Illusion

by Dy Loveday

  “Tell it to the Tribune.” He caught hold of Alexandr’s staff and tossed a streak of flame at his head. Alexandr twisted and ducked beneath the bolt of fire. It hit the wall, turning the stones red-hot, and then rebounded, hitting him in the middle of his back. Alexandr collapsed on the floor, writhing and covered in black smoke.

  Maya squatted down by the moaning Alexandr and brushed his body with her fingers. He winced and shrugged her touch away.

  “Leave him be. He’ll follow when he’s recovered. The Khereb arrived while he found his conscience,” said Lucient. “A full Assembly waits.”

  * * * *

  The number nine had been carved deep in a repetitive pattern all over the walls of the Tribune antechamber, the entryway larger than her entire apartment back on Earth. The more Maya looked at the numbers, the more they appeared to vanish, twinkling out of existence. Their legs twined together forming loose curls. She stared down at her feet, and then at Alexandr, who leaned against an open archway, his arms crossed. The thick, ropy scars on his neck and arms made her feel queasy, but she didn’t ask him if he was okay. His fixed expression said it wasn’t a topic open for discussion.

  Alexandr nodded at the wall. “Nine is a magical number symbolizing the completion of a cycle of life.”

  “Which means what?”

  “You can expect the Tribune to cast their mind on the needs of the collective. Don’t tell them about your connection with Molokh.”

  She shivered. The whole place radiated cold and she kept silent. What if Molokh reneged on the deal and didn’t return Resh? She wasn’t sure she could face the demon again.

  “How much trouble are we in?”

  Alexandr may not be as large as Resh, but he still overwhelmed her short frame. He scowled. “I’ll find my way back into their good graces. Your situation is less favorable. Few will oppose a ruling from a full Assembly.”

  Wisps of cloud streamed into the antechamber and Maya started as the air buzzed with electricity. A square hand appeared on the wall several feet away. A dark-clad man with a heavy sword materialized, condensing from mist. Ozone curled from his body and wafted over her face.

  The man’s features seemed carved from the rock he’d stepped through. His dark coat rose high on his neck, buttoned across his chest with silver clasps and down the left side. A strange cuneiform insignia had been embroidered in silver on the short collar, matching the black ones tattooed around his neck. His pure black hair was cut short, hugging his scalp.

  “Aseroth, attached to the Bellator Legion, at your service,” he said in a formal, clipped voice. “Clarice advised us of your situation.” He stepped closer, handing her an amethyst quartz crystal, avoiding contact. The warm weight sank into her palm, pulsing in her blood.

  “This belongs to Imperator Resheph. When he returns, pass it on. The Bellator Legion leaves at dawn.”

  Alexandr’s open hand shot out, but at the last moment he pulled back, clasping his fingers together with his other hand instead. “Aseroth, you have a habit of dropping in unannounced.”

  Maya shot a glance up at Alexandr. The tightness in his voice caught her by surprise.

  An odd tension emanated between the two men. Competition? They clearly weren’t friends. “Will you fight the Khereb?” she asked, staring at Aseroth. The crystal fuzzed, zapping her fingertips as she rubbed its jagged surface with the pad of her thumb.

  “We’ll hold them off as long as possible,” Aseroth said in a clear voice. “Resheph is our commander. Our fealty extends to his uxor.” He bowed his head in a slight movement.

  Uxor? She’d have to learn their language. The idea of this cold-faced stranger owing her any loyalty seemed strange.

  “Are the Khereb in the city?” Her pulse hammered with every intermittent boom above the antechamber.

  Smoke churned in Aseroth’s eyes. “The Khereb try to break through the shields. We’ll hold them off as long as possible.”

  Alexandr snorted, but Aseroth ignored him, nodding abruptly to Maya. “Tell Resheph we await his return, bellatrix.” His clothes made a strange crackling noise and he dissipated, leaving curls of smoke in the air.

  She jumped, unsettled by the suddenness of his exit. She’d have to reconcile herself to warlocks appearing from nowhere. Goose pimples ran up her forearms, and the hair on her neck prickled. Aseroth exuded endurance, as if he’d wait for hours on a stable platform for his prey then shoot it without thought.

  “What did he call me?”

  “Uxor is female companion. Bellatrix means warrior. Resheph’s legion has accepted you. Clarice interceded on your behalf.”

  Maya was an artist, not a warrior. It wasn’t in her nature, despite stabbing Molokh, and Trent back on Earth. “Why?”

  “Because in crossing realms, you survived hieros, the holy union. If Resheph dies, you’re entitled to his holdings. You’ve completed the sacred marriage.”

  Maya leaned back, her hands numb. “I didn’t agree to any ceremonial joining.”

  “Perhaps not, but technically, in the view of my countrymen, you’re partners. Until one or the other dies, or petitions the Elders for separation.”

  Why had Resh saved her? What did he get out of all this?

  “Can I see the stone?” asked Alexandr, interrupting her tumultuous thoughts. He held out his hand. Maya had to consciously unfreeze her muscles to relinquish the crystal. It reminded her of Resh. Hot and hard, like rock. Alexandr’s eyes were fixed on the crystal. He bounced it a few times in one hand, as if weighing it, then returned it to her.

  “What does it do?” she asked. The stone streamed warmth into her hand, the amethyst color reflecting light. She probed the sharp surface with her sensitive fingers, tracing the hidden hollows and sharp ridges of the crystal.

  “It’s probably a scrying device.” Shadows lurked in Alexandr’s eyes, and his smile didn’t reach them. “Don’t cross the Order. They’re brutal and self-serving, even as they look after their own.”

  Maya looked at him sidewise.

  “If the Tribune believe you have high-level skills you might be granted asylum. Shall we work together on this? You could draw something for me in return.”

  She considered him. “What’s the alternative to asylum?”

  “Exile in the wastelands.”

  She raised a brow. “And how is that worse than death, exactly?”

  He gave her a wry look.

  Clearly Resh had trusted Alexandr, so why was she holding back from agreeing to an alliance? Something about him didn’t ring true, as if the face he put on for the world disguised something else altogether.

  Panic hit and she trembled. Who could she really believe in this realm? She needed allies. What if the creatures returned in full force and dragged her into the Abyss?

  But trusting Alexandr didn’t feel right.

  “Tell me something. Did you see anything the day I arrived? Something else aside from me on the ledge?” she asked, suddenly curious to know if he’d seen the entities from her visions.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Alexandr said, glancing at the door.

  She couldn’t look away from the tight lines around his eyes. She frowned. He couldn’t have known about her connection with Molokh before she arrived; she was becoming paranoid, but still she hesitated to draw anything, especially with Besmelo’s warnings ringing in her ears.

  The silver doors swung open. Anchal stood in the entrance, wearing the same hooded cloak as the day they’d met.

  “The Tribune will meet you now.” He bowed and stepped back, ushering them in.

  She walked through the doorway with Alexandr on her heels. The interior was square, monochromatic, and high-roofed. Directly in front, two stone pillars held up a floor to ceiling black altar. Black-robed warlocks were seated on lacquer benches against opposite walls. Lines had been carved into the harlequin marble floor, joining together to form one massive pentagram. A huge black snake weaved its way through the markings, like some sort of pagan god. For
a moment her head swam and her body tingled.

  “The Serpent of Wisdom. It won’t bite. But don’t step on it,” Alexandr whispered in her ear. “Do you agree to draw for me?”

  She shook her head absently, her stomach falling at the sight of fifty or so robed warlocks waiting for her. The floor vibrated as the warlocks stood.

  * * * *

  Maya sat in a wooden chair, facing the altar. Two men and three women blinked into existence and sat in high-backed chairs in front of the altar. Their high ritual headdresses and long robes marked them as the arch-warlocks. She could feel the snake pushing against her feet and she avoided looking down, pretended it was nothing. The smell of burning incense and herbs overpowered her senses, adding to the disorientation.

  The five arch-warlocks questioned her for what seemed like hours about the Khereb, the events in the Vault, her ancestry, and the source of her powers. The frozen stares told her the meeting wasn’t going well.

  “You are an elemental witch,” said the gray-haired sorceress. “You reek of chaos magic and put this realm at great risk. What do the Khereb want with you?”

  “I suspect it’s the magi on Earth who started all this,” Maya said for what seemed like the fiftieth time. She glanced at Alexandr, who sat on a bench with a blank look on his face. Clearly he’d decided to leave her to her own devices since she’d declined his request.

  “Why would the magi break peace with us?” The sorceress rubbed her thumb in her hand in an unconscious gesture. God forbid if the woman was hexing her.

  “Only you know what you’ve done to earn their hatred,” Maya said.

  The arch-warlocks glanced at one another. “The vote is unanimous,” one of the dark-skinned warlocks said. He timed his reply to a clock striking twelve that had appeared in midair above their heads. “Resheph was supposed to end your life. The Pillars are closed and the Guardian will not answer our summons.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Now wasn’t the time to let them know Besmelo wouldn’t be responding to anyone’s calls.

  “Resh is coming back,” Maya said. She concentrated on breathing evenly, keeping any weakness out of her voice.

  A murmur of dissent went through the room. One of the arch-warlocks clicked his fingers, and Lucient and Anchal appeared by his side.

  “I’m afraid it is unlikely,” said Lucient. “The witches have sent a message.” He pulled a yellow scroll from his robe. “They’ve agreed to allow you indenture to the coven.”

  “I left my world seeking help from Balkaith.” Maya’s voice echoed. Enslavement by witches didn’t sound like a positive option; even Clarice seemed frightened of them. She tried to contain her anger and failed.

  The female arch-warlock stared at her. “We are at war. Despite your obvious connection with Resheph,” she glanced at her tattoo, “asylum is denied. Esmonda has accused you of treachery against the realm. She has petitioned for your death and we won’t stand in her way.” Her lips curled in distaste, but her voice was resolute. “Resheph is gone, and any connection you have to his name is inconsequential. It is decided. You’ll be placed under house arrest until you meet Esmonda on the field of death tomorrow. The witches may reanimate your remains.”

  Maya launched out of her chair. “If the Khereb are here, you need your best warrior returned, in good form. You’ll have to join together—all the bloody races—to get rid of the bastard hybrids before they suck every living soul into the Abyss. I can help.” Her voice rose on the end note.

  The arch-warlocks didn’t seem convinced. In fact, the entire Tribune turned their backs on her and blinked out of existence. Alexandr included.

  Chapter 14

  A Little Pain Never Killed Anyone

  Thunder slammed against the fortress with such ferocity that Maya felt overwhelmed and alienated by it all. The blast shook the floor beneath her feet and a bolt of lightning lit up the window in her room.

  This world, with its beauty and politics, and its cruelty hidden behind polite words, disturbed her. She didn’t understand the rules and couldn’t possibly defend herself against Esmonda. Such a short time ago she’d thought herself human. For a moment she missed her tiny apartment so much, her breath caught in her throat. Wind whistled against the pane of glass and she tugged the curtains closed with a whisper of crisp linen.

  Maya walked into the bathroom. She lit a candle and filled the tub with hot water. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind was like a holovid, flickering over a series of faces and scenes, irritating her with its incessant search for a way out of the mess she was in. She could imagine standing face-to-face with Esmonda tomorrow, and she frowned. The woman would zap her into the a pile of ash and the witches would sift through her remains. She stifled a shudder and slipped into the silky water. Besmelo and the Tribune had given her a lot to think about. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she was ashamed. Not only because she’d tossed Resh out into the Abyss, but by her heritage. She had to re-create a high ritual, but the chances of bringing every race together were slim.

  The darkness outside the small window matched her thoughts. Water wrapped her body in a cocoon, the only light coming from the fat candle emitting earthy frankincense.

  She felt someone staring and swiveled to the door. Resh leaned against the frame, staring at her. He cleared his throat. “So. I leave you alone for two days and you cause so much havoc the head dryad is in tears and my sister is after your head. What did you say to the Tribune to send them into such panic?”

  She jerked and water spilled over the side of the tub. She lowered herself deeper into the water, embarrassed by her naked breasts. Her heart banged louder than the thunder clamoring outside as relief fought with fear. She wished she were Alice, and could disappear down the drain hole into Wonderland. They watched each other in silence for a moment.

  “What did you expect me to say? I told them they had to join together if they wanted to get rid of the Khereb.” She glanced up at the ceiling where the echoing boom continued. “That aside, I’m crapped off with the twaddle you fed me on Earth. I can’t understand why you didn’t just tell me we’d be sharing one mind. How do you expect me to trust you now?” She hoped the dim light would hide her tears, embarrassed at the lame words, but struggling to find a way to express her relief.

  He sighed and moved into the room, his silhouette a massive black shape against the wall. “Maya, I never seem to say the right thing around you. It’s my fault you arrived unprepared. My stupidity is unforgivable. All I can say in defense is the situation deteriorated fast. The Khereb arrived and … damnation, the need to escape overtook everything else.”

  If he thought he could just apologize he was in for a surprise. Holding back on Jane’s death was only one lie in a long line of rubbish he’d fed her. He leaned against the wall, slithering down until he sat on the rock floor, one arm resting on a raised knee. His fitted shirt accentuated his powerful arms and torso. Ropes of raw, red skin circled his neck and wrists.

  “Don’t do it again.” Oh, she was such a pushover, but it was better than some corny outpouring of emotion.

  “I’ll try.” His scarred mouth screwed into a familiar line. “I can’t stand seeing you in danger. It brings out my worst instincts.” There was a flat note in his voice that she couldn’t quite understand.

  Shit, she’d have to trust him. He could have killed her and didn’t. What was she thinking; he should have killed her. She sank her teeth into her lip. “Don’t you care?” Either Alexandr or Clarice must have told him. “I didn’t know about him until today.” Would he believe her? She tightened her fingers on the rim of the tub. The water was cooling, and she’d have to get out soon.

  “I guessed there was more to you when we first met, and after a while it no longer mattered. Once I met you, everything changed. All I could think of was keeping you safe.” His voice lowered. “I met your father.”

  She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, raising her knees i
n an echo of his. And there it was. The hateful secret she couldn’t hide from, no matter where she ran. He was handling it all incredibly well—being kinder than she deserved or expected. How could he look at her, given the past, knowing who her father was? But she didn’t want to question him, too scared to find out.

  “He tortured you,” she said, the sadness catching at the words. She’d seen him suffering and wanted to tell him she hated her gene pool, but she couldn’t find the words around the tangle of emotions.

  Resh shrugged, but his body was taut. “I’m angry you sold yourself to get me back. I won’t let it happen unless you decide it is the path you wish to take. Alexandr has agreed to help. We’ll seek out the witches and Clarice will convince Lord Seth of Nephthys to meet us in Tau. A Circle of Eight to evoke the Enim warriors.”

  “Where are we going to find a mage?” She knew the chances were slim they could achieve it.

  “I’ll drag a magister across the Abyss if I have to.” He sounded impatient.

  “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” His face was about as easy to read as a blank sheet of paper.

  “Isn’t it enough I deceived you about Jane, and our joining?” Amusement shone through the tightness in his voice.

  “You know what? It’s not a huge surprise I have a demon father. My life has been … well, weird from the beginning. Who else do you know who can draw pictures that animate?” She looked up at him. “Why did you bring me here? You could have left me on Earth.” Damn, how far did she want to take this?

  “By all the gods, Maya.” His voice vibrated in the stark room. “Why do you have to question everything? I brought you here because I thought I could keep you safe. Isn’t that enough for now?” He stood, holding out a bath cloth. “Stand for me?” he asked, his voice quiet and controlled.

  Maya pushed up from the sides of the tub, grateful it supported her leaden thighs. He wrapped the cloth around her body and picked her up. She made a slight sound of surprise.