***

Talia had not decided on a thistle glade in vain. While other garden inhabitants hid behind a thick hedge of vegetation, here the green curtain was parted. The an Kamian was proud of her prickly collection. A whimsical set of scenery topped the area between the garden's grubby wings – a veritable labyrinth of garden beds, weaved into spirals. It would have been a creative feat to pass through without a scratch, especially in the twilight, like now, but Talia decided not to subject her soon-to-be victim to such a painful trial and settled herself down right at the edge of the glade, in the light of the garden lanterns.

Almost an hour and a half went by before Enaor snickered nastily:

"We got a bite on the line. He'll be here in ten."

"By himself?" Irson asked.

"Yes. And no one's following him. As far as I could tell, anyway. Good luck, Talia!"

The an Kamian barely nodded in reply. She was feeding a withered black-and-white bush with her own blood, having carefully placed a finger on one of its thorns. The thistle stems – crowned with bright red flowers, grotesquely thick, with patterned spiny leaves growing in tiers at even intervals – resembled monstrous lighthouses.

Finally there came the sound of approaching steps, and the conspirator appeared from behind a hawthorn bush. It was a heavyset man of roughly forty, dressed in a soft dark-colored outfit and traditional Anlimorean skate-skin sandals. He had narrow eyes and a little pigtail beard.

"Ah, it's you," Talia sighed upon seeing him. "Are you here to gloat? What can I say. You have every right. I wasn't expecting that."

"What? Of course not. I've come to support you, Talia. And to express my admiration," said the man, pressing his palm to his breast. "Very few people are brave enough to speak in that tone with those death worshippers."

"Believe me, I didn't think I was risking anything," Talia raised her brows. "There... there are no words. Smiting me with an affliction! What barbarism, what utterly archaic nonsense!"

"Yes! Yes, dear Lady an Kamian. That's exactly the kind of barbarism I was trying to speak to you about a few days ago. But you did not believe me. And who could blame you: before I saw for myself cities, countries, whole worlds mowed down by epidemics by order of this supposedly merciful Nae, I didn't believe it either."

"May the fire go out in my eyes..." Talia sighed.

"That, Lady an Kamian, almost happened not hours ago," said the man in a didactic tone. "And indeed this was, in a manner of speaking, just a warning shot."

"If it was, it sure made the blinders fly right off my eyes. I'd always thought it was only in undeveloped worlds that the gods tamed their subjects using all manner of afflictions. Worship only me, live by my rules, lick the priests' feet, and you'll be fine. Disobey, and you have only yourself to blame! The slightest deviation, just one glance toward another's temple, and you get struck with sores all over your face. I knew, of course, that in the beginning Veindor himself didn't shy away from such methods of... enlightening. But I thought that later on he'd given up on such a twisted form of blackmail!"

"Alas, my lady, alas!"

"So what do you suggest we do about all this?"

"We fight!" the man proclaimed with a tight fist.

Irson's eyes narrowed. The conspirator's body language suggested something suspiciously familiar.

"May my tongue grow together if it isn't Uncle Restes in a different body!" he whispered finally.

Enaor didn't answer. Looking around, Irson realized that the Eale had disappeared.

"Where did you...?" mumbled the Tanae and just then noticed that Talia was holding her pricked finger in her mouth. Lost in his thoughts, he'd missed the distress signal! Talia sensed danger and Enaor, apparently, did not wait around for her to call for help.

And indeed! A barely visible magical door had already opened up behind Restes, soundlessly and almost without distorting the magical field. Creating portals was like diving: the quieter you did so and the less you splashed, the greater the mastery.

Irson clicked his tongue – a small tribute to Enaor's artistry – while Enaor, pressing his ears back, hissed like a viper at Restes, dealing him a telepathic blow. Talia dashed towards the conspirator and plunged the needle of a sleeping fir in his arm for good measure. Restes wobbled, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. He began to fall forward, but suddenly stood up straight and aimed a dark rod at Enaor – no, not a rod, more like a pipe of some sort, dimpled evenly like a waffle. The Eale knocked the conspirator's strange weapon out of his fingers with a casual wave of his hand, then opened his mouth to cast another spell... and then froze, blinking his eyes lethargically.

Irson rushed to his aid. Popping through the portal, he hurled a paralyzing spell at Restes just as Talia threw a heavy stone at the his "uncle." Both the spell and the stone hit their target, but Restes didn't even flinch. He froze in his tracks, arms rigid at his sides, staring into the gathering dusk of the garden. Blood was dripping from his scraped cheekbone onto his chest.

Inon appeared from behind the corner. He charged towards his companions with all his might, while keeping his eyes screwed shut for reasons unknown. Meanwhile, something truly bizarre was happening with Enaor. The Eale had shifted and began spinning like a top, as if a crab had grabbed him by the tail, then clawed the ground with his paws, sniffed at it and leapt into the bushes.

In the same instant, Restes winced and took to his heels. Irson rushed after him, uttering another spell as he went. Talia picked the pipe up, examined it quickly, and suddenly bawled at the top of her lungs:

"Irson, stop! Stop! It's very important!"

The Tanae turned back sharply, almost crashing into Inmelion.

"What is it?" he asked, running up to Talia.

"Selorn's Waffle... It's like a portal for telepathic blows! No time to explain! You can't let it self-destruct. If we save it, we'll find out who it belongs to."

"You know how it self-destructs?"

"There's a fire spell... hold on... arc-17 or 18 under the Lindorg classification system. Grrr! Enaor told me, but I forgot the number. It takes effect in two minutes if the pipe is taken even a few feet away from its owner."

"Can it be deactivated?"

"Only if you know the telepathic code that's the signal. We'll never guess it, not a chance. We've got to think of something else. Well, you've got to," Talia added guiltily, handing the pipe to Irson.

"It's bad," the Tanae mumbled, casting a spell of discriminating vision on it. "This arc of yours is everywhere... like blood vessels under the skin. It's impossible to dig out."

"No way?"

"No way."

"The poor waffle. We're going to lose it. What a terrible shame!"

The seconds were passing rapidly, and Irson decided to chance it.

"Let's try freezing it. But step back – if it blows up, there'll be a crater here the size of your living room."

Knowing perfectly well that any attempt at a counter spell would cause an explosion, Irson decided to use one of his potions. Outlining a large rectangle in the air, he made a motion as if opening a cupboard, and several rows of shelves appeared before him that had been hidden in his spatial pocket. Snatching one of the vials, Irson pulled the cork out with his teeth. The Tanae's face was instantly covered in frost, and his lips turned blue. Paying no mind, he armed himself with a pipette and filled it with a substance the color of blue acid. He leaned over the rod. "Better be sure to hit the right points..." Irson whispered, peering at the rod as the spell's fiery threads weaved in and out amongst themselves. They swelled and swelled, like clogged arteries that were about to burst. I'm a Tanae after all... and we Tanae are lucky bastards! thought Irson, and started dripping the potion into the "waffle's" nooks. The rod shook, gave off an ear-splitting hiss, and... cooled in Irson's open palm, now a barely smoldering firebrand.

"You're a genius, Irson Trimm! Have I told you that before? No? Well, I'm saying it now – a genius!" Talia jumped on the Tanae ecstatically.

"Whew! Away you go!" Irson laughed, carefully laying the rod on a shelf.

"Let's hope things are going as well for Inon!" Talia cried, diving into the bushes.

Her hopes were about half realized: the priest had managed to contain the conspirator, as Restes was hunched up on the entry to the gazebo. The fingers of both his hands had grown to his leg, and instead of a mouth he had an ugly fold of skin. His eyes bulged as he tried to counter Inon's priestly "magic." Alas, the adept of the Merciful himself didn't look much better. His pale face gleamed with sweat, pouring over his firmly shut eyelids.

"In, what happened to you?!" Talia asked; she extended her hand to the priest, but didn't dare touch his shoulder.

"I don't know," he spat through clenched teeth. "I'm barely holding him. Body and soul."

"Well, why don't you deal with his soul, and we'll take care of the body?" Irson suggested.

"No. Absolutely not. The slightest push and his soul will slip away. I need to brace myself on something. Better tie him up with something non-magical. Talia, get the needles out of my pocket! First the needles, then all the rest."

"Want to play Seamstress? We'll tack his ghost to his rump roast!... as it were," the an Kamian sang, leaning over Restes.

Long sharpened crystals sparkled in her hands. Talia stabbed the "needles" one after another into Restes' flesh, pinning his soul to his body as one would a rare butterfly to a display board.

"A Veindor priest is in fact helping him, right?" she suddenly asked.

"I'm not sure..." Inon mumbled.

"You're not sure, or you don't want to believe it? Cut it out, In. Plenty of religions have undergone schisms."

Inon opened his eyes and looked at her with an expression of fatigue and despair.

"This... this priest must be much closer to the Merciful than I am, much, much stronger. But he's holding back for some reason..."

"Not he, she!" Talia stuck her index finger into the air.

Irson tucked the end of the anti-magical rope into her hand and sat down next to her, preparing to tie up the prisoner.

"Well hello, Uncle Restes..." he carefully lifted the man and suddenly recoiled, pushing Talia away from the conspirator with all his strength. A great black welt swelled up on his "uncle's" back. It looked like an octopus' head.

"Inon? Talia?" shouted the Tanae.

"I'm holding him!" the priest called out, and Talia nodded. Irson dealt his blow: two greenish streaks of lightning, twisted like sprigs of ivy, struck the welt. A whole wave of blinding light sprung from them that made all three of them wince.

When the "Death's assistants" opened their eyes, they saw that Restes had been thrown deep into the gazebo. Now rid of his amorphic "rider," he was lying on his side and trembling slightly – pitiful and pathetic, as befitted a defeated enemy. But this idyll didn't last long. Pulling in his other leg, Restes sat up abruptly and, giving off a short chuckle, fell onto his other side. Then, "fell" wasn't exactly the right word. He literally dove into the floor, as if toppling from a low bridge into dark water.

"Holy owl's belch!" Irson swore, leaping across the wide porch.

It was dark in the gazebo, although the Tanae managed to make out a spot in the dark – a living blob crawling towards the wall, to where the darkness was pitch black. Irson threw a bracing spell after him, but wasn't sure whether it hit the mark. Something was wrong with the magical atmosphere.

"What is it, some kind of portal?" asked Talia, who had just caught up.

"More likely the mouth of a spatial sack. I tried to stop it from closing. We'll see if it worked," Irson said, lighting a magical fire.

The darkness fled for a second, and the two companions discovered that the gazebo ceiling was covered in something porous, like a sponge saturated in pitch to its core. Lumps of this thing hovered all around, like bits of meat in jelly. One of them darted towards the little fire and, with a whistle, absorbed it. Talia clicked her tongue.

"I guess that means we can't do sorcery here?"

"Nope. It'll absorb all our magic, digest it and, most likely, send it back to us with interest. Damnation! And look, it's spreading to the windows already!" hissed Irson.

"And it sticks to your skin!" Talia danced around on the spot, shaking her hand as if a leech were stuck on each finger. "What if we try to burn it off with something Harnian? I have several fire rings and rods, all sorts of stones. Let's scorch it once and for all – let this crap choke on the fire!"

"We won't have time. My bracing spell won't hold for long. Restes'll draw the mouth of his spatial sack shut, and we almost certainly won't be able to get him out of there after that."

"Well, how can we find him then?"

Irson looked around. The gazebo's entire floor looked evenly dark, except for the trail of Talia's tracks, slowly fading and cooling off to the left.

"Looks like this thing can adjust to the temperature of its environment!"

"Yup. Can't see squat! Are we supposed to look for him by touch?" The an Kamian bit her lip, which stood out brightly from the rush of blood.

By force of will the Tanae focused his eyes so as to perceive any magical emanations – still nothing. Not a trace of a heating system or dirt-repellant spell in the gazebo, no threads of signals against which the black stain of a mouth would stick out for lacking its own magical emanations, but, on the contrary, absorbing magic like a sponge.

Talia ran out of the gazebo and came back with a rope.

"Inon's no use to us. He's in a bad shape, can't even move. Maybe we can try running the rope along the floor – it might hook onto it? The mouth is completely physical in nature, right?"

Irson shook his finger at the rambunctious an Kamian.

"Maybe you should take a break from wild fantasies and turn on your Alaean instincts?"

"They're on full blast!" Talia assured him. "But there's no point."

She plopped down on the floor; Irson could barely make out the pale lights of her eyes in the darkness around them. Somewhere beyond the gazebo walls the grasshoppers whirred mockingly...

"We need to spray something magical here. Or pour something," the Tanae finally suggested. "Drawing magic out of liquid is a lot harder than out of air. Perhaps you have some perfume, or wine?"

"At home. We don't have time," Talia shook her head. "And there's nothing here... Wait! Keep a look out, I'll be back in a sec!"

She darted outside once again. Irson heard branches cracking, a melodious ringing sound, and suddenly that same ottoman made of gigantic caviar flew through the door, gliding on a rusty transport platform Talia was pushing.

"There. Praise Alasais, I hadn't yet thought of where to put it, otherwise there's no dog's tail way we could've dragged it here without magic! Well, shall we begin?" the an Kamian asked, tossing a fish egg in her palms.

"What will happen to them..." Irson hesitated for a split second, looking at the unsuspecting baby fish with pity.

"What do they care?!" Talia waved the concern away. "They're not real. But it's a darn shame to lose the sofa!" she sobbed, and pricked the springy surface with her claw.

Irson got a knife and began to help. In a few minutes the entire gazebo floor was covered with a thin layer of liquid, glowing dimly with magic. The sponge lumps immediately flew at it, like bees to honey, but it was too late – Irson had glimpsed the mouth of the sack. It looked like a tear in thin blue silk.

"There it is!" Talia exclaimed. "We've got to drag the sofa base over – this tray! We'll put it in the aquarium! Then it won't crawl away!"

This proved to be no simple task. The "sponge" had already sucked all the magic out of the transport platform, rendering it about as useful as a fallen horse. Clenching their teeth from the exertion, the Tanae and the Alae removed the glass box from it, dragged it across the floor and covered the insidious blotch.

"Look, it's shrunk almost three times smaller," said Irson, panting. "My bracing spell is barely holding. We need something..."

"A brace! That's it! You're a genius for a second time!" Talia darted towards the wall and came back with a glass chair, its back as wide as a hand, apparently designed for someone with wings.

"Abyss glass?![1]" Irson cried joyfully.

"We keep no other kind!" Talia announced proudly. "Ready to lift?"

They set the tray aside and the an Kamian shoved the chair's back into the mouth.

"Ha, today we are literally like a bur in the throat!" she chuckled, wiping her hands, red from the exertion... when the chair suddenly jumped, its leg barely missing her nose. Talia grunted in frustration and threw herself on the seat, digging the claws of her feet into the floor.

"Get back!" Irson cried and heaped the tray onto the chair's legs with a jerk.

Talia quickly hopped on top of the structure.

__________________________

[1] Abyss Glass (bys-glas) – the strongest material in Enhiarg. Magic cannot pass through it. It also makes the use of certain racial ("non-magical") abilities of children of the Nae considerably more difficult, telepathic abilities in particular. It is manufactured solely in the Abyss city of Laennes; the method of production is kept strictly secret. Levies on carrying bys-glas out of Lennes are extremely high, even by Naeric standards. This mostly concerns weapons and armor, every day goods to a lesser extent.