“I’ve never been hunting,” said Peter. “It sounds exciting.”
“I’m not much of a hunter,” said Baxter.
“Really?” said Senta with a smile. “A big, strong man like you?”
She brought a blueberry tart to her mouth and took a bite. A large dollop of the gooey purple filling squeezed out the side and dripped down onto her bosom. “Bother,” she said, wiping the blob away with a napkin, leaving a large purple spot on both a pink and a white stripe. Pointing at the spot with her right index finger, she suddenly stopped, remembering the twelfth star atop her left foot.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said. Peter jumped to pull out her chair for her. “I have to clean off this spot before it sets in.”
“Bring back Senta’s bottle with you, please,” said Baxter. “They have fresh milk.”
Out of the dining room, up the corridor and the second right turn. There were only two doors on the right hand side and both of them led to their suite. The door on the left led to a cabin shared by two young men whom Senta had only seen twice. Then there was the door at the end. Not a nice oak door, like the others, it was a metal hatch, and it was always closed. But it was open this time. Senta stuck her head through the open portal. Beyond was a small room with a metal ladder leading upward. It was only a dozen steps to the top, so she followed it up and stepped out on a metal catwalk just above the level of the cabins. The catwalk led from end to end of the mighty craft, more than a thousand feet. Hanging above were huge pink bladders of gas. On either side were row upon row of the craft’s metal ribs. It was impressive. It was like being in the belly of the great fish that swallowed Mobius.
Senta stood and stared for a few minutes and then the clanging sound and vibration of someone walking on the metal catwalk behind her brought her back to the present. She turned around to see a grizzled crewman limping toward her. His white uniform with blue trim was vaguely naval in appearance. He held onto the handrail with one hand as he walked along, the other holding a teacup.
“I’m afraid you’re not allowed here, Miss,” he said, smiling amiably and raising his cup in a sort of salute.
“I’m sorry. I just saw the open door and…”
Her reply was cut short when the man threw the contents of the cup into her face. The tepid liquid flew into her mouth, nose, and eyes. She raised her hands to protect herself with either force or magic, but lost her balance and fell onto her back, the course metal of the catwalk tearing her dress. Everything was spinning. The huge gas bladders above turned black and the shining metal handrail and metal ribs turned dull grey. And suddenly she was somewhere else.
She was somewhere else, and it was like nowhere in the world. But Senta knew where she was. She also knew that she wasn’t all here. Her body was still lying in the airship where she had fallen. Only her mind was here. She looked down at herself. Her star sigils were easily visible because she was completely naked. Raising her eyes once again, she saw that there was still a constellation of glamours circling her head. She surveyed the land. She was in the middle of a great field of purple flowers that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. Each flower was a foot tall, with a blossom as big around as a man’s hand, with five purple petals. And in the middle of each flower, where normally one would find the pistil, was a very human looking eyeball. The flowers around her feet leaned away from her.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere.
“And I don’t like to be hijacked out of my own body.”
A shadow on the flowers in front of the sorceress heralded the arrival of something from the sky. Squinting up into the light that seemed to shine down from all directions, Senta could see little, so she lowered her eyes again and waited for the landing.
A female form floated gently to the ground to stand a dozen feet in front of Senta. She was just as naked as the sorceress. She was blond too, but it was a golden blond that cascaded down so thick and so magnificent that it made Senta’s own hair, carefully coifed though it was, look dim and plain. She was a few inches shorter, but her body was fuller and curvier. Stretching out six feet from either shoulder were beautiful, gleaming, white-feathered wings.
“Welcome to heaven,” she said.
“Pff,” said the sorceress. “Next you’re going to tell me you’re an angel. Is that what you’re going to say, demon?”
The woman narrowed her eyes as her wings folded in, so that they were only visible as white bumps over her shoulders. She took a deep breath and smiled benevolently. “You must be feeling disoriented. I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Pantagria,” said Senta. She raised her hand like the weapon it was and pointed it at Pantagria’s face.
The winged woman tilted her head and smirked, “You have no power here, witch. Go ahead. Try it.”
“Uastium premba uuthanum tachthna paj tortestos—duuth.”
Nothing happened. Pantagria crossed her arms over her breasts and stepped slowly forward. “There’s no magic here for you to tap into. You see, as immaterial as it may be, magic is nevertheless real. And nothing here is real.”
“I’m real,” said Senta.
“You know you’re not. You know the real you is somewhere else. I can see it in your face as surely as if I was looking in a mirror.”
“Real or not, I’m here. You went to a great deal of trouble to meet me. I suppose I should be flattered.”
“You should be. I’m very excited that you’re here. You’re special, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
Pantagria stopped a foot and a half away from the sorceress. She had to look up slightly to meet Senta’s eyes. Reaching out a hand, she caressed her cheek. “You’re quite striking, you know. Not as pretty as the dressing maid, but quite attractive.”
“So I’m told. I’ve never been able to see it myself.”
“It’s a pity. Brech women never seem to appreciate themselves the way they should. Mirsannan women: now they love themselves.”
“Oh, I like myself just fine,” said Senta. “You on the other hand, I’m not too fond of. So why don’t you tell me what it is you want, so I can get out of this damned eyeball field.”
“Horrid isn’t it? Imagine having to stay here for centuries… millennia.”
“What is, is.”
“No. It doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to stay here. I could be there… in the real world. I would be good there. I could thrive.” Pantagria’s voice rose higher and higher in excitement. “I could live like a real person! I could breathe and feel and exist!”
“It can’t happen,” said the sorceress. “You’re not real. You can’t become real.”
“Yes, I can. You can do it. You make things out of nothing. You do it with your magic. And you do it all the time. You have the marks to show for it.”
“I do, don’t I?” said Senta, looking down at the stars adorning her body. “Parasols and purses, hair ribbons and the like: I pull them out of thin air. But nothing like you, or at least like what you want to be. I can’t create a living thing. I can summon a tyrannosaurus from somewhere else, but it’s just moving a living thing from one place to another, not creating one.”
“You could do it,” said Pantagria, reaching out and taking Senta by the shoulders. “You just need to put it all together—conjuring, evocation, and transmutation. You can bring me to that other world and you can bring me to life. I’ll be free!”
“Maybe I can.” Senta reached up and took the other woman’s hands from her shoulders. “But I won’t.”
“What?”
“I’m not really known for my altruism, but I’d sooner die than unleash you on the world, demon. I know what you are. You’re not even real and you’ve killed thousands. I can’t imagine letting something like you loose in Brechalon or Mirsanna, or even Birmisia.”
Pantagria stepped back and staggered. Her wings stretched partially out to balance her.
&n
bsp; “You have to help me. You have to… have to.”
“No. Now let me out of this nightmare.”
“Wait, you don’t understand. I don’t have to be this when you bring me to your world. I can be whatever you want. I can be this.” Pantagria’s form shifted slightly. She became more voluptuous and her wings disappeared. Her face took a more familiar shape. Standing before Senta was the form of Zurfina the Magnificent. When she spoke again, it was with Zurfina’s sultry voice. “I could come back to you, Pet. We could be together again, like before, only better. We’ll be like twins. We could share everything.”
“Nice try, demon. Not even Zurfina would release you.”
“Of course I would, Pet. Remember what I did to Schwarztogrube. Releasing uncontrollable forces is the best, but then, you’re so much more powerful than I ever was. You could control her. You could keep her under your power—maybe even tap that power for your own use.”
Senta took a deep breath. She really did look like Zurfina. Even her facial expressions were the same, and the way she rested her weight on one hip and lifted her chin like there was a mirror nearby. “I still find myself uninterested. Perhaps that’s because I’ve outgrown a mistress.”
“Have you outgrown love?” Zurfina’s form shifted, growing stockier and straighter. Suddenly Senta was staring at the form and image of Graham Dokkins. To say that she had loved him all her life would have been stretching it. After all, she hadn’t met him until just after her ninth birthday. But from that time until he had died eight years three months and four days later she had loved him as she now knew she would never love anyone else. When he spoke, she could feel her heart break. “We can be together forever.”
“Graham… Graham… Is this… is this how you do it? Is this how you destroy all those people? Is this how you do it, demon? Do you reach into them and rip out their insides. Is this what you do with your white visio?”
“Don’t talk like that, Senta. We can be together forever. I will love you more than you’ve ever been loved.”
“Go to hell.”
The form of Graham Dokkins morphed back into the blond angel. “I’m in hell! You’re going to help me get out of it, or I will reach inside and what I will pull out will be all of your power, along with the tiny bit of humanity you have left. Now, give me the magic. Give it to me!”
“Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you,” said Senta, reaching up and snatching one of the glowing gems from around her head. She crushed it and opened her hand, to see a sphere of flame forming. Only two inches across, it surged and swirled there for a second, then shot toward Pantagria. As it flew through the air, it grew to a diameter of twenty feet. It hit her dead center and exploded in all directions, including back at the sorceress. Senta could feel the flame engulf her. Pantagria screamed as her skin, hair, and wings, caught fire. Then something was hitting Senta in the face. She put up her hands to defend herself and blinked. She was back on the airship, lying on her back on the catwalk, with Peter leaning over her and slapping her face.
“What the hell?”
“Your hair was on fire!” he said, his voice on the edge of hysteria.
Senta sat up. She could smell burnt hair. Peter gave her his hand, and soon she was standing. With a wave, she summoned a small table, complete with a washbasin full of water and a hand mirror.
“Look around and find the old sailor that was here,” she ordered Peter.
“I’ve been with you almost five minutes trying to wake you up and I haven’t seen anyone else. Should I contact the ship’s officer?”
“No, never mind.”
Leaning over the basin, Senta washed, careful to make sure any white opthalium remaining on her face wasn’t washed back into her eyes. Picking up the mirror, she examined her ruined hair. Swirling her index finger over the top of her head, she uttered “uuthanum.” Her hair swirled a moment and then settled into a new shorter style. It was cropped close over the ear and shaved near her neckline, parted on the left and combed over.
“Kafira, you look like a boy,” said Peter.
“I saw a woman with this style at the National Opera in Bangdorf. Kieran couldn’t take his eyes off her.” She set down the mirror and started toward the ladder leading back down to the passenger deck.
“What about this stuff?” asked Peter, pointing at the little table.
“Are you a wizard or not?”
“Uuthanum,” he said, waving his hand, and the table, the washbasin, the water, and even the hand mirror vanished.
Chapter Eleven: Yessonarah
“We have arrived!” said Hsrandtuss loudly, as he waved at the land ahead.
From the small hillock upon which he stood, he could see a long, flat plain, and beyond that a large hill with a rocky outcropping on one side and upon the other a gentle slope down toward the shores of the briskly flowing river. In the distance was the vast forest of pine trees and maples, as well as sussata, for which the humans had no name. A great herd of sauroposeidon roamed along the forest edge, while closer were huge numbers of iguanodons and triceratops.
“We can all see that we are here,” he heard someone mutter behind him. He thought it was Szakhandu.
“Shut up,” ordered Sszaxxanna, cuffing whoever it was with a clawed hand. “This is a great moment.”
They had left the dragon fortress a full thirty days earlier with a mission to found a new city to the east, not far from the ruins of Suusthek. Suusthek had been a great city, but its ruler Ssithtsutsu had overstepped himself when he had tried to wipe out the soft-skins. Even without the aid of the young god, the humans had wiped out his warriors, and their witch-woman had left nothing where Suusthek had been but a very large smoking crater.
It had taken Hsrandtuss a few days to recover from his ordeal beneath the ancient stones of the fortress. Afterwards he spent several more days in celebratory feasting and drinking, and it took a few days to recover from that too. Then Yessonar had met with him alone. He could still remember the heat radiating from the dragon as he stood beside the great head, which lay upon a huge pillow of tyrannosaurus skin.
“That was quite a show of bravery, and totally unnecessary, I might add.”
“It was nothing,” said the king, but he couldn’t help but flush his dewlap.
“There is no other of your race that I trust more than you. Did you know that, Hsrandtuss?”
“I don’t know what to say, Great Yessonar.”
“It is twice as important to listen as it is to speak. That is why you have two ears and only one mouth. I have seen something in the future, and I need your help to turn the events the direction I desire. I am sending you east on a great mission. It will be difficult, but you can succeed.”
“I will succeed,” Hsrandtuss had proclaimed.
“Is this where we are going to build Zis Suusthek?” asked Ssu, stepping close to her husband, and forcing his mind to return to the present.
“This is where we will build our city. But it will not be called Zis Suusthek. Ssithtsutsu ruined that name forever, may a curse be upon the eggs of all his females. We shall call our city Yessonarah after the young god, to show that we are favored by him above all others.” He turned to Sszaxxanna. “Have the captains bring their people to that hill. We will make our camp tonight on the site of our city.”
When they had left, they had taken almost every lizzie at the fortress, though Yessonar would not have to go without worshippers for long. The line of supplicants was just as long on their way out as it had been on their way in. Looking at the great dragon curled up at the base of the large outdoor amphitheater, Hsrandtuss thought that he looked pleased to be left alone if only for a few minutes. Of course even as they were leaving, Khastla the envoy was making his way down the steps to task the god with something else. Five thousand lizardmen had been divided mostly along clan lines into ten groups, each led by a captain who reported directly to the king. Yes, Hsrandtuss was used to hearing “great king” from his wives. Now he would he
ar it from everybody.
It was growing dark before the last of the great pilgrimage arrived on the hill. Huge bonfires had already been set up by the first arrivals to help deter any predators, though even the family of gorgosaurs spotted late in the afternoon would have thought twice before approaching such a large group of Hsrandtuss’s people. The king lay down near the largest fire and pointed his nose toward the flame. Soon Kendra and Ssu were on either side of him and he could see the other wives taking their places nearby. Except for Sszaxxanna. She was somewhere, bringing some plot or other into fruition, or starting a new one. Hsrandtuss didn’t give her a lot of thought. He just closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Then next morning, the king met with all of the captains. He assigned each of them a job to oversee. Some were responsible for locating the appropriate stone for wall construction and to start quarrying it. Others were responsible for felling trees and cutting them into logs, which would be even more vital. Still others organized workers to dam the river and to cut irrigation canals. A particularly large individual named Straatin was placed in charge of the hunters who would supply the meat necessary to fill so many bellies. Finally, an old and grizzled veteran named Hunssuss was held back to consult with the king on the layout of the new city. They discussed what buildings needed to be constructed where, while a group of warriors used shovels and spears to gouge out the outlines of the buildings in the earth.
By the end of their first full day on the site of Yessonarah, there were already huge piles of cut logs and hundreds of fires around the hill illuminating thousands of lizzies feasting on raw meat as they were warmed by the flames. Hsrandtuss was pleased.
After eating a pomegranate and a bit of iguanodon for breakfast, the king climbed to his feet and looked around. The only one of his wives nearby was Szakhandu.
“Come and walk with me,” he ordered her.
The Sorceress and her Lovers Page 13