“Play the women, to win."
She went to the female side. He went to stand behind the male array. His pieces were White, which meant he had the first move. He focused, willing it.
The boy standing before the king stepped forward two squares. Pawn to E4.
Ini's pawn girl stepped forward to D5.
Havoc smiled. This was likely to be interesting as a game, apart from its significance as an illusion setting.
They played it through, taking time to do it right. Havoc noticed with a certain fond bemusement that his king rather resembled himself, and the opposing queen resembled Ini when her features were visible. The illusion was still drawing on what it had. The male secondary pieces, the rooks, bishops, and knights, were all strong men in body with appropriate clothing and emblems: castle turret, triangular hat, horse's head. The female pieces were more delicate and interesting, because they were bare breasted. When a male piece took a female piece, he squeezed her and she swooned. When a female piece took a male piece, she kissed him and he stumbled dizzily from the board.
It was a good game, and Ini turned out to be the better player. The king, defenseless, was at last trapped in a corner, unable to escape. Seeing that, he lifted his sword and stabbed himself through the chest. He fell dead, untouched by any woman. Had it gone the other way, the queen surely would have taken poison rather than be raped by one of the males.
And the scene shifted. It was the new setting. It hadn't mattered who won, just that the game be fully played.
“Report: chess motif navigated. Next illusion field is a city, but not like any I have seen. Towering buildings, cloudy sky, vehicles flying magically above the streets. Throngs of people below.” He glanced at Ini, nulling the vision. “Direction."
Ini approached. PAUSE. PROBLEM.
That was not good. “Problem?"
Weft has entered the illusion zone and is lost therein.
Havoc felt a wash of irritation, pride, and despair. That willful child had slipped her halter and followed him in. That showed initiative and commitment, but also reckless nerve. This was certainly mischief; how could he make his way through the visions, knowing that his daughter's life was threatened? For she could certainly blunder into real danger.
“I must fetch her,” he said anxiously.
AGREEMENT. BUT YOU SHOULD NOT GO ALONE LEST YOU ALSO BE LOST.
She had more than a point. “You must mark the site, and Red and Gray must mark the route."
THEREFORE DEVA WILL GO WITH YOU.
Havoc felt a blast of ire from the direction of the Red Glamor that even the illusion couldn't entirely mask. Red had made no secret of her hope to get him alone and seduce him; it was a game with her. Now Deva, the Yellow Glamor of Demons, would have that chance instead. But that was only a peripheral concern for him; he wanted to find Weft in a hurry, and Deva would surely be as helpful as any. “Appreciation."
In a moment she appeared. She looked like a classic vampire with excellent fangs, but he recognized her even before nulling the vision because not all her fiery halo had faded. She carried no plaque, but could surely communicate well enough without it.
“Can you track me?” he asked her.
In a moment Ini held up her plaque. By sound. Whistle as you walk.
He pursed his lips and whistled tunelessly. Deva nodded. Good enough.
Now he focused on Weft. He knew her well; she was his favored child, in the theoretically neutral ambiance of the family, and they had a mind connection. He oriented, and felt its faint trace. He nulled the vision halfway, paying attention to walls and trees because of his experience with the formidable illusion of touch.
Weft was not in the vision city. Her signal was from another direction. He found a street leading that way and followed it, knowing he would soon be out of that particular illusion field.
He was. The chessboard squares reappeared, but the people had been replaced by animals of a number of types seen on Counter Charm. They were moving in one direction, like the gathering of winged people, but instead of a stage there was only a continuation of the path. Weft was that way, so he followed, with Deva following him. The path narrowed and crossed the surface of a sea, the animals treading it without concern.
Then the waves of the sea turned red and surged higher, lifting and twisting the path. Some of the animals were thrown off, to land in the water—where large snouts appeared to take hold and drag them screaming beneath. If Weft were caught in that, she would be terrified; she was not yet two years old.
The path curved, but Weft's mind did not. Havoc strode off the path, into the sea. He could see by nulling the vision that there was no sea, just level ground, but he felt the water swirling around his legs, then on up to immerse all of him. He choked; he knew it wasn't real, but he felt the water engulfing his face, cutting off his air.
He spread his arms and swam upward, reaching the illusion surface so that his head cleared the water. His real vision showed him still on the ground, but now he could breathe.
The scene had changed. The water was calm, leading to a tree-lined shore, a phenomenally colored skyscape above. Weft was there, somewhere.
He reached the shore and waded out to the trees. Beyond them were ornate buildings, tier on tier, each rising from mist like an island. The path reappeared, this time a huge ribbon of material suspended from great cables. Havoc had not seen anything like it on Charm; what was the illusion's source of this vision?
Weft was in one of the buildings, which now loomed like a castle of many turrets. He ran to it, but its monstrous doors were closed, and his touch would not pass through them. There seemed to be no handle or latch; how was he to open it?
Deva caught up to him. She lifted a hand to warn him back. Then she took hold of a metal ring fastened in the door, lifted its base, and let it fall. It struck the wood and made a sharp sound: a knock.
After a moment the door swung inward, opening. Inside was a gloomy jungle. He tried to relate to the trees, but they were illusion, having no reality. Too bad; real trees might have helped him, as he was their Glamor.
He tramped through the jungle, following Weft's trace. It led to a large-boled tree with a small door in it. This one had a handle. He opened it and entered a room that was much larger than the size of the tree could have allowed. On the wall hung pictures of bears dressed like a man, a woman, and a child. “The tale of the three bears!” he exclaimed.
Deva nodded. The illusions were now drawing from stories. Weft had heard that tale, and evidently understood enough of it to form the scene. Was she playing in it? There was after all a little girl therein; she was that.
A winding stair led to another floor. He followed it, the illusion accommodating him as he stepped though reality remained bare ground. Upstairs was a chamber with a small bed. The cover and sheets were rumpled; someone had just been there. Weft, taking a nap in baby Bear's bed? But where had she gone?
Deva pointed to an open window. Beyond it was a massive twisting vine, so gnarled and rough that it could be climbed. “Jack's beanstalk,” Havoc said, recognizing another children's story. Were they going to have to climb that to find Weft?
Deva stood before him, gesturing. What was on her mind? Did she have a better way to catch up to the child?
She took his hand and led him to another chamber. There was a larger bed, looking very soft. Mama Bear's. Deva lay down on it, beckoning him as she bared her breasts. The illusion made her look like an utter hag with rotting melons, but his null-vision showed her in her golden beauty.
She was taking this opportunity to seduce him! Instead of looking for the lost child. Angry, Havoc shook his head and turned away.
She bounced up and caught him. She drew his head in close to hers. “Trust me,” she mouthed.
Reluctantly, he acceded. He joined her on the bed, kissing her and stroking her.
And there was Weft, blasting out ire. She was jealous!
There was the answer. Weft had been playing a game of ta
g with them, but couldn't let them turn aside for sex. Deva had indeed known what she was doing.
“You little mischief,” he told the child with mock severity as he picked her up. She looked like a ferocious bear cub, and her body felt furry, but he saw through the illusion just long enough to be sure of her identity. “You weren't lost at all."
Not, she agreed complacently.
“I received your thought!” he said, surprised.
I null mind talk.
“You null telepathic illusion,” he agreed, speaking aloud so that Deva could follow the dialogue and relay the news to Gale and the others. Weft would hear his voice garbled, but could receive his parallel thoughts directly. “So you know where the minds are. That's how you tracked us."
Agreement. She was pleased with herself.
“But I am nulling sight illusion, not mind illusion. So how did I track you as you teased me along?” He couldn't help it; he did like her cute independence and was impressed with her growing magic abilities. He couldn't be mad at her, as she knew.
I sent you my mind.
Havoc was amazed. “You null it both ways?” But obviously she was doing so.
Deva, now standing before them, made a gesture as of her jaw dropping. None of the Glamors had realized this was possible. But of course most senses were input rather than output; telepathy was both. Nonetheless, they hadn't thought to try. Weft had beaten them all in that respect.
Delight.
Havoc looked at Deva. “Can you null outgoing sound?"
She focused. “Do you receive this?"
“Agreement!” Their interpersonal contacts had just become much easier, thanks to this revelation.
He kissed Weft. “Appreciation. Now I must take you back to Symbol."
Negation. I'll fuss.
Havoc eyed her sternly. “We're used to that. It's not safe for you here."
Like this: Then she let loose a mind-wincing scream of anguish and desolation. It was a mere demonstration, but it made him shudder with remorse.
Deva smiled. “You can't do it, Havoc."
“We can't let children make the rules. It's a matter of discipline.” He prepared to retrace his path through the illusion fields.
Weft broadcast another wave of utter horror and fear. He felt as if he were torturing her to death. But he nerved himself and tried to take a step. The amplitude increased, blasting away at the remnants of his determination.
“They can all feel that panic,” Deva said. “They'll be wondering what you are doing to that poor innocent waif."
“Blackmail!” he snapped.
“Superior force,” Deva said. “Yield to the inevitable."
Deva was right. He couldn't do it.
The awfulness faded, to be replaced by warm comfort. The little mischief knew she had won. Again.
“But we're hopelessly off the route,” he said. “We'll have to return to the base and start over."
Mommy's doing it, Weft thought. It's her turn.
It surely was. “Meanwhile, we'll make our way back and see what we can do with two-way communication. You have helped us, Weft.” He glowered at her. “But you'll still have to take your scheduled nap."
Awww. She nestled in his arm, well satisfied.
* * * *
Gale followed the markers through the ruined courtyard and the winged humans settings, declining the invitation of a handsome man to go meet the king. Havoc had reported encountering a comely woman here; evidently the illusion tuned in to the person, proffering appropriate distractions. She was impressed.
Next is the chess game, the Red Glamor's thought came. You must play it to conclusion.
Gale entered the setting. There were the male and female pieces set up for the opening. “Idea,” she said. “Fool's mate is fast."
“Agreement,” Ini said. She looked like a scantily clad strange young woman, but Gale knew she was fully gloved, veiled, and swathed. Havoc had discovered that they could null speaking illusion as well as hearing, just as they could the telepathy sending and receiving. That was a great help. Gale herself was nullifying touch illusion, so that she could walk through walls if she had to. She carried a staff to use to probe ahead, because she could still step into a real wall or off a real cliff if not careful. But so far the real terrain seemed to be reasonably flat, without such traps. With Ini's speech and Red's mind contact, she hoped to make it safely through. Weft had been naughty, but had significantly helped them.
Gale took the White men and played for the obvious trap. Ini obligingly walked into it, and soon was checkmated. And the fabulous alien city appeared. It had worked; the illusion didn't care or perhaps didn't know about collusion, so long as the rules were followed.
This was where Havoc had deviated to go after Weft. Now Gale would go after the object. “Direction."
Ini could not point, because Gale could not penetrate the visual illusions. So she did it by speech. “Not this field. Turn to your left and walk."
Gale did so, though she had to march through a building to do it. She nulled the feel of it and forged through the stone and cement, her staff before her, tapping the ground and feeling for any real obstacles. She was really moving blind, but it did not seem like it because the setting surrounded her. Only when she was inside the wall of the building did she have the feel of sightlessness, and that was just for a moment.
She emerged not to the interior of the building, but to a broad barren plain. There was nothing but dry grass covering it. That could be treacherous too, because it could be illusion masking a deadly drop-off. If she fell she could fly, preventing mischief, but that would violate the rules of the illusion and spoil her chance to reach the object they sought. So she continued questing and tapping with the staff. Better to be slow and sure.
“Request,” Ini's voice came. “Pause while we make our way though the building. We can't go through the wall."
“Agreement,” Gale said, glancing back. And blinked: there was no wall behind her, just a continuation of the plain, all the way to a far horizon.
Curious, she stepped back—and found herself within the stone again. It was there, in illusion; she just had to cross the boundary. The illusion fields were discontinuous, each seeming to occupy the whole area, but actually circumscribed. That made sense, as it meant there could be a great many in a small area.
She returned to the plain and gazed around. What was the purpose in a featureless plain?
Then she saw a cloud in the distant sky. It was tiny; her thumbnail held at arm's length could have covered it, had she been able to see any part of her own body. She couldn't; the illusion had rendered her as part of the plain, invisible.
“Present,” Ini's voice came from close by.
“How did you track me? I'm invisible."
“Red now is nulling mind illusion, and directed me. I also hear you when you speak."
“We shall have to speak often, in this setting. Direction?"
“Toward that cloud."
Gale looked at the cloud. In that brief time it had grown substantially, and now her spread hand at arm's length would hardly cover it.
That must be the point of this setting, Red's thought came.
“To navigate the coming storm,” Ini agreed. “It looks fierce. Can we handle it?"
Indeed it did look fierce. The clouds were boiling outward, darkening dangerously, lightning was spearing down repeatedly, and a funnel was descending from the base of the array. “Tornado,” Gale said.
“That will blow us away,” Ini said. “We aren't nulling touch. So far we've been all right, honoring the limits, but that will bring the touch to us."
Agreement.
Gale realized they had a problem.
“Wait,” Ini said. “I'm being an idiot. There's no problem."
“Could have fooled me,” Red said. “We Glamors are invulnerable, and you may be too, with that ikon, but if we get blown away we won't be able to help Gale much."
“We won't get blown away. We
'll feel as if we are, but that's illusion; it can't actually move us if we don't move ourselves. All we have to do is hunker down and wait it out."
She was right, and just in time. The tornado was almost upon them. “Let's hunker,” Gale said.
They clustered together, facing each other, kneeling and putting their heads together, pulling their shirts over their faces. The storm struck, the howling becoming piercing, the wind battering at their backs. The wind intensified, wedging between them, hauling at them. Sand blasted across, obscuring everything. Then it got under them, heaved, and suddenly they were sucked into the air, whirling. Equilibrium vanished; there was no balance to be had.
Gale opened her eyes, peering down below her shirt. They were flying inside the funnel, rising to a tremendous height above the plain, surrounded by a spinning wall of sand. Then she penetrated the illusion of touch, and felt the ground under her knees, and there was no pressure at her back. It was all sensory, none of it real.
Share with Ini she thought to Red, opening her mind.
“Weird,” Ini gasped after a moment. “I see it, I hear it, I smell it, but now I know I don't need to feel it. That helps."
Just wait it out, Red thought.
They did, and soon it passed. They broke their formation and watched the tornado moving away. “So I was correct,” Ini said. “It couldn't actually move us, though I felt as if I were being tossed far into the sky."
“You were, in the illusion,” Gale said.
“Now we can move on, having handled this setting."
Not yet. Gaze there.
The lightning had started several grass fires. Now they merged and swept toward them, whipped by rising wind. The grass was only knee high, but it was thick enough to support a solid sheet of flame that rose in places to head-height and looked furiously hot.
“That makes me nervous,” Ini confessed. “It may be illusion, but I'll feel the burn."
She had a point. Buffeting was one thing, but pain was another. Gale could lift Ini and carry her over the fire, escaping it, but that was Glamor power that would probably violate the illusion requirement. They needed a realistic way to escape or survive the fire.