Chapter V: In The Shadow Of A Lily

Leudora Galbur parked her old half-broken bicycle outside a stinky pub in Obuda and took a deep breath before venturing into the smugglers' den. Carefully, she slipped her hand into the pocket of her long black coat and took out a peculiar-looking jewel. The silver snake ring was unremarkable in its design. Thin and riddled with scratches, the metal band contained a single reddish stone - the serpent's head.

"A blood lily," Leudora whispered, sliding the ring on to her finger. "Hard to wear - easy to impress."

She shivered feeling the cold metal squeeze her joint. A virulent sensation of warmth followed, sending waves of pain through her veins. Leudora smirked and opened the door submerging herself into thick smoke. Slowly she made her way through the crowd of poorly dressed individuals and beer-stained tables. Among them, Leudora cut quite a regal figure in her stiff velvet coat, high boots and long straight skirt. The local public scrutinized her appearance, their stares abrasive and their snarls hostile.

Ten more steps. The angrier they were, the more they revealed. The gearwheels of Leudora's calculating mind turned quicker when she used her uncanny ability to stir unrest. By the time she reached the bar, silence had taken over the place, thick as overcooked porridge and fragile as an icicle. It did not last long.

"Who the hell are you?" somebody asked behind her. Ignoring the question, Leudora leaned over the counter. She had already produced an impression. The nature of this impression mattered little.

"Cherry liquor?" she asked.

The bartender shook his head with a derisive scoff. "Plum Palinka. That is all we have."

"I was planning on keeping my wits tonight." A dangerous sparkle appeared in her metallic eyes. "But I can adjust."

The bartender snorted, "This is not the right time. You should leave."

Leudora placed her right hand on the counter, idly tapping the wood: the blood lily shone bright on her finger.

"The time is right."

Horror, deep and dangerous, appeared in his tiny eyes when he saw the ring. The bartender quivered, stepping aside.

"Are you insane?! Get this cursed thing away from me…" He swayed to the side almost dropping the bottle he was holding.

"I understand your concern," Leudora uttered, a sharp edge to her calm voice. "I assure you I'm here because of sheer necessity. I keep returning to this shithole not out of love for you and your gang." Almost delighted, she nodded when he winced. "Exactly. The feeling is mutual." When her metallic eyes met his little brown buttons, he lowered his gaze as if Leudora's stare could infect him with a nasty disease.

"Hey, lady! What's your business here?" asked a chubby man with a shaved head to her right. "Are you one of those filthy light-benders, who snoop around and spy on decent people?"

Leudora paid no attention to him.

"Hey!" A tall drunkard in the corner of the room called out, preparing to smash his drink over her head. "He is talking to you. Answer!"

Ignoring the turmoil around her, Leudora pointed at a large bottle of cherry palinka on one of the shelves above the counter, requesting a drink. The bartender winced but did not argue with her, pouring her more than she had expected. She emptied her glass, pressing the back of her palm to her nose and stifling a sneeze.

"Your clients are as courteous as ever, Abel," she said with a snarl.

The fabrics of the Veil shimmered, allowing an electrical current through Leudora's body. An unceremonious touch startled her, and Leudora's hand rose to take in the sweep of light streaming from the lamps. The corner of her lips trembled when she sent electricity through the Veil, scattering empty bottles, tables and Abel's clients. When Leudora turned to face them, nobody spoke, and nobody dared to threaten her.

"It is always the same mess when you show up," Abel mumbled, wiping his forehead with a paper tissue. Leudora lifted an eyebrow and gave him a solemn nod. Before ordering another glass, she tossed a brief glance at the time-masters, who were now hiding in the corners. Could any of them be the smuggler she was after? Like everything else beyond the Veil, response was a matter of time. And she could afford to wait.

A minute later, a tall man with thick black hair rose from his place. If he was indeed the smuggler, he lived up to Leudora's expectations: crude, unceremonious and overly confident.

"The Byzantine Basilisk," he spat with a glare. "What a surprise."

"Oláh, don't even start…" Abel pleaded, disappearing behind the counter.

"What are you doing here, Basilisk?"

"A time-master with no foresight?" She smirked. "How disappointing."

"Do you think we are so damn stupid that we'll divulge everything we know to you, just for your pretty eyes?" Everything he knew. Leudora suppressed a satisfied grin: he had to know something then.

"I would not mind that outcome." She nodded solemnly. "I wonder if any of you would tell me how the corpses drugged with energy-twisting blood found their way to the local sewers and parks? I assume you and your charming friends must know a lot about the illegal medicine traffic going around. Abel surely does."

Waves of shushed whispers rolled through the crowd, reaching Leudora's ears. Her dark eyes focused on Oláh's face: colorless beads of sweat swelled up on his forehead. Leudora probed his mind with care and suspicion. Like any Offcast, Oláh could partially cover his thoughts from the waves of her energy. Leudora could strike once and make him perish, but quick and deadly attacks never suited her tactics. The lightning had given her too much energy to hold and no strength to keep it. Whenever she wore blood lilies, she knew they brought her closer to madness. She knew the risks. Despite the grim side effects, she still chose to reap their benefits.

"You know what I am talking about, don't you?" Leudora's lips articulated every word with unforgiving precision. "I don't need to break your mind to know about Abel's storage of illegally procured chemicals. I have an eye for detail and a stellar memory that comes with years of studying philosophy." She ignored Abel's quiet murmurs and Oláh's scoffs. "Our shared distrust of the Council provided me and Abel with common agency. He procured the light-scrolls necessary for my research and I paid handsomely, ignoring his alchemical experiments. Unfortunately, one of you has graduated from potion-making to murder."

"Abel!" Oláh growled. "You won't live long!"

"He will live," she said, and Abel let out a breath of relief. Leudora sent electric waves through Oláh's mind. Weakened by an uncontrollable flash of anger, it cracked like a fine porcelain cup exposed to the fires of a volcano.

"You control all drug traffic in Hungary. I know that," she uttered slowly. "But you are no scientist to rival the mastery of the late Dalmatian Serpent. You have no skill to deal with the enhancement technology of the Ancestors. That leaves only one option. You know someone who is this scientist."

"You have no proof…" he hissed. Leudora measured him from head to toe with a pointed stare. Often, her eyes were more effective at conveying her messages than her tongue: the feverish gleam in their depths both fascinated, and hypnotized. She gazed at him expectantly, counting the variables and predicting the outcomes. Recovering from his shock, Oláh leaned on the counter. Leudora caught his sleeve, sliding a small device up his arm. When her cold hand touched his skin, he shuddered and twisted away.

"Your death traffic will cease to exist. With or without proof." She deliberately left a scratch on his hand.

"Do not dare read me!" He hit the counter with his fist, his eyes burning furiously. "You have no idea what you are getting into! The Glasscracker will destroy you and take your blood!"

She interlaced her fingers. "The Glasscracker? A charming nickname. Do you seriously think I will not bring him down with a lift of an eyebrow?" She doubted she could accomplish the feat, but Oláh did not have to know that.

"Even if you do, you won't last long," he said.

"Long is unnecessary. Enough is the goal."

Oláh spat to the floor, snorting. "You will hear nothing from me!"

Leudora smirked, assuming an air of confidence. "I have what I need already. Your cooperation is unnecessary." She gave him a sharp look, then Abel leaned over the counter, blocking Leudora's vision. He took a deep breath before spilling his customer's secrets.

"He only exports blood crap from Serbia. He sells it to some weirdos. Nobody here knows them." Abel gesticulated with violent vigor, ignoring Oláh's furious gaze. "I do not want my establishment to be destroyed. Get out of here! Get lost, all of you!" He pointed a finger at Leudora. "I am fine with smugglers, but not with brawlers and mystics!"

Leudora's pale face revealed none of her disappointment. Brawlers and mystics? She wondered if she was classified as the latter. The more time she spent around Abel and his company, the more her distaste for them grew. Despite her ability to kill, she was appalled by the idea of them perishing by her hand. She thought of the device she had planted into Oláh's skin, and the power it contained.

"You will die next time we meet." Her fiery gaze pierced Oláh, and her lips murmured a curse in Sintarel - a language almost exclusively used by the purple-wearers of the Fasma. Her face remained still and cold as a frozen pond. She turned around, studying the perplexed expressions of the customers. No one moved when she walked away.

She left the pub with calm resolve and a heavy heart. She had stirred the wasp's nest and yet, felt none of the thrill. Oláh would run, and she would follow him. But not before she reached her allies, using her niece as a distraction. The way was clear. She was going to save the Veil before all Offcasts started killing each other. Preferably.

Exhausted and trembling, she collapsed on the pavement in front of the bar, panting as if she had been sprinting for hours. Leudora gritted her teeth and pulled the ring off, sharp pain clouding her vision and generating bright sparks in her tormented mind. Examining a blue splotch of skin on her finger, she wiped blood from her nose and eyes with the black velvet of her coat's sleeve. Blood lilies brought both pain and power. She leaned on a cracked wall covered with colorful graffiti and shut her eyes as if attempting to escape reality. A wrinkle crossed her high forehead, and her short, disheveled hair brushed her cheeks. A breath of fresh air could not be more welcome.

"One day this stone will drive me mad," she murmured to herself. Although her inborn skepticism always took precedent, she could not help but believe the legends about those sparkling jewels. Her uncle Svetozar Galbur used to say that the first blood lilies had inspired eccentric Offcast chemists from the Byzantine Empire to replicate their enhancement, accidentally creating energy-twisters: Byzantine Bloods, time-masters called them, and Leudora found the name strangely fitting.

She had read enough about Aristides Laskaris' experiments to know that the man was prone to exaggerating things. In the places where the Veil was exceptionally thick, he came across a peculiar flower. Its blossoms and leaves resembled a common lily, but those crimson petals shone brighter than fire and smelled sweeter than jasmine. Aristides called the flower a "blood lily" because its color reminded him of his own blood – intense and deep.

Once while exploring the subject, Leudora read that most blood lilies appeared in places where blood had once been spilled. The poetic explanation earned a sarcastic smirk and a lifted eyebrow from her, but it planted in her imagination, taking root. She could not ignore or rebut one strange coincidence: wherever blood lilies were harvested, a war once had ravaged the land. Growing out of blood-soaked soil, the flowers promised irresistible power and terrifying madness. When they withered, they left jewels behind – strange relics that captured minds and broke hearts.

Svetozar's gift, a blood lily ring, was no different. It sucked out the physical strength of its holder, turning him into a dangerous addict blinded by paranoia. That simple piece of jewelry tested Leudora's willpower the way a torturer would, seeking weakness and inflicting pain. It weighed heavy on the heart, but light on the finger.

Leudora used it as a not-so-subtle display of power - a warning to those who would doubt the extent of her resolve. The blood lily stone was one of the few things left from her uncle Svetozar. She still recalled the passages from an old light-scroll he had lent to her - an exemplary piece of Alka Guard propaganda. She could not explain why it came to her mind now, on the outskirts of Obuda. Perhaps, it never left her thoughts.

"Our Ancestors could wear blood lily stones without any harm coming to their bodies and minds. In order to join them, comprehend their technology and return to our homeworld, we must become immune to the effects of the blood lilies, casting our feelings and ambitions aside. Joining the Ancestors is the only way we can and should proceed.

The immunity disappeared after the creation of the Artificial Offcasts – the so-called 'energy-twisters' or 'Byzantine Bloods'. It was them who had seduced the Byzantine time-masters, their creators, and started questioning the natural order of things, leading all our people astray."

The facts did not add up. Why would immunity simply disappear?

Leudora walked slowly with her old bicycle in tow, stumbling over her own feet and trying to keep her back straight. She thought of the Gothars – a family of gravity-switchers, who had perished because of their valuable blood lily stone. The Gothars were no Byzantine Bloods. They were gravity-switchers and inquisitive scientists, who had remained neutral for generations. They became the keepers of the largest blood lily stone ever discovered. They alone could resist the harmful influences of the blood lilies despite their scholarly minds. And yet, even their stone brought them nothing but death.

Leudora often wondered why they could not avoid their demise. Allegedly, not long before his death Ognjen Gothar, the last-known keeper of the stone, said, "Those who observe, know." These perplexing words had tormented Leudora for years. In them she saw the vague confirmation of her own ideas.

It was she who had first noticed the correlation between the Veil's degradation and loss of Offcast lives. When she brought the issue forward during the war, the Fasma Archon flicked a dismissive hand, labelling her observations as 'an educated guess' - another theory aimed to destroy the reputation of the Ancestors, and turn the Offcasts away from their efforts. After all, wasn't that what Leudora had been doing most of her life? Wasn't her idea of freedom linked to the destruction of old dogmas?

Familiarity brought comfort, but Leudora only saw stagnation and ignorance that accompanied it. There was another who shared Leudora's opinions, – a scientist with eyes of green ice and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Few ever referred to him by his real name. Most called him the 'Dalmatian Serpent'. Even Leudora did. His insights had been invaluable then – as profound and merciless as his sharp mind. Circumstances changed when he linked her people's rise to power to the Veil's degradation. Leudora could not accept his ideas, but neither could she ignore the inevitable disintegration of their habitat. And she made her choice. They both did. And, yet, she could never let go of all that could have been.

Leudora passed colorful shop displays, long strings of tall houses and occasional clearings with black obelisks. Budapest's eclectic architecture existed between dimensions, connected by Veil breaches that glared at Leudora with the viciousness of a serpent's bright eyes. On the other side, the Natives lived and aged, their existence filled with purpose and progress that was denied to Leudora's kin. The Natives created art, invented new technologies and stubbornly believed in nations. The Offcasts looked down upon them and could not comprehend their own misplacement.

The Veil was an Offcast sanctuary, where time and reality flowed differently. They were strangers and ghosts to the Natives – interlopers, who graced the alien world with their presence only to retreat to the safety of the Veil, avoiding eventual suffocation and insanity. Leudora wondered what she missed, what lurked beneath that familiar surface. Could she save the Veil now? Or could she use the turmoil to change the system that discriminates against the Psychics? Either way, she had to stay away from the Spy Guild and the Alka. For as long as she could.