Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1)

by D J Salisbury

  The kid’s jaw dropped. He stuttered for a minute, gave up on whatever he wanted to say, and scooped up his weapons. He gingerly slid them back into the inner pockets.

  She helped him into the jacket and led him to the front door. “We gotta hurry.”

  “I’m ready already.” He tugged on his boots and glared up at her. “Move out.”

  Fraying kid was starting to sound like Ahm-Layel. She musta quoted her teacher too often.

  The kid locked the door behind them and froze with the key still in his hand. “Why are we doing this, exactly? And what are we doing?”

  So he’d finally woken up. Little sleepy head. “D’you think Jorjan got properly punished last night?”

  The kid just looked up at her.

  “D’you think we got enough revenge?”

  He shook his head. “But what can we do?” From the circles under his eyes, he hadn’t slept much, and the only time she couldn’t sleep was when she was frustrated. She almost felt sorry for him.

  “First we’ll scout the situation.” She patted his shoulder. “Later I’ll set up a plan.”

  The kid rolled his eyes, but bounced down the wobbly front steps and hurried into the street.

  She strolled behind him until he turned uphill. “This way.”

  He froze. “Aren’t they leaving from Trader’s Inn?”

  “Nope. They’re taking the coast road.”

  “They’re crazy.”

  She thought so, too. Not her call, though. All she wanted was to give Jorjan a miserable last day in Zedista. She snorted. A worse day than last night. He’d only gotten one little swat before he yelled enough to make his daddy stop hitting on him.

  Walking as fast as he could keep up, she led the kid down Stonehouse Ter. He trotted like a pony with four sore hooves, but she kept her pace steady. It weren’t like she was trying to leave him behind. But going so slow gave her lots of time to think.

  Yeah, she wished she had the guts to bring along her swords. Was getting revenge for what they’d done to the kid worth getting hung? For what they’d done to Joshua and little Meg, Lizbette and Timmy, and so many more? Yeah. Yeah, it was. But if she had her swords, she’d have to kill somebody. Was their revenge worth the lives of some baby soldiers? They’d never hurt nobody, not that she knew about. Maybe it was better she was unarmed. That way she could concentrate on Jorjan. And she would. Weaver snip her thread, she would.

  Dawn brightened the street. Merchants were setting up their stalls in Market Square. That might be useful later, if she worked it right. She grabbed the kid’s shoulder and yanked him to a halt. “Walk slow now.”

  “Ouch! Let go, turybird.” The kid rubbed his arm and glared up at her. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

  “You wanna live to see tomorrow?”

  His eyes got big. He nodded slowly.

  Did he think she was threatening him? He’d never seen her mad, then. And she wasn’t mad. Not yet. “Walk slow. Pretend you want to buy something. Let the merchants notice you. But keep walking.”

  The limp thread rolled his eyes and nodded at the nearest stall.

  Three old ladies setting up their cabbage stall stared at him like he was a two-headed kitten. A really cute two-headed kitten, with three tails.

  The kid poked her in the ribs and nodded at the next cart.

  A pimply brat in a dirty apron glared at the kid until his mother swatted him. She smiled at the kid and winked at Lorel.

  “Got it. We still gotta walk slow.”

  The kid sighed.

  “Save your breath, noodle brain. We’ll be running soon.” She smiled at the cheese vender, the radish farmer, and breakfast cake seller. Her belly growled. She hadn’t eaten since the cherries last night, and since lunch before that.

  The kid jumped a little at her noisy stomach. He waved a hand at the breakfast cakes. “Maybe we should eat something?”

  “Later. We ain’t got time now. Get ready to run.” She led him around the corner into Old Bowles Lane, checked for snitches, and started to run.

  The kid yipped and raced after her.

  She trotted down to Imperial Road, sauntered across Harbor Bridge, and turned uphill into Claypath Alley.

  “We’re going in circles!”

  “Shut up, kid.” Like he knew where she was going. Maybe she should’ve told him. Too late now. She turned left into Old Brewster Alley and ran parallel to Imperial Road. At every corner she paused and checked for Jorjan’s escort. Was she too late? If they’d left town, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  She checked down North Inn Alley, down North Gate Lane, down Outer Ridge Road. Nobody in sight.

  Jorjan was leaving at dawn. The sun was mostly up. Where was he?

  Finally, at Wild Dog Alley, she saw movement. She paused and crept closer to Imperial road.

  The kid trotted behind her, puffing like antique accordion bellows. She turned and glared at him. He glared back, but quieted his breathing. Fraying kid. Not that anyone would notice a little thing like him, anyway. She shrugged and inched to the corner.

  A crowd of baby soldiers marched like lost ducklings at the very edge of town, where Imperial Road turned into Nashidra Highway. Back and forth, back and forth. Somebody was mad at them, or just keeping them busy.

  She peeked around the corner.

  The fraying sergeant was turning toward her. Turning toward somebody in a red uniform, not five feet away from the corner.

  She yanked her head back, grabbed the kid, and hustled him back to Old Brewster Alley.

  At least he had the good sense to stay quiet, though he looked up at her with questions in his eyes.

  “Jorjan’s there.” Or his father was, but she was mostly sure it was Jorjan. Not stout enough to be the old man.

  The kid glanced back at the alley. “Now what?”

  Good question. “He’s just a couple of feet from the mouth of the alley. When nobody’s looking, I’ll grab him and drag him back here.”

  Both of the kid’s eyebrows soared to his hairline. “Then what?”

  A better question. “That’s your job.”

  The kid’s jaw dropped.

  “I mean, to think up a good revenge. We can … strip him and leave him here naked, maybe.”

  The kid stared at her like she’d fallen off the Shuttle. “You’re joking, right?”

  “It’s your revenge.” Mostly his revenge. She hadn’t known Joshua or Meg or Lizbette, but they deserved justice, too. “You gotta think up a punishment that means something to you.”

  The kid rolled his eyes, but nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest like he was cold. But it wasn’t even chilly. He hadn’t hugged himself like that in lunars. Maybe she shouldn’t have dragged him out here.

  He glared up at her like he knew what she was thinking. “I’ll be ready.”

  That was better. She couldn’t wait to hear what he came up with.

  For now, it was her turn to get busy. She crept back down Wild Dog Alley and peeked around the corner.

  Jorjan was still there, his back to her. His red velvet cloak glimmered in the sunlight. His head was down, his back was a little hunched, like he was still smarting from last night’s flogging. Or pretending to be hurting, she’d bet.

  This was gonna be so much fun.

  She checked for snitches. Nobody was watching. Sing to the Weaver. Time to move.

  She eased around the corner, flowed over to Jorjan, and clamped her hand over his mouth.

  He knocked aside her hand, bashed her head against the wall, and grabbed both her wrists.

  That wasn’t Jorjan, that was the fraying training-ground lieutenant.

  Soldiers dashed in to surround her.

  Her thread was so snipped.

  The fraying lieutenant smiled. “Sergeant Guillaume said he’d seen you.” He looked over his shoulder. “Well done, sergeant.”

  The gray-haired frayed thread bowed and grinned. She’d seen corpses with prettier smiles. He planned to cut her threa
d clear off the Loom.

  Two soldiers grabbed her arms and dragged her out to the center of the road.

  Lorel tried not to struggle, tried to relax. Maybe she could talk her way out of this mess. The lieutenant already thought she was a few notes short of a song. The sergeant thought she was a few turds shy of a pile of horse manure.

  They’d both wanted to hang her for ages. How was she gonna get out of this one?

  Jorjan sauntered over and reclaimed his cloak from the lieutenant. He tossed the drab cloak he’d hidden in to a passing soldier.

  Blood in the Weave. With Jorjan around to rat on her, she didn’t have a chance.

  An older man in the same red uniform strolled up and stared at her. “You look familiar.”

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. Jorjan’s fraying father. Yeah, she ought to look familiar. She plastered her best blank, innocent expression on her face.

  Jorjan snickered.

  His father glared at him. “I’ve had enough guff out of you, whelp. How do you know this boy?”

  Hey, her chest wasn’t that flat! She clamped her teeth shut. Maybe passing for a boy would help a little. Boys were allowed to get into trouble.

  Jorjan laughed out loud. “It looks like a boy, doesn’t it? No, she’s a … a whore down on Merrypenny Street.”

  The lieutenant frowned.

  Her head jerked back. “I ain’t not!” She wasn’t an ‘it’ either, but that wasn’t worth fighting over.

  The soldiers squeezed her upper arms until they throbbed. The pain didn’t matter. Nobody had the right to call her a whore. If Mom heard that lie, she’d be fraying furious. If her father heard someone call her a whore, she’d be grounded until she turned twenty.

  Jorjan’s father eyed her like a horse he wanted to buy. “She’s rather tall for the Pleasure District. And rather scruffy.”

  “I ain’t no whore.”

  If he remembered he saw her near Merrypenny Street … If he remembered she’d decked him, she might wind up in jail. Or worse.

  But so far, her thread stayed connected to the Shuttle. He was still looking at her without any recognition. “What are you doing here?”

  That was easy. “I wanted to play a prank on Jorjan afore he moved out.” It was even more or less true.

  Gold braid glimmered as the old man raised one hand to his forehead. “This girl is a friend of yours?”

  Jorjan shook his head so hard his collar came unbuttoned. “Not at all. I’ve just… seen her around.”

  “I see.” Jorjan’s father glared at both of them. “But you know her well enough that she wants to say goodbye. Perhaps she should travel north with you.”

  Oh, no. No way.

  Jorjan shook his head, started to say something, but snapped his mouth shut. A grin slimed across his face. “That could be amusing.”

  Jorjan’s father snorted and gestured to the soldiers holding her. “Don’t let her get away. I’ll decide after breakfast what I’ll do with her.”

  The soldiers squeezed her arms tightly. More marched close and stood around her, glaring at her.

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. She was trapped between the little toad and the big daddy toad. How was she gonna get out of here?

  ˜™

  Viper huddled in the shadow of the building and leaned his forehead against the cool stone. How could he get Lorel out of her sandblasted sinkhole? He couldn’t leave her there, no matter how tempting it was.

  What weapons did he have? His little saikeris would stop a single sword, but not a small army of swords.

  What could he use? Across the road was a large, tree-studded park. Several branches had broken off in yesterday’s storm. Sticks cluttered the grass and leaves littered the road. What could he do with a few sticks?

  Hmm. He could do quite a bit with a stick if he concentrated. Even more with leaves. But what good would that do?

  The soldiers all looked young. Several years older than he was, of course, but none of them appeared to know quite what they were doing, or what to do next. Could he frighten them?

  They weren’t Setoyan trained. They’d never outrun a bahtdor or faced down an abuelo snake. They hadn’t trained with a perilous sorcerer. They hadn’t been hassled by Lorel for the last year.

  With his background, of course he could scare them. He hoped. If they didn’t react properly, he was in a good position to retreat.

  Really? Retreat where? He was so lost he couldn’t even point at Market Square from here. He could see the sunrise so he knew that was east, but where was Outland Ter or Trader’s Inn? How would he get to safety if they chased him?

  If he ran uphill, he’d find Trader’s Inn eventually. If he ran south, he’d get to the river. He wasn’t really lost.

  Could he live with himself if he didn’t try to rescue Lorel? She was here only to get him revenge for that night of torture. She came purely to help him. To help him get over the horror he’d endured ever since that night.

  Jorjan would torture her if she was sent north. The man in the red uniform would do something awful to her if they kept her here.

  They might even take her to her father. Who would disown her. Stone her. Rip away her name.

  He couldn’t leave her there. No matter the cost, he must set her free. Even if they caught him afterwards.

  No price was too high.

  Viper crept to the alley’s mouth and lay flat against the cobblestones. Bright sunlight filtered through the trees and dazzled his eyes. Not good. If they looked this way, the soldiers could see him better than he could see them.

  But they wouldn’t see him at all if he kept them busy enough.

  The man in red marched away as if he had a mission to accomplish. Jorjan crossed his arms and looked bored, but an ugly smile bloomed across his face. He strolled over to Lorel and spoke to her. From the look on the soldiers’ faces when they turned away, the words were vulgar.

  From the look on Lorel’s face, Jorjan was lucky the soldiers were hanging on to her with both hands. Two more reached forward to help.

  Nothing like making your rescue harder, turybird.

  He’d better get moving before she did something that got her tied up.

  Viper stared at the leaves littering the cobblestones and imagined the biggest broom in the world. A broom that needed to sweep a floor as wide and long as this road.

  “Brize, wacan, heorc. On journee neowe embarc.

  “Swep tha floor, til dust na mo, staie makien mearc.”

  A sleepy breeze swirled across the road. Leaves fluttered up and around, higher and higher.

  The soldiers ignored his magic.

  It wasn’t enough. He concentrated harder, whispered the chant a breath louder. Over and over again.

  “Brize, wacan, heorc. Swep tha floor.” By the tenth repetition, he knew he was leaving out words. It didn’t seem to matter.

  Breath wheezed in his throat. His lungs burned.

  He continued to wish for a dust devil. No, a windstorm. He needed, demanded, commanded the magic to create a tornado.

  “Brize, wacan!” Wind whirled around and around the street. Leaves battered against walls, trees, people.

  The soldiers protected their eyes with their hands, but didn’t release Lorel. The two older soldiers glared around suspiciously.

  What a wimpy tornado. It wasn’t enough to make a difference. What more could he do? He’d never invoked two chants at the same time. Was it possible?

  He was about to find out. He hoped Trevor had been exaggerating, that sorcerers couldn’t really feel his magic from any distance. He guessed he’d find out about that, too, if he survived holding two spells at once.

  “Stirie, Spon, stirie, daunce roond abutan.

  “Swish tha brewe, eand slosh tha stuwe, til soupe gestiridet beon.”

  A spoon-shaped stick rose off the park lawn and joined the leaves in his whirlwind. Again he chanted, and again, until twenty sticks danced in the air. Thirty sticks.

  Sweat p
oured off his face. Salt stung his eyes. His scalp itched as if millipedes marched through his hair, but he shook his head and chanted louder. “Stirie, Spon!”

  Thirty six sticks whirled in the air when the first soldier broke and ran. One of the older soldiers ran after the boy and grabbed him. The other stalked along the side of the road. Toward Viper.

  He’d be lightning blasted if that soldier found him.

  No time to worry about it. What else could he do to terrify the younger soldiers?

  He wiggled two feet back into the alley, sat up, and waved at Lorel.

  Their eyes met. Lorel grinned, ducked free of the soldiers, turned around and slugged Jorjan. The bully went down flat.

  Lorel drew back her fist to punch a soldier.

  Now he could work with that. He willed an illusion of Jorjan over Lorel’s body. Her dark skin glimmered into Nashidran pink. Her gray wool clothing melted to red silk and velvet. Jorjan’s evil grin twisted her face.

  Viper’s belly churned, acid roared up his throat. Just the illusion of that grin made him want to run, run away, run anywhere.

  ‘Jorjan’s’ fist slammed into the soldier’s chin. She spun, knocked down three more soldiers, and turned toward the alley.

  The gray-haired soldier dashed out of the whirlwind and grabbed Lorel’s arm. Jorjan’s arm, he must think, since he yelled but didn’t punch her.

  Lorel froze.

  Blast. He needed to get her out of there before his chants wound down. Before his concentration broke.

  Before he passed out. The road under his knees wobbled as if an earthquake shook the land, but he couldn’t hear a roar over the wind. He forced himself to stand up, and leaned against the building. It didn’t shake or even quiver. Not an earthquake, then. He was hitting the end of his strength.

  But Lorel stood frozen, staring at the gray-haired soldier. Couldn’t she think of anything to do? Like run?

  He had to get her out of there. He yanked his saikeris out of his inside pockets and dashed out of the alley.

  Straight into the gut of the other old soldier. The man grabbed his shoulders.

  Viper wiggled free and darted to one side.

  The soldier blocked his escape and herded him backward.