by Mara Powers
“I c-could be happy before,” he stammered, sobbing. “You make me f-face it and I had the s-strength to s-suppress it b-before you c-came.” Like a child reaching out for his mother, he entered the water, crying as he reached for her.
She accepted his embrace with as much invitation as she could pantomime amidst the terror in her heart. The aphrodisiac working through her system activated further. His hands began exploring her curves. His fingers worked feverishly to strip away her clothing as he pressed her body against the fountain. Alarmed, she felt her arousal ignite. The effects of the elixirs wove into sensations she could not begin to separate. She had no choice but to surrender to their complex chemistry. Her body lit ablaze with burning desire.
As he fumbled with her clothing, he quickly gave up, and made his way around the fine fabrics with nimble fingers adept at the art of touching women, yet disregarding of tenderness. He tore his own leggings away and entered her in a passionate rage, claiming his mate. As his movement increased, tears streamed down his face. Sobs of agony escaped his throat. He could not contain the pain lodged deep in unseen corners of his heart.
She could feel his anger coursing through her in electric jolts. He sculpted her body against his with powerful arms, pressing the breath out of her. Every thrust filled her with despair, and yet her body exploded with passion. She had never known greater physical pain in her life, but the pleasure of it was equally unbearable. She had no choice. She could not separate from him if she wanted to. The elixirs had completely taken control of every faculty. Her mind’s grasp on awareness disappeared further. She sighed in resignation, closed her eyes, and began breathing steadily. Slowly the sensations turned from pain to pleasure, as she let her mind release. She floated into a cloud of stillness, where an apparition of D’Vinid swept her into a dream, hovering further away from her tortured body.
Once more to resonate among the hills so fair.
Those who suffer blindly must force themselves to care.
For once the winds begin to blow,
and transfer words that all must know,
aloft upon the highest hill,
the mother must redeem them still.
IN THE QUEEN’S garden, meandering paths converged on a nodeyard. The obelisk reached toward the stars, a celestial antenna in the eerie light of crystal-illuminators. The air was filled with a chorus of singing insects. Allondriss sat on the ground beside a meditation bench. Her pale face was fixed in a trance at the sky. Lukias approached quietly. She didn’t seem to notice.
The node was not much taller than Lukias. It glowed translucent blue under the towering moon. A perfect sphere of clear quartz lined with copper filaments balanced impossibly on the point of the obelisk. It was built into an elaborate fountain made into a mound of amethyst, rose and clear quartz. Water trickled a smooth flow from the base of the obelisk, its gentle spill constantly purifying the crystals. Canals trailed away from it, fashioned into winding streams traversed by low footbridges. The bed of the canal was smooth, white marble, and at various junctions along the paths, gushed through smaller fountains.
Lukias sat on the bench beside Allondriss. Her eyes were focused ahead as if in dreamsight. Tears rolled down her face, and yet she showed no signs of emotion. He dared not disturb the meditation.
“Lukias.” She blinked out of the trance, but remained fixed on the node.
“What do you see in there?”
“It’s not what I see.” She nervously scratched the marble. Her eyes darted around, avoiding contact with any one thing. “It’s where I go.” Finally she looked toward him. The intensity of her gaze fell short of the space he occupied. Struck speechless by her luminosity, he reached for her hand. But her fingers remained limp in his grip. “This is where I belong.” Her attention gravitated back to the node.
“Allondriss.” He squeezed her hand harder.
“Ouch!” she cried out. Awareness dawned in her eyes. After a few unsettled moments, she finally bounced back into awareness, and tightened her grip on his hand.
Something sparked between them, an understanding from a dream long forgotten.
“I try and stay away from the nodes.” She looked downward in an effort to hide her discomfort. “They suck me into the Grid. Someday I feel like I won’t come back. I don’t know why I came out here. The Grid must have summoned me.” She struggled to her feet. He reached to help her up. “I must get back to my bed chamber.” Shyly, she looked away. He offered to escort her by wordlessly presenting his elbow.
“The elementals have a message,” she remarked, hooking her arm through his. She shook her head, trying to break out of the swirling confusion as he guided her along the moonlit path. “Something about the oceanids. They bring a gift for the arrival of the Moirae to Atlantis. I don’t know this word Moirae.”
“That is what my sister is called in our dreamclan. She is a Watcher in human form, chosen to judge the Fates of Atlantis. You would never know it, though. She has chosen to focus on the experience of being human. Her powers are not yet awakened.”
In her heart she was surprised that Brigitte was a Watcher, and yet she had released her ability to react to emotions long ago. She stared ahead. Silence consumed them as they walked slowly through the garden.
“You say the oceanids have brought my sister a gift? What sort of gift?”
She shook her head, a crease appeared on her forehead. “It is vague. All I can see is someone washed ashore. I get a distinct feeling that Pan is involved.” Allondriss stopped to face him, noticing how looking at him made her feel something, which was unusual. Her eyes landed on the crystal at his chest. With a graceful gesture, she reached for it. “The Keylontics are very old in this crystal.” She studied it closer. “It’s set to someone’s blood. You can see it in the shards. Look.” She pointed to its surface, and as she turned it to catch light in another way, the rainbow cracks under the surface were revealed.
Lukias took the crystal and rolled it around in his fingers. “You are learned in Keylontics?”
“All temple children are given the chance to advance in Keylontics. We are at least able to read the Fire Letters.”
“You must teach me.” He was sucked into the beauty of the crystal.
She smiled sweetly. “Of course.”
“My sister’s tutor gave this to me when we left the shores of our clan. She was an Atlantean. She and my sister barely got along, but she treated me like a son. She was as close to a mother as we ever had. Her name was Indrius.”
“Why did she give it to you?”
“Indrius said her real son was left in Atlantis, while she was sent to the dreamclans by the Temple Sect. Her last wish was for me to find him. She said this would lead me to him.”
“And what would you do when you are led to him?”
“I believe I would give it to him.”
“Why didn’t you give it to him?” She looked at him knowingly.
He lingered, knowing she shared with him the dangerous secret of Brigitte’s unusual rendezvous upon their arrival in the city. “He was not ready to receive it.” He shrugged and stared inward. “I believe he may soon be ready. I can feel the crystal’s pull. I must leave soon. There are many questions I need answered, but I worry for my sister’s safety.” He touched her cheek softly. “I would leave her safety in your hands now. And that of Stixxus. I serve my sister best by gathering information she will need in order to do her job as queen.”
She nodded, turning away to conceal the blushing of her cheeks as she felt a pang of regret at his impending absence. At the base of the stairs to her area of the suites, she stopped to steal one last look at him.
He was still watching her. His rugged features were framed by the mess of his hair, which he had purposefully allowed to fly away after he left the royal revelry.
“I will stay with her,” she promised.
They lingered under the waning moon until, overwhelmed by the feelings he conjured, she turned and quickly ascended the stairs.
TUCKED QUIETLY IN a social hub on the Ring of Commerce, a rather unremarkable elixir den had a cave-like appeal on the inside. Aside from the bar where the mixologist served his concoctions, every seat was built into its own alcove, which could be sealed off by its own door. It was known as a place for private meetings. This night most of the alcoves were left open and filled with locals laughing and feasting for the Ka-Ma-Sha, reminiscing about their Ka-Ma-Sharri stories.
Fa’nariel Ma’at pulled the door closed in one of the larger alcoves, and took a seat at a round table. The members of her conclave occupied the other seats. The leader of the conclave was a tall man with large brown eyes. His features were blessed with sharp angles so his hair could grow to any length and frame a handsome face. His dress suggested wealth, though the kind that was earned, not inherited. Four other members of the conclave sat back in their seats, their faces darkened by shadows.
The only newcomer was a man who sprawled in his seat with a casual demeanor. “Ah! you must be the infamous Fa’nariel Ma’at!” He laced his fingers into a formal Atlantean greeting.
She acknowledged him with a bow of the head and a traditional greeting. “Tuaca Solaria.” She said clearly, keeping her eyes on him.
“I am honored to sit with Atheerian Telleria and his special conclave I’ve heard so much about.” The stranger examined each of them one by one. “Who would think the son and heir of the Telleria Commercian Cartel would be a great leader of the Children of One? But we all have our alter-egos.” He devoured Fa’nariel with hungry eyes, suggesting he knew of her other role as kallista. “And to what do I owe this clandestine visit?”
Atheerian Telleria, being the chief negotiator on behalf of his family’s cartel, was no stranger to politics, as his life path often found him at the courts of mediators and kings. He gestured to Fa’nariel, and nodded for her to present their case to the man who called himself “The Pathfinder.”
Fa’nariel leaned in, lowering her voice into a conspiratorial volume. “We are searching for a Grid Dancer named Vektra. We hear she has single-handedly reprogrammed the Grid in this section of the city.”
The Pathfinder smiled and folded his arms. “Why do you seek Vektra?”
“Because we believe the Dark Triad has returned to Sophaiya with the intention of taking over the Grid. A Grid Dancer as powerful as this Vektra should be able to teach other Grid Dancers to fortify against these invaders.”
“Your plan would only work if all the nodes were reprogrammed. It sounds to me like you wish to unite the conclaves. Don’t you think that’s tricky business? Our secrecy, even from one another, affords us privacy from those who would wish us out of existence.”
Fa’nariel carefully considered his words, trying to gauge his trustworthiness. “You should know we are not personally motivated. This unification would not be for glory. It is for the good of all Atlantis. Koraxx took steps to ban our practices. Now Kyliron threatens to silence us, and perhaps even ban us completely. What neither of them understands is that we are part of nature. We are an evolution. They can try and stop nature, but it will keep growing, regardless. We have it in our power to become a revolution. We can take over the Grid. We have come to believe this to be our responsibility.”
“Those are ambitious words.” He folded his hands in thought. “And I think Vektra will like them.” He breathed steadily, cupping his hands before his mouth in measured thought. “You are obviously well-tuned to the Grid to come to this place.” The Pathfinder stood up and parted the curtains covering the outside window. The elixir den was surrounded by an elaborate stone deck where many stairways joined multiple levels of dwellings overlooking the terraced courtyard.
“Her dwelling is nearby. I can fetch her for you.” He winked at Fa’nariel. Activity caught their eyes through the window. Two figures ascended the stairs to a higher level of the dwellings, heading for one of the doors on the third level. One had a red cape. The other was a woman; lithe, elegant, and black of skin.
“Who do you suppose . . . ?” The Pathfinder squinted. “Looks like Vektra has visitors already.”
Fa’nariel and Atheerian exchanged telepathic messages and focused again on the Pathfinder. Fa’nariel spoke. “We will investigate.” Atheerian snapped his fingers to the others and, one by one, they faded into the blue dream.
“WHERE CAN I find the singer D’Vinid?” A gravelly voice interrupted Hanonin’s thoughts. He turned from his work. The main hold of Dafni’s Enigma had emptied out considerably since D’Vinid had stopped playing music. A tall, black-clad man stood at the bar. By the looks of his long robe, Hanonin gathered he had come from somewhere in the Learning Sect.
“I hear he was playing music tonight.” The man’s attitude was arrogant and impatient.
Hanonin looked around, noticing the dabrina abandoned onstage. D’Vinid had left it there before disappearing, presumably courting some young woman. Shaking his head, he pointed at the dabrina. “Alas. That’s all I have left of D’Vinid tonight,” he grumbled.
The man turned to examine the instrument with aloof interest. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“But of course it is. Life is a joke, and you are part of it. Are you here to socialize, or annoy me with questions?” he gestured to the empty room.
The man began to drum his long fingers on the bar. “I have little respect for these elixir dens, and no love for the Outlands. You must know I detest this errand. But I assure you, when I sleep comfortably in my bed, I will put you and your kind well out of my mind.”
“You don’t like the elixir dens?” Hanonin leaned in. “And yet here you stand. I am a citizen of Atlantis just like you, whoever you are—and please spare me that knowledge. Whether you like it or not, we are from the same place. Now I don’t know where D’Vinid ran off to. If you’re quite finished insulting me, I would appreciate it if you left my establishment.”
The man strode to the stage, wrapping his spindly fingers around the dabrina’s handle. “If he asks,” the voice hissed over Hanonin’s mumbled curses, “he can retrieve this at the speaker grounds. By decree of the king, he is hereby banned from singing until he appears in formal argument to prove he is not spreading lies against the king’s laws on behalf of the Followers of One.”
ON A QUIET street in the Ring of Commerce, Ofira hovered up to a low-key social hub, tucked away in the central circle of a small neighborhood. Laughter spilled from inside. Shafts of glowing light escaped its windows.
The hub and its intricate patio were built on lower ground. Stairs ascended in all directions to the entry streets and the multiple levels of dwellings surrounding it. One of the city’s many canal branches circled the neighborhood, making it a small harbor for private watercrafts. As with all neighborhoods of Poseidia, it was thick with lush greenery and floral fragrances.
She dismounted the hover-disc and perched on one of the staircases, casually examining her gloved hands. Her face was hidden in the shadows. “Are you ready?” she muttered ironically to the imposing warrior who approached, even though she didn’t have to speak to it. They were linked, and she could feel it as if it were an extension of herself. A fluid movement rolled her to her feet and up the stairs.
On the third landing, she approached one of the doors, and pressed an index finger to her lips. She listened intently. While pondering the door carefully, she began counting backward from ten. When she reached one, she stepped back and kicked the door with all her might. The door flew open. The dwelling’s occupants retreated from the entry except for a tall, black-skinned woman who moved to block the path. She crouched into a fighting stance, holding a small dagger. Many twisted locks of coarse hair framed the savage beauty of her face.
Prince Azai and Rayliis, had many resources around the ten kingdoms. They often found themselves on elaborate adventures. This one was no different, although neither of them could be sure how they felt personally about the matter. The only surviving Prince of Og was on a mission of family duty. But what he woul
d do when his mission was accomplished, he had not yet decided. They had left their flowcrafts in a safe place after leaving the palace on their mission to track down Prince Bavendrick. It took all afternoon, but calling in favors and visiting Og ambassadors around the city had finally led them to the residence of Vinesia Shanel, who had once been betrothed to the elusive prince.
Ofira raised her hands. “You don’t need that weapon. I’m not here to fight. I’m just here to collect Vinesia.” Ofira casually sauntered into the room.
“How did you know we were here?” Rayliis inquired in a thick Niburan accent, maintaining her ready stance.
“I am a servant of the Watchers. And they are not particularly pleased with your actions at the moment. This woman is in their favor. I must ask you to release her to me immediately.”
Inside the inner chamber, Prince Azai pulled Vinesia toward a balcony. His face was covered by a revelry disguise. A red cape flipped in the breeze wafting in from the patio. He drew a knife and held it to her throat.
Ofira laughed chirpily. “Oh, come now! None of us need this show. You won’t be killing her,” she teased. “We all know you need her alive. Drop the act. It’s almost insulting. Set her free and let us negotiate like proper Atlanteans.” She examined the aggressor. He was reedy of stature. His clothing was functional for travel, yet easily distinguishable for its courtly fashion. His ruffled hair was held from his forehead by goggles used as a headband. His dark skinned partner backed toward the balcony, blocking Ofira’s advance.
Held in his grasp, Vinesia stared at her with pleading eyes. Her features were classically beautiful. She had dark skin like all Atlanteans, with reddish-brown hair falling in loose waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were framed with thick lashes. Defined eyebrows and cheekbones set her beauty apart from others with timeless elegance.