My memory skittered over just when it had transitioned: for now the manic laughter was gone, but what replaced it yanked my mind back to earlier terrors.
 
I lay on my back, arms like taut ropes, bed sheet fisted in both white-knuckled hands at my sides. I gaped at the coiling, constrictor-like creatures on the ceiling, some the girth of a man’s thigh; a myriad of eyes pulsed yellow-to-red-to-orange, like fanned coals; elsewhere, spoked, gray wings flapped and slapped against each other as massive bat-like birds tried to disentangle themselves and lift off. I reminded myself, as I had before, it was all torchlight and shadows—but why, then, could I now feel the wind of their whipping wings? My pulse throbbed in my throat, and I cowered against the vision of a viper slithering across the bullfrog's face, over the surface of one eye, while the other eye blinked tranquilly. The frog’s mouth was clamped to a thin line, but out of the corner a tiny diaphanous wing protruded. Percy’s legacy.
 
Feeling nauseous, I concentrated on slowing my heartbeat. Torchlight, shadows. I willed my biceps and forearms to slacken and managed to wiggle my fingers. Taking in a breath, I released it and sucked in another. I closed my eyes and studied the mechanics of my breathing: the slow, massive, rising wave of it, sucking up everything beneath it; reaching its zenith, it struggled to rise higher still, as though sensing death was in its release, and then feathering, it crashed and emptied everything back to the dry sea floor … and into my breath-craving lungs. Another wave waited to swell, to realize its arc's crowning peak, then die once more into another waiting swell and after that, another, and still another.
 
I rolled to my side, pushed myself up to sit, my legs hanging over the edge, took another breath and pushed off to the floor. My legs barely held my weight. Bending, I braced my hands against my thighs, all the while keeping my eyes trained to the floor.
 
I made the bed with slow, studied movements. The moment I stopped thinking, for even an instant, about what my next move was, my hand collapsed to the bed, followed by the other—awaiting instruction. Still I persisted. Over what seemed like a half-hour, but what was, in all likelihood—given the pliancy of time—only five minutes, I finished making the bed.
 
Then, on my hands and knees, I picked up all the buttons and the wadded shirt Axtilla, in her passion, had ripped off me in the early hours of the morning. Recalling it, I felt the corners of my mouth start to twitch into a smile, but found myself, instead, burying my face in the shirt, my throat burning from the claws of new sobs. Axtilla … Where are you, Axtilla? Lumbering to my feet, I wiped my eyes and nose and tossed the shirt in the shadowed back of the closet. I labored with the effort of changing into my last clean shirt, buttoned it with fingers that felt twice their size, and—head down—shambled to the round table to await Rhuether’s arrival.
 
I no sooner sank into the chair than I heard two short raps on the door, followed by two more, a bit louder.
 
The pliancy of time.
   
Rhuether sat stiffly across from me in full military dress, complete with blue and red ribbons and medals of gold and silver, all of which contrasted with his tailored jacket of the purest white; a gold epaulet blossomed atop each shoulder. A one-inch gold stripe ran the length of his cerulean-blue trousers. His ceremonial sword which had hung almost to the floor when he entered, now lay across his lap. His black shoes had been polished to such a high sheen that the torchlight flickered on their surface.
 
Despite his grandeur, he couldn't conceal his weariness.
 
"Pondria," he said, his eyelids slow-opening and then closing with exaggerated languor. He offered me a smile, and his eyes again slipped closed and remained so until my greeting caused them to snap open.
 
"Glnot," I answered, returning a smile.
 
I didn't want to smile. Nor did I want to engage him in small talk that would lead to discussing his Mojo assignments, and inevitably, questions about Axtilla's and my assignments. Somewhere in the midst of it all would loom his excited plans for tomorrow's wedding … and it would all be preparatory—would all funnel down—to the disclosure that I had to share, a disclosure that my own mind chose to waver on the brink of shattering rather than to accept. “Was it a long night, Glnot?”
 
He nodded before he opened his mouth to speak, then continued nodding throughout his answer. “Yes, it was, Brother. The Mojo was a stern master.”
 
I nodded as well, and my eyes roved toward his right hand that lay across the scabbard of his sword, his thumb tracing the contour of one of the decorative jewels. If any good would come of our being together, it would be giving me something to focus on. It would keep me out of myself, away from the craziness that seemed on its way to possessing me just a few moments ago. Time was my ally. At some point I would be forced to cross a line, to commit myself to an action that would be irreversible. I had to be mentally prepared for that first step. Simply thinking of my earlier terrors caused my eyes to flicker toward the ceiling before an act of the sheerest will brought them back.
 
 I glanced over to Rhuether. He had been watching me all the while, and at that moment, he inclined his head, and seemed to survey the ceiling. He turned back to me. "Remind me after the wedding to have the artwork cleaned. There are so many peaks and valleys for dust to cling to.” He laughed. “Sometimes, when the light is just right—"
 
"Yes,” I said too quickly, then cleared my throat. "Yes, I'll remind you."
 
We were both quiet a moment, then Rhuether let out a noisy exhale through his nose. He shrugged. "Well? I'm here. You said this was an important part of the Mojo assignment."
 
I nodded and tried to remember what my reason had been for having him return to my room after his assignment. The only reason that made any sense was to give me the opportunity to learn more of the planning stages of the wedding ceremony. Had Axtilla and I been able to strategize the execution, last night, then today's conversation might provide the where and the how of carrying it out.
 
Rhuether chuckled. "I was so afraid I would run into Axtilla on my way over here. With what you told me about how unforgiving the Mojo—"
 
"Did you perform your assignments in your military uniform?"
 
White encircled his silver irises. "I wasn't—you didn't tell me what to wear!"
 
"There're no Mojo restrictions. I was curious, that’s all. It seems uncomfortable.”
 
“I thought it appropriate given the assignment’s seriousness."
 
“Ah … true. And it went well … the assignments?” I took a breath and offered him what I hoped was an expression of relaxed expectation. Trying to avoid the discussion, or where it might lead, was like avoiding a … pomnot in the room.
 
“I read the required material and followed each segment with the timed meditation. I performed everything to the letter.”
 
“Good.”
 
“And yours and Axtilla’s …?” His eyes roved from chin to  mouth, causing me to wonder if I was trembling, and then settled on my eyes. “How did your … assignments go?”
 
I took a very slow, deep, hopefully concealed breath before I answered. “Well.” I sniffed. “They went … well.”
 
He scratched his cheek while one corner of his mouth tipped up and a pink flush began to rise from under his collar, to suffuse his face. “Did she—is she agreeable, then? I mean, to let you give her away?”
 
“Remember, it was her idea to begin with.”
 
“Yes, but you and I both know …” Another wave of redness swept over what had started to fade. “We know it was her way of—I’m sorry, but her way of humiliating you. I’d hoped that … given all the time you’d have together—”
 
“She’s …” I interrupted, but was overcome by a wave of acidic nausea. I waited for it to pass, and then, noting his puzzled expression, muttered an apology and pointed to my throat as I cleared it. “I swallowed wrong.” I shook my head. “Anyway, she’s over that, Glnot.”
 
He beamed and his eyes misted. “That means more to me than you know, Brother.” He blinked, waited, I thought for my comment, and then nodded.
 
I didn’t like the turn this had suddenly taken. I wanted—I needed—to feel complete, unwavering hatred. It wouldn’t be easy to execute one who cared for my feelings. I needed to fill my mind with images of the other, the real Rhuether.
 
I revisited the image of Chiel crawling around the floor, picking up the scattered food from Rhuether’s flung plate that had shattered. Then there was the bruised and puffy face of Corl, the tailor, who hadn’t finished my jacket according to Rhuether’s timetable. And now, this uniform. Was this the ceremonial uniform Rhuether had worn after he'd overthrown the emperor of the Far Northern Province to begin his reign? Was he wearing it when he greeted his throngs of new followers, the commoners who knelt before their Almighty Master, posing on the dais above them? Did the Almighty Master deign a glance down also at the four stakes, one bearing the head of the deposed emperor, looking a little naked and embarrassed, and the others of his generals, staring with fish-eyed bewilderment?
 
“Glnot,” I started, about to broach the dreaded subject of the wedding myself, as much to avoid Rhuether’s amazement over Axtilla’s transformation as to lay the groundwork for a strategy to destroy him. I halted in mid-sentence, though, when a wisp of perfumed air from somewhere behind me brushed like a warm breath across my right cheek, circled in front, lingering at my lips, seeming to circle them, then turning and rising at an angle, sweeping past my ear, leaving behind a sound like a sigh.
 
Rhuether cocked his head, grinning. “You find my name amusing, Brother?”
 
“Amusing?” I asked, trying to control my fluttering breath.
 
He nodded. “You said ‘Glnot’, and then you started smiling.” He stared at me, waiting.
 
My mind raced to invent a plausible reason for smiling. The last thing I’d told him was that Axtilla no longer felt the need to humiliate me. While that might have been something to celebrate, it was hardly reason to smile. Help me, Axtilla …
 
A bramble of voices outside the door drew Rhuether’s attention away from me. His face twisted in fury as he leapt from his chair and spun toward the door, his sword clattering against the chair legs. “This better be important!” he shouted.
 
“Not me …” The muffled voice in the hallway sounded very near tears. A thud against the wall rattled the door. “You—you were in charge.”
 
“You found the two.”
 
“Both of you—all of you—get in here!” Rhuether squared his shoulders and glowered at the door.
 
The door opened a crack.
 
“Did you hear me?” Rhuether screamed, the veins at the sides of his neck bulging.
 
A head peeked through. “Almighty Master—”
 
“Yes! Yes! What? Where are my guards?”
 
The door opened wider and three others entered, one holding a crossbow at his side. The two who weren’t armed pushed their way to the front, but still stopped short of approaching Rhuether.
 
“Which one of you has a voice?” Rhuether glanced over his shoulder at me, gave me a pained smile, his head a quick shake, and turned back. “Well? Come on, men ….”
 
One of the two in the front glared at me, his eyes narrowing, and then turned to Rhuether. “Almighty Master, you told us to guard the door and not let anyone in for any reason while you,” he jerked his head toward me, “and the prisoner were talking.”
 
“You will answer later for the reason you chose to disobey me.” He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Right now someone had better start talking."

                TO BE CONTINUED:
  DOCTREX: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, GENERAL OF THE KABEEZAN ARMY, IN LOVE WITH AXTILLA. At the book’s beginning, he is discovered by Axtilla on the Kyrean shore, unconscious, near death from a wound on his side. She heals him, over time, in her cave. He has no memory. She is convinced he is Pondria, Glnot Rhuether’s brother, returned from the sea to fulfill Kyre’s prophesy, and bring about the dreaded Trining.      Later, when Axtilla gets bitten by a viper and is near death, Doctrex carves an “X” in the bite and sucks out the venom. At the moment he is sure she is dying, she wakes from her coma. He’s astounded to see her wound is healed. For what he tried to do, she humorously names him Doctor “X”. He combines the syllables and is known thereafter as Doctrex.      She comes to fear him less, and it seems she has feelings for him. They bond together to face and destroy Rhuether, thus fulfilling prophecy.     They get separated.     Axtilla goes on alone to the Palace, is captured, then is purported to have become engaged to Rhuether.      Doctrex joins the Kabeezan Military who are travelling to the Far Northern Province to battle Rhuether’s forces.      Ultimately is captured and turned over to Rhuether at the Palace of Qarnolt.

AXTILLA: THUMBNAIL: PROTAGONIST, BANISHED BY HER PEOPLE TO THE CAVES BY THE KYREAN SEA, WHERE SHE FINDS DOCTREX. In the opening of the book, she finds him unconscious on the shore of the Kyrean Sea. She’s convinced he is Pondria. Already she has been banished by her people, the Kyreans, for publicly warning them to beware of the insidious deceit of Pondria (Rhuether’s brother), who would come among them with honeyed words, but destructive intentions. Axtilla’s god is the great Kyre. Axtilla had been the only keeper of the sacred “Tablets of Kyre”, instructed by her father (at that time the leader of the backsliding Kyrean people) to commit the tablets to memory. When she accomplished this, she develops the ability to communicate with Kyre through her dreams.       So now she makes a pact with Doctrex to fulfill the Kyrean Prophesy by defeating Glnot Rhuether together. She gets separated from Doctrex and alone, she finds her way to Rhuether’s palace. She is captured, but later Rhuether announces she is to be his bride and empress.

GLNOT RHUETHER: THUMBNAIL: ANTAGONIST, EMPEROR OF THE FAR NORTHERN PROVINCE WHOSE AMBITION IS RULE OF ALL THE PROVINCES. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Glnot Rhuether will bring about the prophecy of the Trining, the destruction of the Kyrean Civilization. The only event that will prevent the Trining will be Rhuether’s destruction at the hands of Axtilla and Rhuether’s brother, Pondria. Rhuether, though, claims Axtilla has agreed to be his wife and empress and the wedding is forthcoming. Doctrex, who Axtilla believes is Pondria, is on a quest to join with Axtilla to bring about Rhuether’s destruction.

PONDRIA: THUMBNAIL: Pondria is Glnot Rhuether’s conjoined (at the ribs) twin brother, murdered when Rhuether separates him and throws him into the sea. According to the Tablets of Kyre, Pondria will be reborn from the sea for the purpose of fulfilling his part of the prophesy. "Pondria will move like sweet-tasting water among my people," Kyre warns, "and my people will drink the water and find it refreshing to their spirit. And even while they want more of the sweet tasting water, a slow poison begins to creep into their spirit." (See Axtilla, above)

Pomnot: One of the witless monsters of the Far Northern Province, considered "an expendible."  Think Big Foot.