Hell hath no fury like a Naerite when someone's trying to steal his Path.

Fellshior the Two-tongued

The auditorium was bathed in darkness. Irson Trimm scooted around in his armchair, making himself comfortable. From the height of his "director's box" the oval stage resembled a curious silver dish, covered in the center with a dark gray cloth of Elidanite lace. The exact, concise pattern, woven from bows and thin arrows that looked like blades, called to mind cobwebs in ancient sepulchers. The set established the mood superbly. It depicted a part of Silver Square in Briaellar. A statue of Veindor the Merciful in the form of a phantom dragon, sculpted from tinted glass and dingy metal, shone coldly to the left. To the right the steps of his temple, made of gravestones according to tradition, faded off into the darkness of the coulisse. The actresses were already in place: Talia Murr an Kamian, the red-headed star of attics and basements (transitting from the Abyss), in the role of Militant Justice, and the modest debutante Twana Anote, portraying the latest victim of the Merciful's servants' cruelty (at the Elidanite border they confiscated a broach containing the soul of her dear mommy). The audience scurried around them like mice scavenging scraps after a funeral feast. Some of them addressed Talia, but she only waved them away. She couldn't speak to them now - the show was about to begin!

"And here's our prima-ballerina now," Irson groused upon seeing Inon.

He was downright allergic to the priest. At first Inmelion acted surprisingly normal. Apparently, the remaking of the Nalarite's body had had the desired effect on him. He was dryly polite, very attentive and did not even hint of his intention to steal Talia and Irson's adventure. It seemed he was repentant for his xenophobic outburst and wanted to smooth things over. But later on... later on, the wise, well-mannered, courageous and straight-as-an-arrow priest of the Merciful unmistakably demonstrated that in addition to the praiseworthy qualities associated with his race, he also possessed the full range of flaws thereof.

The idea of provoking Veindor's opponents appealed to Inon only until he realized that one of the roles in the ruse had been set aside for himself. The priest pursed his lips and declared he had no intention of partaking in such a farce.

"Why a farce?" asked Irson, trying to keep things light. "Verily, this is a dramatic production!"

The priest remained painfully serious. With all the composure of a seasoned kindergarten teacher, he began to lecture the Tanae to the effect that different races have different ideas of acceptable and unacceptable behavior, and that it was our duty as upstanding Naerites to respect others' values and not try to pressure a friend into doing what he considered inappropriate.

There was nothing subversive in this sermon itself. Irson was prepared to both "respect others' views" and "not pressure anyone," only... could Inon say the same? Like all Tanae, Irson had perfect pitch when it came to others' emotions. And in the priest's voice he sensed ever more clearly contempt, arrogance and impatience, especially when, citing himself as a paragon of tolerance, Inon began describing in living color "the objectionable manners of Lady an Kamian," which he'd had to silently endure for many years now. "However, there is a limit to everything. Going to the circus is one thing. Dressing up as a clown yourself is quite another. Forgive me, but that is too much to bear!" "jested" the priest.

Irson clenched his teeth, but not one muscle moved on Talia's face.

"Why must you be so rude to Master Trimm?" she sang, swallowing her half of the insult without a word.

"I'm sorry, Talia, but I don't know how otherwise to get across to our friend that given my Elidanite taste, his suggestion calls up feelings of - "

"It calls up the bitterness felt by every living creature who's ever had to humble himself for a higher cause," Talia said quietly and seriously.

Speaking with the priest, the audacious an Kamian dame was utterly civil and sharply meek. She patiently endured his reproaches, striving with all her might to keep the conversation constructive. This selfless devotion to their cause touched Irson right down to his core. The Merciful's follower's reaction was just the opposite. The humbler Talia was, the more furious the priest became. It was as if he ached to expose her, to prove to all that she was not in the least what she wanted to appear to be. So many venomous words were on the tip of Irson's tongue, he felt poisoned having to bite it.

However, Talia's self-deprecating tactic once again turned out to be fruitful. The priest resigned himself to his fate or, as he himself had put it, he made up his face, fastened some pom-poms to his shoes and took the stage.

Presently he and Talia pretended to be fighting, exchanging looks that could kill beneath the statue of Veindor in plain sight of a large crowd of Briaellareans. And Irson, a guest at the young an Kamian's house, sat and observed all this through an enchanted tabletop. He envied Talia a little her chance to blow off steam in such a benign way.

"In, I can't even recognize you anymore!" Talia cried (the spectacle was approaching its finale). "Won't you let the cat out of the bag! The Merciful's followers must stop abusing innocent creatures! How long can we sit quietly and just suck it up, suck it up, suck it up?! We need to act, no matter what the fallout might be! If we get it bad, then we get it, and I'll put my tail between my legs, and you... whatever it is you've got between your legs! Ooh! I'm ready to head to the Cliffs myself and shout into Veindor's ears: it's time for a change!"

Inon mumbled something unintelligible, trying to take her by the arm. Talia tore herself free.

"No! Enough! There's Veindor," she pointed at the statue, "and there are his filthy ears!"

Talia leaped up onto the base of the statue, where, according to their ruse, she would have continued her accusatory monologue (for which Inon would have reprimanded her in his inimitable manner, and Talia, hanging her tail, would have retired to "cry in the bushes" in anticipation of a Veindor-hating conspirator, who would hardly have missed such an opportune moment). But then everything went wrong.

A long, pale sparkling flash from the Merciful's scales struck Talia in the side. The Alae gasped from the shock, flailed her arms awkwardly, doubled over and dropped to the ground, where she lay with her tongue out and the bottom of her foot twisted unnaturally. A haze as thick as cream enshrouded her body - dark grey, and radiating a cloudy silver color.

Inon dashed towards her and diffused the haze with quick movements. It dispersed in all directions in little clumps, as if thousands of metal flies had flown off Talia's face, chest and legs. The priest swiftly took the Alae into his arms and brought her to the temple.

Irson didn't know what to think. Either the eccentric an Kamian had decided to enhance the drama of the moment, or...

Finally, there came the soft breath of a portal opening in the next room, followed by footsteps and a muffled arguing. Talia appeared on the threshold - pale and disheveled, but decidedly alive.

"Well now, that does it! How's that for improv! I almost thought..." Irson slapped her on the shoulder and she fell at his feet with a groan.

"Improv my tail," the Alae hissed, stretching her vest with a jerk.

Talia's torso was covered in fuzzy grey crusts, like the trunk of a rotting tree. The skin around each of them was pale and saggy.

"Karg take me! What the hell is going on? Where's Inon?" the Alae yowled.

"I don't know. He probably decided you're out of danger, and is trying to figure it all out," Irson squatted beside her.

"Why would he decide that? He didn't even try to heal me. Just threw me in here."

"He did something with the haze..."

"The haze was just a side effect."

"Can you shapeshift?"

"That's just it, I can't. It's like my cat's body is stuck somewhere. And I can't feel other bodies either! Could it really be... Veindor?" she babbled, and passed out.

"House!" Irson yelled in a commanding voice. "House! Do you have a universal encyclopedia?"

"Yes. I'll get it," a voice answered from the ceiling.

After a couple minutes an illusory fox entered the room, wearing a dashing suit and tie. Strutting on his hind legs, he was pushing a large floating book in front of himself, like a cart. It was covered in flexible probing tubes.

"Here we are," the fox said. "Only I'm not the House. I'm Talia's tenant. One of them, anyway. Now, what is the problem?"

"I don't know. You're not a doctor by any chance?"

"No. And not a mage, either," the fox sighed.

"Then you should go check what's happening with her bodies," Irson suggested.

The fox nodded and dissolved into thin air. Irson patted the thick cover, waking the device from sleep.

Sticking one of the encyclopedia's analyzers into one of Talia's veins, he carefully ran another, which looked like a wire hanger, into the crust on her side. The book squeaked in confirmation that it had received the necessary substance, and quietly chirped a sad little tune. Irson tapped his fingers on the floor impatiently. At last, the encyclopedia produced its diagnosis:

"No matches found. Prognosis not promising."

"What?! Not found... You're a universal encyclopedia, you little twerp!" Irson protested. "And what do you mean 'not promising' if you don't even know what's wrong?"

"No matches found. Prognosis not promising," the encyclopedia repeated, undaunted.

"Perhaps you're out of date? What year were you published?"

"It's not out of date. It's the disease that's too ancient to be included in it," someone purred from behind Irson. "When life's about to weave Talia's next crown of thorns, it always uses the most exotic flowers and plants. Enviable, really. Such exclusivity!"

Irson turned around. Perched on the edge of the table, as if on a throne, was Enaor an Al Emenajt himself, in all his loathsome glory. The Eale was alternately releasing and retracting his claws. His eyes shone provocatively.

"You've died of this before?" Irson asked warily.

"No. An oversight which must be corrected immediately." Enaor hopped onto the floor and, pushing Irson aside, began to circle around Talia, butting her with his glossy black forehead. "Talia, come on, let's switch bodies! Come on, whaddaya say? This might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance! Come on already, before your damned immunity cur-tails our prize!"

Opening her eyes with difficulty, Talia grabbed the Eale by the scruff of the neck and pulled him towards her.

"Enaor, you got cloth ears? I can't change my form, let alone my body! Got it?!" she shook him. "This is not a game. It really hurts. I'm in bad shape. Scared. I'm not sure I'll make it."

Talia cast a long, forlorn look at Enaor and lost consciousness again. The back of her head hit the rug with a soft thud.

Enaor calmed down instantly, like a drunken debauchee who'd been pinned down by the city guard and injected with a dose of tranquilizer, and was now sitting in lockup, growing sober by the second and slowly realizing that jumping on tables naked might not have been entirely appropriate.

Going around his Ballsiness, Irson took a bandage off Talia's arm and began to suck at her thin vein like a regular vampire. The pulse was barely there. Drawing a little blood into a special sac through a hollow channel in his fang, the Tanae threw his head back and closed his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Enaor asked.

"I'm trying to understand what's wrong with her and what exactly this thing has done to Talia's body. Then I'll try to slow it down."

"You will fail. This is like trying to heal wounds from Alaean claws."

Irson didn't bat an eye.

"This isn't an ordinary sickness. Followers of the Merciful use this blight to smite the wicked - necromancers and the like - seeking to bring them around. Hoping that if they lie like that for a while, trapped in a suffering body, they might come to their senses. And they use their spirit to do it, so you won't be able to heal her by pills or laying on of hands."

"What can heal her then? What were you saying about her 'damned immunity'?"

"Her Cat's spirit. This thing shouldn't work on a creature with a strong spirit, especially if the creature shares it with one of the Nae. Only if..." Enaor's face changed; he grabbed Talia by the shoulders and began shaking her.

"Only if what?" Irson unabashedly pulled his ear.

"Only if she doesn't herself believe she deserves the punishment!"

Talia's eyelids fluttered.

"Talia. Talia, listen to me. It's not Veindor!" Enaor was shouting. "You heard it yourself. It's one of his priests, for whom you're like a burr under their tail."

Irson looked at the Eale incredulously, but there was no time to explain.

"Perhaps they're right? And I'm just a deranged cat who... imagines who knows what about herself. And does harm... to everyone, even though she doesn't mean to?" Talia babbled. "Otherwise, why would Veindor allow them to - ?"

"Talia Aella Murr an Kamian! Veindor doesn't keep tabs on all his priests!" Enaor cut her off harshly. "But we'll make sure that he knows! Oh yes, we will! This prank will come back to bite whichever bitch in tin foil did this to you."

"Veindor didn't allow this, you did!" Irson said, surprising even himself. "Doubts ate away at your spirit..." the Tanae rubbed her cold palms, collecting his thoughts. "Tell me, what possessed you to start messing with Veindor's affairs?"

"And why not? I've done worse out of sheer boredom. I'm an an Kamian... an oddball... an experimenter... just like my mom..." Talia muttered listlessly.

"So this is all just a game to you - a whim, a way to shock everyone and get attention?"

"Weeell..." the Alae droned, looking off to the side.

"Or were you simply curious to see what it would be like to play a priestess of the Merciful?" Irson was beside himself. "To stick your dirty paw in their silver soup pot, fish out a sweet bone and treat yourself, and who gives a damn if the rest of the soup is spoiled?!"

"What are you going on about, you scheming snake?" Enaor hissed vehemently.

"The light of awareness in the dark corners of the mind," Irson snapped. "Well, Talia? Am I right?"

Talia didn't say anything, biting her chapped lip.

"No. Very well. Enough," she whispered at last. "It's not a game, or a whim. I messed with the soup because - hmm, how do humble heroes put it - I couldn't help myself. I couldn't just walk away. I could smell something was wrong. I wanted to add some herbs and spices to improve the taste. But maybe I really did forget to wash my hands, and now Veindor - "

"It's not Veindor," Enaor cut in.

Irson hissed at him and turned again to Talia.

"I can't hear you! Snakes have small ears. Louder!"