Illusion

by Dy Loveday

  Resh’s voice was a distant murmur of sound.

  She could taste power, a mixture of copper and salt. Her heart rate sped up and blood flowed faster through her organs. A rush of magic hit her like a percussive thunderbolt. She rolled her shoulders as it flowed down her spine. She could gain so much strength from this—her power would grow every time she used it. Perhaps she could kill Molokh with a simple thought.

  Her ears popped, trying to equalize the pressure as every inhalation sucked her closer to the edge of the chasm. She craved more. Her legs lifted off the floor. Her arm ripped away from Resh and he yelled in shock. At the last minute she slammed a hand onto rough wood, but the plank disappeared beneath her palm and there was nothing to stop her falling face-first into darkness. Her body slipped into the portal as easy as shedding clothes, cocooning her in a damp wash of magic. The portal closed with a pop of sound.

  “So you came, after all.” Vivienne sounded surprised, her voice echoing in the low passage. “Join our House.” Her voice came from a flat, one-dimensional picture of the alchemagical shop several feet away.

  Maya stumbled, light-headed. A fog drifted around her legs and a high wind rose, surging and backwashing.

  She grasped the pentagram around her neck and something shifted, cold rationality hitting hard. She’d done it again, indulged in her attraction to magic. This was a mistake. She had no control around power, or places of magic for that matter. The djinni was tormenting her, putting her in situations when she was forced to confront the worst parts of herself.

  “No,” she said, shaping her words in her throat and hurling them at Vivienne’s face.

  She gathered all her anger and resentment in one surge of raw willpower and shoved her hands into the picture, resisting the crackling, spongy surface and pushing away. She fell back through the tunnel, her heart skipping a beat as she spun through a blur of damp air like a spring coiling back on itself, gathering more speed as she flew. The sound of a Latin litany grew closer until there was a tearing sound. Her body popped free of the portal and she smelled exotic spices before she hit the ground, rolling and landing with a thud against a hard surface. A loud explosion racked her ears.

  ‘“I didn’t mean it,” she wheezed, uncertain what she was apologizing for. She gasped, fighting to get air into her lungs. She opened her eyes, blinded by the bright Gothic buildings, choking and coughing in relief, soaking wet and shivering with cold. Balkaith. The bracelet twirled and clanged against her wrist as the djinni left her and a cramp hit her calf muscle, so severe she whimpered.

  The tunnel had disappeared and she was on the street in front of a collapsed building, the shattered glass, single wall, and wooden struts poking up into the sky.

  Nausea hit her stomach and her mouth filled with saliva. The constriction in her throat made it hard to swallow. Had she done that? A half-height wall crumbled, hitting the ground with a crash.

  She pushed herself upright with a grunt, and the world wobbled, then straightened.

  A hand gripped her shoulder. “You play with reality, dangerous one.” Esmonda’s voice quivered, but underneath was a hint of fear. The sorceress crouched next to her, covered in grime and powdered masonry, a small cut bleeding near her eye. “Creating a portal from nothing rewrites the laws of physics. It makes you a threat no one will tolerate.”

  A pile of plaster and brick rose beside her and a body clawed its way out. Resh pushed through, his face streaked with white dust.

  So, his raspy voice had called her back.

  She took a deep breath that hurt her lungs and struggled to hide her anger and frustration. The familiar burn of shame heated her face. What sort of person was she to be so attracted to power and employ it with such ill effects?

  Above Resh’s head a firework display of oranges and reds cracked the glass-like dome. Thunder boomed and black shapes flew in an ordered column, tossing fire bolts at the shield. Perfect timing—the Khereb were attacking.

  *

  Resh caught a glimpse of Maya’s pained face before she turned away. The dust streaking her cheeks made her eyes stand out like huge suns. He swallowed his alarm and the words he wanted to say. She held herself stiffly; her hair was matted with sweat and dirt. He held out a pain amulet, but she ignored him and plunged forward, tripping on the cobblestones and slouching against the Northern Gate.

  He wanted to take back what had happened and tell her it would all be fine, but her unreadable expression told him to leave her alone.

  He knew who she was, what she could do to herself and others. He knew he’d renounced his duty when he’d failed to execute her on Earth and brought her back to Balkaith instead. He knew he was helping a woman who could warp reality—and was attracted to the darkest aspects of magic—and he didn’t stand a chance of convincing the Tribune to take her in at any point in the future. He had a precarious stance with his own guild and stood on the precipice of becoming a rogue warlock fleeing his own people. He knew it all, yet still wanted to hold her tight and wait until it all passed over. Except that wasn’t possible. The ground trembled as hundreds of winged shapes flew in the sky, tossing massive fire bolts at the shield. Thin fissures of red were beginning to crack the surface, and buildings swayed beneath the explosions.

  The Kherebs’ attack was the ideal distraction. In pure reflex response, he hadn’t waited to be discovered by the Tribune’s guards, but had dragged her to the tunnel entrance. Esmonda had stumbled behind. Alexandr was waiting for them at the Northern Gate.

  Esmonda’s eyes reflected a fanatic’s gleam. She spoke in hard tones, calling Maya an abomination and begging Resheph to send her back to Earth. The sorceress must have realized she’d pushed him too far, because after one look at his face she said no more. But her dark eyes continued to flash with loathing.

  He couldn’t wait for Maya to recover.

  A metal shield bolted with huge studs blocked the tunnel entrance. Resheph nodded to the sentries standing next to a small booth and asked them to open the gate. The men wore the red-and-black uniform of the Tribune guards, with long spears at their sides and wards hidden in their black capes. His people believed travel inside the sacred mountain brought ill luck and so the gates were closely guarded. He forced his fists to relax, showing them the signed authority to leave Balkaith through the tunnels. The guard scanned the contents, then spoke to his companion for several long moments. The other guard finally flicked a mechanism behind the booth and nodded to them. The door disappeared into thin air, revealing a low, dark tunnel smelling of mold and fungi.

  “Say good-bye to the sun for a while. It’s going to storm. Although we won’t see it,” Alexandr said to no one in particular. His voice seemed to press down on Resheph’s chest, shortening his breath and closing his vision to the fuzzy, indistinct shadows of the tunnel.

  He stepped inside, closely followed by the others. The door closed, shutting out the pounding booms and cries.

  * * * *

  Resh jerked upright and scanned the campsite for the threat. His sweat dripped down his face.

  Nothing.

  He bit back a groan, and clawed at the bedding as the stitches tugged at the healing skin on his chest and hip. Wounds and nightmares he could deal with, but his appetite was something else again. His stomach growled, craving raw flesh. He’d packed strips of venison in his backpack, but at some point, he’d need to hunt for fresh food. The carnal image of tearing at red meat both aroused and dismayed him. If he was honest, the crude act mirrored his feelings for Maya.

  Several bodies lay around the yellow glow released by Alexandr’s staff. It stored the sun’s rays, radiating warmth and light against the stygian darkness. They’d walked for hours in silence before resting for the night. He wanted to sleep more, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the Khereb materialized. They needed to keep moving.

  She slept there, Molokh’s daughter. The sight of her huddled form filled him with despair and confusion. She was showing signs of Molokh’s corrup
tion, the explosion in the shop divulging more than she realized. It marked her as a threat of the worst kind; even magi, witches, and warlocks could only harness magical mediums. She was starting to reach out and change the world to her will, manipulating reality. He suspected she gathered her emotions and used them to push through the barrier between dimensions. Perhaps he should let her walk away from him, back to her kind, and a life with the magi on Earth. He looked away, worried that if she left, he’d follow her instead of the map to Tau.

  Their small troupe had been exhausted, troubled by the slippery track. Orienting through the curving, branching tunnels was difficult. The cave passages all looked the same. With no sun, moon, stars, or horizon, and only the light from Alexandr’s staff offering restricted directional cues, the texture of bodies and walls blurred. Faces became gray scale images in the three-dimensional space. The way out was up, so Resh had to orient both vertically and horizontally, as well as backward. Time was measured by the rhythms of the body—hunger, cold, and thirst. The combination of twisting passages and darkness distorted his ability to estimate distances.

  So when they’d come to a small alcove off the main tunnel, he’d urged the others to remove their backpacks and share the food. They’d eaten in silence. He’d watched the others carefully for fatigue, irritation, or unreasonable behavior, knowing if he felt disoriented the others would be experiencing the same. Twenty feet from where they rested, the main tunnel separated into three smaller cave systems. One by one, they’d fallen asleep huddled in the relative comfort of the padded sleeping bags.

  Now, Maya fidgeted on the hard stone.

  Alexandr’s shadow fell over him. “Are your wounds bothering you? Or is it Molokh’s daughter that gives you a restless sleep?”

  Resh met his friend’s watchful eyes and shrugged. “I can’t give her up. She’ll help us send the Khereb back to Mithra.”

  “Hope is deadly—it can bite you on the ass. What did Molokh want?”

  “Maya, in exchange for safety.”

  Alexandr raised a brow. “A heady offering. And you weren’t tempted? She means so much to you then?”

  Resh didn’t answer. “Why isn’t Esmonda on guard?”

  Alexandr regarded him. “Who knows?”

  His sister had disappeared, avoiding sentry duty. Of course, he should have expected it. What was she up to now?

  Resh rose and rolled up his bedding, then slung the swag over his back. He didn’t want to think about how long he could have withstood Molokh’s entertainments. Giving in had become a mantra in his disordered mind. Time had shrunk, then expanded in that whistling darkness. All he could do was curse and twist. The demon had sifted through his thoughts and poured his coldness inside, intent on finding every image of Maya. Perhaps Molokh hadn’t known, or cared, that Resh also caught glimpses of the demon’s plans for his daughter. He shuddered, hoping it would never come to that.

  Molokh had offered him a piece of advice before he’d tossed Resh back into his body. “Don’t get attached to the illusionist. She’s not for you.”

  Wise words. What a shame they came too late.

  He looked up to find Alexandr examining him.

  Alexandr’s lips twisted in a smile, and he nodded at Maya. “After thirty years I find myself calling you Resh. She’s compelling.”

  “It’s hard to be solemn when she’s around,” he agreed.

  “She’s changed you.” Alexandr gestured to Maya. Tousled blonde curls poked from the crumpled swag. “Take care you don’t fall victim to her thrall. Molokh’s laughter will echo throughout the Tesseract.” His tone was all seriousness.

  “In truth, the gods play us on this one,” Resh said as he stared at Maya. He could imagine her sweet smell and wanted to touch her cheek, feel the warmth of her. So many things stood between them. Had he traveled to Earth only to bring back the source of their death?

  “I suspect you’re right. And yet…” Alexandr’s voice trailed off as their eyes met.

  “Resheph,” Alexandr said at last. “It’s more than just your demeanor. Your eyes and voice have altered. When you first woke … it was as if I spoke with someone else.”

  How could he respond to that? “Alexandr, say what you mean. You want to know if something else dwells inside me. She hasn’t infected me, but how could I possibly answer to your satisfaction? Judge me by my actions. Don’t be fooled by our past, and if you decide the worst, then don’t let me see it coming.” It was one of the reasons he’d agreed to bring Esmonda. His sister wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter him if she thought he was bedeviled by a demon.

  Alexandr gave a sharp nod and lowered his gaze.

  Resh pulled out Markuth’s map and pointed at their current location beneath Mount Terreau. It protected Balkaith from the west.

  “The shortest route to Tau is across the Chasm of Light. After that, we need to find the exit to the second plateau. The rest is overland.”

  The Empire’s surface sloped down from east to west in a four-step staircase of mountain ranges. Balkaith nestled in the side of the largest staircase, the top covered in glaciers and snow. The second step held the Enim plains, hills and foothills to the south. Clarice would meet the druid leader in Nephthys and call him to Tau. Resh had helped save Nephthys from the witches, so the old ruler owed him a favor. Balkaith’s sister city resided on the third step on the southernmost tip of the continent, near the LaBatin basin.

  They’d meet up with Gaai and Pia where the last step met the shallow waters of the continental shelf to the northwest. Here the Tau witches held court. Few traveled to Tau, giving the morbid priestess wide berth. If Balkaith fell, most of the inhabitants would go by the mountain systems, across the Enim plains to Nephthys. No one wanted to dawdle beneath the ancient rock that stretched endlessly across the continent into Tau.

  He could understand their dislike. The rock pressed down on him, made it hard to breathe. He began to break camp, avoided looking at Maya. His partner. Had she missed him? Was there any way he could arrange it so she remained with him? She’d refused to speak about the incident in the shop, and he’d give her the time she needed, but they’d have to discuss it.

  “She’s glowing,” Alexandr said in disbelief.

  He steeled his spine, and his gaze found Maya. Still asleep, she’d pushed back her swag to reveal a rucked-up T-shirt and bare stomach. Light flowed toward her as if she pulled on currents of energy. Yellow suffused her skin, surrounded her body with intricate precision in interlocking chains of translucent armor. She shifted, and bands of gold rippled across the floor, drawing back like an ocean tide. Her lips moved as she whispered something.

  “Demons’ balls,” he said. What was happening? The hairs on his neck rose.

  Her dagger lifted from under the ochre sleeping bag and drifted above her body. The silver snake uncoiled, red tongue darting as it stretched along the handle. The three-pronged blade was white and gleaming.

  “Watch your words. In my experience, demons await an easy summons.” Alexandr reached for his sword, eyes fixed on the dagger, moments before the scent of sulfur and rotting flesh filled the air.

  A scream echoed down the tunnels and the air thickened. Resh reached for his sword just as a flash of black appeared behind Alexandr. It struck his friend with one taloned hand, tossing him back. Alexandr lay still against the far wall.

  A vulture’s head turned. Slitted pupils narrowed as they scanned the sleeping bodies. Khereb.

  Resh leaped with a twist and landed on the wall before pushing backward. He flipped and used the momentum to swipe with his sword. The air whistled as knifelike talons passed by his neck. He hit the floor and rolled between the women. A second lion-headed beast appeared from the darkness. Lebartu.

  Resh crouched, one hand on the floor, the other holding his sword. He felt, rather than saw, Maya stir beside him. Her cold hand pressed against his, either seeking reassurance or giving encouragement. Lebartu watched, its pupils flashing red. Black tattered wings settled alon
g its leathery back. It halted several meters away.

  “Come with us. We’ll spare them.” The Khereb stared at Maya, its voice shrieking like a hurricane through the tunnels.

  “No,” she said.

  Resh stepped to the side, and cut downward with an overhand blow. The Khereb squatted and Resh’s sword cut through empty air.

  “You don’t think I’ll let you cut my head off again?” The creature grinned and revealed black teeth sharpened to form spikes.

  Resh dragged Maya behind him. The healers had given him the ability to recover fast from small wounds, but it wouldn’t restore him from a death strike.

  “You were more attractive when your head lay in quarters,” Resh said.

  “I crave the hunt just as much as your blood, warlock,” said the winged lion. “Give her to us, and we’ll let you live.” Its gaze ran over every detail of his face.

  Resh shook his head.

  The beasts launched. Lebartu reached him first. Steam billowed from its mouth as it lunged, snapped so close to Resh’s chest he felt a wash of air. He dodged and flipped, shoved his sword into its side until he hit bone. He tugged his sword free and a trail of blood splattered against the cave wall.

  Resh pushed back against Maya until he felt the thud of the cave wall. The lion’s wound sealed with a hiss of smoke and stench of burning tissue. It sneered and spat on the ground, then stepped closer on all four legs.

  Alexandr dashed forward behind Lebartu, sword raised in both hands. Lebartu jumped into the air and landed with such force that the stone cracked. The creature whirled and flung a bolt of lightning with a flick of its charred wrist. Alexandr tumbled to the side and fell into battle stance. Lebartu sauntered toward him.

  The vulture rushed Resh from the side. Its massive weight wrestled him to the ground. His blade fell from his grasp. The world pitched as if it had been turned upside down. Talons cut his face and side. Agony lanced his body as the poisonous barbs sliced through flesh. With a backhanded fist, he clubbed the Khereb on the head and reached for his blade.