THE JEALOUSY OF JALICE

Not long after Elothel disappeared, Annilasia focused on the oddities of the Realm that hosted her. It had been years since she’d translated, even longer since she’d had lessons about the Apparition Realm. All academic pursuits on translation had ended with the Delirium’s arrival, after which the meld between the Realms fractured. In Ikaul and Vekuuv, only aethertwisters still practiced its science.

Returning now reignited the sense of curiosity that had gripped her as a child, though she wanted nothing to do with the corpses that dangled above her in the fog. Instead, she concentrated on her lifechain and stone, both of which could be observed without risking too much in this liberated consciousness.

Simple experimentation demonstrated that the stone produced more links to allow the chain to extend if she walked farther away, while it swallowed unnecessary links to accommodate a closer vicinity. Kicking at the chain proved it lacked true solidity. She found it slightly unnerving that her foot passed through it as if the chain were static smoke.

While pondering this paradox, her eyes flickered back to her ankle. She stiffened, unprepared for the two new lines of chain. Both ran forth in sporadic directions—one towards her head and the other deeper into the forest. Her hands ran up the first length, ascending until her fingers clasped a string of beads.

The lifechain connected to the medresa. She’d glimpsed as much in Korcsha’s tent when the aethertwister had linked the item to Annilasia. But if one line is linked to the medresa, then what is this other line attached to? Her eyes drifted to the other new chain that weaved around the trees and through the fog.

She mulled over her options. She needed to keep watch over Jalice, and Elothel had told her to be wary of dokojin. But something wasn’t right. She could explain away the line that led to the medresa, but it was unusual to have any additional lines besides the original one around her ankle. A third line was disconcerting.

Perhaps it was a trick of her mind. She wasn’t properly trained in the laws of the Apparition Realm, and thus her thoughts could be susceptible to spontaneous manifestations if not controlled. This world was malleable, like a piece of clay that never hardened and acclimated to whatever touched it. The slightest hiccup in thought or emotion could have dreadful repercussions.

She looked at Jalice. The woman remained quiet and still, seemingly unaffected by the mirajin’s presence in her mind. Annilasia whipped her head back, expecting—hoping—the new chain would no longer be there. To her dismay, it persisted.

I need to see how far this chain goes. She quietly crept forward, and the fog slunk around her. With each step, a sickening dread deepened over the third chain’s existence. After some time, Annilasia halted and spun on her heels. The dense fog met her in all directions, inducing panic. She’d gone too far already, and she needed to return.

A sharp pain split across her shoulder. She cried out and shrank away from her unseen assailant. What in Dardajah’s ilk was that?

Her vision caught on a shadowy mass no more than a few feet away. Its mutilated features pressed her to instinctively jump back in shock. She stood paralyzed in fear. A set of crazed eyes stared back at her, and a pair of gashed lips twitched in frenzied anticipation.

She’d seen those eyes and lips before, in the darkness of the bunker. Her throat closed up as she recalled what had transpired.

This can’t be real.

The eyes and lips, no longer disembodied, were attached to an equally grotesque shell. Remnants of old skin clung to the skeletal structure of exposed black bones, coated in a slippery glaze. A tattered grey cloak hung from its shoulders. Wide eyes peered out from a cracked skull that was mostly barren of the withering skin.

You can make this go away, she told herself. This had to be a conjuring of her imagination. She shut her eyes and whispered the words of a childhood prayer that suddenly leapt to mind. The phrases came out jilted and clipped by the seizing fear that engulfed her.

“Sahruum . . . who coughed up the dust . . . and spewed out the stars, cleanse my mind of wicked thoughts,” she spoke.

The words abandoned her to silence after their utterance, and she listened intently. The creature should be gone now, banished by a focused purpose of filtering her mind.

When she opened her eyes, the vile creature’s face crowded her vision. Its foul breath invaded her nostrils. Uncontrollable shaking overtook her, and all logic fled. The two eyes of blackened ash hypnotized her into a trance. She couldn’t shut her eyes no matter how hard she tried.

Death swirled in the creature’s irises, evoking an ominous foreboding that soaked up any will to resist. The result rendered her vulnerable to a torrent of mental imagery that bombarded her mind: visions of rolling hills comprised of dead bodies, and lakes of blood that filled up valleys. Her mother appeared, stranded in a vast land of boiling lakes, screaming while being chased by howling beasts. Annilasia could do nothing to stop the bloodying embrace of claws and torn flesh that ended her mother, nor the nightmares that continued in scene after scene of death and torture.

Annilasia whimpered. The pathetic sound elicited an excited yowl from the creature. She flinched as thick mucus spat from its panting mouth, and realized with horror that fear fueled its zest for agony.

“Get the book,” the creature screeched.

Annilasia wailed when it spoke. Its voice, a parched rasp, cracked like bones snapped in half. A thousand tortured souls clamored together to form one voice, dripping with eternalized pain.

She wanted to look away. Even the way its jaw moved—how the teeth and bloodied tongue worked out words—evoked abhorrence.

Why is my mind doing this to me?

“Get the book!” it shouted again.

Faint recollection pricked her mind. She’d heard this voice before. It was the same voice that had instructed her to open Korcsha’s book while she’d wandered the forest in search of Jalice.

The creature hurled her backwards with a violent push and screamed the explicit command again. Annilasia fell on her back. When she attempted to sit up, nothing happened. She jerked her muscles, but she couldn’t move beyond a slight flinch.

The creature slid into view, leaning down until its eyes inundated her vision.

She wanted to scream and close her eyes, or run as fast as she could back to Jalice. But invisible restraints prevented escape, and her eyes refused to shut. By some insidious power, her assailant held control over her.

“I will crush you to waste,” the creature hissed. “I will rot your bones and feast on your aura until you no longer remember what you are. You will desire only to be gone—to return to nothing.” It spat in her face, lathering her in globs of bloody mucus. “Get the book. Read it. Or you die, Bloodspill.”

As its eyes slowly rose up and the face came back into focus, Annilasia discerned a detail that she’d missed—a silver chain wrapped around its neck. The cord dangled down and disappeared from her line of sight.

That can’t be my chain. It’s not possible.

An ethereal voice sliced through her silent pleas and echoed her name throughout the forest. The creature stiffened and peered in the direction of the distant sound.

Dying stars, just go away.

The creature returned its gaze to Annilasia. Unhinging its jaw, it snarled and lunged at her for a violent embrace. Annilasia still couldn’t scream though her mind shuddered with spasms of distress. Electric vibrations sparked across her as the creature’s mass flailed atop her. When the sensation ceased, the creature was gone as if it had never been.

She stared up at the dark cloud of fog above, her mind numb and void. The utter fear that had crippled her during the encounter continued to drown out every other impulse. Time dragged. She wasn’t sure how long she’d lain there, but when the same gentle voice echoed her name again, she got to her feet and ran towards it. She knew that voice. Elothel had rescued her.

She burst into the clearing and found Jalice sitting upright. Annilasia noticed the woman’s eyes for the first time since translating and wondered if her own eyes appeared the same. The sclera still retained a chalk white color, standing out in stark contrast to the pitch-black constitution of her form. The twin irises mirrored the dominant colors captured in the reflective stars that swam in the dark anatomy.

Elothel’s cloudy silhouette hovered above the chieftess, regarding Annilasia as the tillishu strode towards the pair.

“Where did you go?” fae asked. “You weren’t supposed to wander off.”

Annilasia reeled as she tried to digest what had occurred moments earlier. She glanced down at her ankle, shocked at the absence of the third line of lifechain. The other two—the line to her stone and the other to the medresa—remained.

“I thought—I thought I heard something, and went to investigate,” she sputtered, still concerned over whether she had hallucinated the third line and the ensuing incident. She studied Elothel in fear that fae could perceive her medresa, but after a few tense seconds, she decided fae could not.

“Unwise,” murmured Elothel. The mirajin’s mouth opened as if to continue, but a harsh gag from Jalice stole faer attention.

The chieftess had risen onto her knees and hands, with her head strained awkwardly out. Her throat enlarged just before her lips parted. Thick black fluid spilled forth and splattered onto the ground by her hands. Remnants of the dark matter trailed from her mouth and dribbled down her chin. Jalice moaned. She tried to catch her breath but instead regurgitated another load of the mysterious liquid.

“What’s happening to her?” asked Annilasia. “What is that?” She tried to step towards Jalice, but Elothel waved faer hand in caution.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” the mirajin advised. “There’s no telling what kind of emotional infections are swimming in that.”

“But it’s all over Jalice. Her face and hands are covered in it. Are you saying it’s dangerous?”

“It’s aetherwaste, and different in nature than that produced by the floating corpses in the treetops, yet both are a result of aethertwisting and infect this Realm like a virus.”

“Where did it come from?” Annilasia grimaced as Jalice heaved a third time. The tar-like substance pooled around the chieftess.

“It’s an indication of my success,” said Elothel. “You were right, Annilasia. She didn’t have access to certain memories. Someone locked them away, and something was guarding them.”

The orbs of light in Annilasia shifted from dark green to yellow as her disgust changed into excitement. “So, you freed the memories, then?” Her eyes flickered to the black fluid. “Was that liquid blocking them?”

“I freed some of the memories. The others . . .” Elothel trailed off. “There was a parasitic dokojin guarding the rest of them.”

Annilasia’s aura shuddered. “Are you hurt?”

“No, the parasite was only an infant, but it almost overtook me. I’m not strong in this form. I couldn’t liberate every locked memory. The dokojin was fervent over those I failed to free, and furious that I succeeded at all.”

Dismay fell over Annilasia as her gaze traveled back to Jalice. The chieftess was prostrate on the ground as she breathed deeply from exhaustion. Yet all Annilasia could wonder was whether Elothel had managed to free the right memories.

“There is something we must discuss,” stated Elothel. The mirajin’s cloud grew rigid. “Then you must leave before worse things befall us here.”