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

by D J Salisbury

  Cold stone thudded against his back. He scuttled sideways, away from the soldier’s reaching hands. He didn’t have time for this. Lorel needed him. But what could he do?

  Time to take a risk. The illusion book said he might destroy his magic, even kill himself from the strain. He had to try.

  He willed himself invisible. Or wished himself invisible. That section of the illusion book never made sense. But he concentrated with all his heart.

  Tingles rushed up from his toes and burst out of the top of his head. Barbed hooks clamped onto his scalp.

  He glanced at his own hands. Blast, still visible.

  But the soldier’s eyes grew huge. He shook his head, backed away, and shook his head again.

  He could still see himself, but he’d done something right. What did the old man see?

  Something dangled at the edge his vision, but he didn’t dare stop to brush it away. He charged forward and poked the man’s thigh with one saikeri. Viper’s sweat splattered the soldier’s uniform, but no blood appeared. Good, he hadn’t lost his touch. Lots of pain, but little damage.

  The soldier leaped backward, fell flat on his back, and knocked his head on the cobble­stones. His body went limp.

  Lightning blast it. Had he killed the man? He hoped not. At least it looked like the old man had slipped and fallen by accident, so the Nashidrans wouldn’t demand retribution.

  He snorted at himself. Who was he kidding? It was an accident.

  The few soldiers remaining darted mindlessly through the whirlwind, bent low to avoid the swirling sticks. Soon one of them would think to go for help. He needed to hurry.

  Where was Lorel in this mess? He tried to brush the waving things out of his eyes, but they moved away from his hands.

  Jorjan struggled to his feet. The real Jorjan. Lightning blast him! Simply looking at the illusion of that monster on Lorel’s face make him want to puke. How could he face the real one?

  The ground swayed. Viper’s concentration wavered. The illusion on Lorel faltered, making her look like a darker version of Jorjan.

  The real Jorjan grabbed Lorel’s arm and tried to wrench it out of her shoulder socket.

  The gray-haired soldier frowned at Jorjan, but yanked on Lorel, keeping her off-balance. Between them, Gray and Jorjan jerked her back and forth like a pair of bahtdor trying to rip apart an ox carcass.

  Lorel fought them, but couldn’t seem to get any leverage.

  He had to help her. But how could he face down Jorjan? He’d rather die than endure such torture again. Such shame. Even his nightmares were more than he could bear some nights. He couldn’t let Jorjan touch him.

  He rather die.

  But he couldn’t let Lorel die. They’d hang her for fighting the Nashidran Guard. Or they’d lock her up where Jorjan could get to her. Where the monster could torture her. They’d send her north where Jorjan could torture her forever.

  No. Never. Not as long as he was alive to stop them.

  But he didn’t dare kill anyone. If half of Lorel’s stories were true, the knife-stealing Nashidrans would punish the whole city if anyone else died. What could he do?

  He had to stop Jorjan. Whatever the cost.

  He charged into the battle. The things dangling from his head twitched and waved. What was that? His scalp itched so much he wanted to scream.

  Jorjan’s jaw dropped.

  Gray froze, shook himself, and tried to drag Lorel away.

  Viper darted through the whirling leaves and launched his body at Jorjan’s chest. He pounded the handles of his saikeris against Jorjan’s head.

  Jorjan screamed and dragged Lorel closer. He tried to duck behind her.

  Lorel stomped on the bully’s foot.

  Jorjan screeched louder.

  Gray slammed his free hand against Viper’s back.

  Viper’s forehead bounced off Jorjan’s chin. Blackness shuttered the street for a moment. He slid toward the ground. The thing on his head latched on tighter, but it seemed to drag its claws down Jorjan’s body.

  No blood. The bully’s clothes weren’t even torn.

  But Jorjan screamed as if his chest had been slashed open. As if his ribs were being kicked in. As if –

  No. He refused to remember. He refused to relive that night.

  Lorel yanked her arms free, slugged the old soldier and knocked him to the ground. On the rebound, she backhanded Jorjan across the face. That shut the squealing lizard up.

  But the illusion on her face was dissolving. Someone was sure to recognize her.

  Viper concentrated and changed the illusion over Lorel to Kraken’s face, though she was still dressed in Jorjan’s red clothing.

  Jorjan shook his head, stood upright, and stiffened. He stared at ‘Kraken’ with an expression of uncomprehending betrayal.

  Lorel-Kraken slugged him.

  Gray sat up and looked around. A stunned expression crossed his face, but he jumped to his feet and charged. He hurdled onto Jorjan’s prone body and wrestled the bully’s arms behind his back.

  Young soldiers darted about like sand lizards after flies. Sticks chased and swatted them. More sticks than he remembered enchanting.

  Viper hugged his ribs and tried to catch his breath. Where was Lorel? They had to get out of here.

  Leaves whirled faster, fading into black. Sticks thudded to the cobblestones. He was so tired he couldn’t think. If his concentration failed now, the soldiers would grab them.

  Kraken leapt at him.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Not Kraken. He’d rather face a dozen Jorjans than let Kraken touch him.

  Viper spun away, and the street spun with him. He waved his saikeris in front of his face and prayed he’d hit something. He’d draw blood this time. He’d kill them this time. Or kill himself, if he had to.

  Hands snatched the saikeris out of his grasp.

  He swung both fists, connected. Someone grunted. A soldier fell to the ground. How? Had he struck that hard?

  Darkness swallowed him. Something grabbed his collar, choking him. He gagged and tried to wiggle free.

  “Hang in there, kid,” Lorel muttered.

  His knees folded.

  Icy hands grabbed him around the waist. His belly thudded against something hard and bony. Air rushed out of his lungs.

  “Concentrate, kid.”

  Concentrate on what? On the spider feet in his hair? He remembered the spider. But it had been tiny.

  Cobblestones raced past his face. He tried to see where he was going, but he could only see the ground behind the red silk trousers. He raised his head.

  Soldiers raced after him, gaining on him.

  The claws in his hair grew longer, dug deeper into his scalp. The spider tormenting him must be huge. Bigger than a horse. Bigger than a bahtdor.

  He had to get rid of it before it swallowed him. Viper reached for the beast. Flames crackled between his hands, seared his fingers, charred his scalp. Pain shot down his spine, molten rock flooded his belly.

  The lead soldiers hesitated.

  He clenched his teeth and gripped the fiery spider.

  Claws dug into his skull. White hot fangs plunged toward his eyes.

  “Go chase them!” He heaved the monster toward the soldiers.

  Spider feet released his head, leaped high, and landed in the alley. Ruddy spider legs danced on the cobblestones. The flaming spider’s body blocked the passageway as if it planned to stay there until sunset. Until it fed its cravings.

  Until it ate somebody.

  Soldiers screamed and dashed back into the street.

  The spider faded as it chased after them.

  Viper slumped against Lorel’s back. Cobblestones raced past his nose. His head spun as he careened upside down around one corner, then another.

  The red trousers below his head faded into gray. The alley darkened into midnight.

  His gut banging against Lorel’s bony shoulder was the only thing keeping him awake. “I’m going to throw up.”

  “Not yet
, kid, they’re still chasing us.”

  “I’m really going to throw up.”

  “Hold it in, kid. Don’t leave a trail.”

  Don’t leave a lightning-blasted trail? Who was she kidding?

  Oh, wait, if they were caught, they were both dead. “I hear you, pine tree. Run faster.”

  Lorel leaned forward and ran as if the giant spider was after her. She raced uphill, zigzagging through alleys and across ill-kept yards.

  Dogged footfalls echoed behind them.

  The buildings around them became older, shoddier. He didn’t remember ever walking through this part of the city. Admittedly, he might not recognize it since he was upside down and backwards.

  “Put me down, pine tree.”

  “I ain’t stopping here, kid. Shut up. I gotta save my breath.”

  He had to admit, she was slowing down. How far had she run? Certainly long enough for him to get his breath back from battling with the spider. And his chants. And the illusions.

  Had the spider been an illusion? One of his own illusions? How could he find out? He didn’t dare ask Trevor.

  The air smelled of old blood and rotted plants. Where were they?

  Lorel jogged into the middle of a market square and swung him to the ground. What a relief to be right side up.

  But this wasn’t the Market Square he knew. He’d never seen these sullen, scarred vendors, the squint-eyed, angry customers.

  The silent crowd shifted toward them, surrounded them.

  He tugged on Lorel’s arm. “I don’t think we’re welcome here.”

  “Shut up, kid. And duck down.”

  He glared up at her.

  She blushed and bent her knees.

  An old woman splotched with green stripes stepped close to them. “If you don’t want no one to see you, dearie, you gotta go lower than that.” She yanked a blue-stained kerchief off her gray head. “Put this on and pretend you’re eighty years old.”

  A wrinkled man with a withered hand tugged off his filthy hood and jammed it over Viper’s head. “Go up tanner and stay on snake until you reach bridge.”

  What tanner? Or who? Stay on the snake? No, thanks. He loathed snakes.

  Lorel nodded, grabbed Viper’s shoulder, and hobbled out of the square. Her fingers dug into his shoulder until he wanted to scream.

  “If you lean on me any harder, I’ll fall over.”

  “Shut up, kid.”

  Behind them, the crowd murmured, then growled. Shouts rang out in the distance.

  Lorel shuddered and released his shoulder. She looked back and began to straighten her spine.

  A dark-skinned woman the size of a blacksmith walloped Lorel on the butt with a wooden spoon the size of a battleship’s oar.

  Lorel yelped and sprawled flat on the road.

  “Stay down, you limp thread, and get outta here. Them Nasties’ll leave if’n they don’t see you.”

  Lorel scrambled up from the cobblestones, crouched lower, and hobbled faster.

  Viper stopped and stared, wide eyed as a newly hatched bahtdor.

  What a woman! Such a woman would be highly prized on the plains. Even his fath– even Agrevod might be willing to court her. Maybe marry her, even if she wasn’t a Setoyan’s tawny color.

  The woman winked and shooed him away before raising her multi-colored spoon and marching back into the grubby square.

  Viper sighed. If only he were tall enough to interest her.

  Speaking of tall, where was Lorel? He limped up the hill, checking each intersection without success. How far could she go, all bent over and hobbling?

  How fast could she go? A lot faster than him, obviously.

  He limped onward. The filthy hood fell over his eyes. He pushed it up, but didn’t dare take it off. When he looked back, he was still within sight of the market.

  And the crowd still filled the square. There seemed to be even more people milling about than before. Had they started a riot? Was that what Lorel was worried about?

  What could they do about it if they had?

  He shook his head and limped uphill. He’d ask Lorel when he caught up with her. If he caught up with her. How would he get home without her?

  Not a problem. If he traveled uphill long enough, he’d reach Trader’s Inn. He knew how to get home from there.

  Tap, tap, tapping to his right pulled him out of his thoughts. Lorel stood around the corner, her arms crossed. “What took you so long?”

  He rolled his eyes and limped past her. Or started to.

  Six skinny boys in identical, shabby blue shirts blocked the road. One of them grinned at him. Slowly.

  He glared back. He’d had enough of bullies for one day. For a lifetime. If they attacked, he’d … he’d … He’d sic the spider on them. If he could remember how he’d created it.

  Well, he could stab them with his saikeris, if he had to. He slid his hands inside his jacket to his inner pockets. Which were empty. Blast.

  Lorel cleared her throat.

  He glared at her.

  She slipped his saikeris out of her belt and handed them to him.

  The smiling blue boy strutted closer. “What Loom-warping kinda crap is that? Weird looking forks? Whatcha eat with them?”

  “Nasties’ hearts.” Lorel raised her chin. “He took out a bunch of Nasties.”

  Smiley hesitated.

  The oldest boy nodded. “Nasties out hunting. After you?”

  Lorel shrugged. “Like that’s new. Ain’t caught me yet.”

  A bit of an exaggeration, but Viper agreed with the sentiment. But were they in worse trouble now than if the soldiers had captured them?

  “And him?”

  “Of course. They ain’t never got this close to me afore.”

  The boys looked at him doubtfully. He didn’t blame them. He was filthy, sweaty, exhausted, and half as tall as a mangy coney. Not hero material. Not by a long shot.

  “Got some news.” Lorel plucked the stained kerchief off her head and stuffed it in her pocket.

  What a relief. He yanked the grimy hood off. Did Trevor have a chant to get rid of lice?

  The gang stared at Lorel impatiently.

  “Red Nastie’s on his way outta town this morning.”

  “We heard. So what?”

  “He ain’t riding out on no proud stallion.” She nudged Viper’s shoulder, nearly knocking him down. “The kid done plucked that chicken’s tail feathers.”

  Six pairs of raised eyebrows turned toward him. One of the boys snickered.

  “Why else they be chasing us?” Lorel nudged him again.

  Viper stepped away from her hand. He had no intention of giving a speech to this gang of bullies. Besides, he couldn’t think of anything to say. They’d never believe he’d chanted Lorel free. He had trouble believing it.

  The leader nodded slowly. “Maybe. He’s quiet enough to pull something sneaky.” He looked up at Lorel. “Better of been real sneaky, or you’s both gonna dance with the hangman.”

  Lorel grinned. “If we get to Market Square quick enough, we got lotsa folk ready to swear we been there all morning.”

  The gang laughed. “Get running,” the leader said, and backed out of their way.

  Lorel grabbed Viper’s wrist and hustled him around the corner. As soon as the gang was out of sight, she yanked him to a halt. “Stow them fork thingies.”

  And he hadn’t even gotten to stab anyone. The old soldier didn’t count. He’d been careful not to hurt the man. At least, not badly.

  He shoved his saikeris into his inner pockets.

  Lorel grabbed him around the waist and tossed him over her shoulder.

  “Put me down!”

  “Shut up, kid. We should’ve been in position half an hour ago.” She raced up the winding street, dashed over the bridge, and rushed down a series of twisting alleys. Finally she stopped and thumped him down on his feet.

  “Tidy up, kid.” She hastily straightened her own clothing. She rebraided her long hair so quickly, s
he’d obviously done it without a mirror quite frequently. How often did she pull stupid stunts, anyway? She’d organized today’s madness with terrifying aplomb.

  Viper pulled his trousers straight and buttoned his jacket over his green-stained shirt. How had he managed to stain his shirt? He hadn’t gone anywhere near the grass.

  Lorel yanked him around, unbuttoned his jacket, and did it up again. What was wrong with the way he’d done it? Girls were so picky.

  She looked him over critically, nodded, and led the way into Market Square.

  Market noises rolled over him. Magnificent scents lured him onward. He grabbed Lorel’s thumb and dragged her toward the baker’s stall.

  She pulled him back. “I ain’t got no money on me.”

  “I do. Unless it fell out of my pocket in the … commotion.” He dug into his trousers pocket and pulled out his life savings. Five full farthings. He needed to stop buying so many books. But five farthings was enough for a celebration.

  After a brief bargaining session – Lorel’s moans were too distracting for their dickering to be any fun – he bought two sticky buns for each of them at the baker’s, and, at the cart next door, a sackful of cherries, with two farthings left over.

  Lorel flirted with the fruit vendor before settling into the shade of his cart, in full view of the square.

  “Are you crazy?” Viper whispered.

  Lorel laughed and patted the ground beside her. “Sit down, kid.” She gobbled down her sticky buns as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  He’d barely gotten his first sticky bun to his mouth when soldiers marched into the square. He froze. Where could they hide?

  “Don’t move,” Lorel whispered. “Act like normal.”

  Normal? What was normal, when the Nashidran army was chasing you?

  Viper shoved half the bun into his mouth. He chewed, but the dried-out dough gagged him.

  Lorel smiled at the passing soldiers and nibbled on her cherries. For some reason, she hid the pits in her pocket. Was that what she called normal?

  The last soldier paused and looked them over carefully. “What have you two been up to this morning?”

  Lorel batted her eyes at him. “Breakfast. Wanna cherry?”

  Viper sighed and shoved his elbow into her ribs.

  The soldier shook his head and marched onward.