My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul

Who knew the emptiness could be so cold?

I've lost the parts of me that make me whole

-- Starset, Monster

"I'm sorry, what?"

Of all the things Abi had expected Ilaran to say to her, this wasn't it. She stared at him blankly while she tried to make sense of his question.

Ilaran repeated himself slowly and clearly, looking as if he thought she was an idiot for not understanding at once. "I said, have you felt anything unusual since the incident?"

No one who knew what had happened could bear to acknowledge it. They called it just "the incident", as if by refusing to name it they could lessen how frightening it had been. And it had been frightening. Abi could see that now much clearer than she had when it was happening. Venturing into the Land of the Dead to bring someone back wasn't normal, and there were all sorts of things that could have gone wrong.

"I have nightmares sometimes," she said. 'Sometimes' was an understatement. At least once every night her sleep was disrupted by a nightmare. She couldn't always remember what they'd been about, but they made her lie awake for hours, too afraid to go back to sleep.

"You haven't felt... ill?"

Abi blinked and looked more closely at Ilaran. Now that she noticed it, he really did look ill. He'd always been pale but now he was practically colourless. In fact she had an odd feeling that he'd been transparent when she first looked at him.

"No, I haven't," she said. "What's wrong with you? You look awful."

Ilaran grimaced. "I don't know what's wrong with me yet."

Something in his tone rang false. Abi thought that at the time and she continued to think it after he left. No matter what he said, she couldn't shake off the feeling he did know what was wrong.

Hopefully it's nothing serious, she thought.

Not only had she given up on necromancy, she had never been very good at it in the first place. If it turned out whatever was wrong with Ilaran was something serious, Abi wouldn't have a clue how to fix it.

That thought gave her yet another nightmare when she tried to sleep.

Eventually the novelty wore off everything, even having his own money. Irímé now had plenty of clothes, plenty of books, and an assortment of imitation flowers he'd bought on impulse one day. He would have no shortage of things to put in his room when he went to Tananerl. Indeed, there was a chance he would have a lot of trouble finding space for everything. So he stopped buying new things before he bankrupted himself. It was bad enough that he still had to stay in the same hotel as his mother. He didn't want to be forced to beg her for money because he'd squandered all of his own.

Without shopping to distract him, he found his thoughts going back to being a dragon. Now that he was no longer trapped in an unfamiliar form and being gawked at by rude strangers, he no longer felt quite such antipathy for the idea of turning into a dragon again. In fact he was starting to feel curious about trying it again. Thanks to Shizuki he knew how to change back, so he could avoid a repeat of the fiasco at the palace. So why shouldn't he try again? It was a waste of perfectly good magical powers if he never used them.

Just over a week after the Incident Irímé left the hotel and got on a train. He travelled to a small town on the outskirts of the city. From there he walked along the riverbank until he came to the most secluded place he could find. It was a small clearing in the forest that grew on either side of the river. Irímé took the precaution of leaving the path through the forest and walking closer to the river itself. Here there was less chance of being discovered by someone out for a walk.

He closed his eyes and thought of being a dragon. When he opened them again he was disappointed. Nothing had happened at all.

Again and again he tried. Every attempt was a failure. Annoyance and frustration began to build in his chest.

Why is it that I can become a dragon when I don't want to but can't when I do? he thought, exasperated.

Irímé was on the point of giving up entirely. But something within him rebelled at the idea of going home. He'd come all this way, deliberately looking for a place where he wouldn't run into a single person, without telling Abi or anyone else what he was planning. He might never have a better chance of learning how to control his magic. Giving up would make the whole thing a colossal waste of time.

He made one final attempt.

When books talked about people turning into animals they always made it sound like a very painful experience. Irímé had always known that was mostly rubbish. If it was so painful there wouldn't be so many shapeshifters around who changed forms when they felt like it, after all. He had been far too upset during the Incident to pay any attention to what he felt. But even so he had expected there would be some physical sensation accompanying a transformation. Discomfort, perhaps, or maybe mild pain.

He felt nothing at all when he tried again. That was why it was such a shock when he opened his eyes and found his head was now level with branches that had been far overhead a minute ago.

Someone yelled from somewhere to his right. Irímé's head swivelled round. He peered in alarm towards where the shout had come from. If he had to put up with yet more sightseers--

A small figure darted out of the undergrowth. It moved far too fast for Irímé's eyes to follow, especially when he was still getting used to his new vision. Something climbed up his side. He started violently. Then a weight settled around his neck like a scarf. At once Irímé realised what it was. His heartbeat returned to normal as he realised he wasn't being attacked.

He turned his head far enough to be able to see the snake curled around his neck. The snake stared up at him unrepentantly.

"Shizuki, just what do you think you're doing?"

Over the years Siarvin had gotten very good at finding out things other people wanted to keep hidden. It had been a necessary skill to survive in Haliran's house. Even before then it had been essential to stay alive in Tananerl. So when he found he was the only person currently in this part of Gihimayel Palace, he took the opportunity to do some investigating.

Ilaran had written something down last night. Then he'd thrown it away. It might still be in the bin. If so, it could give some clues to why he was behaving so strangely. Now that Siarvin thought about it, last night wasn't the first time Ilaran had complained of being hungry. Something odd was going on here. And if living with Haliran had taught him anything it was that he should always take note of anything odd.

The palace was eerily quiet. Koyuki was staying in the hotel and Shizuki had his own room beside the one Ilaran and Siarvin shared. He knocked on Shizuki's door. No answer. Either his adopted son was still asleep or he'd found something to amuse himself outside. Siarvin wasn't overly worried about him. He had an entire lifetime of experience in defending himself. Ilaran was another matter.

It was sad but true that his nephew might as well have been a complete stranger. The last time they'd met Ilaran had been Shizuki's age, still a prince of Ahalál, and still living with his mother. Their correspondence over the years since then had been infrequent and neither had ever been able to speak freely. They'd both known that Haliran read every word in their letters. No genuine friendship could be formed under the circumstances.

Siarvin didn't distrust Ilaran. Not exactly. He was just slightly wary of him. And that wariness was increasing thanks to Ilaran's odd behaviour.

The piece of paper was still in the bin. Siarvin fished it out and read it several times. It was written in Ilaran's native language. The pen had pressed down so heavily on the paper that it had almost torn it in at least two places. As for what it said...

First day. ??? Second day. Didn't notice. Third day. Think I noticed for the first time. Fourth day. Hungry more than usual. Fifth day. Hungry all the time. Sixth day. Same but worse. Seventh day. Starving.

The word "starving" was written in italics. Siarvin stared at it for a long time. He did some calculations. Assuming last night was the seventh day, then the first day was the day of... Well. It was the Incident.

Ilaran died, was brought back, and very quickly discovered he was hungry all the time. That led to a very unpleasant conclusion.

There was a reason necromancy was outlawed. No one knew exactly what it was. Siarvin could now make an educated guess.

What exactly had Abihira done? And more importantly, how could it be reversed?

"Did you follow me all the way here?"

Shizuki nodded. Irímé didn't know whether to be more alarmed or annoyed. He settled for giving Shizuki a very disapproving frown. Well, the most disapproving frown a dragon could manage, at any rate. It was difficult for a dragon to have any sort of expression.

"You shouldn't follow people like that."

"But I want to fly!" Shizuki said. "Come on, come on, fly!"

Irímé suppressed a groan. "I don't know how to fly."

Nor was he in any great hurry to learn. In the first place people would notice if a dragon flew overhead. And in the second he wasn't fond of heights. He was especially not fond of the idea of being up in the air, far too far above the ground for comfort, with nothing but his wings stopping him from falling. Apart from everything else he could just imagine what Siarvin would say if Shizuki was injured in an ill-advised flying attempt.

Shizuki pouted. How he managed that when he was still a snake was a mystery. "Then learn how to fly!"

"No," Irímé said firmly.

He turned back into an immortal. Shizuki yelped as he found himself suddenly losing his grip. He fell off Irímé's neck and almost landed on the ground. Irímé caught him just in time. There was a confused and rather hair-raising moment as Shizuki wrapped himself around Irímé's chest and tightened his coils almost painfully.

"Let go!" Irímé wheezed.

Shizuki let go. He slithered down to the ground and turned back into a boy. At once he folded his arms and glared at Irímé. "I want to fly!"

How did you deal with a child who was absolutely set on getting their way, even though their way was a terrible idea? Irímé didn't know. He'd never had many interactions with children, not even when he was a child himself. He racked his brain for memories of seeing adults deal with situations like this. In desperation he fell back on the one sure way to make a child do something.

"I can't take you flying today. Do you want ice cream instead?"

Shizuki considered this for a minute. At last he nodded. "But you have to take me flying some day! Promise!"

"I promise," Irímé said reluctantly. After all, 'some day' was vague enough to mean anything. Two hundred years in the future would still count as 'some day'.

Ilaran hadn't really expected to get any help from Abihira. All he'd learnt was that she apparently did not suffer from constant hunger. Which meant that his symptoms were probably the result of dying and being brought back rather than simply being in the Land of the Dead. How was he to cure that? Die again and demand Death undo whatever had happened to him?

By now he was so used to feeling hungry that he could almost ignore it. Funny, how quickly a person could get used to something. He ignored it all the way back to Gihimayel Palace. He ignored it until he couldn't any more.

In theory the guards were on duty. In practice they were all in the guard-house, squealing excitedly about something. One of them made a half-hearted attempt at standing guard some of the time. Ilaran got back just as that one guard left the gate and went into the guard-house. The minute Ilaran saw the guard he was overwhelmed by an obsessive need to kill, eat, so hungry need food NEED FOOD--

He stumbled and fell to his knees as he fought back the urge to attack. The guard disappeared into the small building, blissfully unaware of how much danger he was in. Ilaran got up and staggered towards the palace. An increasingly loud voice at the back of his head screamed at him to kill the guards. He staggered through the front door and slammed it behind him. His hands were suddenly stiff and refused to obey him, but he tried to lock the door anyway.

Under the circumstances he wasn't thinking clearly. He'd forgotten there were probably other people in the house.

A door opened behind him.

"Ilaran?"

He spun round. Through the mist that had descended on his vision he saw how Siarvin recoiled from him in horror. The voice returned again. When Ilaran fought to regain control of his body he found he'd moved towards Siarvin without realising it.

"Stay away from me!" Ilaran shouted. Talking had become difficult now. His tongue refused to form the words. "Get out!"

He half-stumbled, half-fell into his bedroom. He shoved the bolt across and tried to push a table in front of the door. In the middle of doing that the voice completely took over. He couldn't fight it off any more. There was a living person on the other side of the door and he.

Was.

So.

Hungry.

For a minute Siarvin was frozen in shock. His mind replayed Ilaran -- no, something that wore Ilaran's face -- preparing to lunge at him. The look in his eyes had resembled nothing so much as a wild and starving animal's. The memory of that chilled Siarvin to the bone.

A terrible crash resounded from Ilaran's room. It sounded as if something had fallen against the door with great force. Disregarding common sense Siarvin reached for the doorknob. Then the crash came again. It was repeated several times. The door shook with the force of it. With a shudder Siarvin realised Ilaran was throwing himself at the door.

Finally he realised how serious the situation was. He remembered the note Ilaran had thrown away. He thought of the look in his eyes. They added up to a horrible and deadly picture.

Siarvin unlocked the front door. He paused to pull the table in the hall over to stand partly in front of the door. That would temporarily delay any pursuit. Then he locked the door behind him and ran as fast as he could.

Only one person might possibly be able to help. He had to find Abihira.