Chained By Fear: 2 (2 page)

Laylah first met her brother when she was five years old. He found her at the rope swing that hung from an ancient sycamore tree on the outskirts of the village known as Avici. With so many children flocking to the swing, Laylah sometimes had to wait forever for a turn. But she knew the best time to go. While her parents slumbered, she snuck out her window and scampered through the darkness. The swing hung there—lifeless but inviting—and she had it all to herself. When morning came, she returned home to sleep.

On one especially beautiful night, when the moon was full and the sky clear, Laylah sat on the swing and basked in the reflected light. Phosphorescent streaks emanated from her body as she swept back and forth. When she held up her arm, she could see that her skin glowed magically. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t really care, either. To her, it was normal.

But the boy who came to her that fateful night was by no means normal. He wore calico robes embroidered with little golden suns, and when he lifted his hood to expose his face, Laylah saw something in his expression that felt familiar. He smiled at her, exposing perfectly white teeth and disturbingly clear brown eyes. His hair was an even deeper yellow than hers, hanging long and silky about his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the grass near her feet and rested the palms of his hands on his knees.

“Are you afraid?” he said, whispering huskily.

“No,” she said, telling the truth.

He smiled again. “Do you know me?”

“I don’t think so.”

The smile lessened. “I’m a stranger to you, but you’re not a stranger to me. Do you understand?”

“A lot of the old people know my name, but I don’t know theirs. Is that what you mean?”

He chuckled, but with a slight hint of irritation. “Not exactly. But it’s obvious you’re a very smart girl. And so pretty! I like you. Do you like me?”

“How old are you?” she said.

“I’m fifteen. And you’re five?”

“You
do
know me,” she said. “But I don’t remember seeing you. Are you new here?”

“Yes
 . . .
in some ways. I was born here, but I grew up someplace else.”

“Have you come back here to live?”

“No
 . . .
just to visit. With you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you. Do you like me?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, that’s a good start. I hope you’ll like me more when you get to know me. But I have to ask you an important question. Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes!” Laylah loved keeping secrets. It made her feel like an old person.

“Good. Well, the secret is
 . . .
me
. I don’t want you to tell anyone, not even your parents, that you talked to me tonight. If you tell them, do you know what will happen?”

“You’ll be mad at me?”

“No
 . . .
no. I won’t be mad at you, but your parents will. They’ll stop you from going out at night. They’ll barricade your door and window. You won’t have the swing all to yourself anymore, and you won’t be able to enjoy the moonlight without anyone around to bother you.”

Tears welled in Laylah’s eyes. Being imprisoned in her room at night would be the worst punishment she could imagine.

“But if you keep
our
secret,” the boy continued, “you’ll be free to come and go whenever you like. Tomorrow night, the moon will be round again. I’ll come to visit. If you’re not here, I’ll know you broke
our
secret.”

“I won’t
 . . .
I promise.”

“Thank you, Laylah.” He smiled so wide she could see his thick red tongue. “And I won’t tell anyone, either. See you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” she said.

She went home before dawn and slept until almost noon. Her parents, Gunther and Stēorra, constantly told her how amazed they were that she slept so much. They put her to bed every night after dark, but she rarely got up on her own before lunch. Yet she was healthy and happy, so they didn’t bother her about it too much, enabling her to continue to get away with her nightly wanderings.

Invictus met Laylah at the tree again that night, lavishing her with praise for keeping their secret. He talked to her for a long time and asked many questions: What was her favorite food? He was an excellent cook. Did she have any pets? He had lots of them. Was she satisfied with her clothes? He could buy her some really nice gowns and shoes. Would she like that?

“Yes
 . . .
YES!”

The third night, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Do you love me, Laylah? Because I love you.”

The kiss made her feel uncomfortable, and she didn’t answer. He became annoyed.

“I won’t be around for a while.” And he walked away in a huff.

For several weeks afterward he didn’t meet her at the swing. Laylah became used to being alone again. She once tried to tell her mother about the boy, but her tongue dried up, and the words wouldn’t come. She hated the feeling of helplessness.

When the moon rose full the following month he appeared again, strutting out of the darkness with a grin on his face. He gave her a light hug and another kiss on the cheek. Whatever anger he had displayed when she had last seen him was gone. He told her how much he had missed her and how much he loved her. Did she love him? She still didn’t answer.

Four days a month around each full moon, he visited her at the swing. He taught her things, such as how to talk to him without speaking, or how to scorch patches of grass with fire from the tips of her fingers. He told her magical words.
Ratana
, repeated three times, turned pebbles into gems.
Khandeti
caused pottery to crack.
Avihethana
healed cuts and bruises. This delighted Laylah.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

“I
like
you, a lot.”

“I
love
you, a lot.”

One time, he taught her the word
Namuci
, which he told her had been conjured in a time eons past by the ancient demon known as Vedana. When a demon—or a human with demon blood—spoke the word, it gave life to invisible spirits called
efrits
, thousands of which dwelled in the Realm of the Undead. In that eternal darkness they were harmless. But when summoned to the Realm of Life, they became voracious meat-eaters, gorging themselves on the internal organs of any living being unlucky enough to be near. The speaker of the word—because of his or her demon blood—was safe from harm.

If
Namuci
was whispered, one
efrit
responded, and one person died. But if a being of great power screamed it at high volume, thousands of
efrits
emerged, and any human or animal within several hundred paces perished.

When Laylah said it, a sparrow tumbled from the sky and lay dead at her feet. She screamed and cried. He called her a “little baby” and stormed away.

For several months he did not appear. Laylah began to think she would never see him again. In some ways she was relieved. More than once she again tried to tell her parents or some of the other old people about her mysterious visitor. But the words would not come. She tried so hard, her eyes filled with tears. When they asked her what was wrong, she couldn’t speak. Her tongue felt meaty and swollen.

By the time she was six years old, she had learned to spell quite a few words, but when she attempted to write something down about the brown-eyed boy, the quill smeared the ink. She even tried to draw his picture, but the same thing happened. It made her sick to her stomach.

Out of nowhere he appeared again, smiling as if he had never been gone. She told him she still was mad at him for making her kill the bird. He said he was sorry and wouldn’t do it again. Instead, he taught her good words like
Loha-Hema
, which turned copper to gold, and
Tumbî-Tum
, which caused vegetables to grow from seed to full ripeness in just a few days. He showed her how to conjure small spheres of flame that floated in the air, and the two of them tossed them back and forth like toy balls. When an adult villager, perhaps trying to walk off a bout of insomnia, wandered by the swing in the middle of the night, the boy blew smoke from his mouth and said, “
Niddaayahi.
”
The man collapsed on the grass, his insomnia cured.

Laylah worried about the old person. He was one of her father’s many friends and often had been nice to her. The boy assured her he would take the man back to his house, and he picked up the old person and carried him away as if he weighed less than a feather. Laylah never saw the man again, but the boy came back the next night in a better mood than usual.

When she turned nine years old, the boy handed her an envelope, sealed with an insignia of a golden sun, and told her to wait until he was gone before reading the letter. He also told her to burn it with her special white finger-fire as soon as she was finished. When he disappeared from sight, she tore it open.

The letter was written in gold ink on a single sheet of silky white paper.

My dearest Laylah:

You are so smart and pretty. When we are not together, I feel sad. I miss you all the time. I love you very much.

Do you love me?

We have known each other for four years, but you have never asked my name. Why is that? Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you care?

Remember our secret. Never tell anyone about me. Our parents will be angry at you if they discover we are friends.

Your brother,

Invictus

P.S. Here’s my present—another secret word. This one is very precious. The next time you are in bed or taking a bath, say “Raaga” several times—but only if you are alone. It will make you feel good, but Mother and Father wouldn’t like it.

Our parents? Your brother? Mother and father?
Laylah read the letter over and over. She decided not to burn it. Instead, she would show it to her parents the next morning. But the moment that thought entered her mind, the paper burst into yellow flame. She cried again.

“You are
not
my brother,” she said to him the next night. “I don’t have a brother. My mom and dad would have told me.”

He stomped around the swing, staring at her with fury in his eyes.

“You dare to call me a liar?” His body, now almost twenty years old and fully grown, glowed like a miniature sun. “Listen to me carefully, little one. I allow you to live because you’re my sister, but even
you
need to be careful. Your powers are just a fraction of mine. Compared to me, you’re merely a
reflection
.”

Laylah was terrified, and she burst into tears and ran all the way home. She didn’t return to the swing for months. Instead, she trembled in her bed until morning, when sleep finally took her, temporarily releasing her from misery. During that terrible stretch of time she never saw Invictus, the boy who claimed to be her brother.

Just a month shy of her tenth birthday, she relaxed in a warm bath while her parents made dinner in the kitchen. The magical word Invictus had written in his letter still teased her curiosity. Until this moment, she had managed to resist its supernatural lure. But the compulsion finally overcame her.

“
Raaga
,” she whispered, guiltily.

Laylah felt a strange but enchanting sensation. Her skin became hot and tingly. And her thoughts began to twirl like dancing rainbows. She felt as if she were floating outside her own body.

“
Raaga
,” she said again. “
Raaga. Raaga
!”

Afterward she lay exhausted in the bath, her face slathered with sweat. Her mother assumed she had come down with a fever, and she tucked Laylah into bed with a cold cloth on her forehead.

The next morning, Laylah said the word again. And then the following afternoon and evening. She said it every day, several times a day. The sensation grew greater each time. But it took a severe toll on her body. She lost her appetite and an excessive amount of weight. Dark circles formed under her eyes, and her cheeks collapsed.