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