Chapter XVIII: The World Beneath a Turul's Wing

Goran hated the nausea-inducing serpentine roads in the mountains. He barely knew how to steer ground vehicles outside the Veil. Slavoj had little time and opportunity to teach him anything except for martial arts and late Roman history – those were the only two subjects Kosar excelled at. Swept away by his enthusiasm, Goran eagerly followed in his mentor's footsteps.

When muffled sounds of crushed stone and wood startled him, he tossed a distracted glance at the road. Had Leudora not caught the wheel in that last second, they would have plummeted into the breathtaking abyss below. Glancing into the void framed by twisted pine branches, Leudora exhaled and unfastened her seatbelt.

"I may be a better driver," she said.

"You don't even have a driving license," Goran mused.

"Do you?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"Fair point," Goran admitted. "But I know the theory."

"I was a philosopher and a former Knowledge Keeper of the Fasma. Theory has shaped my mind in ways most would resent. None of that helps much with practice," Leudora scoffed. Goran sighed, reluctantly leaving the car. That rental company was not going to be pleased to find their property stuck between crooked pine branches outside Kotor. Perhaps, they would not find it at all. To Goran's surprise, the Natives had accepted payment from two ghosts despite their isolationist policies. Money opened doors, it was true.

Goran vaguely remembered his mentor taking him to Montenegro last spring. Autumn erased his memories, replacing them with new reality: tender squalls brought cool water drops from the sea and the bright morning light made him squint, gently caressing his cheeks. Composed, Leudora sauntered down the road and he craned his neck, studying her beautiful features. Big metallic eyes glistened in the sun like oil on water, and Goran wondered whether she had always had that feverish glint in them – the last sparkle of autumn untouched by winter's misery.

"We will pay a visit to an old acquaintance of mine. He will drive us to Sava. After that, I will leave." She stared at the sea, avoiding his gaze.

"Leave? Where?" Goran asked, frowning.

"I will stop the murders. Put capable people in charge of the Fasma, the Alka, and preferably, behind the Council. If I don't succeed, I'll let the Veil burn. No point in saving idiots."

"What…?" He gaped at her in confusion, his jaw dropping. Leudora's sardonic smirk daunted him: why couldn't she tell him everything? Why did she resort to those mind-boggling tricks of hers?

"You can't do such things," he said.

"Oh, I can. You're alive because I can."

Goran growled inwardly.

"I will become an Alkar. And I will keep people like you in check."

"You sound doubtful. Are you trying to convince me of the danger you pose?" The smug sneer that tugged at her lips made Goran blush.

"You are no Alkara. Why would you trust me?"

"You owe me. And you are proud enough to pay that back." She tilted her head and quickened her pace.

The ominous notes in her voice sent chills down Goran's spine. He wondered if she avoided his eyes so that he would not see those dangerous sparks in her gaze.

A tiny village lay nested beneath a jagged cliff embroidered with little patches of green and black. Leudora made her way through the deserted streets and crowded cafes: high season was over, but winter hadn't yet settled in the hamlet. A warm breeze caressed Leudora's cropped hair, and Goran was pondering on the consequences of her words, tripping over his feet. She was sincere, but she was no better than any other Psychic. She wanted to use him. Oblivious of his surroundings, he almost bumped into the heavy door of a stone house stuck between a colorful villa and a tiny square with a fountain.

A young man with dark-brown hair opened the door. To Goran's surprise, he did not utter a single word, retreating backwards and swaying like a drunkard. Instinctively, Goran jumped in front of Leudora, preparing to punch him, but her cold smooth hand gripped his shoulder, forcing him to stand down.

"You don't introduce yourself by hitting people in the face," she said.

Goran blushed, lowering his gaze, slurring something incoherent. Seemingly unfazed, Leudora proffered her hand to the man. He leaned forward, recognition dawning in his eye.

"Have I changed that much, Miloš?" Leudora raised a slanted eyebrow. The man gaped, then bowed deeply, seizing her hand.

"Lady Galbur…" He did not dare look up.

In one fluid motion, she wrapped her arms around the man. Then she withdrew, her face becoming grave.

"I wish I could resort to pleasantries, but I have a favor to ask of you, Miloš."

"Anything," the man breathed out, bowing again. Confused, Goran could not figure out why he would treat Leudora with such reverence. His questions died in his throat, swept away by the click of Leudora's fingers. She followed the man into the house, lowering her voice to a raspy whisper.

"You were there, Miloš, when I tried to talk sense into my distant cousins in Bosnia. You were one of the first to support me in my efforts to sign a peace treaty between our kin and the Dalmatian Serpent. I remember that."

"You have succeeded, my lady." A shadow of regret appeared on Miloš's prolonged face. "Despite the price you have paid, you have secured our survival and got rid of the Dalmatian Serpent."

Suppressing a flash of anger, Goran wanted to interfere, but Leudora shook her head, silencing his unspoken comments. Annoyed, he pursed his lips and clenched his fists into tight balls.

"I knew the stakes. I paid the price," Leudora said, perching on an old wooden chair and accepting a glass of water from the host. "If my memory serves me well, both you and your father used to work for the Council. You both left. A dangerous decision."

"Our loyalties lie with our kin and its true protectors. Not with the Alka," he said proudly.

Goran stepped forward, but Leudora again held him back, gripping his arm.

"Loyalty, as well as identity, requires commitment. Otherwise it fades," she said.

"Had your people not abused their Enhancement…" Goran interrupted, breaking away from Leudora. Miloš ignored his angry gaze and words, treating him like a piece of furniture. The arrogant Byzantine Blood refused to see him, but Leudora did not consider him invisible.

"This young man is the reason I need to reach Sava." Iron tones appeared in her voice when she asked her question. "Would you be able to get me to Cetinje as soon as possible?"

Stupefied, Miloš stared at her, his brown eyes wide open. When his gaze shifted to Goran, recognition replaced irritating indifference.

"You've come all the way here to send a gravity-bending kid to Sava?"

Goran crossed his arms on his chest, hiding his growing frustration.

"I am not a kid!" He froze, staring hesitantly at Leudora. Leudora had not introduced him before. He could as well do it himself.

"I am Goran Gothar," he said with an exhale. To his surprise, Miloš only shook his head.

"I am Miloš Bučan. And I don't give a damn. But if Lady Galbur needs you in Cetinje, I will help."

The Byzantine Blood was not going to become his friend, Goran decided.

After several hours of driving and staring at Miloš's composed face, Goran imagined breaking his pretty nose – the fantasy offered unexpected consolation. This man asked no questions, barely talked and treated the Basilisk as if she was his goddess, and not the arrogant and insufferable Purple-Wearer who had killed the greatest hero of the Offcasts. Leudora was silent, paying heed to the scenery and ignoring her companions. She looked so deeply sunk in her thoughts, that Goran did not dare to disturb her. It was Bučan who broke the silence.

"We have just passed Cetinje. Where should I go now?"

"Sava is a man of habit. And he is a hopeless romantic." She leaned out of the window, pointing to the right. "There must be a monastery not far from here. If Lady Asenova's information is correct, we'll find him wandering somewhere among the ruins." She pulled out a light-stick from her sleeve and handed it to Miloš. "I recorded the data in case we need it."

"I know the place." Miloš nodded and squeezed the clutch. Goran raised both eyebrows, staring at the energy-twisters. Miloš followed Leudora's instructions, adjusting their course, obeying her every command with the zeal of a trained dog.

Leudora was the first to jump out of the car, not waiting for Goran to catch up with her. Wide-eyed, he froze on the side of the rocky road. Miloš scoffed behind him.

"Lovely scenery, isn't it?" he asked.

Goran only nodded. Sava Galbur could be the strangest Offcast alive, but he did have an affinity for stunning locations. Goran could not deny his good taste. A medieval orthodox monastery was surrounded by crumbling ruins covered with green webs of ivy and bushes that reminded Goran of lace. Beneath the Veil they shimmered with thousands of colorful lights and formed a breach that spilled into an alien atmosphere. Goran could not suppress an exhale of admiration: both Offcasts and Natives could enjoy the view. What were those ruins? Goran could not determine if they were part of a monastery, or perhaps an abandoned fortress from an earlier period. Quickening his pace, he reached Leudora in three long strides.

"He's there," she said with a strain in her voice.

"Wait!" Goran tapped her shoulder. "Why would he choose to live in a place where the Veil is so heavily breached?"

Leudora furrowed her eyebrow, stopping briefly.

"Where else would you seek peace?" she asked.

The three of them followed the path through the field. Once splendid architecture gradually revealed itself to Goran. How could something so simple be so perfect?

Leudora entered the ruined courtyard, walking into a hall of stones with confidence that Goran found unnatural and forced. Miloš did not lag behind, his stride cautious like the soft steps of a deer in deep woods. Leudora stopped in the center, her face turning into a blank unreadable slate.

A tall figure of a man in a shapeless robe with silky black hair and pale skin caught Goran's eye. He had met the man before, but barely remembered their encounter. Like Leudora, he moved with frightening grace and had the gait of a predator.

Sava Galbur raised his hand in a warning gesture as the distance between him and Leudora shrunk.

"Stay where you are," he ordered, and Goran was surprised to see her comply.

"We must talk," she said quietly.

"No, we must not."

"Lord Galbur…" Miloš interfered, but Sava ignored him.

"If you were so kind to bring her here, then do me a favor and take her back the same way!"

Leudora's metallic eyes narrowed, concealing either pain or irritation. Her face remained composed, and only the line of her lips tightened.

"I cannot take Goran to Zagreb, Sava," she said, turning on her heel. "But you can. You have no feud with the Alka."

Goran could not decide if it was her arrogant demeanor or her desire to withdraw without a fight that irritated him most. When he seized her hand, a gust of energy tickled his skin, sending pleasant coolness through his body. To his surprise, she did not resist. Leudora stopped with graceful indifference, craning her neck, eyeing him from head to toe as if he were a peculiar creature of myth. Avoiding her poignant stare, he turned to Sava, who squeezed out a decent smile.

"You've grown, Goran," Sava said. His wistful expression faded, shifting from friendliness to resentment, when he glared at Leudora.

"Why bother showing up here? After all that you've done!"

Goran froze, staring at the cousins in confusion: weren't all Psychics supposed to be on each other's side? He expected her to lash out, to challenge Sava or rebut his words, but instead Leudora freed her hand from Goran's grasp and walked away as she had intended. Ignoring Sava and Miloš, Goran jumped in front of her, barring her way. She measured him with a look of sad amusement. Behind her, Sava spoke.

"You swore you would never commit my father's mistakes! You should not have killed Dragomir Drašković!" Sava's voice trembled with burning emotion, "You betrayed my father's trust! And then you left! You never even bothered to talk to him! Your Fasma career mattered more to you than all the destruction you've caused."

Leudora's skin suddenly turned sallow as dry parchment. She clasped her hands tightly behind her back, her knuckles almost cracking. She made a step forward and froze. Goran blinked, preparing to ask his own questions, but before words took shape in his mind, Leudora lunged to the side.

In a series of swift jumps, she reached Sava, forcing him to retreat into the decaying frame of a long window. The hint of a flame that rose up in her charcoal eyes was keen and indomitable. Goran had seen that look before, and knew it could singe souls.

"My hands are bloody, Sava. But so are yours," she said. "None of you stopped me. None of you did what had to be done. None of you took the responsibility." A bitter smirk creased her beautiful features. "All of you judged."

Sava shook his head with a snort: "You do feel guilty, don't you? Guilty and afraid."

"Afraid?" Leudora's eyes burnt, and a thick electric current filled the air. "I stopped being afraid of monsters when I became one. Ferenc and Calimachi could eclipse me in the Fasma, but they could not slay the Serpent. They could not become monsters. I could."

Goran winced when Miloš grabbed his hand. "Get down!" he whispered, when heavy stones started to crack beneath their feet. Goran reached out to Leudora and recoiled immediately, staring at her hands alight with crackling electricity.

"She can't control the curse." Miloš pulled him away. Goran jerked his hand off.

"She'll get fried!"

"She won't!"

Leudora turned into a column of blazing energy, strings of sparks forming lace patterns around her. Despite his better judgement, Goran could not help but feel drawn to the deadly beauty of unleashed electricity that the Basilisk summoned. When she spoke again, her voice was strangely calm: "If you want the truth, Sava, you can have it." With a twisted smirk, she leaned forward and clasped his hand. Goran lunged to push him away. He did not think when he acted.

He gasped loudly, pinning Sava to the ground and almost losing consciousness. When he lifted his head from Sava's chest, Goran saw a tear running down his cheek. He tried to rise, but his legs barely complied. Pain never claimed his limbs. Instead, he felt as if he were an alien in his own body: his ingrained seismic sense wavered, and his gravity-bending ability eluded his grasp. Leudora stunned him. It was Miloš Bučan who dragged him away, helping him rise to his feet.

Disheveled, Sava reclined on a crumbling wall as soon as he managed to stand again. His stare did not stray away from Leudora, whose tense shoulders heaved with effort. When Miloš placed a hand on her arm, she gave him a faint smile that faded quickly like winter's last chill. Sava approached her slowly, his gaze shifting from Goran to Leudora.

"I did not know…"

Leudora shook her head. "You didn't have to know."

"There must have been another way," Sava added cautiously.

"A hero died. A villain survived to keep the balance." Leudora's gaze switched to Goran. Exasperated, he rubbed the growing bump on his forehead.

"Can you spare a moment and explain all this maddening crap before you start frying each other again!?"

"You expect us to trust a future Alkar?" Miloš scoffed derisively.

"Yes, I do!" Goran replied angrily. "Because you are a bunch of unhinged pricks who don't give a damn about others. That is why I want to join the Alka, and not your twisted sects."

Goran stopped to catch his breath, when a shrieking sound from above startled him. An enormous bird circled over the ruins, huge cinnamon-colored wings cutting through air, clever dark eyes scanning the scenery.

"In the Ancestors' name, what is this?" Goran whispered. "An overgrown eagle?"

Leudora's quiet voice swathed his anger.

"Ferenc has arrived quicker than I expected," she said. "Well… if I have failed with an Alkar, I may yet succeed with the new high Archon of the Fasma."

Goran lowered his chin, preparing to tell Leudora he was never going to be part of her schemes, when Sava stepped forward with a tired sigh. "I knew Ferenc would eventually show up."

Goran growled inwardly. "Do you also spy on each other? Is there anything at all that's beneath your Psychic kind?"

Leudora ignored him, but Miloš tensed, his cheeks red and his eyes narrowed.

"We are nothing like your murderous kin!" he barked angrily, staring at Goran, "Only war can settle our scores! People like you can never understand us!"

Goran balled his fists, preparing to lash out, but Sava grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it with unexpected vigor.

"That is exactly what we are trying to avoid," he muttered quietly.

"You don't try hard enough!" Goran muffled a derisive chortle. "You kill instead of protect!" With his blood rushing to his ears, Goran almost missed a squeaky sound coming from his left.

The giant bird perched on a thick branch of a pine tree overlooking the ruins. Goran's worries did not interest her. Awkwardly, almost comically she fell to the ground, shaking her feathery head. Oblivious to the bickering, Leudora sauntered toward the beast.

"What… is this?" Goran asked again, suddenly forgetting his disagreements with the Psychics.

"A turul," Sava replied.

"A… turul… a real turul?" Goran could not conceal his excitement. "But…" The bird pushed Leudora with her beak, emitting strange purring sounds, reminding Goran of a cat. Leudora spoke to the bird, but he did not recognize the language.

"Did it come all the way from Hungary?" Goran asked. Leudora shook her head.

"From Romania, most likely."

"From Belgrade." A handsome dark-haired man with soft brown eyes approached them slowly, his gait deliberately casual. A purple robe with silver-gold embroidery and Hungarian knots decorating the high collar gave him away as an Inquisitor of the Fasma – a high-ranking scholar. His pleasant smile captured Goran's eye. There was something irresistible about him. Unlike Leudora's indomitable, frightening beauty, his was calm and soothing. When the man stopped, the bird cooed, rushing back to him.

"I hope I am not interrupting," he said with a curt nod, his hand resting on the turul's head. Goran could not decide if it was Ferenc who had a peculiar sense of style, or if it was his turul that added an air of mystery to his look.

"Minar ne formar." He greeted Leudora in a strange tongue.

"Vilar ne lantir." She responded with a bow. Goran had never seen her demonstrate any kind of reverence before, but the calm Inquisitor must have been exceptional enough to deserve her respect.

"It's been a long time," she said, fixing him with an incredulous stare, murmuring something in a lilting language Goran could not identify.

"Did she switch from Sintarel to Hungarian?" he asked Sava. He nodded.

"The same gibberish to me. Never cared to learn either."

The time-master and Leudora exchanged brief comments, before turning back to the rest of the group. The Inquisitor bowed again, his smile warm and agreeable.

"I am Ferenc Szemere." He introduced himself, petting the turul, "This is Fahej."

"I am Goran Gothar," Goran said. He stepped forward and, after a moment of hesitation, shook the man's hand. Ferenc smiled.

"I must admit, your appearance is… unexpected."

"Unexpected for a time freak?" Goran bit his tongue. If Ferenc disapproved of the insult, he did not show it.

"Even for a time freak."

Behind him, Leudora lifted an amused eyebrow.

"Do you find my appearance unexpected?"

He weighed her question, then permitted himself a wry grin. "No. I was expecting you to return."

Leudora scoffed and sauntered slowly toward the valley, seemingly oblivious to the men around her.

"The Archon's machinations must have pushed you out of Bucharest," she said pensively. "I don't believe he likes you as much as everyone else does."

"Favor is relative," Szemere replied, matching her pace. "Titles grant neither abilities, nor insights."

"They do not." A dangerous sparkle appeared in Leudora's beautiful eyes. "They grant power."

"True power never holds on to titles."

Leudora flicked a dismissive hand and snorted. Staring at the horizon, she ignored Goran, Miloš and Sava, sealing herself away from all the petty political wrangling that had come to define much of their lives. The fiery gleam in her eyes never faded. Goran had learnt to recognize it during the brief time they'd spent together - daunting ambition. It had its claws buried deep in Leudora's heart.

"When I first met you, Ferenc, I thought you had all the answers," she whispered.

"And what do you think of me now?" he asked, wry amusement in his voice.

"You are just as confused as everyone else is."

Szemere nodded and turned to Goran, scanning him with those dewy brown eyes of his.

"Not as confused as Lord Gothar."

"I… I'm not confused!" Goran objected vigorously. "I will join the Alka! I know my path!"

Leudora shook her head, threading through golden grass and scattered stones. Szemere smiled apologetically. "Lady Galbur does not believe you are making the right choices for the right reasons."

"I don't." Leudora stopped abruptly. "Nobody makes all the right choices."

"I know what I am doing!" Goran crossed his arms on his chest, catching up with her. Sava and Miloš both cast apprehensive glances at him, while Leudora pursed her graceful lips, scrutinizing Szemere's purple robe. Was the Byzantine Basilisk afraid of that soft-spoken Hungarian? Was she jealous of him? Goran drew closer, but she did not even spare him a look, concentrating on the intricate knots decorating Szemere's handcuffs.

"Professor Asenova has sent you to protect me, hasn't she?" she asked.

"You might as well scan the impulses of my thoughts…"

Leudora chuckled. "That would not be the same."

Goran's eyes widened: he had heard enough about Despina Asenova from Slavoj to know how dangerous and influential the woman was. Trying to make sense of their talk, he almost missed Ferenc's reply.

"Lady Asenova saw you sprawled on the marble floor… You were dead. And so was Slavoj Kosar."

"My mentor?" Goran exclaimed, his voice raw with pain and shock. Leudora tilted her head slowly to the side.

"It's a possible scenario. One of many. I dare say it sounds dramatic."

"It's only a vision!" Goran interfered, but Leudora's strained nonchalance and the deep concern etched into Szemere's features forced him to swallow his breath. Ferenc sighed.

"The Fasma is doomed, Leudora. Calimachi will destroy us sooner or later. Lady Asenova would see you as the Archoine. And I… I see no other way."

When Leudora lifted her chin, Goran saw disbelief melt into satisfaction in her metallic eyes. Jealousy and caution were gone, replaced by deep and dangerous desires.

"I am a strategist, but I am not likeable, Ferenc," she said after a long pause. "People will rally behind you and not behind me. And I'm willing to accept that to settle my score with Calimachi."

Leudora clasped her hands behind her back and turned away. Ferenc shook his head firmly.

"I am no Byzantine Blood. I can't become Archon."

"You're a Psychic - a time-master from a prominent family. That alone makes you an eligible candidate."

He frowned, suppressing what could have been a painful memory or a troubling vision.

"Calimachi already sees me as a threat. He would let us all burn just to neutralize me… He expects me to act so that he can destroy his opposition." He stared at Goran. "I know where it leads. His parents, Ognjen and Slavena, also did."

"My parents are long dead," Goran uttered slowly. Ferenc nodded.

"They believed knowledge could stop senseless bloodshed. But with me as the Archon… the Fasma doesn't stand a chance. You, on the other hand," he gestured to Leudora, "you have the element of surprise. Calimachi has no idea what to expect from you. He believes you will never challenge him. He believes you can't."

Leudora took a deep breath.

"Not at the moment."

"You would not be helping Goran Gothar if you didn't hope to regain your former position."

Szemere's words jolted him to a halt.

"So… I'm a valuable resource now!" Goran scoffed, comparing Leudora's unreadable expression to Ferenc's wistful smile. Leudora spoke first.

"It is what you represent that can be valuable, Goran. Or dangerous. Or both."

"For your political gambits?"

"Not exclusively."

"Would a field of blood lilies suffice to support your ascendancy?" Sava appeared out of nowhere, a lively smile playing across his lips. Too stupefied to speak, Goran imitated Leudora and lifted a slanted eyebrow.

"My father left an inheritance behind," Sava explained. "A piece of land beneath the Veil. Nobody even remembered it existed. An empty field, as our grandfather used to say. At least, it was. The war has changed it. Enough blood lilies grow there to assure the Setra's non-interference… or to buy a couple of Councilors. Or spies."

A cunning gleam appeared in Leudora's steel-colored eyes. "Matter-shifters can become an issue. I will send Amaltheia to negotiate with them after she delivers a message from Professor Asenova." She turned to Szemere, "I'm following a trail, Ferenc. And I will need your help."

"I wouldn't be here if you did not," he said.

Leudora briefly lowered her eyes and dipped her head in acknowledgment. Before Goran could object, Sava tapped his back.

"Maybe you'd reconsider joining those militant fanatics. I can help you build a better life."

"Militant fanatics? Is this what you think of the Alkari?" Goran barked. Sava did not answer. He cast a troubled look at Miloš and shrugged. Goran growled and waved his hand in exasperation.

When Leudora caught his wrist, he shivered: her smooth cold fingers brushed his pulse, sending sparks through his bones. The sensation was surprisingly pleasant.

"Have the courage to question your assumption. Especially when you think you are right."

Goran recognized the cold finality in her voice. She would never approve of his choice, and he would never forgive her for murdering the Dalmatian Serpent. She was his enemy. There could be no way around their feud. He could admire her, he could even worship her, but he could never support her. She wanted to bring him to her side. She failed. Even if he owed her, even if he could not bring himself to hate her, she had still failed.

"I may have those weirdly-colored eyes of yours, because your blood has poisoned me, but I am not your relative or your friend! I will never be!" Goran stuttered and lowered his gaze, not knowing what to add. She gave him one of those twisted smirks that he found so irritating. Then she walked away with the time-master by her side.