by Lisa Smedman
When her contraction ended, Karrell stared, panting, at the dretches. They stood in a circle around her, scratching their bellies, sniffing. They were stupid creatures—her success in avoiding them after her escape had already proved that—but they had powerful magic at their command. She’d seen how they’d driven the souls of the faithful.
She could hear more explosions in the jungle as yet more streaks of red fell from the sky. The circle of red in the clouds was brightening, bathing the clouds around it in an eerie glow. It was, she was certain, a gate—though why it was opening was anyone’s guess. If it connected with the Prime Material Plane, however, she might at last be able to summon a creature that could help her.
“Ubtao, hear me,” she said. “Send me allies in my time of need.” She trailed a hand in the murky water and pictured the animals she hoped to summon. Small and swift, with silver scales.
She felt her awareness shift. It flew up through the jungle canopy into the sky. Toward the circle in the clouds and through it. Somewhere in the world beyond, it plunged into a river that flowed through the jungle, and …
Tiny motes of silver burst from Karrell’s fingertips, rapidly expanding into full-sized fish. A school of fish, blunt-faced and silver, with gaping mouths filled with teeth jagged as broken glass soon swarmed toward the dretches and bit before the demons even had time to blink. By the time Karrell lifted her dripping hand from the water, the pool in which they stood had turned from murky green to bright red.
The dretches wailed, gurgled, swatted at the water that boiled around their legs and bellies, but to little effect. One of them went down immediately, yanked sideways by its own entrails. Another thrust a finger into the water, loosing a cloud of noxious vapors into it, but though one or two of the piranha floated to the surface, belly up, the rest continued their savage attack. Another dretch went down screaming, then a third.
Karrell staggered out of the pool, gagging on the fumes from the dretch’s spell. A lash of fear struck her as one of the remaining dretches cast a spell at her, but it only hastened her onward. She had to stop a moment later, when another contraction struck, but when she continued, walking unsteadily, there were no sounds of pursuit. The allies she had summoned from her homeland had done their work.
She staggered on and a few moments later came to the spot where the first drip from the sky had landed. It had punched a hole through the trees, smashing them aside and scorching its way down through leaves and vines as it fell. It lay in a crackling red heap, lumpy and soft as bread dough, its edges a crusty black. Steam hissed from the jungle all around it, and even from a distance of several paces, Karrell could feel its intense heat.
Lava? What was lava doing dripping from a gate in the sky?
She glanced up at the circle of red; it was bright enough that it hurt to look at it. She had a better idea of who might have opened it—someone important enough for the marilith to have abandoned Karrell to the dubious guardianship of its dretches.
The circle in the sky suddenly flipped open, revealing a clear patch of starry sky. Two shapes tumbled through: a black, winged serpent with four arms, and a human, arms and legs flailing as he fell.
“Arvin!” Karrell cried, certain it was he.
He crashed into the jungle, not far from the spot where she stood. Karrell winced and felt a pang deep inside. She whispered Ubtao’s name, praying that Arvin had survived. If she could reach him, use her healing magic …
Another contraction gripped her, forcing her to her knees.
When it was done, she glanced up. The winged serpent flew in an uneven spiral. It lurched sideways every few wingbeats like a drunken man. It was close enough that Karrell could see who it was.
Sibyl. Wounded or unwell, but there. In Smaragd.
Karrell felt a cold fear wash through her. Her head spun and she thought she was going to be sick. Sibyl had achieved her goal. She had found a way into Smaragd. Unless something was done—immediately—she would free Sseth and become his avatar. Karrell’s mother’s people—the humans of the Chultan Peninsula—would be crushed like mice in a serpent’s coils. For unlike the Time of Troubles, Ubtao would not also walk the world in avatar form. There would be no one to battle Sibyl, save the K’aaxlaat and any other mortals brave and foolish enough to stand with them. Even these an avatar would sweep aside.
Another contraction gripped her, bringing tears to her eyes. She clung to the tree next to her, but its bark suddenly became spongy and gave way. She tried to climb to her feet but could not. She simply didn’t have the strength to rise.
“Ubtao,” she whispered. “Help me, not for my sake, or even for …” she clutched her stomach as another contraction wrenched at it. Something tore between her legs; she felt warm blood running down them. “For my children,” she gasped, “but for all my people. Lend me … your power. Send me the weapons … I need … to stop …”
The marilith’s voice boomed out over the jungle. “Sibyl!” it cried. “This way! Sseth lies here!”
Another wave of pain forced Karrell’s eyes shut. As they closed, one of the trees adjacent to the crackling lump of lava burst into flame. From behind closed eyelids, she could see the flicker of the flames, but by then the pain inside her was too great for her to care. She groaned, panted, then groaned again, waiting for her children to be born.
Arvin, barely conscious, lay in a tangle of vines and broken branches. He had found the couatl feather at the last moment, slowing his fall just enough to avoid being killed—but not enough to avoid being injured. He was dimly aware that one leg was twisted uncomfortably beneath him, that his face and arms were scratched and bleeding, that there was more blood in his mouth and a ringing in his ears, but he couldn’t summon up enough energy to care about it.
Something sticky dripped onto his face from a broken branch above his head, something that gummed his nostrils and lips and tasted faintly of acid. The air he breathed had a sickly sweet odor, like rotting fruit. The stench was worse than the sewers of Hlondeth.
He didn’t care.
A swarm of tiny flies buzzed around him, landing and walking with sticky feet through the smears of blood and sap that covered his face, then rising again, buzzing around his ears and into his nostrils.
He didn’t care.
Somewhere nearby, someone shouted Sibyl’s name, a booming, demonic voice that brought back terrible memories.
His eyes flickered open.
He sat up, noticed that the couatl feather was still in his hand. As he stood, a streak of fire raced through the jungle toward him. He gasped, tried to activate the feather’s magic, but before he could rise into the air the fire reached him. At the last moment it zigzagged around him, setting a tree a few paces away on fire, then continued on its way. He watched it go, his mouth hanging open in surprise. It was no ordinary fire, but one that scribed a neat line through the jungle, igniting only those trees and bushes in its path—magical flame that burned the vegetation it fed on to ash then continued to burn in empty air.
Arvin touched a hand to the flame. It was like touching an illusion: he felt no heat, no pain.
He shook his head, and blinked. Was he dreaming? Was it another of the nightmares Dendar had failed to consume?
“Sibyl!” the voice cried again—more strident. “This way!”
Glancing up, Arvin saw the gate the Circled Serpent had opened—a circle of bubbling lava, framing a patch of clean, starry sky.
It was no dream. He’d done it. He’d entered Smaragd.
A shape swept by overhead. Dark wings against a purple sky.
So had Sibyl.
A second line of fire rushed through the forest, crisscrossing the first. A heartbeat later, Sibyl swept past. She seemed to be following it. Craning his neck, Arvin watched as she flew away with ragged wingbeats, wheeling and twisting in the sky, pursuing what must have been a twisting, convoluted path.
“Sibyl!” the voice cried again from somewhere to his right. “Over here! Under the swords!�
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The cry was followed by a whirring, crashing sound. It sounded as though the jungle was being hacked to pieces, as well as set on fire.
There was no time to wonder what was happening, or why. Arvin struggled to his feet and discovered he’d been lying on his backpack. He picked it up. The net was still inside, and he thanked Tymora for that. And for breaking his fall without breaking his bones. “Nine—”
Halfway to his crystal, his hand paused as the realization finally sank home. He was in Smaragd.
Mentally reaching for his lapis lazuli instead, he pictured Karrell’s face. It came to him immediately. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth open and gasping. A grimace of pain etched deep lines into her cheeks and forehead. Her hair hung around her face in a disheveled mess. As he watched, she gagged and was nearly sick.
It didn’t matter. Joy surged through him, fierce as the fire that bathed him in its glowing light. Karrell was alive!
Karrrel, he sent. It’s Arvin. I’m in Smaragd. Tell me where you are.
Karrell’s eyes opened briefly. Then she screamed. And panted. Grimaced. Then spoke in a ragged voice. Ubtao’s fire, she gasped. Follow…
Of course! The fire. Slinging his pack over one shoulder, Arvin held out the feather. He rose into the air, then flew along the path the fire had burned through the forest. Wary of Sibyl spotting him, he flew within the flame. It blurred his vision and filled his ears with a roaring crackle. More than once, he came to places where the path doubled back across itself. He chose a direction at random the first three times, then realized he was lost in a maze. He paused, hovering in the air, uncertain which way to go. He didn’t have much time. If he was to rescue Karrell and stop Sibyl from freeing Sseth, he had to move quickly, to decide quickly.
Saffron and ginger wafted through the flame and a droning noise rose above the crackle of flame as Arvin manifested his power. Which way? he asked himself. Straight ahead, left, or right?
He turned to the right, and an eyeblink-quick flash of a possible future flashed through his mind: him flying on and on through the jungle, until the fire finally died, then a scream, Karrell’s.
Straight ahead and he got a flash of the marilith demon, swords whirling above its head, a pair of hands cupped to its lips as it shouted. Behind it was an enormous serpent head under a netlike tangle of vines. The ground beneath Arvin’s feet trembled as the serpent’s mouth craned open. Its eye fixed on Arvin, somehow seeing him through the slit Arvin’s power had sliced through time.
My child, it hissed. Free me. Join me.
Arvin hung, transfixed, on the words. The god had spoken directly to him, mind to mind. Sseth’s voice entered a place, deep inside Arvin, that he had not known existed, found it empty, and filled it with an overwhelming, almost sexual desire. Arvin was yuan-ti. He was worthy, worthy of power beyond his wildest dreams, power that would grant him anything—anything—his heart desired.
Karrell? he pleaded. Karrell can live?
Yes! the voice hissed. Yes, yes! She will be yours, for eternity. Yours!
“You lie,” Arvin gritted.
The vision ended. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he shook it off. Then he turned left and flew on.
He spotted Karrell a moment later. The line of fire ended where she hunkered down on all fours and in rags, trembling against the pain of giving birth. Already Arvin could see the head of one of the children crowning. A few moments more, and he—or she—would be born.
“Karrell!” he shouted, landing and enfolding her in his arms. “I’m here.”
She sagged against him, and for a moment they simply held each other.
“Our children?” Arvin asked. “Are they—”
“Soon,” Karrell gasped.
Arvin glanced up. The gate was still open but was far overhead, out of reach. He could fly up to it with the couatl feather—might even be able to do so while holding Karrell—but not while she was giving birth.
She clutched his hand. “Arvin,” she gasped. “Be … you …”
“Hush,” he told her. “We’re together.” He forced a smile. “I’ll figure out a way to get us both out of here.”
Karrell shook her head. “Behind …”
Belatedly realizing Karrell had been trying to warn him, Arvin turned …
Just in time to see Sibyl reach the end of the line of fire and skid to a landing behind him.
CHAPTER 12
Sibyl landed awkwardly in a loose coil. Arvin could see now why she had been flying so unevenly. There was a trickle of dried blood under each of her ears. Ts’ikil’s cry must have burst both of Sibyl’s eardrums. As she folded her wings against her back and steadied herself against a tree with two of her four hands, Arvin scrambled for his pack. Ripping it open, he found that tendrils of musk creeper had once again grown into the leather. Cursing, he slashed these with his dagger.
Sibyl’s magical fear struck him.
Arvin fought back, even as the fear drove him to his knees. Forcing his will against it was like trying to shoulder his way through an icy wall of water. It slammed against him, trying to shove his mind back into a tiny corner of itself where it screamed, cringed, and wept.
He fought it down. Like a man staggering under a massive weight, he rose to his feet. Hands shaking, he hauled the net from the pack and lifted it to shoulder height, preparing to throw …
Sibyl’s glare intensified. So did the magical fear. Arvin felt tears pour down his face. The net sagged in his arms then slid from his hands.
Sibyl bared her fangs in triumph. Then she turned her attention to Karrell.
“Well, well,” she hissed. “A cleric of Ubtao, in Smaragd? How stupid of you to reveal your position with that spell. I would tell you to prepare to meet your god, but there’s only a hungry serpent where you’re going.” She laughed, then cocked her head, savoring the pain of Karrell’s labor. “Go on,” she taunted. “Try to run.”
Arvin stared at the net that lay at his feet, his entire body quaking. Control, he urged himself. Fight back! Reaching deep inside his muladhara, he grasped a thread of energy and yanked it up into his chest. He breathed out, heard a droning noise fill the air, and imagined a protective shield in front of him.
Sibyl’s magical fear broke upon it and was deflected to either side.
Arvin scooped up the net and hurled it. The throw was perfect. The net opened in mid-flight and landed on Sibyl’s head and shoulders.
“Absu—”
Sibyl was swifter. She shifted into a tiny flying snake.
“—mo!” Arvin shouted, completing his command.
Too late. Sibyl escaped through the large weave of the net. She hovered above where it lay on the ground. She darted sideways then reappeared in her humanoid form next to Arvin. She towered over him, easily three times his height.
“You may have escaped my temple,” she hissed, “but you won’t escape Smaragd.”
She flicked her tail. A lightning bolt shot from it, striking Arvin square in the chest. He was hurled backward into a vine-draped tree. At a spoken word from Sibyl the vines came to life, whipping themselves around him. He managed to wrench one arm free, tearing his skin as the suckers of the vine were ripped from it, but the vine wrapped around it once more. He tried morphing into flying snake form, but the tendrils tightened instantly, holding him fast. Abandoning that manifestation, he resumed his human form. Sibyl watched with unblinking eyes, smirking at his struggles.
The net lay on the ground a palm’s breadth from Karrell, yellow flowers blossoming from its knot-work. Its fibers began to unweave, sending pale green tendrils questing up into the air, searching for a mind to drain.
Karrell continued with her labor, her head down and hair trailing, grunting as another contraction gripped her.
Struggling against the vines was futile, but Arvin’s mind was still free. He clawed ectoplasm out of the air and shaped it into a construct with great hooked claws and a mouth that gaped wider than a serpent’s and sent it hurtling toward
Sibyl in a sparkle of silver that clouded his vision.
Sibyl met it with a shouted word in Draconic. The construct exploded into a cloud of tiny, shimmering flies that circled harmlessly around her head. With a shrug of one wing, she brushed them aside.
Sibyl was even more powerful than Arvin had feared. Had she already become an avatar? No, there hadn’t been time, but the thought gave him an idea.
A droning filled the air around him as he tried to force his way into her mind. If he could convince her, even for an instant, that she had heard an unconditional summons from her god, she might leave. A simple splicing of her memories would be all it took. He pushed against her will, looking for the tiniest chink in her mental armor through which his own mind could slip.
Sibyl forced him back. Then she hissed. Her tail began to glow with an unbearably bright light then whipped forward. As the tip of it slapped against Arvin’s face the brightness exploded, filling his entire vision. He blinked but could see nothing but white. He was blind.
He could no longer see Karrell, but he could hear her deep, shuddering groans. He could also hear, over Sibyl’s hissing laughter, the soft pops of the flowers on his net releasing their compelling dust. Sibyl, he had seen in the instant before he was blinded, was still too far away from the net to be affected by the dust, but Karrell was close. Too close.
“Karrell,” he shouted again. “Get away from the—”
His teeth slammed together as what must have been a second lightning bolt struck him. Muscles rigid, he fought against the blackness that threatened to swallow him. He had been foolish, he realized, to attempt to rescue Karrell alone. He should have tried harder to convince Ts’ikil to come with him. He pictured the couatl as he’d left her on the ledge, realized he should have at least told her he was entering Smaragd. Even wounded, the couatl was the one creature who might actually be a match for—
No. There was one other who might be able to beat Sibyl in a head-to-head fight.
The marilith demon. Arvin knew just which card to play to get it on his side: the fate link.
