Revisionism

Welcome to the new site design!

I've had a sudden rush of creative energy, so I'm dusting things off and going back in and performing some surgery on the site. Expect changes.

So far, I've got two new chapters of The Third night: Welcome To My Nightmare up, with a third in the works. Yay for new writing!

Along with that, I'm taking a critical eye to the older chapters. I've gone through the first two nights and worked to de-twitterize them. I will probably do much more revision on them, but the part of the story that's getting the most love is the first half of The Third Night, Le Cirque d'Abberations.

I've been heavily revising this section for months, and soon I'm going to post those changes, removing the old versions in the process. I think the new stuff is cleaner, more interesting, and shows off the hallucination bits much better than the previous draft, but I'll let readers (all 6 of you) judge for yourselves when I post them up. I'll give them all new timestamps when they're done and ready for viewing.

I'm seizing this creative burst for as long as I can maintain it. I've been creatively barren for far too long.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 6)

Part 6: Die, Die My Darling

“Gaven...” Aelia whispers. She can't do much more than that. I have her pinned against the wall with my right arm just under her breasts. I stare into her eyes. Tears are welling up. Her slitted pupils are locked on the blade. “Please...please do not hurt me...”

“They say elves all look alike.” I say. “They say it's difficult to tell them apart. That's dragondung.” She squirms against my arm. “Stop that.” I growl, pressing the blade into her neck, just enough that I'm not quite cutting the skin. She quits moving. “Where was I? Ah, right. Elves don't all look alike, any more than humans do. You said there aren't that many elves in Miir. I buy that. But even with some inbreeding, House Dythanus still has enough members to have one great big extended family. Enough to match the other houses, at least. Am I right?”

“Gaven...” She whispers again.

“That's what I thought. That would mean, what, two hundred elves or so?”

“Yes.” She says. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Gaven, please...”

“So I have to wonder why, with two hundred elves in this mansion, I've been seeing you everywhere I've been. Everywhere. You were there when I was being put back together after my trip through the belly. When I woke you handed me the painkiller. You helped dress me when I was summoned. I threatened to skin you to get my hat back. When I saw that ghost thing, you were the one who came at my screams.”

“That is...my job...” she whispers.

I giggle. It's not funny. Why am I laughing? By the Dragon, why can't I stop?

“I threatened to skin you, Aeila. Why by God and the Dragon would you come within a hundred feet of me after that? You had every reason in the world to just let one of the other nurses deal with me. And yet there you were just after the earthquake. I threatened your life again. I threatened the life of your lord. You could have left while I was busy with the Shadows.”

“I...I did ask you...to let me go...” she says. She's crying freely now.

“Yes you did. You asked me to let you go.” I giggle again. Stop that, Gaven! Stop it now! Oh god, I'm cracking up. “You did. Why? Why ask my permission? Why did you need it?”

“I...you are dangerous...I wanted to protect...”

“NO! I wanted you around! To protect others from me. You wanted to leave, and I wouldn't let you, so you stayed. You even told me about Lady Sylvia, when I wanted to go and throttle Jereth. An interesting plan. Go tattle to Jereth's mommy. Is she even real, or was that just a wild goose chase, to keep me out of trouble?”

“She is...she is Jereth's mother...he will listen to her...I didn't lie...”

“Didn't lie about that. But you lied about the candlestick. You lied about The Shadows not being able to hurt me. They did hurt me. And they killed you.”

“N-no...that was...delirium...”

“NO! No it wasn't! The Hangman came, wrapped a rope around your neck and dragged you up a wall!”

“Gaven, I am alive. I am! I am right here in front of you...Gaven, please...” she weeps. “Please do not do this...I have only ever tried to help you...”

“And yet, when I wasn't paying attention, when I was cutting my hand to ribbons, there you were. As if nothing had happened. Telling ME nothing happened! You didn't walk up to me, though. I didn't see you walk out of any door. You just appeared. Like a ghost. Like one of the Shadows themselves.”

“Please...please do not pursue...”

“Pursue what, Aelia? Pursue this line of thought? Don't think about The Shadows, because thinking about them gives them power? But what does that mean about you? You've been practically begging me to think of you by name. To trust you. To believe in you. Why would you need me to do that?”

“Gaven, don't hurt me...” she sobs. “It's the delirium that makes you say these things. The delirium!”

“Are you a Shadow, Aelia? That eyeless, pleading ghost I saw before...is that your true form? If I cut you, will you even bleed?”

“Please...” she whispers. Her tears are soaking a tiny patch on my shirt sleeve. She squeezes her eyes shut. “...please don't rape me.”

What?

Revelation kicks me in the gut. I see it all as if looking through the eyes of God above: the girl shoved against the corner, the lunatic with a knife to her throat, too close...Will you even bleed?

This isn't me...I'm not this person! I lean away, lowering the scalpel. I'm not...some alley mugger, some dockside monster waiting to get his jollies off on some poor innocent in the wrong place at the wrong time. This must be the Dreamlily...please let it be the Dreamlily making me do this...

“Aelia, I'm...Dragon Below, I'm sorry...” I say, removing my arm from across her chest, letting her free. Aelia looks at me with those huge, huge eyes.

As soon as she's able to move, her arm whips up, her hand snaking to the joint where my neck meets the shoulder. She squeezes...and my body goes numb. Nothing works. I'm paralyzed! I can't move...can't breathe...the blade clatters from my useless fingers. With a gentle push she sends me crashing to the floor...everything's spinning...I’m gasping for air like a salmon pulled into a fisherman's boat, flopping around...

I see her feet in motion, heading away from me. Something red drips down her legs. She's still sobbing as she runs. Did I cut her any? I don't think so...

I struggle to stand, to breathe, to cry out, but everything is spinning and my head is far, far too light...it's easier to just pass out, so I do.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 5)

Part 5: Happiness is a Warm Gun

As much as I'd like to revel in my not-being-buried-aliveness, I need to keep moving. I did call up the hangman, after all. The best place to be if he shows up is anywhere else. I haul myself out of the pool and run across to courtyard to the door Aelia was heading for.

Poor Aelia.

But since I don't want to share her horrible death, I can't take the time to mourn her. Got to keep moving. But where should I go from here?

Siccing Jereth's beloved sister/mother on him is still the best plan I have to get out of whatever it is he wants me to do. She sounds like a very important person, though. Likely to be heavily guarded. I think Aelia was going to make the introductions. Without her, getting an audience with the "Godmother" is going to be tricky. But hey, I'm a thief. Getting places people don't want me to be is what I do.

Off again, down the lovely pottery halls, now cracked and less lovely thanks to the quake. Repairing this place will cost a fortune. Time for a little profitable vandalism. Thanks to the cracks, the fireglass shards in the mosaics are easy to chip out. Behind the ceramic, the wall is mortared basalt bricks. Just like the rest of life, the pretty facade is built on the support of the common.

I wander through the halls unescorted and alone, admiring the high arches, statues, and mosaic patterns. No destination, no immediate danger, no Hangman, no elves. It's good to relax for a few minutes. Come to think of it, where are all the elves? Or the servants? Or guards? These halls are conspicuously empty. They can't still be eating, can they?

Dragon take it. Let them eat their fowl and cake and wine and whatever else. I wish now I'd eaten more of that dinner, but there's nothing to be done about that. I lean against the wall, then slide down and sit.

All my wounds decide to remind me they're still around. There's the bruised rib on my side from the first night, reduced to a dull ache when I breathe. There is the slice in my arm from a Redcap's razor, bound and treated by the guards. There's the spear stab on my left thigh, hurting when I prod it. There are cuts, scrapes, and bruises from dropping from great heights into pools of not quite fresh water in The Belly. There's a lump on the back of my head from where the bullyboy's club knocked me out. On top is another lump I don't remember picking up.

And then there is my hand. My poor burned hand. I play with the bandages on it, unwrapping it and trying to rewrap it for comfort. At least I don't think it's on fire anymore. But by God and the Dragon, it itches.

I absently scratch as my burns with the glass shard. Ah. That's a bit better, but not by much. It's the kind of itch that goes deep. I keep at it. The prickle continues...I could scratch until I bleed, until the skin parts and the muscle falls off, peel it to the bone...I look at my hand, watch the cartilage crack, see the fingerbones glisten red in the fireglass light, hear the crackle as they move.

I raise my skinned hand at Aelia.

"Look!" I grin, and wave my pretty fingerbones at the elf standing over me as she stares down, aghast.

"What are you doing to yourself, sir?" she says. "Get up. You need to get that seen to before you bleed to death." She pulls me to my feet.

My head spins. I stagger a little and try to focus on her. "Aelia? Aren't you dead?"

"What a foolish question that is. Now be quiet, sir. You are distressing me." Fair enough. She leads me to a room with three beds, a cabinet filled with jars of powders and pills, and a table of carefully arranged sharp implements. "Lie down." she instructs.

I eye the pointy tools nervously. If she's at all upset about me holding a glass shard to her neck, there's easy revenge to be had here...

She follows my gaze and gives a sort of sigh down her nose. "Sir, If I am to help you you will need to trust that I will do so. Do not worry. I am a professional. I would not intentionally harm one under my care."

That isn't all that comforting, but my hand has gone numb and I can't tell if my fingers move when I try to wiggle them. I take to the bed. She moves over to a basin, washes her hands, then pulls out a small device like a tin whistle.

"Inhale, please." She says. I do. She puffs into the whistle, and a small cloud of white powder dusts my face. It smells sweet...I think of snowflakes again, and go limp.

The dust doesn't put me under fully. I feel like I'm looking down from the ceiling, watching her work on someone else. She daubs the lacerations I put in my hand with some sort of ointment, then threads a needle and begins to stitch. I lose count after a dozen. She wraps my hand in a clean bandage, tossing the remains of my old one in a bin, then pours something in a glass and lifts it to my lips. I don't want to swallow, but it's that or choke. This, too, is sweet, almost cloying, with a bitter aftertaste.

After a few minutes the haze in my head clears. And with clarity comes questions. "What happened? How did you escape the Hangman? Where is everyone else? Will my hand be alright?"

She tilts her head at me, her face blank. "What hangman?"

"The...the Hangman.” I wave my hand at her...ow. That was a mistake. “The rope...he yanked into the air...your eyes bulged...I thought you were dead..." Relief, confusion, and suspicion all war inside me, rattling around with the questions I can't quite form.

She tilts her head the other way. "Gaven, there was no hangman. We were crossing the courtyard when you panicked, then jumped into the pool. You hit the other wall, and I could not wake you. I went to find help because I could not move you, then returned to find you in the hall." She makes that hand gesture again. "There was nothing else there. It was just a phantom of the delirium, a shadow in your mind."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Why was she lying to me? I didn't imagine The Hangman. I didn't conjure being buried alive. Too much is wrong. There's still grime beneath my fingers from clawing at the wall. My left boot is missing. And at least an hour passed from the time I saw her yanked up the wall to the time I tricked the shadow into turning the wall to jelly.

I slap the tray of surgical tools with my bad hand. My fingers close around a scalpel.

She shrieks as I leap at her. My weight bears her to the wall. I don't have some broken glass at her throat this time...it's polished steel. Sharp enough to cut a finger off, let alone sever an artery.

“You need to tell me the truth, Aelia.” I say. I'm calm. I'm distant. I'm a thousand miles away. “By God and the Dragon, I will slit your throat and leave you bleeding unless you tell me the truth. Right now.”

Cast of Characters

Gaven Morren - Our hero. Gaven is a thief from the far-away city of Calisapas, who made the mistake of getting caught in a crime in Miir and then made the worse mistake of accepting the punishment of Exile to The Shadows.

Jessamine Weiss/The Other - A teenage girl possessed by a dangerous spirit tying to escape Miir. She and Gaven team up and try to escape together. Naros has a mysterious interest in her.

Eric Weiss - One of the city guards. Promises to help Gaven escape Miir, as he feels Exile is a punishment that shouldn't be inflicted on anyone. Is also running from his own past.

Lord Jereth Dythanus - One of Miir's nobles. Captured Gaven after he tried to escape Miir through the sewers. Has plans of some sort for Gaven, which the thief isn't keen on learning about. Poisoned Gaven with a hallucinogen to convince him to remain in his custody for a night.

Aelia Dythanus - A nurse of the Physician's Guild of Miir, who acts as Gaven's guide after being taken hostage by the thief during a bout of drug-fueled paranoia.

The Shadows - Legendary monsters of Miir, shrouded in myth. No one can agree if they are ghosts, demons, manifestations of the evil in men's hearts, or figments of people's imaginations. They are the primary antagonists of the story.

Naros Miir - One of The Shadows. Manifests as a pale man with dark hair and eyes hidden in shadow, clad in noble finery and smelling of rose perfume. Has an interest in Gaven, and has offered him several deals to reduce the horrors the thief will face during his sentence in exchange for questionable acts; thus far, Gaven has refused his temptations.

Despair - One of The Shadows. Has no physical form; instead, Despair manifests as a free-roaming patch of darkness that "speaks." Typically attempts to break its victim's will before it strikes.

The Hangman - One of The Shadows. Manifests as a silent, muscular man wearing an executioner's mask with no eyeholes and carrying a rope tied in a noose. May be a manifestation of Miirian justice.

The Exile - One of The Shadows. Is the manifestation of Exile, and, as such, has a vested interest in keeping Gaven alive, though his ability to interfere is limited by whatever rules govern The Shadows.

The Jester - A Caliban, a person twisted and deformed by magic. The ringmaster of Le Cirque d'Aberrations, a twisted circus where troublemakers are tortured for the pleasure of Miir's nobility. It is said he likes to humble the proud.

Le Cirque d'Aberrations - a troupe of performers composed of Caliban, people twisted and deformed by magic. The main attraction of their shows are troublemakers tortured for the pleasure of Miir's nobility.

The Bullyboys - A band of thugs in the employ of Jereth Dythanus.

Gotz Rammstien -  Leader of Jereth Dythanus' squad of bullyboys, bulky and strong. Holds a personal grudge against Gaven after the thief kills one of his friends.

Cobb - A bullyboy in Jereth Dythanus's employ.

The Redcaps - Murderous goblins that hunt the streets of Miir at night. Gaven has several unpleasant run-ins with them.

Tommy - Treacherous Redcap guide who leads Gaven and Eric into peril.

Miir - The City of Shadows, a hub of trade between Demurra and Ivthia. The setting of the story. Some people say the city is haunted by dark spirits known as The Shadows. Some say the city itself is alive.

Revision, Revision

Ah, the joy of rewriting. Working on some of the earlier chapters in order to clean them up and work through some of my writer's block going forward. If all goes as planned, I'll have the next chapter of Welcome To My Nightmare up by the end of the month.

Must get back to work now.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 4)

Part 4: One

Trapped.

Trapped in darkness. Five hundred heartbeats spent screaming. A thousand spent clawing at the wall. Two thousand trying to dig at it with the glass shard. The masonry is solid. The mortar is strong. Nothing except a sledgehammer will get me through that.

So I leave it, turn to the other end. At first I'm hopeful. There's a faint, smelly breeze. A tiny hole, in between the heaps of rock. I won't suffocate. But it's cold comfort.

The stones have been wedged too tight. That hole is barely large enough for me to stick a hand through. I have no leverage. If I had...Not helpful. If wishes were lockpicks, all thieves would be be rich. There's no way I'm going to get out of here by myself. I'll be here until I starve.

Naros. I could call on Naros. I'd owe him. I hate the thought, but not more than the thought of my skeleton mouldering away here, unknown for ages.

"Naros! Naros of Miir! I summon you! Please!" Well, there's the call. Now I wait. I count my heartbeats. Sixty. Three hundred. Six hundred. I'm beginning to think he's not going to come. "Naros! By God and The Dragon, Naros, please! I need your help!"

Eight hundred...Twelve hundred...Finally! There's the clink of his silver chain, on the other side of the cave-in. I catch a whiff of rose perfume over the dank sewer air. I scramble up to the hole, peeking through. I can just barely make him out.

"Naros! Please! I'll do whatever you want, just get me out of here!"

There's a liquid chuckle. "Oh, my! Gaven Morren, actually begging me for help. What's the matter, my friend? What can I do for you?"

"Look, I don't care what it costs me, Naros. You win. I'll do whatever you ask, just get me out of this hole!" I grit my teeth.

"No."

It takes a moment to sink in. "What!?"

"You do understand the concept of No, don't you? After all the help I offered, which you rejected? Poor Gaven. You spent so much effort spitting in my face, only to realize now what it was I was protecting you from. Did you really think that a magic maze, a few redcaps, and a band of thugs were the worst the Shadows had to offer? And now you're the victim of forces you cannot understand and cannot fight, bereft of the protection that spared you before. MY protection. My protection, which was freely offered for such a minor favor, the barest hint of compensation for the incredible risk I took on your behalf. How little you valued it! How often you scorned it! And now, right when you need it most, you are without it. Look where it's gotten you."

"Are you done gloating yet?" I say. I try to keep from growling. "You're right, I was wrong. Can we put that behind us and get me out now?"

"I'm sorry, Gaven. Even if I were inclined to do so, I am forbidden from interfering in this. You are in the hands of other Shadows now."

"You FUCK! You spineless git of a three-legged goat! You pox-ridden spawn of a jackal! You bastard sack of dragondung! You can't do this!"

"Goodbye, Gaven. You were an entertaining Exile, but you're finished. And better men than you have 'disappeared' in such a fashion. Perhaps the Saints can help you, but I strongly doubt it. It would be a waste of your time to try. Good luck to you." He walks away.

"No!"

He's gone. Dragon take it all. I curl into a corner and cry.

Time passes. Can't tell how much. There aren't any more tears. Just clarity. I take stock of what I have with me. One shard of jagged glass. Two fireglass gems shaped like eyes. Torn and dirty clothes. My cap. Rocks. No food. No water. No hope. I look over the jagged shard, and wonder if I really have the strength to end it before I die of starvation.

And what else is there? There's no way out of this. You will need to make this decision sooner or later. Wouldn't it be better this way?

I stiffen. I hadn't noticed the fireglass dimming this time, but that voice in my mind was not my own. "You again. Come to gloat?"

I'm here to claim what's mine. What should have been mine when first we met. But this isn't about me. I have what I want. You will die here. We both know this. I can wait. It doesn't matter to me how slowly or quickly I take you, just that you're mine now. So the question then becomes how long do you think you can hold out, until you do what you know you must? You've seen what slow starvation does. The agony of that sort of death, as your own body begins to eat itself and you slowly fall apart. Will you try to face that end out of some misplaced sense of nobility or craven cowardice? Or will you end your troubles now, while your limbs still have the strength?

I twiddle the glass shard in my fingers as I contemplate the shadow's words. Is there really no other way out of this? No hope at all? I study the face in the reflection. There are parts that are familiar, recognizable. But when I try to put the face together, my mind rebels. Is that really my mouth, twisted and bitter? Were my cheeks so gaunt and hollow before? Can I claim that lost, maddened stare as my own?

And why is there a light behind the face in the glass?

I feel a wall against my back, but in the mirror there's a tunnel behind me. No bricks, just an empty pool coated with a layer of ash. My heart leaps. For a moment, there is hope, but which is real? Which is the illusion? I haven't been able to trust my senses all night. This could be another of this thing's tricks, some sort of ruse to get another cruel laugh out of me.

I've been trying to will myself back through this wall for hours, but perhaps it was never there. Maybe it's like that maze from before. The last time that magic maze trapped me, it drove me right into this shadow. Who tried to trap me by making the cobblestones soft like mud.

If I can trick it into doing that again...

I scoop up the fireglass gems, pocketing one and holding the other up. "You want me, shadow? Fine. But I'm not doing your dirty work for you. If you want me, then you'd best come at me. Take me, if you can. But it won't be without a fight."

I hurl the fireglass gem through the opening in the far wall. It skitters out of sight. Darkness falls.

You would fight me? How? I have no form for you to injure, no life for you to end. I am everywhere. You cannot hinder me.

"Then it will be a quick battle for you, won't it? What's the matter? Don't you think you can take me?" I stab wildly at the dark. Come on...

But I don't have to. You aren't going anywhere. And you will provide me nourishment for many nights without me having to do a single thing.

"Or until the Hangman comes for me. Then you have to share your feast with him, don't you? How much nourishment will you lose then?" I have no clue what I'm talking about. I don't know what the Hangman has to do with anything, aside from being another problem for me, but to gamble you gotta roll the dice.

You FOOL! You would call him here? You would summon him to yourself and your doom?

The dice roll sevens...um, great? It occurs to me I might have just summoned that silent figure, got it slouching roughly towards me...

"Well then, you had better take me while you can before he gets here, or he'll have me all to himself."

Agreed. The floor beneath my feet suddenly softens, turns to soup...I lunge for the wall. I sink through..it's like swimming through clay. Then it begins to harden around me. Oh, fuck. I slide through the stone, pushing myself through...my boot sticks. I wiggle...the foot slips out...

And suddenly I find myself in the bottom of an empty pool, my flailing arms forming wings in the bed of ash beneath me. Free! Free! Free!

I sit up and laugh hysterically for a few minutes. Flecks of ash from the volcano rain down like snow. There's a solid wall behind me. Life is so beautiful right now.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 3)

Part 3: Smoke On The Water

Aelia kneels next to me, cradles me like a child. "All is well, Gaven." She coos softly. "The demon is gone. You are safe. Be still, be calm.” I don't enjoy being mothered like this, but I can't get up the energy to protest. I just curl up with the candlestick and let the tears flow. Eventually, I find my feet. I look at the candlestick. Something nags at my brain.

"Why do I have this?"

Aelia blinks. "You needed something. To fight the demon in the wall. Do you not remember?"

"No, I know that. But why a candlestick? I mean, all the light's I've seen come from the fireglass in the walls. No torches, no braziers...not even a chimney. Why is this here?"

Aelia looks down at the ground. "You needed something to fight the demon you saw. It was the first thing that came to mind to give you."

There's an unpleasant series of goosebumps crawling up my back. "What are you saying?"

"It isn't real. There is no candlestick. See?"

I look at my hand. I'm making a fist, but there's nothing inside it. What in the Boiling Belly? "It was here. I know it was here. I felt it."

"You were seeing something that was not there. You wanted a weapon, so I suggested one, and your mind provided it."

I look around frantically. no no no no. This isn't possible. "The crack! In the wall!" I jab a finger at it. "That's there! That's real!"

Aelia nods. "It was put there by the earthquake. Do you remember the earthquake? When you believed your cell was falling in on you?"

This is insane. This is nuts. That...that can't be right, can it? I didn't dream up that despair monster, did I? Aelia clasps my fist.

"Dreamers are dangerous. They see things that make them act. It is better to give unreal weapons to them to fight their unreal monsters than risk real damage to real people.”

I stare at her. "Do you do this a lot?"

"I...have had the occasion."

"I don't think I like you in my head."

“Believe me, sir, I would prefer not to dwell there forever either. It is a frightening and depressing place. Perhaps you should let me leave.”

I almost say yes. I reconsider. "No. No, I think I should keep you around a bit longer. To keep me from causing real harm to real people."

"As you wish."

I head over to the broken mirror and examine the shards. The person in them is vaguely familiar. He looks a lot like someone I used to know. I pick up a few of the larger, more jagged ones, careful not to cut my hand.

"What are you doing?" Aelia asks.

"Arming myself." I walk to the cracked face in the wall. It IS a face. I wasn't imagining that. A fireglass mosaic, cracked and leering. I take a shard, dig out a few gems. I start with the eyes.

"I am not comfortable with you armed." Aelia says. "You may injure someone."

"Ha! Rather the point. Yes, I think I WILL injure someone."

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"I don't bloody KNOW, alright? Might look for Jereth." I hold up the shard, make a cutting motion.

"If I may suggest? That is a very poor idea, Gaven. A very poor one. You would be killed."

"Got a better one?"

She chews her lip, then nods. "Jereth heads the Physician's guild, but he does not rule the House. Tell your complaint to the Lady of the House. Speak with his mother."

I look at her. "Guh? Geh ha. ha ha ha! You want me to tattle on him to his mom? AHAHAHAHAHAHA! That's brilliant! Get him sent to his room!"

"Jereth will listen to Lady Sylvia, as all men should listen to women. That you do not is a fault of your race. Trust me. He will listen."

I'm still laughing. It may be the drugs, but it actually sounds like a plan. And funny. Oh, so funny. "Let's do it! Take me to his mommy!"

"So tell me about this Lady Sylvia." I say as we walk.

Aelia's the one leading right now. "What is there to say? She is our Godmother."

"An elvish Godmother, eh?" I start, but Aelia gives me a glare that tells me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't finish that quip. EVER.

"Heh, I thought you meant his real mother - funny, 'cos I'd swear he said she was his sister..."

Aelia makes a slight gesture with her slim hand, like a shrug. "She is. But she also gave Jereth life."

My stunned silence has her glancing at me. She chooses her words carefully. "There are few elves in Miir, and we are all one family." Ick. I'm trying very hard not to think about the implications of that. Aelia opens a door, frowns, and mutters, "This door does not lead here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. This door leads to the inner chambers, not the garden."

I look out the door. "It probably shouldn't be snowing, either."

The gardens stretch before us, oblivious to the impossible flakes of snow drifting down on them. It's not even cold. I stick my injured hand out. One of the flakes lands. I rub it around, and it leaves a dark stain. Not snow. Ash.

"Well that's alarming." I say with an odd calm. "Are you seeing this?"

"I'm afraid I must say yes. It is very strange."

"You got that right.”

I step outside. Aelia grabs my arm. "This is unwise!" she insists, but I shake her off and look around. Can't see anything...wait. There. To the west, one of the mountains glows. It's quite a distance away, but I can see trails of flame oozing down the side of the peak. A volcanic eruption. No wonder the ground shook.

Aelia stands next to me, staring at the glow of the volcano. "It is strangely beautiful. Like dawn in the wrong place."

"Are we in danger?"

Again, she makes that hand-shrug. "I cannot say. The eruption is not large. I think it is too far away to do more than rain ash and make the earth shake."

"How often does it blow?"

"About once every twenty or thirty years. The humans call it Mount Morrine and say a dragon lives at its heart."

I'm reminded of the fire in Miir's Belly, so like the descriptions of The Dragon's Belly the priests told us all bad people went after death. Now the Dragon roars...No. Stop it. Miir is bad, but it's not The Dragon's Belly, and I haven't been swallowed yet.

"Where now?" I ask.

She hand-shrugs again. "Across the courtyard. That door there should take us near The Lady's chambers. Assuming, of course, that the door leads where it is supposed to. That fact, I think, is in doubt at this moment."

We wind through the gardens. I see an empty, shallow pool, the bottom dusted with ash. I wonder why it's dry. All the plants are green. Perhaps the House's fortunes aren't so good that they can afford both pool and healthy greenery in Miir's climate. I point it out to Aelia.

"Oh.” she mutters. “It used to lead to the Belly. Then the Gorgeous Gang used it, and fled with many treasures. It was closed to keep other thieves out. "

I marvel at the fire-breathing mountain for a while. If it causes enough chaos, I might be able to use it to escape. Or it could wipe us all out in an instant, burying the city in a thousand tons of flaming ash and rock, entombing us for all time in seconds.

Aelia gently tugs at my sleeve. "We should not linger here. I do not think it is--hrkk!"

I wheel about at her outburst. Oh, fuck!

Aelia's halfway up the wall, jerking and clawing at the braided and waxed rope around her neck. She gurgles as she struggles to draw breath. My eyes follow the rope up. He's there. Black against the sky, muscles rippling as he hauls Aelia inch by inch up the wall to his perch in silence. His mask has no eyes, but I know his grim gaze is on me.

I freeze, not breathing. The rope creaks. He's only feet away. I am the mouse, staring at the owl.

Aelia's gasp breaks the spell, her foot finding a moment's purchase against the wall, lungs grating in half a breath of precious air. A moment: our eyes meet - pleading, pain. The hangman yanks her higher, reaching down.

Run. It's not a conscious thought. Just an order from my brain to my legs. I turn from Aelia as the hangman's great hand closes around her delicate throat.

There is the pool. I see the shimmer of water. I don't question it. I just dive. Dive and swim to the tunnel she said leads to the Belly. The tunnel carries me swiftly into darkness, and it suddenly occurs to me that the pool was dry...suddenly, I'm trying to swim in air.

Ow. The landing is swift and painful, and it's darker than pitch. The air is stale. I catch my breath, and remember the fireglass gems. I pull one out. The light is weak, but I can make out my surroundings.

I'm in a stone tube lined in granite, just tall enough to stand in. Behind me is bricked up masonry. I touch it. It's real, solid. Ahead of me the tunnel is choked with rubble from a collapse. I'm trapped. Worse.

I'm buried alive.

That thought begins to sink in. Buried alive. Somehow I delusioned myself through a solid brick wall, and now I'm stuck forever.

That's when the panic kicks in, and I scream.