The Hidden Illusionist

by Deck Davis

  Someone screamed. Was that Dantis? Was he in pain?

  He woke up. He wasn’t in bed anymore, but instead, he realized with a sense of terror that he was outside.

  The wind swept around him, so loud it drowned out everything else. He lurched violently from side to side, rocking in the gale like a kite. His stomach felt light. I’m gonna be sick. The wind rocked him, tugging at him one way, then the other.

  “What the?”

  He strained to move his head. When he did, he saw the guild training grounds thirty feet below him. Ropes wound around his wrists and ankles, tied to a metal fence on the outside of the guild walls.

  He was outside! Suspended in the air! Had someone poisoned his beer? Yeah – that was it. They’d slipped something into his beer, taken him from his bed, and tied him so only four knots kept him from plummeting to the ground.

  His stomach lurched. Dantis hated basements, he hated rooms buried below the ground. But Ethan? His fear was the opposite.

  Someone laughed. There was an open window to his right, where Yart and Bunk were standing in the frame, watching him with wicked grins on their faces. Yart’s shawl flapped around his neck, and his palm-sized cat swiped at the billowing fabric.

  Bunk loomed behind him, his grey gigas skin camouflaging him against the stone, his horn dreadlocks standing stiff in the breeze.

  “You bastards,” said Ethan. Every time he moved, he imagined the rope knots fraying.

  Don’t show them you’re scared.

  He choked back his fear. Yart and Bunk, satisfied with their dangerous prank, left the window and disappeared. They’re going to leave me here all night.

  A squawk sounded above him. Ethan moved his head, only to see a sharp-taloned eagle fluttered feet away from his face. It cried out angrily and flapped its wings near his head. Its beak looked sharp enough to cut through bone.

  With a sense of dread, Ethan realized why it was so angry. In a crook near the wall, there was a nest. Five eagle hatchlings stared at their fully-grown parent, who regarded Ethan as an intruder.

  He had to get out, but how? If he loosened the knots, he’d plummet to the ground.

  Damn you, Yart, you cruel bastard.

  The eagle flew at him. Pain flared in Ethan’s skull as its talons scratched him. Wet blood dripped down his face. His pulse hammered, and adrenaline flooded his body.

  The talons tightened, and the agony increased. Ethan roared, startling the bird.

  Can’t wait until morning for someone to find me, because this thing is gonna tear my face to shreds. Can’t undo the ropes, because I can’t move. Damn it!

  A figure appeared in the window. Ethan was ready to spit in rage, expecting it to be Yart. Instead, it was someone else. Dullzewn was standing there, with serious look in his eyes.

  “The bastards got you good, didn’t they?” he said.

  The eagle fluttered again. Dullzewn, his fists tight, threw a stone at the eagle, scoring a hit on its side.

  “Nice shot! Now…a little help?”

  “Keep calm. I’m gonna loosen the knots and grab your legs.”

  As Dullzewn carefully cut his robes to help Ethan from his predicament, a thought struck him; forget trying to reason with Yart and his crony – bullies only listened to one thing.

  Dullzewn grabbed one wrist and pulled him up, while Ethan gripped the window ledge with the other, getting high to drag his head and chest through the window.

  A blur flew past him, crashing into Dullzewn. Dullzewn yelled, and he felt go of Ethan’s hand. Blood poured from a cut below his eye where the eagle, angry about the stone, had attacked him.

  Ethan gripped the ledge with both hands now. The eagle flapped its wings behind him. It hovered so close that it wafted with onto his head. He strained to pull himself up. He just needed to get half his body through the window, and momentum would take care of the rest.

  A weight smashed into the side of his head, and a beak scratched down his skull. Pain flared in him. He hurried now, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself up.

  Wing flapped, wind blew into his face and onto his fresh cut. The eagle squawked and then darted again, gripping his fingers in its talons. Digging deep into his flesh.

  Agony burst through him as the talons sunk deeper getting through to the bone. He shouted out, and then he let go of the ledge, hurtling thirty feet through the air. The last thing he felt was the ground smashing into him, breaking his bones. And then there was nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dantis

  “You need to stop,” said Wisetree. “You’re becoming addicted.”

  Dantis let the fear spirit rush through him, tweaking his brain, sending delicious shudders of terror through his body. He hated to even think it, but fear was delicious when it wasn’t your own.

  “Most of it is in the forge,” he said.

  “It’s in your head, more like.”

  “I need it.”

  It was true. It was only by taking regular doses of fear that he could trick his senses and guide them away from his real worry; that he’d never leave the Barrens. The problem was, he could feel tendrils of addiction creeping into his mind, spreading out and blooming, casting a shadow over him. If Ethan could see him now, after everything he’d done to help him…better not to think about it.

  In the fortnight since Wisetree ate the ogres, more groups had come. A few scout parties at first, then eight warriors. Each time, Dantis herded them to the tree, who chomped on their bones and flesh. All the while, Dantis sucked the fear spirit from them.

  At first, he allowed himself a taste. But soon, that wasn’t enough. He needed more! He knew he should save most of it to use in crafting, but he couldn’t stop.

  He at least put some of it to use. After refining fresh fear in his forge, he paused on the outskirts of Yutula-na and stared at the aged stone. Black clouds loomed overhead, though nothing could ever match the utter darkness of the forgotten city.

  He breathed spirit into a stone the shadow fiends loved to crowd around. This was smaller than the rest, barely larger than a watermelon. It took two gusts of spirit to fill it. The stone bighted, and rune marks glowed orange.

  The shadow fiends snapped their attention to him. “What you look at?” said one.

  “I can understand you!”

  Wisetree, a hundred meters away, spoke through his roots. “You’ve restored the language stone,” he said. “Not all the stones of Yutula-na are dwellings. Some have purposes.”

  Dantis gazed at the rocks of Yutula-na. One was shaped like a fist, another like a pendulum. What were they for? What could they do if he restored them? If only there more ogres for him to drain.

  One of the shadow fiends, taller than the rest, crept forward. He was naked save for shorts that seemed stuck to his shadow body. A large scar marked his belly. He stopped a few feet away from Dantis and patted his chest.

  “Xig,” he said.

  Dantis patted his plant body. “Dantis.”

  “Xig meets Dantis.”

  He’d never spoken to a centuries-old shadow fiend before. Hell, he hadn’t spoken to many people in the last few years. His social skills needed a lot of work. Xig seemed to be the leader of the six, and he needed their help gathering materials for his dungeon, but how did he approach it?

  “I need something from you, Xig. I know you helped the other grubs. Do you think you could gather things for me? Stones, and stuff like that?”

  Xig grunted. He screwed his face, then turned away from Dantis.

  “They’re sick of helping grubs,” said Wisetree. “They get nothing out of it. I thought they were stupid, but they’ve got something going on between their eyes.”

  Xig walked back toward Yutula-na. As he did, flickers of his black form drifted away from him, like dust. It was the time void again. None of the shadow fiends could stray far away from the void of Yutula-na, which kept them alive centuries beyond their normal lifespan.

  Dantis drew spirit from his forge. He sent
a puff of it toward Xig, where it coated his shadow form. When the wind blew at him, none of his body drifted.

  Xig turned around. He touched his shadow form with his hands. He smiled. “You help Xig?”

  “If you’ll help me. I’ll keep you topped with spirit, so you don’t have to stay in the city.”

  “Xig explore?” he said, smiling.

  Dantis nodded, excited to come to an agreement with the creature. “Now, what I really need is stone. Wisetree thinks-”

  “Hate to interrupt,” said Wisetree, “But we have a visitor.”

  “More ogres?” said Dantis. Anticipation prickled his stalk body; ogres meant fear, and fear, he hated to admit, was becoming delightful.

  “No, a visitor. He’s out near my western roots.”

  Dantis’s roots didn’t spread far enough for him to reach the man, so he used more of his spirit to grow them, travelling out west until he saw him.

  He found him near a row of bushes capped with thorns the size of a barbarian’s forearm. Juicy, plump fruit sprouted from vines. Or, he thought they were fruit, at first. When one of them swiveled around to reveal dark eyes and a mouth full of teeth, Dantis couldn’t help his surprise. He drained spirit from one, but the energy he got back was bland, much like the weeds.

  Their visitor wasn’t a man, nor was he an ogre. He had the face of a goat, with bronze horns curving around his furry, whiskered cheeks. His body was shaped like a man’s but his skin was weathered and cracked, much like the surface of the Barrens. He had two lumps protruding from his back, and unlike his skin, these were fleshy.

  He was a groat. Dantis had only seen one of them before, back at home. Groats were famous for their love of travel. In fact, it was one of the only things they were suited to. Even though the Fire Isles was a multi-cultural place, some races were liked more than others, and the stern goat-faced groats weren’t sought after as drinking buddies. Even if humans spurned them, they couldn’t go and live with the goats, since they were too clever for that.

  This made travel a perfect pastime. They could wander the fire Isles alone, and the two humps on their back – one for storing food, the other water – meant they could go into the harshest environments for weeks on end. Growing up, Dantis had always wanted groat humps. And when he once told his school class this, they called him ‘Groat Humper’ for three months straight, until Ethan collared one of them.

  He was in his sixties judging by the wrinkles on his goat face. His pure white fur reminded Dantis of his grandfather’s beard, who grew it into braids he decorated with sungems. The groat’s arms, despite his age, were lean with muscle, no doubt earned from dragging a wooden cart stocked full of pans, trinkets, and tools for miles. He must have been a trader as well as a traveler.

  Dantis approached him warily. Even in his human body, life with Ethan taught him to be wary of strangers. Caution was key here. He was a talking plant. How would someone react when they saw him?

  He kept his distance, trailing the trader as he made his way west. The trader wore a wide-brimmed hat to protect from the never-ending sun, and he stopped to drink from a canteen. After gulping water, he chomped his teeth together to make a clacking sound, then he spoke.

  “I know you’re following me. Come on. Introduce yourself.”

  Dantis moved forward, wary of the complete lack of fear or surprise in the trader’s voice. As he got closer, the man didn’t react when he looked at Dantis.

  “Looking to trade?” he said.

  “You’re not…confused about me?”

  The trader swatted a fly away from his face. He chomped his teeth together again. “I’ve seen stranger stuff than you out here. Nothing surprises me, my leafy friend. If it did, I wouldn’t be able to come anywhere near the Barrens. Gotta be prepared for anything out here. I’m Gabreel Hossenwy, of the Rotterwell trade guild. The only bugger stupid enough to travel these parts.”

  “I’m Dantis.”

  “What are ya, then, Dantis? Plant? Man?”

  “A bit of both, actually.”

  “Like that tree over there, eh? The one who plays dead when I pass through.”

  “You know Wisetree?”

  “That his name? I’ve seen all sorts, lad. The shit they conjure in mage colleges…it beggars belief. They can do anything with mana, these days.”

  The traders complete lack of fear made Dantis remember a rule Ethan taught him; if something wasn’t cautious around you, you should be cautious around it. He was talking about forest vippers when he said it, but the rule applied to anything. He’d have to be weary around Gabreel until he got the measure of him.

  Even so, if he was a trader, which meant he must go near towns. Dantis smelled an opportunity.

  “Do you think you could deliver a message for me next time you’re near a town?”

  “Aye, for a price.”

  “It wouldn’t be much. A simple message.”

  “I’m not a carrier pigeon, my floral friend. Everything costs money.”

  Gabreel was bluffing. Surely he couldn’t have expected money from a plant? He was trying to sound him out, but he’d cave when he realized Dantis had no gold.

  “I’ll find someone else,” Dantis said.

  “Who? No bugger comes out here, what with the never-ending desert, and the ogre settlements carving each other up. It’s dangerous here. I ‘eard about a family from Jisolt, out west. They were takin’ their son to mage college, and they crossed the Barrens. Some bugger kidnapped the boy, and they never saw him again.”

  “Kidnapped? By who? Was it a woman?”

  “Nobody knows. They put posters in every town they could; Rotterwell, Iseyard, Wolfpine. Anyhow, between the kidnappings and ogres, nobody comes here. Which makes it a ripe trade route for Gabreel, the craziest trader in the Fire Isles.”

  “Wait – you said settlements. So, there’s more than one?”

  “Three of ‘em, each as bloodthirsty as the next. People say there’s a fourth, but I ain’t seen it. Don’t go near them, my chlorophyll cousin. It’s always the same with the ogres; one cycle of violence after the next.”

  “Why do you keep coming back if it’s so dangerous?”

  “Because I’m the only one who does. You know what that means? I can jack up my prices all the hell I want!”

  Not good. The only ogres Dantis had met wanted to tear his head off. One settlement was bad enough, to know there were three, possible four, nearby? He’d have to do something about them. It was no use trying to attract people here with a dungeon, if a bunch of ogres came looking for trouble.

  “Yeah,” continued the trader. “Ogres round here only know two things. Fighting, and worshipping. They worship the vupyr, you know. It’s some crazy buggerin’ stuff.”

  Vupyr – that meant something. The word reverberated through Dantis’s brain, teetering on the tip of his thoughts. He knew that word, but from where?

  “I better be going,” said Gabreel, tugging on his cart.

  “Wait. Are you coming back this way?”

  “I’ll be doing a few rounds for the next week or two. After that, I’m gone for six months, at least.”

  “Supposing I find something to trade. Could you deliver a message for me?”

  “If it’s worth my while. Who are you trying to reach?”

  “The heroes guild in Wolfpine. That’s a good start.”

  Gabreel shook his head. “Oh no. Sorry, my green chum. The guild is on Klizerd mountain, and they’re tight-arsed about letting people in. I got struck off the approved trader list. That Bander is a stubborn bastard.”

  If Gabreel couldn’t get a message to the guild directly, maybe he would spread word around Wolfpine about Dantis’s dungeon. Gossip would reach the heroes guild, and that would draw them here.

  It was a plan. Just one problem – he needed to build his dungeon in the next two weeks, before Gabreel left the Barrens.

  Xig and his fellow shadow fiends collected stone under the direction of Wisetree, who used his root s
ystem to seek it out. Dantis made plans for the dungeon as the stone piles increased day by day. Every passing second made him anxious. Each time the sun set, his time before Gabreel left the Barrens grew less.

  This was his only chance. If he didn’t build the dungeon before Gabreel left, he’d have to wait another six months. Could he stay here that long, alone, wondering where Ethan was?