At last she came for Artek. She slipped her cool fingers into his. Come, her voice whispered gently in his mind, though her ruby lips moved only to smile.
Muragh jerked in the crook of Artek's arm. "I don't like this," the skull hissed through yellowed teeth. His few wisps of rotted hair waved in agitation. "She's a little too friendly, if you ask me. Something is wrong here."
However, the skull's urgent words were no more than a dull buzz in Artek's ears. As if in a dream, he seemed to float forward, following the green-skinned maiden.
"Artek, don't do this!" Muragh cried out. "listen to me, I know what-"
Utterly unnoticed, the skull slipped from Artek's arm, clattering to the floor and rolling away. With an absent smile, Artek followed after Arcturia.
As they proceeded, he caught brief glimpses of the others. Corin sat in a velvet chair at the end of a long dining table laden with pewter platters, crystal bowls, and goblets of beaten gold. His grimy clothes had been replaced by new finery of blue silk trimmed with silver braid, and his golden hair was neatly drawn back from his powdered face by a cloth ribbon. Two servants in elegant kneecoats waited upon him, heaping his plate with steaming delicacies and filling his cup with crimson wine. The nobleman sighed happily, then dug ravenously into the rich feast laid out before him.
Artek wondered if that was what life was like in House Silvertor. Then the scene passed by, and thoughts of the nobleman drifted from his mind. A moment later he glimpsed Guss. The gargoyle sat upon a greensward, surrounded by wildflowers. Bathed in the warm light of an unseen sun, Guss leaned contentedly against an oak tree. He plucked a purple flower and held it beneath his muzzle, closing his eyes in bliss as he breathed deeply.
Artek thought he should call out to Guss in greeting, but Arcturia gently pulled him onward, and he quickly forgot about the gargoyle. They passed an archway through which Artek glimpsed a dim chamber. He could see Beckla standing before a wooden workbench. Her face was intent as she ground colored powders with mortar and pestle, and combined glittering potions in glass beakers. She held a crucible over a candle's flame, and glowing blue smoke billowed out to her evident satisfaction. It seemed that she was researching a powerful new spell.
At last Arcturia brought him to a halt in front of a wooden door. Again her voice whispered in his mind, though her lips did not move. Beyond this door you will find all that you desire, Artek. Open it…
The emerald-skinned woman seemed to fade away into the silvery light, leaving Artek alone. He gripped the brass doorknob. For a moment he hesitated, but it was as if he could not control his hand. A force was pulling him from the other side of the door. He opened it and stepped through.
"Father!" a clear voice cried. "You're home!"
A small form raced across the cozy, firelit room and flew into his arms. It all seemed so familiar. Artek found himself lifting the dark-haired boy into the air.
"You're getting big, Arneth!" he said. He was not sure how he knew the boy's name, but he was certain that the boy knew him.
"Yes, I am," the boy replied seriously. "What did you bring me?"
Artek reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper packet, though he could not remember putting it there. "I hope this will do."
Arneth took the packet and opened it. "Candy!" he exclaimed happily. "Thank you, Father!" The boy dashed away with his new treasure.
A pretty woman in a green dress set a steaming bowl down on a wooden table. She looked up and smiled, her sun-gold eyes glowing. "Your supper is ready, Artek."
Artek caught the woman in his arms and held her tightly. He felt lucky to have this warm home, bright son, and beautiful wife. It was all he had ever wanted in life. Why question things? He was going to enjoy it to the fullest. He glanced at the door through which Arneth had disappeared, then grinned broadly.
"It's not stew I'm hungry for," he said wickedly, squeezing the woman tight.
She laughed, filling the air with a tinkling sound, like the ringing of a crystal bell. "Very well, husband," she said. "But there is something I must do first. Wait just a moment, and I will return."
She pushed him gently into a chair, brushed a soft finger against his lips, and disappeared through the door he had entered. Artek leaned back, sighing contentedly, dreaming of the pleasure that was to come.
"Artek!" a distant voice said. "Artek, pick me up! Please!"
The voice was so faint and hazy that he thought he had imagined it. He started to slip into his daydreams once more, but something nudged his foot. He looked down in surprise to see a skull on the floor, its jaw working frantically. For a moment he stared at the thing in amazement, but soon found himself bending down to pick it up.
"Artek!" The skull hopped madly in his hands. "It's me! Muragh! Wake up, you fool!"
Memory flooded back into Artek's mind. "Muragh," he gasped in surprise. "What are we doing here? Where are the others?"
"They're trapped in illusions, just like you are," the skull said urgently. "And let me tell you, rolling all the way here to warn you was not easy. You're all in terrible danger!"
"Danger?" Artek asked. "What do you mean? And what's all this about illusions?"
"Look through my eyes," the skull said. "Then you'll understand."
"What do you mean?"
"Fm not alive-illusions don't work on me," Muragh explained hastily. "There's a crack in the back of my skull. If you look through it, you can see out of the holes in my eye sockets. The magic in my skull will filter out the illusions you perceive. Hurry!''
Artek still found himself unable to think clearly. He lifted the skull and, squinting, peered through the crack in the back of Muragh's cranium.
Artek stood in shock. Still gazing through the skull, he looked all around. No longer was he in a warm, firelit chamber. It was a room, all right, but the walls were covered with mold. There was no fireplace, no door in the wall through which Arneth had run. There was a table and chair, but both were rickety and worm-eaten. The chill truth crashed over him in a wave, and a pang of loss clutched his heart. It was an illusion-the house, the fire, Arneth, all of it. All of it, perhaps, except the woman.
"You said we were in danger, Muragh," he whispered intently.
"Arcturia isn't what she seems," the skull replied. "She plans to use you and the others as subjects for her experiments."
"Experiments?"
"Yes! I heard her talking to herself after she left you here. She plans to-"
The skull was interrupted by a clear voice from outside the door. "Here I come, husband," the voice purred. "I hope that you are ready."
Artek stared at Muragh in terror as the door began to open.
The Black Dart
The beautiful woman with sun-gold eyes stepped through the door, her green dress swishing softly. Artek smiled nervously, folding his hands behind his head and trying to lean back casually in the chair. Something sharp dug into the small of his back, and he grimaced in pain.
A faint shadow touched her smooth brow. "Is something wrong, my love?"
He forced a smile. "No, dearest. Only a passing sadness that you were away. But it has gone, now that you have returned."
Her red lips coiled into a pleased smile, and she turned to shut the door. As she did, Artek whispered quietly out of the corner of his mouth.
"Quit squirming, Muragh! You'll give us away." As Artek leaned against the skull to conceal it from view, Muragh's pointed jaw dug painfully into his spine.
"I can't help it," came the skull's muffled reply.
"Keep still!" Artek hissed.
"Did you say something, my love?" the woman asked, turning around.