nation, will be the first to be invaded. Once it’s brought to its knees and its resources are seized, the rest of our world will buckle. Work with us, Rev—Mr. Fleischer. I am to become Yissil Froon’s representative on Earth. I will make you my general. You can have your choice of riches!”
I was so astounded by his audacity that I almost stumbled.
Digging my fingers into him, I gave the witch doctor a shake and hissed, “Why, Iriputiz? Why did you send me to Ptallaya?”
“Because my wife was preventing the Yatsill from developing into Mi’aata. I couldn’t locate and stop her. So, instead, I infected you with the kichyomachyoma disease, which my own people cannot carry, and sent you here to spread it among the creatures. It weakened their ability to receive her help, made them more liable to transform.”
Wife?
A veil of secrecy and deceit lifted.
“Yaku! You are Yaku!”
Suddenly, I understood almost everything.
“Move faster!” I commanded.
I forced the witch doctor ahead until, having descended three levels without encountering a single Mi’aata, we came to a door that was guarded by two. Neither responded to our approach, and when we reached them, I saw that their eyes were glazed over. Yissil Froon held them in his thrall.
I reached out, took hold of one of their pikestaffs, and plucked it from a loose grip.
“She’s in here,” Iriputiz said. He made a gesture and the door faded. We stepped through.
The room was square, unadorned, and unfurnished but for a long table at its centre. Clarissa Stark was stretched out on it, held down by straps around her wrists and ankles. She turned her head as we entered, her yellow eyes met mine, and she croaked, “Aiden!”
Then she saw Iriputiz and uttered a cry of amazement.
I pushed the man forward. “Untie her!”
Iriputiz obeyed.
“They’ve been battling inside my mind,” Clarissa said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “The Quintessence and Yissil Froon. Froon has examined everything I know about Earth. He filled me with mathematical formulae to keep the Quintessence occupied.”
“Clarissa, I’m going to get you off this island,” I responded.
I pushed Iriputiz aside and helped my friend to sit up. I nodded toward the islander. “As you can see, Iriputiz is no stranger to Ptallaya. He comes and goes as he pleases. He is Yaku, Pretty Wahine’s husband, and also Mr. Sepik of New Yatsillat.”
Clarissa rubbed her wrists and looked at the Koluwaian. “Your wife is dead. Her ability to hide away failed her and she was killed by a Blood God.”
The old man shrugged and said, “She means nothing to me.”
I prodded him with the pikestaff. He jerked and gave a screech as the weapon’s tip sent a shock through him.
“Take off your robes,” I ordered, and turned back to my companion. “There are no Blood Gods, Clarissa. Those bumps on your head—I think some sort of paired parasitical creature has burrowed into your scalp. The things endow the Yatsill with increased intelligence and telepathic abilities, while also causing them to slowly metamorphose into the creatures that inhabit this mountain, the Mi’aata.”
Seeing the look of horror on her face, I added, “Judging from Pretty Wahine’s long life, they’re somewhat incompatible with human physiology. They can’t transform you, other than to correct the malformations you suffered as a child. They also extend your lifespan and connect your mind to the other hosts.”
Iriputiz was now standing in nothing but a loincloth, though the crystal he wore was still hanging against his narrow chest. I passed the pikestaff to Clarissa, gestured for the islander to hand me his robes, and started to put them on.
I said, “I’ve been piecing it all together. I was wondering why, after Pretty Wahine arrived on Ptallaya, the Mi’aata used to die before reaching the sea. I think it’s because, when they break out of their Yatsill shell, they must immediately feed. It gives them the strength required to make their way here to Phenadoor. Quee’tan were their natural prey, but the Yatsill, who fashioned their society on Pretty Wahine’s memories of Koluwai, drove the Quee’tan out of the forest when they built tree houses.”
I glared at Iriputiz, finished dressing, and pointed at his crystal. “I want that, too.”
Reluctantly, he removed it and handed it over. It tingled against my skin as if charged with electricity. I looped its string around my neck and continued, “The Mi’aata were then further hampered by Pretty Wahine. She interpreted their emergence as a demonic invasion. The mental powers she’d gained through the consumption of Dar’sayn