by Jim Melvin
“I feel sorry for the plants. What Invictus is doing is obscene.”
“Whatever you say, my lady. I only report what I see. How you perceive it is up to you.”
Laylah tossed the violet into the air. It tumbled in the breeze. “And beyond the flowers? The Gray Plains?”
“There is a nearby hillock from which you can see a great distance.”
“I used to go there as a child, though I spent most of my playtime at my favorite tree.”
“We can visit the sycamore, if you like. It’s your brother’s favorite, as well, though I’m sure that brings you no pleasure.”
“You’re beginning to comprehend me. Yes, I’d like to go there too. The night is so pleasant. Under this sparkling sky, I can imagine for a little while that I’m free.”
“You can be free . . . if you allow yourself to be.”
“Not as long as my brother is alive.”
“He tormented you before, but he will do so no longer. He wants you to be happy.”
“You’re a liar. But a smooth liar.”
Lucius sighed and then started through the flowers toward the hillock. Bhacca came up beside Laylah and whispered in her ear. “My Queen, how do you dare say such things? Except for the king, General Lucius is the most powerful man in Avici. Even the dracools follow his commands.”
Laylah only laughed. “What have I to lose?”
Lucius walked about twenty paces before stopping and waiting for Laylah to catch up. She came up beside him, Bhacca trailing behind. They went to the top of the hillock and looked out at the Gray Plains. Though it was now well into evening, the light from the newly risen moon illuminated the countryside, revealing a wide expanse of flat, gray land extending for leagues—northeast to the Ice Ocean, east to the Salt Sea, and southeast to the Great Desert.
Laylah remembered a scarcity of rainfall on this side of the mountains, especially in late spring and summer. The arid conditions stunted the prairie grass and gave it a gray-green hue. From her viewpoint on the hillock, Laylah could see a paved road plunging eastward that glistened in the moonlight.
“Where does that lead? That wasn’t here before.”
“Isn’t it impressive? We began construction less than three years ago, yet it stretches more than fifty leagues, attaching our city to Kilesa, where the newborns are nurtured. Portions of the road are paved with a special metal that shines like gold but has the feel of granite.”
“Who are the newborns?” Laylah said, pretending she knew nothing.
“We’re the children of Invictus. Born to look like him, act like him and serve him. Bhacca is a newborn, torn from her pink sac just three years ago. From precious drops of our king’s own blood, we are birthed into the world, and we grow quickly. I’m the first of the newborns, created six years ago.”
“How can that be? You’re a fully grown man. And a general. I would have guessed you to be closer to forty.”
“I’ve been bred to look this way. Invictus says I’ll live several hundred years, with little change in my appearance. As for being a general, I was schooled in Kilesa on the subtleties of the martial arts. The newborns learn quickly and never forget what they’ve been taught. I’m a formidable tactician, and though never tested in battle, my time will come. Our army grows quickly.”
Laylah stared at Lucius’ face. His eyes were lined, and there were streaks of gray above his ears. In fact, he was exactly what a boy playing in his room would imagine a general to be. The thought made Laylah shiver. Did that describe Invictus? A boy playing with toys—but capable of creating any toy he desired?
Lucius misread her dismay. “I’m not a monster. I’m a man of flesh and blood. I can be injured and killed. My life has been short, but my future has grand possibilities. You can understand, at least, why I don’t hate him.”
“One day, I was running free through the wilderness. The next, my people were dead and I was imprisoned. You can understand, at least, why I do hate him.”
Lucius gave her a strange look. Then he attempted to change the subject. “More wine is in order. It lightens the heart. It’s too late to show you the rest of Avici, but we can enjoy the great sycamore before we say goodnight.”
Tears ran down Laylah’s cheeks. Suddenly she found herself confiding in the stranger. “I sound angry, but it’s only to cover my fear. Will he come for me again? Tonight, after you’re gone? Tomorrow? The next day? If he does, will you protect me, General Lucius?”
As if experiencing a swell of sympathy, he started to stroke her cheek. But then he backed away. “I cannot make such a promise. But I can promise this: I will never hurt you.”
Laylah started to sob. Bhacca came over and hugged her from the side. Lucius stood still as a statue, but through the veil of her own tears, Laylah saw a single tear slide down his cheek.
From his tower, Invictus watched with trembling anticipation. He stroked his erection, oh so delicately.
“Very good, General Lucius,” he whispered to himself. “You’ve made excellent progress in just your first meeting. We’ll build on this, you and I, until my sister finally puts aside her anger and invites me into her bed. I shall have my heir.”
Invictus stopped what he was doing with his hand. An orgasm—and the resulting conflagration—would attract too much attention through the open tower window. And it would ruin some of his beautiful furniture. Besides, it rarely was as satisfying after sunset.
Invictus left his room in the tower and followed the secret ways that led to the catacombs deep beneath the palace, where he could lie on a bed of stone amid a million candles while the horrid night ran its course and finally gave way to the blessedness of morning.
Sweet morning.
Which arrived without fail.
Always. And forever.
Bringing with it, rejuvenation.
Ah . . . it was good to be a god.
All knowing. All powerful.
12
Seventy years is a long time, even for those with the physical capacity to live far longer. And when each moment feels like a day, seven decades becomes an eternity. Laylah would have found it impossible to describe every time she sighed, or sobbed, or just stared silently at the moon, yearning for freedom. More than a dozen times during her captivity, the full moon acted strangely, as if sharing her depression, becoming partially and sometimes fully enshrouded in shadow. During these episodes, Laylah felt even worse than she did in full daylight, often collapsing into troubled sleeps. But the following night, the moon returned to normal, and the illness dissipated.
How often did she try to escape? As often as she failed. The first attempt was only five days after her arrival in Avici. She made it beyond the wildflowers, as far as the hillock, before dracools surrounded her. First she tried the death word, but the baby dragons were unaffected. In the desperate battle that followed, she injured two with her white flames before they were able to throw a magical net over her that pinned her to the ground, its thin gold fibers negating her powers. Urbana joined them, cackling wickedly. Lucius appeared just in time to save her. If not for the general, she might have been killed. In most ways, that would have been a blessing. But something inside her fought to survive, regardless of her despair.
The next day Lucius came to her room. She thanked him for rescuing her, and he vowed to discipline the beasts and the vampire for their rough treatment. He seemed sincere enough.
Days, weeks and months passed without harassment from Invictus. She saw him on a few occasions, but rarely face to face. Sometimes he waved. Other days he simply ignored her. Laylah traveled the grounds more freely, though a menagerie of dracools, vampires, Mogols, wolves and newborn soldiers always guarded her from afar.
Whenever she attempted another escape, she never got far. Once she made it to a densely populated area of Avici and managed to lose them for half a night, running through alleys and crouching in doorways. But Urbana and her fiends eventually found her, and the vampire got close enough to throw a sparkly powd
er in Laylah’s face. When Laylah woke the next morning, she was back in her room, covered with scratches and bite marks. Lucius saw the wounds and became enraged, summoning Urbana and screaming at her for what seemed like forever. The vampire stood silently during the tongue lashing and afterward slinked away like a whipped dog. Lucius’ authority impressed Laylah.
Months stretched into years, and Avici grew before her eyes, bloating like a gourmand’s stomach. Thousands of newborns came from the east, traveling in huge caravans on the Golden Road. Rumors of wealth and opportunity lured townsfolk from up and down the length of the Ogha River into the city. And a seedier crew also arrived: pirates from Duccarita, Warlish witches from Kamupadana, Pabbajja from the fringes of Java and wild men from Kolankold. The worst, in Laylah’s eyes, were the wolves and Mogols from Mahaggata, long the hated enemies of the Ropakans.
Laylah watched the army grow from less than twenty thousand to more than two hundred thousand, while the civilian population swelled to half a million. Every day, it seemed that a new manse, temple, or tavern was constructed, and the city began to sprawl in all directions, even spilling over to the west side of the Ogha River, where there was plenty of open land for further expansion. But the valley always was off-limits to development.
Her brother left her alone for ten years. The memory of her parents’ murders faded ever so slowly, and she blamed Vedana more than Invictus for the slaughter of the Ropakans, who felt less like her people and more like a dream. Even the memory of the rape lost its acuity. Each day that Invictus stayed away, her belief grew that he intended no further harm.
Some times were not unpleasant. As long as she didn’t try to run, she was fed, clothed and bathed in luxurious fashion. Even better, she and Bhacca became true friends. The newborn felt like a sister and often accompanied her on her middle-of-the-night wanderings in the valley. Laylah also conversed frequently with Lucius, who bragged incessantly about the growing might of his army. Enemies respected strength, he said over and over again.
Near the end of her first decade of captivity, Laylah was stunned to learn that Invictus had chosen another queen. Her name was Asamāna, and she was a countess of high bearing from a wealthy Senasanan family. Laylah attended a banquet during which Invictus put on a touching show of adoration for his bride-to-be. Could it be that his incestuous obsession was over? The sorcerer spoke to Laylah several times during the banquet—in a respectful, brotherly tone. Asamāna smiled and bowed, but said little. Laylah found the vacant look in her eyes disquietingly familiar.
More than ten thousand attended the royal wedding, which was held on the grounds of the palace. The wealthiest of Avici were invited, along with a score of Senasanans. When it was time to present the ring, a golden dragon appeared in the sky and landed near the wedding party. The wondrous female bent down her long neck and dropped the ring from her mouth into Asamāna’s trembling hand. Shouting and applause followed. This impressed even Laylah.
Invictus’ first wedding present to his new bride was an announcement that construction would soon begin on a tower that would dwarf any structure on Triken. Uccheda—as it would be called—would reach to the clouds and be as magnificent as the new queen.
Lucius raved to Laylah about Asamāna. “You and she will become wonderful friends,” he said repeatedly.
Just a week after the wedding, Asamāna tapped on Laylah’s door, and she invited the new queen into her bedchamber. The woman was almost as beautiful as a Warlish witch, but she seemed to lack confidence, stuttering when she spoke.
“I would l-l-like to discuss some things with you. My king has great p-p-plans for Avici, but there is something he needs from you that he can’t get from m-m-me.”
“What could he possibly need from me? The two of you seem so happy.”
“We are happy. B-b-but . . . B-b-but . . .” Asamāna burst into tears.
Laylah put an arm around her slim shoulders. “How old are you, child?”
“Eighteen.”
“You’re ten years younger than me,” Laylah said, trying to calm her with mundane conversation.
Asamāna’s lips quivered, but she seemed determined to say what she had come to say. “He w-w-wants a son! But I can’t give him one. Y-y-you can. If you’ll just let him be with you, he won’t be m-m-mad. He’ll leave us both alone. He won’t hurt us . . . h-h-hurt me.”
“Is that the reason you’ve come here?” Laylah said, suddenly angry. “To beg me to sleep with your husband? Tell the perverted bastard I’d rather die. And tell General Lucius that I have seen through his facade.”
Asamāna grimaced. “Then you will die! All of us will d-d-die. You don’t understand what . . . he is. You d-d-don’t understand what . . . he . . . does.”
The next day, Laylah heard tragic news. The queen had fallen down the stairs leading to her bedchamber and had broken her neck. A few hundred attended a private funeral, where there was a conspicuous lack of a body.
When Lucius came to her room, Laylah charged at him and pounded on his chest. “How dare you! This ridiculous marriage was just another ploy to trick me into trusting my brother, and you were part of it, pretending to be my friend. I was starting to like you. Now I hate you!”
The waiting game began again. In the months that followed, Laylah attempted several more escapes, each forcibly thwarted. During one battle she managed to injure Urbana, torching the vampire’s face. This put Laylah in a pleasant mood for several days afterward.
Though she had rejected Lucius, Laylah didn’t lose faith in Bhacca. They remained friends and continued to spend time together. One evening, Bhacca came to her red-faced and animated, announcing she had been promoted from chambermaid to mistress of the robes, replacing Urbana, who had been given other duties. Bizarrely, this excited Laylah.
Once again, a tedious string of years blunted Laylah’s outrage. Eventually they permitted her to wander as far as a league from the palace, though dracools circled in the skies, and vampires and Mogols kept track of her from the ground. Meanwhile, Invictus ignored her completely, not even acknowledging her presence. And whenever she saw Lucius, the general bowed his head, as if ashamed. Laylah started to feel sorry for him. Though he had betrayed her, she respected him for not trying to deny it. And in her heart, she didn’t believe he was evil. Lucius was her brother’s pawn, but who in Avici wasn’t? Even the most powerful among them were subservient.
Despite Asamāna’s death, the construction of Uccheda began on schedule. Laylah watched it rise from her window in the palace, disquieting in its magnitude. Invictus brought in scientists, architects, masons, carpenters and quarrymen. Thousands of slaves worked under the whip. Even then, it took more than twenty years to complete the tower, which ended up being more than six hundred cubits tall. But more impressive than its height was its decadence. The exterior was coated with gold.
Laylah was fifty years old when she was moved from the palace to Uccheda. The tower—now the largest edifice in all of Triken—became one more negative in her life. In comparison, the much-smaller palace seemed charming and comfortable. Her new bedchamber stood more than five hundred cubits above the floor of the valley, and though metal transport cages within the tower rode up and down on cables, it still took her an uncomfortably long time to travel from her room to the ground. She found herself spending more and more time sleeping during the day and sitting by her window at night, gazing at the moon and stars. Except for Bhacca’s frequent visits, the comforting glow of the moon was the only thing that kept her sane. Otherwise, she became lazy and listless. She even lost the desire to escape.
One night, approximately forty years into her captivity, Laylah worked up the energy to leave the tower and walk the grounds. Urbana, her damaged face long since healed by sorcery, joined the inevitable collection of tag-along guards. Before exiting the tower through the soundless doors that magically appeared out of the wall, Laylah caught sight of her reflection in a silver mirror. Though she now was almost sixty years old, her physical appea
rance had changed little since she had first arrived, other than a slight tinge of maturity. Her demon blood kept her perpetually young. But Laylah took little pleasure in it.
On this night the moon was swollen, which probably explained her vivacity. She wandered to the top of the hillock and lay down amid fragrant flowers. The full moon seemed oh so close; she felt as if she could reach out and touch its mottled surface with her fingertips.
The blaring of horns and beating of drums broke Laylah’s reverie. A brigade of Avician soldiers marched toward the city along the Golden Road. Dracools circled overhead. One of the baby dragons broke from formation and hurtled toward the tower, landing on its roof and disappearing from view. Soon afterward, it reappeared and flew back to meet the soldiers. Laylah realized that it carried Invictus, who was making a rare appearance in the darkness. Whatever was happening had to be important.
She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin in her hands, watching the proceedings with cautious curiosity. As the caravan grew closer, she focused her attention on a dozen oxen hauling a large cart. An enormous creature, chained at the neck, wrist and ankles, stood in the bed of the cart. Even from a distance she could see the color of its eyes.
Laylah felt a surge of pity for the beast, and she raced down the hill and crouched behind some bushes near the road. Urbana and the guards approached within fifty paces of her, suspicious of her intentions. But when they saw Laylah stop, they stopped too.
The brigade came to a halt. Feeling bold, she stood up and strode to the edge of the road. Laylah wanted to see this creature up close, whether Invictus liked it or not. Warily she watched her brother approach the wagon.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice hissed from behind her. “You’ve no business here.”
“Oh, shut up, Urbana, or I’ll burn your face again. I’m trying to see what’s happening. Do you mind?”
