Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [78]
“Don’t look down,” the demon instructed. “Follow me, and trust your footing. It’s solid enough.”
“Where are we?”
“Exactly where we were. But you’re seeing it like I do now ... and like your enemy does. Don’t stare at the floor,” he said sharply, as Damien stumbled over some shadowy obstacle “Look at me. Only me.”
He did as he was told and fixed his eyes on the demon. Even by this light he could see how nervous Karril was, how agitated. If he took time to think about the implications of that, it would probably scare the hell out of him. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to place one foot ahead of the other without looking down. It seemed to him that some kind of power was prying at the edges of his brain, trying to get in. In answer to his unspoken question the demon nodded slightly, and Damien tried to relax and let it happen. He had committed himself to this alliance back in the temple; there was no point in holding back now. God alone knew what kind of power the demon had to apply to bring a living man into this surreal place.
God help me if the Patriarch ever finds out about this.
Walking as if in a dream, he followed Karril out onto the street. Only this wasn’t the real street, the one he had seen on his way to the lodging house. This was a place of dreamlike images, where silver earth-fae lapped up against walls of misty shadow in forms that implied houses, wagons, storefronts. Bright power swirled up about his legs and he could feel the current pulling him forward as he walked, stunned, past buildings with walls of smoke and crystal, through which ghostly interiors might be glimpsed. There was light in some places, lamps and hearthfires glowing with a brightness that shone through the nearer walls. The view made for an eerie sense of dizziness, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment to regain his sense of balance.
“What is this?” he whispered. A wave of earth-fae crested near his knee, sending a cascade of shimmering sparks up his thigh. He looked down at his body, expecting to find it also changed, but to his surprise his flesh was wholly normal; except for the droplets of power that clung to his legs, he looked as if he had just come in from a mundane walk in the park. “What’s going on?”
“This is the world the Iezu inhabit.” The demon’s voice was surprisingly real, a lifeline of sound in a domain of dreams. “Defined not by boundaries of matter but by human perception.” He brushed his hand against a nearby wall as he walked; the ghostly substance gave way like water to his flesh, and ripples coursed outward to the edges of the structure. “This is how the Iezu see.”
Despite his tension, Damien was fascinated. “Is that why you take on human form? So you can see the world as we do?”
“We never see as you do. At best we glimpse reflections of the material universe, filtered through your minds. Some of us learn to interpret these forms and can then interact with your kind. Some never gain that skill, and your world remains a mystery to them.”
He looked from the misty walls to the demon’s rather solid form. “Your body seems real enough,” he challenged.
“Merely illusion, produced for your benefit. Like your own body. Figments I plucked from your imagination, to clothe you in comfort while you brave the nether regions. Humans,” he said dryly, “require such things.”
His mind raced as he considered the implications of that. “Then if this body is hurt—”
“The wounds won’t translate, no. Your real flesh is still in that bed,” he nodded back the way they had come, toward the boarding house, “with just enough spirit remaining to keep it alive. But that doesn’t make the danger any less real,” he warned.
“Why? If I can’t be hurt in any permanent sense, what’s the risk? No more than in a dream, I’d think.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” The glowing fae whirlpooled around the demon’s feet, then settled back into its natural current. “First of all, any