Niah

The City Below stretches on under the ground. The haze of the torch casts strange dancing shadows against the black rock of the walls. We weave through the dark pits for what feels like several narcycles, but is probably only a few deccas. Eventually, it broadens out into chambers and rooms. Torches flicker, casting a dim light on the faces of the few people we pass.

At first I gaze around me, wondering at the strange city that seems to have been carved into the hard black rock beneath the Shadowland. But whispers and gasps start to echo through the chambers, and even the name seems to precede us down the halls, stirring the Narians from their beds. I sink further and further into the shadow of Tye's coat.

"Bellamy!"

"Is it really him?"

"It's Bellamy."

"Come to save us."

The nameless faces of a reverent people seem to swell around us. I shake my head. "I'm not him, really." But Tannan keeps us moving too quickly to give me a chance to refute their claims.

Tye steps close to me, lifting an arm as if warding off the reaching hands of the Faithful. "There's no point denying it, Niah. They've spent generations living on the hope of Bellamy's return. You wear his face. To them, you are our saviour."

I shake my head. "I'm not him."

"No, but you're the closest we'll find, aren't you?"

Tears blur my vision and grow angry at my own weakness. If I really were Bellamy, I wouldn't be a simpering mess of emotion and exhaustion. The waves of hopeful but desperate energy rising up in the people around is like a crushing weight. When they start dropping to their knees, touching their heads to the floor, and chanting in a rhythmic cadence I feel the tension rising in the air.

"How curious," Hart says in his bland, understated way.

My head throbs as if keeping time with the chant. It's like a drum, thrumming through me with every pitch and warble in the air. My muscles ache from the cold of the prison cell, the chaos of the climb, the long hard ride, and now this endless walk. Every nerve in my body is spent. I pitch slightly, tripping over my own feet. Tye reaches out, catching me in his arms.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks. His voice is warm and soft. It's soothing against the harshness ash and smoke haze surrounding us.

My mind grows more and more fuzzy. I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I don't think…" And I guess I don't, because my tongue stops cooperating and my eyes refuse to open.

I feel Tye lift me up in his arms. He carries me forward but I don't know how far we travel because against his shoulder, with the soft beat of his heart in my ear, the world falls away again. Deep in my gut, I curse this sickness and long for my sister.

***

Wish

Moonlight swirls in the sky. It casts a wash of pale light through a growing canopy of clouds. The City of Light is a wonder of arched white buildings soaring up to the artificial sky. The carriage moves slowly along the street, creaking with age or weight or both. Eventually, it pulls up in front of a towering building of glass, crystal, and shimmering white fibreglass plating. I can barely pick up my mouth up from the floor of the carriage as I gaze out of the window. Beside me, the guard chuckles.

"Right you are to be awed like that. The Palace downright awes us all, I reckon. But come on, don't want to be keeping the Lord waiting." He reaches past me to push open the door and then grips my arm as he leads us out. I want to pull away, but the swarm of people around us makes me wary. Where can I possibly go and how will I ever find Niah in all of this? I decide to play along, bide my time until a better escape option comes along, or Niah and Hart find me first.

I lift my chin as he hauls me up the stairs of the Palace. I march beside him, trying to match my footsteps to his larger ones without tripping over the stairs. He nods to the guards at the front entrance but moves on without stopping. Then he barks a command in the reception hall. "Let the Lord know I've brought Bellamy to him."

"Please wait in the parlour," the steward responds. He waves a negligent hand at a door along the far wall.

"Right." The guard stalks us both through the door and we enter a beautifully furnished waiting room. I hold my shoulders back as he pushes me forward. I just manage to keep my feet under me. I spin, ready to lay into him, then remember that I'm supposed to be Bellamy. I wipe the anger away and replace it with a cool air of detachment.

As the wait extends to what must be nearly a factor, I find myself pacing in front of the windows that look out on the glory of the city. Eventually, the steward comes into the room. I glance at him, wondering where Lord Oliver might be, and if he'll ever join us.

"The Lord is in Virreal and asks that you join him."

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I furrow my brow. "Virreal?"

The guard sighs. "You have some rigs set up for us then?"

"Of course, Thomis. If you'll both follow me."

He leads us up the main staircase and down a long stretch through a wing of the Palace. The building is a strange mix of classic marble stonework, high tech glass, fibreglass, and even electronics. The lighting is built directly into the panels of the wall. In parts, the Palace reminds me of the Elixr, with her fine lines and the harmonious blend of function and feature.

As we enter yet another room, the extraordinary display of technology reminds me of the sleeper pods, or the plush chairs of the morning break room, or even the several workstations in the lab on board the starship.

Several comfortable chairs are twinned together and span the length of the room. Each pair is hooked up to its own processor with an array of cables.

Thomis makes his way directly to the nearest chair. He settles himself back into it and reaches over for a headset, then begins to plug himself in, which is odd to me because even in the sleeper pod nothing had been specifically attached to my body the way this headset seems to attach to him. He winces as it clips into place over his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. He tugs on a pair of gloves and then turns his head in a full range of motion before settling back against the chair.

The steward beside me sighs, and gestures to the chair next to him. "This way, please. The Lord is waiting."

"But–" I glance at the chair, uncertain. Seeming to sense what my hesitation is about, the steward moves to the various parts and begins setting them up for me. I climb into the chair and settle my back against it. The steward straps me into the strange device.

I gasp as a whole new world seems to take shape behind my eyes. In place of the white walls and pristine, almost sterile quality of the City of Light, appears a vast, multi-hued forest of beautiful flowers, trees, and life. I find myself standing beside Thomis as he gazes around and then shrugs.

"Well, I've been to better places," he mumbles. "Come on, it must be this way."

He leads us down a path through the trees and we break out into the sunlight beside a cascading waterfall and a cool lake. Walking along the water's edge, is a young man. His hair is only a hint or two darker than my own and as he turns to look at us, I feel like I'm looking in a mirror. My own eyes gaze back at me. The same jet of ice-blue, even the same curve of nose. The traces of Lord Oliver's well-kept facial hair also can't hide the familiar weight of his lower lip. I glance down, hiding my own face.

"Ah! My brother, Captain Jacob Bellamy," Lord Oliver drawls. "You've finally returned."

Brother? I blink, glancing up in confusion. Lord Oliver's gaze narrows. He crosses the distance between us to look more carefully at my face.

"Not Jacob?" He turns on Thomis, his lips tight and eyes piercing. "This is not Captain Bellamy, you fool!"

Beside me, Thomis splutters. Lord Oliver lifts a hand and Thomis begins choking on nothingness. "Lord–" he hacks between gasps of shallow air. "I can explain." The Lord thrusts his hand and Thomis is flung backward as if thrown several feet by a very strong force.

He pushes himself up, clawing at the floor, and sucks in ragged but deep breaths.

"Explain then, but your explanation better suffice. Chortessa is hungry."

Thomis groans. He lifts a hand. "My Lord, please, forgive me. She's wearing his coat, and the eyes, they said she had his eyes, his hair, his face. They said it was Bellamy."

"His eyes? His hair? His face? This child! This girl child looks like Captain Bellamy? She looks more like me than she does my brother you pathetic waste of void-scum Narian."

"Lord, I didn't– I just– Hanzor."

"Hanzor? That incompetent oaf. You're in league with Hanzor?"

"No– well yes, he's my– well, no." Thomis' confused jumble seems to make the Lord even more short tempered. "When Hanzor hauled them out of the pit, the other one was wearing the coat. The other Bellamy."

Lord Oliver's gaze narrows at the fumble of Thomis' explanation. "The other one?"

"They must have changed clothes. Switched places. The other one, Bellamy, he must still be in the Cage."

The Lord scowls. "I've already heard about the escape."

Thomis' eyes seem to bulge then and his Adam's apple bobs. "Escape?" he whispers. My heart races with hope. If Niah's escaped, maybe she's coming for me.

Lord Oliver continues, "If you've anything to do with any of that, you'll deserve a fate worse than the one you'll have in the teeth of my beautiful Chortessa." His smile is dark. It sends a shiver of unease down my spine. I feel my stomach flip, unsure of the wisdom of having put myself here in this place. Maybe it would have been smarter to run when I'd had a small, fleeting moment of opportunity on the steps of the Palace.

"Please, please no, my Lord. I had nothing to do with that. Nothing. I serve only you, my Lord. I've always been loyal. I am your man, my Lord. Your man."

"Enough!" Lord Oliver roars. I flinch back as the echo of his voice dances off the trees and waterfall as if echoing from the solid walls of a room. The world around us flickers and blinks. Suddenly, we all stand in the darkness of an earthen pit. The dirt feels gritty beneath my bare feet. I feel a shiver as I sense a greater darkness nearby and spin as the shadows move around us.

"NO! Lord, please! No, no, no." Thomis pleads and whimpers. He is on his hands and knees now. It looks like he is trying to scramble away but is held in place by an invisible hand.

A heavy, rasping breath sounds beside me. I step sideways, startled, but the odd creature doesn't seem to notice me. Its hungry gaze is fixed on Thomis, whose terror is marked all over his face. It's in the acrid stench of his own urine-soaked clothing and the fresh sheen of sweat drenching the collar of his shirt and the pits of his sleeves.

The Lord watches as the beast stalks its prey. His grin is almost affectionate and his chin is lifted in pride as he stands on the sidelines of the beast's lair. "Yes, my beautiful. Enjoy your dinner."

I swallow and bite my lip as I watch. I can't tear my gaze away, even knowing what is about to happen. Then, as suddenly as the room had come up around us, the invisible force holding Thomis in place disappears and he moves. Scrambling through the dirt.

He pushes himself to his feet and runs a short way before slamming into an invisible wall. He turns, fleeing in another direction. He turns in circles, always away from the beast as he tries to escape. In every direction he faces barrier after barrier.

Meanwhile, the creature stalks him. It snuffles through its nose. It turns on strong, lanky legs. Turns its head and ears as if listening to every movement Thomis makes.

Finally, as if tired of toying with its food, it lunges forward. It grips Thomis in its teeth, paws raised up to score down Thomis' chest with thick, sharp claws. Ribbons of blood spurt to the surface. The chortessa grips Thomis with a clenched jaw and shakes him. The man shudders in the beast's grip. He cries out, over and over again, until the teeth of the beast close around his neck. It chokes the air out of him before breaking the surface of the skin and ripping out the man's throat.

I turn away, but can't stop seeing the carnage of torn flesh, spurting blood, and raw bone. I can't block out the acrid smell of sweat and gore mixing with earth. It's so crude and vivid that I taste it on my tongue. I also can't block out the sound of the Lord's almost lustful panting and the soft chuckle in his rich voice. My stomach swirls and I feel like I should throw up but I can't. It's almost as if, in this world, my physical body is detached from my mind.

As Thomis stops thrashing and the chortessa settles in to devour his carcass, Lord Oliver sighs beside me. "Well," he says, "that was a mild entertainment." He turns to me. "And you? Should I feed you to my Chortessa, as well?"

I fix him with my best Bellamy stare. His eyes narrow so I suspect it was convincing. He presses a button on a band on his wrist and moments later the world around us swirls again. Twin doors open into the pit and four Stalkers trail into the room. They glance warily at the chortessa. It continues to chew and crunch on the remains of Thomis. The youngest of the men shudders then forces his gaze to the Lord.

"My Lord?" asks the most senior of the guards.

"I want the so-called 'Chosen One' brought to me within the next twenty-four factors. Bring me Captain Jacob Bellamy or bring me his head, and be sure to let those rebel traitor Shadow-scum know that this girl will be Chortessa's next meal if my brother is not brought before me by this time tomorrow." The guard taps his shoes together and salutes, then the four turn and march out of the room. The doors swing closed behind them.

Lord Oliver turns to me. His face is lit with a dark half-smile. "Let's see if my brother cares for you enough to come before me."