by Monica Davis
He laid his other hand on her chest, and his sharp nails glided effortlessly through the fabric of her sweater. Marla was wearing human clothing, and her hair looked different. It was straight and silky between Metistakles’ fingers.
“Pathetic,” he muttered. He shut his eyes in order to penetrate deep into Marla’s consciousness. Metistakles knew that she wouldn’t wake anytime soon, so he would have to find out the information about Carpenter himself. He could make it look like he was the one to discover it, and simply kill Marla … although … she made a nice pastime, and Obron would tear his head off. His daughter might yet prove useful if Silvan didn’t play along.
Metistakles laughed to himself as he thought back to how Obron had tried to keep his secret to himself. But when he was training Silvan earlier and became distracted, Xandros had extracted the information from him, and Metistakles had caught some of it.
Even after a long search, he couldn’t find anything in Marla’s mind about Carpenter’s location. Metistakles had great difficulty orienting himself among the chaos of her emotions. He was astounded at how human she was.
“Yes, she definitely takes after her mother,” he hissed as he reached the deepest level of Marla’s consciousness. There, he stumbled across a dark, smooth ball. Marla’s hideout!
So this is where she shuts herself away. To Metistakles’ chagrin, it seemed that she had taken all the important information into her “safe room” with her. He tried in vain to break open the ball with his mental powers and magical spells, but he couldn’t manage to crack it.
Love … He knew it. He was helpless against the greatest power in the universe, and his fury increased as he realized that he had underestimated Marla. Metistakles had been absolutely certain that he had her under control, but those two years among the humans were evidently enough to wipe out the majority of her demonic characteristics, such as callousness.
A light haze suddenly floated past him. It was one of Marla’s countless memories of the human world. Metistakles saw a large building in the swirling mist of thought. There was a banner reading “Little Peak Prom” above the entrance. The face of a young woman with light-brown hair appeared. It was the same girl that Metistakles had seen in Silvan’s mind. Vanessa … Interesting. What else of use could he ferret out in Marla’s mind?
“Marla? Are you okay?” Silvan sat up in bed when his sister came through the door. “Did something happen?” She hadn’t knocked, and he had been worried that Sirina had come back. He had sent his “betrothed” away with the excuse that he wanted to be alone in order to better concentrate as he honed his mental powers. The truth was that he wanted some peace and quiet. His head was spinning from the mental shocks the high lords inflicted whenever he made a stupid mistake.
“Hmmm? What? Yes … everything’s okay,” Marla answered, hopping up onto the bed. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were torn in places. She wasn’t wearing her punk outfit, but normal clothing. Who had she taken on, then? He’d find out later; right now, he had other questions.
“Were you up there?” Silvan’s pulse accelerated. “Did you see Vanessa?”
She chewed at her fingernails, staring straight ahead. She seemed distracted, confused, and agitated.
“Marla?” he asked again.
She suddenly turned to face him, her eyes wide. “I’m supposed to tell you that we’re going up there. Both of us.”
“What? How come?”
“You’ll find out more later; you should just get ready.”
Other than his training, he had nothing to do. He was ready to go at any time. It was boring down here. He missed his computer and … other things.
What did he need to prepare for? “Up there?” He was secretly looking forward to the chance to see Vanessa again. He was slowly mastering the art of making himself invisible. He could see her close up, watch her …
“A mission, little brother.” Marla was gnawing at her fingernails again. Why was she so rattled? He had the feeling she wanted to tell him something — Silvan could sense it. But instead she just said, “Sorry, I’m not a good storyteller, and I’m just not in the mood.” She stood up and went to the door. “I’ll be back when it’s time.”
Shortly after his sister left, Antheus came by to inform him about the tests he would have to pass before he could become Overlord. “I’m giving you confidential information, so block your mind to anyone not in Xandros’ inner circle, and let me in.”
As though I ever saw anyone other than Marla, Sirina, Xandros, and the High Council, Silvan thought. He found it strange that they were isolating him like this. As the future Overlord, shouldn’t he eventually meet “his people”? Introduce himself around, meet other important members of the demonic hierarchy?
But he merely nodded. Suddenly, he could hardly wait to get to the surface.
Antheus sent him a clear picture of a medallion hanging on a silver chain. It was in the form of an oval; in the middle, there was a luminous red stone that looked like an eye. It rendered James invisible to demon eyes, but Silvan should be able to see him, since Carpenter’s blood flowed through his veins and he was half human.
The amulet was somehow familiar to Silvan. He was to retrieve it so that Carpenter could no longer hide from them. However, it would be even better if Silvan could procure the scepter, even if he had to kill Carpenter in the process. The loss was acceptable to the high lords, as long as they got what they had wanted for so long.
“The scepter?” Silvan asked. “What does that do?”
“Patience,” Antheus hissed.
Patience … that reminded him of his mother. Foster mother. Why did everyone leave things unexplained? “I have no idea where my father might be,” Silvan objected, but Antheus’ response surprised him: “Marla knows.”
“What …” Before Silvan could ask any further questions, Antheus continued. “That’s one task. Now I’ll tell you about the other one, the one that will show whether you’re truly worthy of becoming Xandros’ successor.”
Antheus grinned maliciously as he sent over a series of gruesome mental images describing the second task: Vanessa in a pool of blood. A wide-eyed Vanessa with an expression of terror on her face. Vanessa, tied up. Vanessa after demonic talons had ripped the skin from her body … It seemed to give Antheus great pleasure to torture Silvan in this way. His heart tightened, and he was on the verge of throwing up. He wanted to close his eyes to shut out the terrible pictures, but that would do no good — Antheus was sending the horror directly into his mind.
Antheus was a particularly evil demon. In comparison to Marla and Sirina, he was basically wickedness personified — it was no wonder that he sat on the High Council. He was also Xandros’ son. Silvan was thus related to him: He was Antheus’ nephew. Did such profound wickedness exist within him as well?
“Yes, it does,” Antheus whispered in his mind.
Silvan was wondering yet again whether his decision to become Overlord of the underworld had really been the right one when he suddenly realized that the gruesome images scarcely shocked him anymore. Something deep inside him was dead or indifferent. It was a pleasant feeling, a kind of lethargy. Silvan smiled.
“Will you do that for me?” Antheus asked quietly as he released Silvan’s mind.
Silvan felt his mouth twisting into a broad grin, a grin that was something new. Cold and cruel. Everything had changed. He was finally himself; there was no more conflict raging within him. “Yes, lord,” he replied. “I’d do anything for you.”
Antheus left Silvan’s chamber, a similar smile on his face. He had beset this pitiful little human’s mind with images until he saw a chance to employ his most powerful ability: He had numbed Silvan’s conscience with a mental poison sting. Silvan would be dancing to his tune now! The human girl would no longer hold him back from completing his tasks!
Antheus laughed to himself. This half-blood would never ascend to the throne; he would take care of that. After all, it was he, Antheus, who should have be
en next in line. If only that stupid prophesy hadn’t gotten in the way! He was Xandros’ son, his second-born child! His mother wasn’t the strumpet that had borne Kitana, but a pure-blooded demon that his father even now sometimes dallied with.
Antheus had devised this little extra task — killing Vanessa — because he knew that the half-blood would fail. But then an even better idea came to him. Silvan’s mind was now coupled to his own. The half-blood would procure the scepter for him!
“Silvan, wait up,” Marla said quietly, looking around the stone corridor. There was no one around. “I can’t accompany you, but take these crystals.” She had received them a few years ago from Ilaria. The priestess had said that Marla would know when she needed to use the stones.
Silvan stood before her, motionless, and it seemed to Marla that he was staring right through her. He looked detached and apathetic. No emotion showed in his face when Marla held the four fist-sized stones out to him. It was no surprise; the high lords had worked him to exhaustion, pulling him ever closer to their side. Could she even trust him anymore? “Maybe you should reconsider whether you really want to be Overlord,” she whispered.
Silvan didn’t react to her suggestion. Was he already lost?
“These are magical stones,” she whispered. “Please, take them.”
Silvan didn’t react, so she simply stuck the crystals into the pockets of his robe. Silvan looked good in the demon garb, eerie and dark. Almost like at the costume party, even though he was still wearing his human clothes underneath. Marla could see his jeans peeking out from under the robe. Silvan would soon be one of them. She could scarcely sense any watcher qualities in him. Had the Council truly extinguished them, or merely suppressed them? She was receiving strange vibrations from Silvan, as though he was trying to bring his good qualities to the surface but something was holding them back.
As he turned silently to the wall and drew a circle on it, Marla hastily explained how he could use the crystals to protect Vanessa’s life. No harm should come to Vanessa — she had nothing to do with any of it!
Oh, everything had gotten out of hand. Marla didn’t know what to do. She felt tired and burned out, and she could barely think clearly.
She watched Silvan step through the portal. As it closed behind him, she could only hope that her words had gotten through to him. She would have liked to accompany him, but she could barely stay on her feet. Marla hurried toward the Oracle of Memnost. She needed energy, and fast, or she’d collapse. Metistakles hadn’t just drained her memories; for him, Marla was a kind of battery, and he delighted in sapping her strength.
Luckily, Marla knew a shortcut that led directly to the Oracle; the usual route was beyond her power at this point. Normally, demons who wanted to ask the Oracle a question had to find their way through a labyrinth. They had to prove themselves worthy, and those who didn’t know the way could spend weeks stumbling through the stone corridors. The labyrinth even changed its layout from time to time; one might never reach the exit and be forced to turn back. Perhaps this happened when the Oracle knew that a question couldn’t be answered …
Ilaria, the last living priestess of the Oracle, had revealed a shortcut to Marla: She could simply step straight through the walls of solid rock. All she had to do was touch a symbol etched into the walls — an arch so tiny that no one would spot it unless they were looking for it. Marla pressed her fingertip on the symbol, and the rock in front of her seemed to liquefy. She held her breath and stepped through the shimmering material into the next corridor over. She repeated the process until, after the thirteenth time, she stood before a large stone archway leading into an enormous cave full of stalactites.
Marla exhaled. Every time she stood here at the entrance to the Oracle’s temple, she felt like she had come home. She stepped into the cave, which was bathed in a soft, light-blue light, and heard the sound of water falling onto stone and the gentle burbling of the stream that snaked along beside her. Eyeless albino fish swam through its clear water. It sprang from the source of the Oracle, which lay hidden under a thick fog in the middle of the domelike cave. The billowing mist that extended several meters in all directions also emitted a blue light.
Marla took a deep breath of the humid air. It had a certain smell — earthy, slightly smoky, but in its own way fresh, with a faint note of lavender. Marla had heard that it smelled different for every demon; some even spoke of a bestial stench. No one was allowed to enter the cave … or even able to. The supplicant demons had to wait at the archway. Luckily, Marla had a kind of “special permit.”
She came to a halt in front of the dome of fog and looked into the light. She could see the outline of a person walking toward her. This was Ilaria, the guardian of the Oracle. She wore a white robe and had long, flowing hair that was as white as her gown. A white cheetah trotted at Ilaria’s side, crouching at her feet when she stopped before Marla. The animal greeted Marla with a nod.
Marla nodded back. “Hello, Fumar.”
“Welcome, my child,” Ilaria said in a voice as soft as a gust of wind. There was not a single wrinkle on her face; her skin was flawless.
Ilaria offered her hand to Marla, who took it.
“Come …” Ilaria’s ice-blue eyes looked straight through Marla. The priestess had been blind since birth, it was said, even though no one knew how old she was. Perhaps she was as old as the Oracle itself. Although Ilaria didn’t see with her eyes, she missed nothing. She possessed another sense, an inner eye.
Marla didn’t know whether Ilaria was even a demon. She sensed a warmth in her heart when she was close to the priestess.
Ilaria’s hand was nevertheless cold, and Ilaria herself seemed cool today. However, Marla didn’t ask what grieved the priestess. She would tell her — or not.
Fumar rubbed up against Marla’s leg, and she scratched the cheetah behind its ears. A quiet purr told her how much Fumar enjoyed the attention.
“Don’t spoil him,” Ilaria said, a smile flitting across her face.
Fumar just purred louder and pressed his velvety head against Marla’s hand. If she weren’t so weak, she would have gladly caressed the animal more. The cheetah seemed to sense her exhaustion, as it pulled away and returned to Ilaria.
They went deeper into the fog, which enveloped and then released Marla. These were scraps of human souls, part of the tribute paid by every demon who came to ask the Oracle about his or her fate.
They came to a halt in front of the source of the stream, where water gushed out of the barren, rocky ground. Not just water and fog emerged from the cleft, but also radiant blue light. It was so bright here that Marla couldn’t look directly at it. The water ran into a natural channel, wending its way out of the fog. Marla didn’t know where the stream led. She had heard that the water flowed through the rocks surrounding the underworld like blood through veins, transporting vital nutrients to sustain living things.
The Oracle was the heart of the underworld and had existed since its beginning. Like any organ, it needed energy to survive. It had to be “fed.”
The consciousnesses of demons that had been annihilated returned here and nourished the Oracle with their wisdom. All knowledge and tales of days gone by were collected at this spot. Those who made their way here could ask this gigantic consciousness a question. The Oracle wasn’t omniscient, but it was pretty close.
Normally, as no demon could approach the heart of the Oracle, Ilaria took their questions at the arched entrance, along with a scrap of soul released through the demon’s open mouth, and gave both to the source. After Ilaria connected to the swirls of knowledge and heard them out, she came back with the answer. Or so Marla had heard. She had never been able to ask the Oracle anything, as she had never sucked out a soul. Without the priestess, Marla would have died long ago. Ilaria had taken care of Marla in those early years, and even now Marla felt a sense of security here. In addition, Ilaria guarded her beloved record collection and other private items.
“You looked so lo
st. You’d withdrawn within yourself, and you hadn’t eaten. I owed it to Kitana to look after you,” Ilaria said suddenly, as though she had read Marla’s thoughts.
No, seen her thoughts. That was a better way of putting it.
Marla perked up, and her weary heart beat faster. “Why?”
Ilaria laid her cool hand on Marla’s forehead. Marla closed her eyes and saw the priestess and Fumar, who was standing next to her. Suddenly, the cheetah transformed into a person, into a … a young man with black hair! He stood there naked next to Ilaria, who embraced and kissed him. Fumar was a shapeshifter? And Ilaria’s lover?
“A group of high demons had hunted him,” Ilaria explained. “They wanted to sacrifice him to me; they thought the Oracle would predict all of their futures, and they brought him to me half-dead.”
Marla saw images of the demons driving the young man before them. He was wearing simple linen clothing, it was dark, and a wooden cabin nearby was burning. The creatures hacked at the man with their talons, slicing clothing and skin from his body.
The Middle Ages … it had been that long ago. The demons had defiled the Oracle by bringing the body of the man, who was bleeding from numerous wounds, to the temple.
Marla felt Ilaria’s compassion, a deep longing that the priestess could not have explained, and her hatred for the demons.
Ilaria’s hands had been tied. She had to fulfill her duty and ask the Oracle the demons’ questions …
