Strange Fortune by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: M/M Fantasy, Source: Amazon
ISBN: 9781609281137
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know,” the voice told him gently. “Open your eyes.”

Aleister opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a painted ceiling but the forms didn’t seem to mean anything to him. There were shapes and colors but he…couldn’t recognize them. He no longer remembered the names of these things. Numb horror spread through him as he accepted the truth: He had slipped back into madness. Somewhere on the physical plane his helpless body lay foaming and gibbering while his mind—what remained of it—wandered lost through the maze of memory and delusion. He had rejected the aid of the temple healers and now it was too late. He could only pray that Strange kept his oath and did not abandon him to his fate. What would death feel like? Would it simply be another phantasm?

“You’re not mad. You never have been.”

If he wasn’t mad, where was that voice coming from? How could it know his thoughts? Wasn’t this what all madmen believed—that they were sane? At least he had never been that arrogant. Arrogant enough—and foolish—in rejecting the help Ehimay had urged. He had wronged Ehimay…

Aleister gathered courage and looked about himself. He seemed to be standing in an old palace…very old. Ancient. Fifth century? Maybe even older. In fact, maybe even not Hidushi. Alban? No…but lovely. Truly lovely. He put a hand out to a graceful green pillar shaped like a lotus and touched cool marble. Real. It always felt so real.

The floors too were a swirl of green and white marble. As he looked down, the pattern in the marble seemed to shift like weather patterns seen from high above. He closed his eyes, dizzied, and the voice chuckled—a sound as deep and cushy as warm velvet.

“You’re not mad and you’re not dreaming. You can smell the flowers, can’t you?”

And he could. A sweet, intense perfume of the mingled scents of roses and jasmine and champa. Beyond the green marble pillars was a vast garden with ornamental pools and ancient, primitive statues.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Because you want to be.”

Aleister shook his head. “No.”

“You do, you know. That’s why you always return.” The voice grew mocking. “After they’ve worked so hard to heal you too.”

“I never want to be here,” Aleister said intractably.

“Very well.” The voice was amused, easy. “You’re here because I want you to be. I’ve been waiting for you for so long…”

Aleister began to walk, following that lazy, alluring voice down the row of green and white pillars, past oblong meditation pools filled with golden water. Blue water lilies floated on their shining surface.

He came to a long room with rich rugs and tapestries and heavy, ornately gilded furniture shaped like animals. A blue flame burned in a marble fireplace. On a long divan that resembled a cheetah reclined a tall, beautiful man. He was smiling welcome at Aleister, holding his hand out.

Aleister approached reluctantly. The man’s eyes were the same shade of red-bronze as his long hair. His skin was the palest and most delicate shade of green.

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