THE TOUR

©May 1997
By Katrina

Pt 60
Level 3

"We can’t go back and we can’t stay out here," Oriena said. She glanced at her tribemates grimly, wearily. Oriena nodded her head at the heavy wooden door of the entranceway. She couldn’t really articulate more. It was too hot to think. "Open it."

They knew what she meant. Returning to the field of the pillars was too dangerous to even contemplate, but then, so was what was behind them. If they were to have any chance at all, it would be in this building.

Marcus wiped sweat from his brow and examined the door quickly, looking for weaknesses. He didn’t see any. Perhaps it was unlocked though. Taking a chance, the burly man grasped the handle and pulled.

Nothing happened.

Cursing, he yanked harder at the door, even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. The door still didn’t open.

Then, as if a candle had been abruptly blown out, things went truly dark and eerily silent. It was so dark Marcus couldn’t see his hand or his companions. It was so silent that he couldn’t hear himself breathing, though, blessedly, he could feel it.

So that’s what he concentrated on, feeling his breath, feeling where his body was.

He reached out with his free hand, knowing – hoping that his man was there. He was relieved to feel the firmness of a body, a strong slim forearm. Not Perdicus, but Oriena. When he found her hand, she clutched his reflexively, but released him in favor of the hold she had on the Queen. She did, however, move closer to him, until he felt the Amazon press against his back.

Then he felt a strong, familiar touch and, with it, a rush of relief. Perdicus.

They huddled close together, taking comfort in each other’s presence against the sudden bleak night. The air around them began to cool, almost as quickly and thoroughly as it had grown hot before.

There was a snap of light, blue and quick and then another and another. It seemed to happen all around them, fast and harsh against their eyes. There was a hum, like the sound of summer insects, which started softly at first and then grew. It pressed on them, a tangible weight, so heavy it Marcus thought it would crush the breath from them.

Then, as Marcus was raising his arm to shield his eyes he saw her and saw her again. It was Izacon. She moved with every flash of light. First here, then there - in the alley, on the main road, and who knew where else. She moved faster than a hummingbird, faster than anything he had ever seen, until it was as if she were everywhere at once.

His mind formed a picture of her, though how, he could not say. His skin prickled with awesome dread. Izacon looked taller than he remembered and more frightening than the flight of the pillars had been. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly white and her hair, whiter than her skin, was spread out and waving as if she were walking in Poseidon’s realm, rather than this desert. Her eyes were devoid of any glow at all.

Marcus' mouth was dry with panic, but he tried to call out to the Tartaran anyway, because he knew must. Contact, as much as he feared it, had to be made. This was, after all, Izacon. He knew her. He just didn't know if she knew him anymore.

His voice, however, was not there to make the call. Marcus screwed up his courage. Maybe, if he moved quickly enough, he could catch her, and get her attention somehow. He knew there was no way he was fast enough, but if he could put himself in her way at all…

He didn’t let himself have a second thought.

He pushed away from his tribemates, jumped towards the image, the flicker of Izacon, and made a grab.

The big man missed. She had been there and, with the disorienting affect of the wavering light, gone. Stumbling, he hit the ground with a solid smack and slide that guaranteed his skin was going to be scraped and bleeding.

Zeus’ Balls! Wincing from the pain, Marcus pushed himself off the ground and forced his body up the wall until he was standing. He braced himself to try again and, this time, realizing his mistake, He leapt without trying to guess where she might be.

He missed again and again, and he felt as if he were swimming through sound and light itself. He kept trying though, over and over, until he could hardly stand. And finally, at the last moment, when his breath finally failed him, and his legs couldn't bear him, he stumbled.

And barely collided with the fearsome light that was Izacon.

Marcus wailed at the pain, helpless against the strike of power than ran through him from the contact. And she felt hit. He knew she did from the way her own mouth was opened in thrall to this horrible pain. He saw it and he realized he had always been seeing her screaming her pain. Only now he was feeling it too.

They were ripped apart, separated by a force stronger than he had ever encountered. Marcus felt himself flying though the air as if he had been placed into one of a warlord's catapults and flung. He saw Izacon being thrown the other way, far and farther than he could even see.

A second explosive sound crackled through the city and complete dark fell again.

Marcus landed with a palpable and somewhat squishy thud upon the empty, crumbled street and lay there in solemn relief. Yes there was pain, but nothing like he had just felt. His body was broken, but his voice was freed. He whispered his companion grief, spare and compassionate. "Oh, Izacon." Then he closed his eyes and died.

Then, as if the sun were rising for the first time, there was light, warm and serene and the sparkling domed spires rose into a sky that didn't rage anymore.

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