"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.
"Uh, no," he said, loudly.
"Good," she murmured in a sultry voice, moving toward him. "Talking is not what I had in mind." Sitting on the edge of the table, she leaned toward him and lifted a slender hand to the bodice of her gown, as if to untie the leathern laces. Then, with startling swiftness, she reached into the cleft of her bosom, drew out a shimmering green object, and thrust it toward Artek's face. It was a tiny serpent with ruby eyes and emerald scales.
Artek grabbed her wrist and held it fast. The snake hissed, baring its fangs, mere inches from his face.
"Why do you resist me, my love?" the woman crooned, straining against his grip. Evil light flashed in her golden eyes.
"Because I do not care for poison snakes," Artek said through clenched teeth. He tightened his grip on her wrist.
"You judge me wrongly, my love," she countered. "This is a dreamserpent. Its bite will bring you only sleep, so that you will not feel pain as I transform your exquisite body."
“Transform?" Artek asked. "How?"
Strange exultation twisted her beautiful face. "You are strong, my love." She ran the fingers of her free hand down his cheek, his throat, his chest. "I could do much with you. You could bear it. I would give you the arms of an ogre, the claws of a lion, the scaled armor of a dragon, and the poison stinger of a scorpion." She trembled with excitement. "You would be utterly magnificent!"
She would make him a monster? Little did she know that he was already part monster. Crimson rage flared in his brain.
"I will be nothing for you, Arcturia!" he cried.
He leapt to his feet and slammed her hand-still clutching the dreamserpent-against the table. In one swift motion, he drew his dagger and plunged it downward. A shrill, inhuman scream pierced the air as Artek pinned the woman's hand to the table. Then the illusions that masked the chamber wavered and vanished, revealing the true nature of all within.
The beautiful woman was gone. Her skin was still emerald, but now it was composed of overlying scales, like those of the serpent. Wicked spurs of bone protruded from her elbows, her shoulders, and her knees. Instead of hair, a writhing mass of slimy black tentacles sprang from her head. Her wings were not a fairy's, but rather a foul insect's, and they buzzed spastically as she tugged to free her wounded hand. She shrieked again, baring long yellow fangs.
Apparently, Arcturia had made herself the subject of her own experiments.
Grabbing Muragh, Artek hurried through the door. No longer was the space beyond bathed in silvery radiance. The air was dank and murky, and fetid water streamed down the bare stone walls. The others were there, and they all looked up at Artek in shock and confusion. Beckla had not been experimenting with vials and beakers, but with broken sticks and dirty stones. Guss sat upon a heap of festering garbage, holding a clump of worms in his hand. And still in his grimy attire, Corin sat before a rickety table littered with cracked clay plates. The lord stared down at the bowl of putrid, black sludge he had been eagerly spooning up. His face went green.