost immediately as the dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She had to think. So she was still on Yxat. Would Astrapi have already transported the companions, as well as Nicos and Thassa away? Would he have left her? She recalled her last words to him. She had told him they did not want his help. Nicos had tried to stop her from saying it. She should have listened. Of course they needed his hel
Dirk/Zlo turned its face toward Ilyria. No, she thought, more Zlo than Dirk, Zlo/Dirk. Soon, only Zlo. The blurriness came into focus as a face that bore only a faint resemblance to Dirk’s. Zlo had more pointed features than Dirk. Its eyes were closer-set and darker. There was the barest trace of Dirk's cobalt-blue eyes that Ilyria’s classmates had adored. Its cheekbones were sharper and beneath them grew dark stubble Dirk would never have tolerated. It smiled at her and Ilyria fought hard against the impulse to run. She would not be a whisper, she would be a shout. “You want my map,” she said. “I can take your map any time I want,” said Zlo/Dirk, eyeing where her clothes had been flung, seeking the map. Ilyria knew then that it had only just arrived, it had not been in Yxat all along. It had not seen her arrive with Nicos and Thassa. It had not seen them rescue the companions and Madame Zia. Was it struggling to stay in Yxat because of The Law
Her nostrils were filled with a rancid odor of decay, her eyes blinded by the dark smoke. Ilyria dug frantically into her pocket, pulling out the Deluvian switchblade and flicking it open. She ripped it through the smoky air, her eyes squeezed shut, she slashed and turned, crying and screaming for her friends, hopeless that the knife would do anything to Zlo’s shifting form. She was shocked when the knife met resistance, but she leaned into it, her scream transforming into a shout of triumph. She had got him! She opened her eyes, even as she held fast to the knife determined it should do as much damage as possible. There was no more smoke though the rancid smell lingered. Dirk stood before her, clutching his belly, his hands on either side of hers. Her palm was fisted against his belly as though she had punched him. Perhaps that was why he looked up at her, confused. He was confused by the pain. The pain that had driven Zlo from his body. She pulled back her
The light in the courtyard was a pale mauve and the air was cool. The Between Realm had distorted time but it seemed that an entire day had passed. The day of Madame Skia’s execution. Here stood Madame Skia now though, in front of Ilyria. Ilyria knew it was her and yet she did not look the same. She had been a large woman with double chins and heavy make-up. But this woman was voluptuous, ageless, and entirely free of make-up. Her silver hair lay in curls close to her head. Ilyria remembered the day when Dirk had struck her, how her form had seemed to shift before Ilyria's eyes, the wound Dirk had dealt her healing as she watched. Madame Skia allowed Ilyria to stare, smiling with something like patience. “This is who you really are?” asked Ilyria. “It is who I was,” said Madame Skia, “The other version is who I need to be here, in Idixat, working.” “But why?” Madame Skia linked her arm in Ilyria’s and began walking her toward the dining hall.
Ilyria woke to a soft hand stroking her hair. She smiled her contentment as her eyelids fluttered open. “Astra- ..” Miasma, who had been leaning over her, pulled back. “Oh,” she said, then she grinned, “You have been dreaming, Kitten.” Ilyria, disappointed and angry at herself for her disappointment, rolled over grumpily. “Go away, Mia.” Instead, Miasma climbed onto the cushion behind her and snuggled into her back. “I love the dream ones the best,” she said with a sigh, “Will you tell me about him?” but before Ilyria could tell her it was none of her business, Miasma had launched into her own story of her dream suitor who was not at all how Ilyria had pictured he would be. She turned back around so she could face Miasma who was happily continuing. She had lain on her back and was gesturing with her hands to show this handsome prince of a man who was short and a little bit round and very hairy and who was just so funny and who adored Miasma, “…and I think wha
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