by Ann Maxwell
“I hope the other Tllellas she knows smell better,” muttered Rheba.
As though it had heard, the bird looked over its shoulder and winked. Simultaneously, Kirtn took on the appearance of green Fourth People wearing a barbaric jeweled necklace. Her own skin became the exact turquoise color of the zoolipt pool on Daemen. Magenta drifted in front of her face. She flinched in the instant before she realized that it was her own hair, transformed by Yhelle illusion.
“Just simple reversals,” called the bird in a tired voice. “That’s all we can manage for a while.”
“It’s enough,” said Kirtn, looking at his own hands in disbelief.
“I’sNara doesn’t think there’s any danger,” added the bird, “but it’s better not to have any more misunderstandings.”
Rheba suspected that what had happened at the cafe was no misunderstanding. She kept quiet, though. Short of abandoning the search for their children, the illusionists were doing all that they could to keep everyone safe.
I’sNara turned off the road and walked through a wall. Kirtn and Rheba stopped, stared at each other, and walked forward cautiously. They discovered that the open road was an illusion concealing the reality of a wall. If they had followed what their eyes saw, they would have bloodied their noses on the invisible wall. The visible wall, however, was an illusion concealing a turn in the road. Without the illusionists to lead the way, Bre’n and Senyas would have been utterly baffled.
“Fssa, did you see—scan—the fact that the wall wasn’t where it seemed to be?”
“I wasn’t scanning,” admitted the snake. He poked his head out of her hair and focused over her shoulder. “What wall?”
Rheba turned to point. The wall was gone. Akhenet lines flared in fire dancer reflex to being startled. “Kirtn—”
He turned, looked. His eyes narrowed in slow search. No wall. Even more unsettling, the road behind them was totally unfamiliar, as though they had crossed through a veil without realizing it. He looked at his dancer in silent query.
“No,” she said positively, “we didn’t go through a veil. There is no way even a class twelve illusionist could hide energy from a fire dancer.”
“Fssa?” asked the Bre’n.
The snake turned dark with embarrassment. “I wasn’t scanning. I gave it up as useless. By the time I strip away one illusion, another takes its place. Useless.”
“But why?” wondered Rheba. Then, quickly, “Not you, snake. The illusions. Why would they change so completely?”
“Why would they have them in the first place?” countered Fssa in a deliberately off-key whistle.
“Argue while you walk,” snapped the Bre’n. “If we lose track of our guides, we’ll have hell’s own time finding our way back to Reality Street.”
His advice came none too soon. They caught up with i’sNara, in time to see her climb some narrow steps, turn left and walk serenely on pure air into the second story of a circular tower. Kirtn and Rheba scrambled to follow before the illusion changed beyond recognition.
The tower illusion was either an actual structure or closely based on one. They followed interior curves up several levels without going through walls or walking on air. That suited Rheba. She was still queasy from looking between her feet and seeing nothing at all.
The bird flew swiftly back, perched on Kirtn’s shoulder, and spoke in a very soft voice. “Hiri, I’sNara’s first illusion, lives here. When we go in, stand quietly and don’t say anything.”
Rheba wondered what a first illusion might be, but the bird flew off before she could ask. The wall in front of i’sNara dissolved. All four of them moved into the opening as one. Kirtn, however, was careful to look over his shoulder and see the nature of the illusion that formed behind them. If they had to leave quickly, he would know which way to jump.
I’sNara’s outline blurred and reformed into her own image. A graceful mirror gave a startled cry and shattered, leaving behind the reality of a dark-haired Yhelle. He swept i’sNara into his arms and spoke in torrents of nearly incoherent Yhelle.
Fssa did not translate, which told Rheba that the conversation was private rather than pertinent. The snake’s delicate sense of what was and was not meant to be translated was one of the things she liked best about him. Eventually, however, he began translating. He duplicated each voice so exactly that it was like understanding the language itself rather than merely hearing a translation.
“Where are you staying?” asked Hiri, his quick frown revealing that he knew the subject to be an unhappy one. As members of the Liberation clan, they would normally have stayed in the clan hall until they found quarters.
“We won’t be here any longer than it takes to find out about our children,” said i’sNara bluntly.
Hiri’s outline flickered. “I don’t know where they are,” he said miserably. “After you were sent to Loo, I tracked your children down. It wasn’t easy. They have your finesse and f’lTiri’s stamina.” He glanced quickly at the bird on i’sNara’s shoulder. The bird winked. Hiri smiled. “They insisted on staying with the clan. They were sure they could steal the Stones and redeem their parents’ illusions.”
“What about my brothers, f’lTiri’s sisters, their children? Where are they?”
Hiri blurred. “Your older brother died. A street brawl that was more real than apparent. F’lTiri’s sisters . . . one joined the Redis.”
The bird ballooned into a solid, enraged F’lTiri. “I don’t believe it!”
“It’s true,” sighed Hiri.
“Which sister?”
“My wife.”
F’lTiri made an agonized sound and then said nothing at all. He could not question the look on Hiri’s face.
“What about the others?” asked i’sNara tightly. “My younger brother?”
“Joined the Redis.”
“F’lTiri’s other sisters?”
“One dead.”
“The other?” said i’sNara stiffly, taking her husband’s hand as though she knew what was coming.
“Don’t—” whispered Hiri.
“We shared first illusion,” i’sNara said, her voice as harsh as the image forming around her. “Tell me.”
“Disillusioned,” he said very softly. Then he cried aloud, “Disillusioned! Like all the others. I was afraid one of the disillusioned was you and then I knew if I kept looking I would be one of them. K’Masei is insatiable! More converts and then more and he wants still more until Serriolia will be nothing but his own illusion admiring itself endlessly.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t good enough to save your children.”
“Neither was I, old friend,” sighed i’sNara. “Neither was I.” She kissed Hiri gently. “When was the last time you saw my children?”
“Just before my wife became a Redis. A year ago. Maybe more. They aren’t Redis, though. At least, they weren’t then. They were still planning to steal the Ecstasy Stones.” He hesitated, then looked searchingly from i’sNara to f’lTiri and back. “Don’t stay in Serriolia. None of your clan is alive in any way you would want to know. There’s nothing left here for you.”
“Our children.”
“If k’Masei doesn’t have them already, he will soon. I tell you he is insatiable. I—” He looked away from them. “I dream of the Stones,” he whispered. “Ecstasy.”
The longing in his voice made Rheba ache. She knew what it was to dream of the unattainable, only for her it was a planet called Deva alive beneath a stable sun. Her hair stirred in restless magenta curves. Kirtn touched her and for an instant he felt her pain as his own.
“Please,” said Hiri. “Go while you can.”
“Our children.”
Hiri’s image paled almost to transparency. “Do you know that just a few days ago I was grateful you were on Loo? Slaves, but safe. No dreams sucking at your will.” He looked at i’sNara. She waited, obdurate, reality and illusion fused in single determination. “Your children,” he sighed. When he spoke again, it was quickly, as thoug
h he would have it over with. “Nine days ago Ara came. Do you remember her?”
“My son’s first illusion,” said f’lTiri.
“She was going to clan Yaocoon. To hide.”
“From what?”
“Her dreams,” snarled Hiri. He touched i’sNara, apologizing. “I’ve tried not to sleep. Sometimes it works.”
“Why clan Yaocoon?” pressed F’lTiri.
“I don’t know. There are rumors . . .”
“Yes?”
“Rebellion,” whispered Hiri.
The word was spoken so softly that even Fssa had trouble catching it.
“Against what? K’Masei? The Redis?” asked i’sNara, her voice unnaturally loud in the hot room.
Hiri gestured silent agreement, obviously afraid even to speak.
“How?” asked f’lTiri bluntly.
He was answered so softly that only Fssa heard. “A raid on the Ecstasy Stones,” translated the snake in a firm voice that sounded just like Hiri’s.
Hiri looked up, startled. He saw only a restless cloud of magenta hair. “Ssssss,” he hissed. “Whisper. They’re everywhere.”
“Who?” asked Rheba.
“The Soldiers of Ecstasy.”
She looked at the illusionists. Their expressions told her they knew no more than she did about Soldiers and Ecstasy. Their expressions hinted that they were afraid Hiri had lost his grasp on the interface between reality and illusion.
“You think I believe my own illusions, don’t you?” said Hiri, his voice divided between bitterness and amusement. “I wish I did. Life is much simpler for a fool.” His image thickened, becoming more solid, as though he drew strength from some last inner resource. “Haven’t you seen the notice?” he asked in a hard voice.
“What notice?” asked the illusionists in the same voice.
“Beside the entrance,” he said harshly. “I’ve tried to hide or disguise the vile thing, but its illusions are too strong. There’s one like it in every house in Serriolia.”
They walked the few steps back to the entrance of the room. On the left symbols glowed. I’sNara read aloud:
“‘The Liberation clan has been found in violation of Illusion and Reality. I hereby declare the clan disbanded, anathema. Anyone, illusory or real, who aids said clan members will be disillusioned. Signed, k’Masei the Tyrant.’”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a government,” commented Kirtn.
“We don’t,” snapped f’lTiri. “This is an obscene joke.”
Hiri made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “It’s obscene and it’s a joke but it’s real.” He blurred and once again became a mirror reflecting a reality he abhorred. “Leave while you still have your illusions,” said the mirror in a brittle voice.
I’sNara lifted her hand and touched the cool surface that had once been her friend. As her hand fell, she became thick and dark once more, a hard woman with a black bird on her shoulder. The woman and the bird were not reflected in Hiri’s mirror; they no longer shared either illusions or contiguous realities. Woman and bird turned and walked out of the room.
Only Rheba saw the mirror change. For an instant a younger i’sNara lived within the silvered glass, held by a younger Hiri, echoes of laughter and innocence swirling around them.
Then the mirror shivered and reflected nothing at all.
Silently, Rheba retreated from the room. It was obvious that what had begun as a competition between master snatchers had become a deadly private war.
VIII
Outside, the illusions had changed again. The sky had gone from misty white to moldy gray-green. It was hotter, stickier, and no breeze moved. The weather, at least, was no illusion. The Devalon’s computer had warned them that Yhelle was hot, humid, and given to leaky skies.
Rheba and Kirtn walked out of the tower on the ground floor rather than air, but only they seemed to notice the difference. The dark woman and the darker bird seemed oblivious to reality and illusion alike.
There were people on the street—or there seemed to be. Things walked in twos and fives, changing from step to step in an array of illusory prowess that finally left nonillusionists numbed rather than bemused. Like Fssa, Rheba and Kirtn gave up caring whether they saw what they saw or only thought they saw what they might have seen.
Rheba rubbed her eyes. At first she thought that she had been staring too hard at i’sNara’s illusion. Then she realized that the itch was back. With an inward curse at the lazy zoolipt that could not be bothered to heal her scratchy eyes, she rubbed vigorously. All that happened was that her eyes watered to the point that she could see only blurs. She tripped over a subtly disguised piece of reality and went sprawling into mounds of flowers that were only apparent. What she fell into was hard, sharp and painful.
Kirtn pulled her to her feet. Her hands were covered with cuts that bled freely. Even as he bent to examine the ragged cuts, they began to close. Within seconds little was left but random smears of blood.
“I guess the zoolipt isn’t asleep after all,” muttered Rheba, blinking furiously. “But my eyes still itch.”
“Don’t rub them,” said Kirtn mildly.
What Rheba said was not mild. She finished with, “Why can’t the icy little beast take care of my eyes?”
“It hasn’t been in you long. Maybe it’s only good for gross things.”
“The way it put you back together again on Daemen was hardly gross,” snapped Rheba, remembering her Bre’n with a long knife wound in his back, lying in a puddle of his own bright blood. She had held him, sure that he was dead . . . until the zoolipt slid into the gruesome wound and vanished and her Bre’n began to breathe again.
“Maybe the itching is in your mind,” said Kirtn, pulling her along as he hurried to catch up with i’sNara. “You could be allergic to illusions.”
Rheba made a sound that even Fssa could not translate. It was easy for her mentor to talk about mental itches; he did not have nettles behind his eyes. “Listen, itch,” she muttered in her head, “you’re just a figment.”
The itch itched more fiercely.
“Go away,” she muttered.
“What?” asked Fssa.
“Nothing,” she snapped. Then, “Do you speak figment?”
Fssa’s head snaked out of her hair until he confronted her sensors to eyes. “Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Fssa retreated, knowing he had lost but not knowing how. None of his languages had the words to cope with an irritated fire dancer.
“I think we’re going out of the city,” said Kirtn, looking at the sky.
“What I think is unspeakable,” she muttered. Then she made a determined effort to ignore her eyes. It was hard. With every step farther out of Tllella territory, her eyes became worse. She had the unnerving feeling that something was following her, frantically yammering at her in a language she could not hear. Maybe Kirtn was right. Maybe she was allergic to illusions.
And maybe it was cold in Serriolia.
Rheba wiped sweat off her face and spoke dancer litanies in her mind. After a time it seemed to help. At least her thoughts were not so chaotic. Even the itch relented a bit.
“We’re turning back toward the center of the city,” said Kirtn.
Rheba glanced around. She did not have a Bre’n’s innate sense of direction. It all looked the same to her—different from anything in her experience. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Farther from the Devalon.”
“Is it time to call in yet?”
“No.” Kirtn touched a broad stud on his belt. No current of energy tickled his finger. “No message yet, either. Everything must be under control.”
“That would be a treat,” Rheba said.
An apparition approached. It had no head, a formidable tail, and a snarl on what could have been a face. It belched as it passed. Fssa responded in kind. The eyeless body stopped, swung around in their direction, smiled and resumed its random dri
ft up the street.
“I didn’t see that,” said Rheba.
“Neither did I,” said Fssa.
“You never see anything.”
“Accurate, but not true.”
The sky drooled over them. Rheba’s hair and clothes stuck to her. The squat, dark woman with the brooding bird on her shoulder turned to face the damp fire dancer.
“We’re coming to a veil,” said i’sNara. Her voice was the same as it had been on Loo, colorless, the voice of a slave who asked nothing.
Rheba’s lines flared uneasily. “Are we going to the Yaocoon clan?”
“When you see Reality Street through the veil,” continued i’sNara in a monotone, “go across.”
“What about you?” said Kirtn.
“We’ll come as soon as we can,” said f’lTiri’s voice.
“How long?”
“Not long.”
“Then there’s no reason to separate,” Kirtn said in a bland voice, “is there?”
The bird blurred and became a man. “You heard what t’oHiri said. Disillusionment.”
“We have no illusions as it is,” cut in Rheba, shaking out her damp magenta hair. “Only the ones we borrowed from you. We’ll lose them with pleasure.”
“You don’t understand.” His voice was as harsh as his wife’s was colorless. “If you help us, they’ll take you and put you in a machine. You won’t be able to move, not even to breathe. A lightknife will cut into your brain. When you wake up, you won’t be able to project or see through illusions.”
“We can’t do that now,” she said, but her voice was less sure than her words. She would hate to be strapped to a machine while a laser rummaged in her brain looking for illusions to extirpate. “We have nothing to lose.”
“You’re not a fool. Don’t try to sound like one. You don’t know what form your disillusionment might take.”
“I know that you risked your life on Daemen so that Kirtn could keep a promise that had nothing to do with you.”
“But—”
“If there’s danger, we’re not making it any better by standing here arguing,” pointed out Rheba. “You can’t force us through the veil. If you go invisible on us and sneak away we’ll be totally at the mercy of your enemies. Given those conditions, the safest place we can be is with you.”
