Chapter 62 #3
And then it passed. She gasped and dropped to her knees.
A bit of drool fell from her lips to the stone of Bridgetop.
Her mind reeled. Her skin squirmed. Hot.
It was so hot, and it itched. She scratched, but her vest was in the way, and so tight now, much too tight.
She ripped at her clothes, tearing buttons, needing to get it off her.
As she cast aside her shirt, she saw the color of her skin was changed.
It was white now, pure as new-fallen snow, and covered with the smallest and softest of feathers.
Claws stretched from her fingertips, perfectly clear.
Her stomach heaved, and then she screamed as the bones in her knees snapped and then reshaped, bent in the opposite direction.
Her entire back ached, and she felt a tearing there that traveled all the way up and down her spine, the worst pain focused around her tailbone.
Soldiers screamed all around her, but she had no mind for them.
Her vision swam. She held her hands before her, and somehow she saw herself.
She saw her hair, now fine gold thread, and she saw herself…
looking at herself. The vertigo overwhelmed her, and she had to fight down an impulse to vomit.
With her proper pair of eyes, she looked upon her arms and saw two new eyes opened just below the wrists, and they blinked back up at her.
The vertigo passed. What seemed impossible for her mind to accept became proper, and she lifted her hands higher, taking in the gorgeous smoothness of her skin, the glowing gold of her eyes, and most shocking, the wings sprouted from her back.
They were like those of an albino bat, leathery and thin.
With a thought, they fluttered, and the wind of them put a smile to her face. But that was not all.
A scorpion tail stretched from her lower back, its sides covered with blue veins, its flesh translucent.
A gold stinger marked the top, and now that she was aware of it, she flexed the tail, curling and uncurling it with but a thought.
Madeleine looked to herself, and the wonder she had become, and cast aside the last of her clothing.
She would not hide Father’s beauty from the world.
All around her, she saw the change overtaking Racliffe’s defenders. Many fled down into Underbridge, but most were too overwhelmed to do anything other than lie there. Madeleine walked among them, offering her encouragement.
“This is the will of Father,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “This is the purification of mankind.”
Two lions awaited ahead, their faces those of the men they had once been.
Seeing her, they bowed low and folded their wings.
Between them, a third soldier fled, his eyes wide and his mind broken.
He was seemingly unchanged, and he tried to run past Madeleine toward one of the entrances into Underbridge.
Madeleine intercepted him with a flutter of her wings.
Her hand closed about his throat, and it was so easy to lift him so that his feet dangled off the ground.
His face turned red as he struggled to free himself from her grip.
“Do not despair,” she told him. “Not all will be chosen in their lifetimes, but your soul is still promised to be his.”
Her tail snapped past her shoulder. He gasped as the stinger sank deep into his chest. Madeleine quivered, feeling a strange pulse of pleasure as poison pumped through the stinger and into him.
It was… sexual, in a manner she did not anticipate.
The man’s scream quickly ceased. His mouth locked open.
His skin hardened, and she withdrew her stinger lest it be trapped within.
When she let him go, he dropped, his skin gold, his imperfections made beautiful in death.
“Gather our faithful,” Madeleine told the lions as she looked past them to the fleeing protectorate army. Somehow they had endured the flame, but perhaps she should not be surprised an army dedicated to a false goddess would reject Father’s gift. “We have a battle to fight.”
“We are few,” one of the lions said. “And they are many.”
Madeleine turned to the Tower Majestic and the blazing hole in the sky. Its light washed over her like that of a second sun, and she lifted her arms in gratitude.
“We are the blessed,” she said, closing her eyes and relishing the pleasure she felt. “And I have been anointed among you to lead.”
Her tail curled excitedly. She turned back to the lions, spread her wings wide, and beckoned all the survivors to gather and become the army they were destined to be.
“Mitra shall soon come forth to survey the work of his hands,” she told them. “And I shall ensure he sees victory. Come, my brethren; the cowards flee, and we, the purified, must give chase!”
Everything of the city was so much bigger than anything Iris had ever encountered before.
It had taken too long to reach the surface of the strange, twisting place of wood underneath, but up above was little better.
So many people. So many smells. Tracking anything or anyone was impossible, she felt so overwhelmed.
She had heard the fighting, though, and recognized the sound of steel hitting steel.
Thinking Faron’s brother might be there, she rushed toward it, doing her best to ignore the angry or frightened shouts of the far, far too many people.
And then the fire came. It washed over her, and she had no warning, no way to hide or flee before she was yelping and dashing through an open door in a frantic bid for safety.
Her limbs trembled, and within, she heard a human child screeching.
Iris panted, and then she yelped as a horrible pain burst sudden and fierce across her shoulder.
Her entire right half suddenly went numb, and she staggered unevenly.
Her vision pitched, and she found it hard to stand.
Not far away, the child continued crying, the sound deeply unpleasant.
There, in a little crib by a window. The human mother lay on the floor, not attending the child.
Unable to attend it. Her body was marble.
Her hands were still lifted to the air. No scent came from her. No sound of a heartbeat.
Hunger pierced Iris’s stomach, but at last she could stand.
She shook her head as if just emerging from a stream, and then bared her teeth.
To her right, another coyote. A… second coyote, but it couldn’t be.
The head sprouted from her own body, sharing, no, stealing the right half of her body from her control.
Its fur was a stark white compared to her gray, and its eyes a bloody red.
Iris also felt taller now, and stronger.
As for why she struggled to stand, she realized she bore six legs, not four, a third set sprouting directly underneath her stomach.
Her hunger spiked. The second head drooled, its gaze locked on the crib. The unwanted thing’s thoughts intruded on her own.
Feast. Savor. Be full.
Her paws stepped toward the crib, but Iris fought against it. The left half dug her claws into the floor, pushing back. The other coyote snapped at her, teeth nipping across her lip.
Proper. We hunt the weak. We eat.
The child was crying louder, and Iris hated the noise, hated it so much, she wanted to leave. Not eat. Leave, and find Sariel. Faron was hurt. Faron was in trouble. Someone had to help him.
No , she thought. Not the word, but the entire concept of it, a revulsion of everything this unwanted head sought.
No? it questioned, once more nipping at her snout.
Iris pushed with all the strength in her three legs, slamming herself against the side of a table.
The wood broke, and she rolled across the pieces.
When righted, she bit at the other coyote, surprise and savagery her two best weapons.
This thing must be put down. It must be killed.
It twisted and snapped at her, but her teeth found purchase first. Her jaw locked tight.
A tear. A pull. Blood on her tongue.
Iris released her grip, and the other head dropped limp, blood pouring from its opened throat. Immediately she felt light-headed, but at least control over her limbs was mostly returned to her. She sniffed at the crib, and she felt a desire to help, but how? What could she do?
Iris turned away. To the door. To Sariel. To anyone who might help. She could not run, and so she limped, the slain head hanging like a broken limb, its black tongue dragging along the ground.
The street frightened her, but Iris traversed it nonetheless. A scent was on the wind, and she followed it as best she could. To the bridge. To the tower. To wherever Sariel lived, and fought, in a city too great, in a place lost to madness.