Gray.
There was only gray.
There was no feeling, no remembering, no thoughts.
The only consciousness was of the gray itself.
A light flickered, blue like spark. The remembrance of spark.
A figure formed, a glowing man, half-beast with four tusks, three of them broken.
He was a great elephant, blue as spark itself. The lines of his face circling back through infinity, he smiled, as much as an elephant can.
The beast gripped his last tusk in strange trunk-arms, and with a sickening crunch, shards of ivory shot out, shrieking into stars as the gray darkened into a black void.
The Eluru lifted its broken tusk and, with a commanding thud, drove it into her heart.
She gasped for air.
Lights shining above, a face blurred in front of her.
“Liv?” it asked.
She passed out.
? ? ?
“Ollie?” a voice whispered.
“Ollie?” It repeated.
Huh? He double-checked his sex by rubbing his thighs together. Yep, back to that.
When Oliver tried to crack his eyes open, the light stung them closed. So slowly, gently, he relaxed his lids, letting the light trickle in, until finally, he could open them.
The room was dim with only a wisp of sunlight filtering through the curtains. There was a quality to it that was hard to pin down, but somehow, he knew it was just before dawn.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The room, itself, was small, only really big enough for a bed. There was coral-pink tile running along the edge of the ceiling and a dresser with curved lattice work. Shivari.
Rafe was there, sitting next to the bed, the bags under his eyes dark and swollen. “Hey, you awake?”
His throat thick and sore, Oliver hacked softly, coaxing the phlegm out. “Did we win?”
“Yeah, you did it,” said Rafe. “We got the stones.”
A familiar whistle, barely audible, came from behind as Chanda stepped forward.
“The party?” Oliver asked. “Did we save everyone?”
Rafe looked to Chanda, who kneeled down and spoke softly, “Not everyone, but if you hadn’t been there, it would have been much much worse.”
“How many… died?”
Chanda took an uneasy breath. “Ulbrecht killed seven wizards.” He chewed his bottom lip. “And six more died… fighting each other… and ten other guests.”
“Songs,” Oliver uttered, sounding stronger.
“More than one hundred fifty survived, seven wizards among them, the king, the princess, Stephan, and myself. You saved us all.”
Oliver looked at Rafe, wondering if he knew about Chanda, about Bahdur. “Could I speak to Chanda alone? Just for a minute.”
His brother’s face looked a little annoyed and a little hurt, but there was relief in it. “Fine.” He stood up and made for the door.
“And no eavesdropping. Promise?”
Rafe groaned, “promise,” and disappeared into the hallway.
Oliver stayed silent until he heard the footsteps fade. “Who saw you?”
Going stone-faced, Chanda averted his eyes. Was he really going to pretend it hadn’t happened?
“Did anyone else see Bahdur?” Oliver forced the issue.
Chanda’s expression stayed firm for a moment before dropping into resignation. “Only the Underhills, and they thought it was just another illusion.”
“How long have I been here? If I’m like this…” Oliver motioned to his body.
“A few hours. You changed back as soon as you… as soon as the breath left you.”
Oliver rubbed his chest, feeling only the faintest of scars. Something didn’t add up. “Did I… die?”
Drumming his fingers on the dresser, Chanda thought on it. “A hard question… but yes.”
“And you saved me, brought me back. I don’t know how to thank you.”
The ambassador glanced away. “You can thank Ulbrecht.”
“What?”
“I was hoping to save this discussion for later, but,” he dropped his arms to his sides, “I would have let you die. The tusks, they should not be used like that.”
“Then why?”
“A bargain. I bring you back, he leaves Noria without killing anyone. He leaves Noria and never returns.”
“He spoke?”
“No.” Chanda gave a soft snort. “It was a rather short game of charades. He pointed at you, holding his sword to my throat. I proposed the deal, and he accepted.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very good deal for him. Why would he agree?”
“I really don’t know. He’s been trying to kill me for hundreds of years, perhaps longer if I could remember. Strange he would give that up, and whatever other plans he had, for your life.” Chanda rubbed his temples. “He looked frightened, I think, but that face has never held any real emotion.”
Oliver stayed silent.
“Liv,” he gave a slight smile. “If the power was to be misused, I’m glad it was on you. Best to think on this later. We have a more pressing matter.”
“Ms. Scaggs?”
“The Church has her and Thelemule. They are to be executed in a little past the hour.”
Oliver bolted upright, his heart pounding.
“Don’t worry. We have a plan.”
You didn't think Liv was actually dead, did you?
