Thomas Reid - The Fractured Sky

A bombardment of thoughts assaulted her mind. She spun out of control, lost in a haze of spinning, whirling notions. Ideas cascaded one atop another, making her dizzy. She lost track of her own physical existence while caught up in the mental cacophony of concepts, images, and realizations.

Stop it! she wanted to scream, and she pressed her hands against her own ears, trying in vain to block out the crashing, relentless thoughts. Get out of my head!

But the assault did not waver, and she fell to her knees, buffeted into a stupor.

The boat rocked a bit as the others pushed off and flew into the darkness. Tauran watched them go until he could no longer see any of them. Each one winged in a different direction. None was the path he would follow.

No truer, more prophetic words, he thought.

For a moment, weariness overwhelmed the angel. He couldn't fathom how he had managed to keep the disparate pieces of the group together as long as he had. Every moment, something cropped up-an argument, a scowl or brusque word, a battle of wills-that threatened all he worked for.

The world balances upon the tip of a high, steep pinnacle, in danger of tipping and falling, he thought, and Tyr cannot see it. The High Council and Micus cannot see it. Only I try to hold it in place, and my mighty army consists of three half-fiends who cannot get along. He rubbed his hands across his eyes. How did it come to this?

Each of his companions-his tools, if he was bluntly honest with himself-presented a different challenge.

Kael, he could trust. Though the champion could be headstrong and volatile at times, Tauran knew the half-drow's heart, knew that he was as dedicated to their success as the deva himself. But he was young and naive, and Tauran had to be wary of coming to rely overly much on him for sound judgment.

He'd lay down his life defending me, but there will come a point where he might need to sacrifice me, instead. Will he know when that is? Will he understand the necessity of it? Will he do it, even if I command him to?

Vhok was precisely the opposite; he would never be trustworthy. In some ways, that made it easier. So long as the angel kept firmly in mind that the cambion served only his own interests and tried in every way imaginable to circumvent his authority, Tauran could be ready for his tricks. But it still made him dangerous. The deva had nearly slipped a few times, letting his emotions get the better of him, or he had been caught off guard, like with that sword. Must force him to get rid of that vile thing, he reminded himself. But each time, he had recovered. No, the danger lay not in what Vhok could do to him, but in what he could do to the other two. His actions threatened to rip the cohesion of the group apart. He required the greatest amount of attention and care.

And then there was Aliisza. She was the enigma. He had expected her to flee long before, but she had not. He wasn't certain what possessed her to continue. She showed inklings of dedication, hints of coming to understand the value of loyalty and self-sacrifice, but she was no angel, hadn't been among them nearly long enough.

Kael sees himself as one of us, even if he has no celestial blood, but Aliisza… I cannot see into her heart, he realized. And because of that, she is the one most likely to be my undoing.

Tauran blinked and came out of his lamentations. He remembered where he was and what he was striving to stop. Guilt forced the weariness from his thoughts and made him renew his determination. The boat sat still in the black waters of the cavern. The boatman stood just as still, waiting for him.

With a deep breath, the angel refocused. What is Zasian planning? Where will he try to lead us? How can we stop him?

The boat began to glide forward in the water.

Aliisza stood in a great rotunda that was dim with the light of a few faint candles. The large, circular room echoed with the sounds of voices, but those voices were indistinct, illogical. She stood away from the center, behind a thick, ornate column.

No. I am hiding, she heard herself think.

It was not the alu's own inner voice that spoke, though. She was also someone else.

She looked through the other's eyes, peered carefully around the side of the column toward the center. She glanced down at herself and gasped.

She was a thing of shadow, midnight black and indistinguishable from all the other shadows that filled the room. Cloaked.

In the center of the room, three figures stood, deep in conversation. She could see them only indistinctly, as though they were blurred, not solid. But somehow, she knew they were gods.

They argued.

One was a woman, coldly beautiful and tall. Black flowing hair. Pale radiant skin. Imbued with magic.

Aliisza felt jealousy. She desired the end of that one.

The pale, magic-infused woman stood beside a man, elderly, wizened. His flowing white hair joined with his thick, full beard and moustache, a mantle of authority upon his shoulders. He, too, seemed the embodiment of all that was arcane.

Together, they faced the third. A thin man, emaciated, craven. His chalk white skin stood in stark contrast to his fierce black eyes. He cringed before the pair, listening as they seemed to berate him, a wisp of a secret smile on his face.

Aliisza felt drawn to him, thought him handsome.

Another figure appeared, also on the periphery of the chamber. She, too, was indistinct, a thing of shimmering light. Nearly naked, her jet black skin covered the curves and litheness of a streetwalker, a night dancer. She was beautiful.

Aliisza wanted to fall on her knees, worship the dancer, bathe in her beauty, serve her forever.

But she must not.

There was work to do. She would do her job, perform her task, and curry favor from both the dark dancer and the craven one.

Yes.

The wizened man turned to the dark dancer, seemed startled that she had appeared. The pale woman with the dark hair and radiant skin also turned, and she seemed more angry than before. She and the dark dancer confronted one another as the wizened man looked on.

It was time.

Aliisza crept out from the shadows. She glided, step by step, behind the wizened man. She was nearly within reach, standing just behind him.

No one seemed to notice.

She waited.

The dark, beautiful one danced. She moved to some unheard rhythm, gyrated to a beat that did not reverberate within the rotunda. She was awesome to behold, undulating before the wizened man and the radiant woman.

The old one's posture changed. He seemed to lose his focus, becoming enamored of the dark dancer. He leaned forward, drawn to her.

In his enthrallment, he let his staff slip from his hands.

Aliisza knew it was her moment.

She reached out, prevented the wizened one's staff from falling, kept it upright so no one would see.

She grasped it in her hands, felt its power.

Long and wooden, each end shod in iron, it pulsed with arcane energy. Runes and sigils of every type shimmered and danced along its entire length. They had life and magic of their own. At the top, a brilliant sapphire as large as Aliisza's fist pulsed and hummed, vibrating with even more energies.

The magic that coursed through the staff was almost too much to bear. She hated that magic, wanted to beat the staff against the floor, rid it of the horrible power.

But she must not.

She had another purpose. She was a tool, like the staff was a tool.

So Aliisza remained still, just behind the wizened man. She held the staff, kept it from falling.

No one noticed her, the shimmering shadow.

A commotion arose at the periphery of the rotunda, away from Aliisza. Others had come, lesser creatures, hated creatures. Aliisza spotted the first, and though she recognized him as friend, companion, she also hated him. An angel-a fallen angel.