Skylar winced as the votes accumulated. Fantastic. The chances of me finding a library down here in the slum part of the city are basically zero, and going up into the fancy-pants areas risks being yelled at for wearing non-conforming colors and/or running into my past self or my friends who think I should be in jail right now. Why couldn't you guys have voted for crimes?!

  Reluctantly, he began making his way up through the spiraling and precarious walkways to the upper parts of the Gallows, marveling at the architecture and dwellings as he passed them. It seemed that all the dwellings, rather than being discrete housing units, were improvised out of whatever structurally stable places were available in the honeycombed rock of the mountain's walls; he saw multiple families living in spaces the size of closets, passed-out couples wrapped in blankets within tiny cubbies, and even a full-size house that had been constructed out of broken wagons with astonishing ingenuity. I'd like to say I haven't seen worse, but that'd be a lie. Every time he saw someone alone or in a group that looked safe, he cautiously approached and asked for directions to libraries or experts, but everyone seemed suspicious of him -- in particular, every request for a library was met with hilarity. Guess they're not big on reading down here. You guys might have picked a turkey.

  I don't think I can get away with memory wipes too often -- it only worked on Levan because I knew him well enough to construct a false memory he'd accept. And even then, I wouldn't want to make a gamble like that if I had any other choice. Eavesdropping is a different story.

  I don't think I could carry around an arquebus without drawing lethal suspicion, let alone the ammunition for one. And having a weapon seems to be more trouble than it's worth, compared to Arts -- none of my other selves were armed, so trying to deviate from that would probably be an exercise in futility. The thing about the printing press is interesting, though.

  Eventually, he ran into a patrol of guards from an upper level who gave him ominous glares, and he was forced to retreat back down rather than risk a confrontation. Don't want to end up in the cell next to my past self. Sighing, he turned back and began looking for a place to rest; the areas near the highest parts of the Gallows were uncomfortably exposed, but he remembered a spot that was near a sort of makeshift market which had had a tempting blend of high foot traffic and a comfortable-looking crenellation he might be able to nap in. Ducking around two patrols of marauding youths out for some light crime, he squeezed under the table of a card-sharp trying to entice passers-by into a game of gambling and slipped into a tight maze of passageways.

  As he hurried through, a bright light hit his left eye out of nowhere and shocked him; looking up, he saw that he was standing in a tiny gap which opened up into the great vault of stone and light above him. A chance confluence of reflections, engineering, and natural geology had formed a tiny, one-pace-wide viewing gallery from which one could see the entire western half of the upper city; he paused, transfixed, for a moment at the serendipity and beauty of it all. For half a heartbeat, he allowed himself to simply exist, savoring a second chance at a life that contained such sights; then a slim, razor-sharp dagger slid in under his upraised chin and touched against his throat lightly, and he remembered why that wasn't something he generally permitted himself. Skek.

  "Skylar Kass," a low, husky voice murmured in his ear. "Of all the people to catch sight of unexpectedly... I have been waiting a long, long time for this." The voice was unmistakably a woman's, with a deep, rich timbre that reminded him of a podcaster or voice actress.

  "You'd be surprised how often people say that to me," Skylar grunted, mind racing. Who the fratz could it be this time? Somebody I already know, or some new person I've pissed off in the pastfuture?

  The voice chuckled, low and predatory. "No, I really wouldn't. Don't move; I'd hate to have to kill you too quickly." The blade turned and lifted slightly, forcing him onto his toes, then guiding him to turn to his left. "Let me see you. And, I suppose, you see me." Skylar, powerless to resist, turned with excruciating slowness, the keen blade cold against his sweating skin; by degrees, his captor came into view.

  It was a woman; tall, muscular, and lithe, with dark gray skin the color of slate and thick, wavy white hair much more full-bodied than a normal woman's -- like an animal's fur, almost... Loathborn? -- that fell down heavily across her eyes and obscured her gaze. Vark, can't use Weir on her until I can get her to look up. Her face, though well-fleshed, was cris-crossed with both scars of battle and lines of age, and a playful, slightly deranged smirk danced upon her full and ruby-colored lips. She wore black leather armor accentuated here and there by strategically-placed metal accoutrements to protect the most key vital areas, but he could tell it was cut more for effect than protection; in particular, a black corset-like breastplate with a low-cut top forced full but slightly aging bosoms up against each other and up into view with significantly more enthusiasm than might have been suitable for a real battlefield. "Astonishing," she murmured, looking him up and down with her eyes still artfully concealed under her tresses. "You haven't aged. Treachery of some sort, I suspect."

  "From a... certain point of view," Skylar managed, up on his tip-toes to prevent the knife-point from digging into the underside of his chin. "What's the... ergh... occasion?"

  The mysterious woman's mouth quirked down in a jerk of displeasure. "That's all you have to say to me?!" The knife twisted slightly against his skin, making him gasp. "You know as well as I do that we have unfinished business."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "I don't... suppose... it's... the sexy kind?" Skylar's gibe was met with another twist of the knife, jerking him even further away from the knifepoint, which was now bringing a trickle of blood from his throat. "You forget... to bring a girl... flowers... one time..."

  "Oh, it's more than one time." Suddenly, he was jerked forward by a fist knotted into his collar; the knife came away from his neck, but instantly reappeared pressed into his ribs at the very most limit of his skin's tension. His gaze jerked downwards reflexively, at which point her face was suddenly beside his, whispering sinisterly into his ear. "You owe me a hundred and fifty years of flowers, Skylar."

  Great. More people my future selves have pissed off. Skylar groaned internally. "Well, you know, I tried, but the mail is so unreliable these days..." He gulped, feeling her angry breath hot against his neck as he stared directly into the hollow of her own throat. She's tall, taller than me. Maybe I can get inside her center of gravity for a sweep? He tried for a half-step in disguised as a stagger, but her hip shifted expertly to block his own; he immediately abandoned the idea. Martial artist, too. I might really be in trouble here.

  "You know," the woman mused, amusement bubbling into her voice, "I had thought your buffoonery would irritate me, as it used to, and I perhaps might just slay you right here. But I find that you amuse me..." A dry, twisted chuckle slithered into his ear canal, and Skylar felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Uh oh. This person is not entirely compos mentis.

  "I can do a little dance," Skylar offered, then grunted with pain as the knife dug into a tender spot over his kidney. "Or not. Not would also be good." Play for time. Get her to show me her eyes.

  "I can feel your incipient chicanery," the woman commented, the hand on his collar slipping up lightning-fast to grip his throat. "You want to see my face, so you may use your Weir against me." The voice was full of so much amusement he felt it might break into villainous laughter at any moment. "Well, go on and try."

  Painfully, his head was wrenched around by the iron-hard grip on his neck, even as a surge of strength forced him to his knees; helpelessly, he gazed up at the woman as she was revealed. One huge, beautiful amber eye -- split vertically by an inhumanly cat-like pupil amd lit from within by a hellish orange radiance -- stared back at him, slightly rheumy with age but still surrounded by thick and lustrous lashes; the other eye was obscured by a flat, slightly sunken eyepatch which suggested a cavity behind. A wide, unhinged grin made of bright white teeth split the full lips, with canines prominent almost to the point of vampirism as she stared down at him. "Well? What are waiting for?" The hand around his throat began to squeeze. "Enchant me, if you can. Ensorcel me. Do it!"

  Skylar, terror pounding in his veins, examined his options; I only have one chance. Pain won't work; she's gripping me so tightly that a spasm would choke me out or drive the knife into my guts. A distraction? No, even if I made her think someone else is here, I couldn't physically get free in the moment of the diversion. I'm going to have to do something else, but what? What else can this mishkot power even do?

  Marveling despite his predicament at the unhinged suggestions his viewers were supplying, it came to him; and with it, an insight he did not enjoy. He choked involuntarily (even though he was already choking) at the enormity of what it suggested; his heart flinched at the realization. Wow. I'm going to make a lot of enemies in the future. He resisted the idea momentarily, but realized that he had no choice in the matter at all; he was being driven into this course of action by the choices of others as surely as he was his own. Looking up into the bulging, insane eye above him, he opened his mind to hers.

  In the fraction of an instant where her perceptions became his own, he established a simple feedback loop; though it was difficult, he imagined warmth, gentleness, and a protective instinct he'd always craved but never experienced for himself. And then he fed that feedback loop directly into her own perception of him, as she gazed upon him triumphantly.

  The effect was immediate.

  Her eye closed with deranged pleasure; trembling paroxysms surged through her muscles, and Skylar felt his skin break as an unintentional quiver of her knife hand drove the blade's tip a fraction of an inch into his skin. "Yes," she hissed, exulting. "There it is. The black-hearted vileness of which only you are capable." Lifting him bodily up by the throat and slamming him into the wall, she drove her body against his and kissed him fiercely; Skylar endured as best he was able, trying not to squirm in pain. "You are filth," she hissed into his mouth as her tongue stabbed under his. "Let me kill you. Oh, I want to kill you. Just a little."

  "I can't," Skylar realized out loud, his breath coming short in gasps from all the pain he was in. "I literally can't. Wow, that's korsked up."

  "You... what?" The woman jerked backwards, examining him; her questing eye found his, examined his gaze. "You don't know me," she marveled, her mouth turning down in a grimace of anger. "You forgot me? You son of a frosak." Her hand came up, pointing the dagger at his throat again. "Okay, now I really will kill you."

  "Wait!" Skylar pleaded, hands coming up in a panic. "It's not my fault! I haven't met you yet!"

  "You haven't...?" Her eye flicked down across his body, then back up, examining him swiftly; then, after an instant, comprehension dawned. "The Kalativa," she breathed, astonished. "You have the Kalativa. Oh, this explains so much. This explains everything."

  The dagger's point wavered, then dropped; it clattered to the ground from her sharp-nailed fingertips as she beheld him, astonished. Then she cast back her head and laughed, loud and long and in a manner completely devoid of sanity. "Delightful! Oh, precious. Oh, this is going to be so much fun."

  "Great," Skylar agreed nervously, sweating. "So, uh, I don't supposed we could start with your name?"

  This, surprisingly, shocked her out of her fit of cackling; her eye snapped down to behold his, wide with hurt for an instant, before she sobered. "I see. Hmm..." she began to stalk around him, body sinuous and powerful; he had the image of a tiger circling its prey, and had to fight to keep himself still. "Well, if you're going to meet me in your future, I can't give too much away... but then, I suppose I do owe you my name. You called me by it, after all." Grabbing him from behind, she bit his earlobe painfully; Skylar jumped and shouted involuntarily in response. "Hyrune," she murmured into his ear sultrily, pronouncing it "He-roon-ay". "My name is Hyrune. And if you don't remember it, I probably actually will kill you, when we first meet... you'll know what I mean." Spinning him around, she shoved him over; Skylar fell heavily onto his grak and was stunned by the impact, incapable of resisting as she leapt forth and straddled him. "What next?" she mused, twirling another dagger in her hand. "Kiss you? Stab you? We've done those already..." She slapped him hard across the face and squealed happily at his grunt of pain. "Oh, this is so satisfying. Everything you did to me, you did because I did this. Everything I'm doing to you, you made possible, when you... oh, it's sublime. Gram be praised." She closed her eyes in rapture, hips grinding painfully upon his abdomen; Skylar felt no pleasure, only fear and agony. "Gram be praised...!"

  "Stop!" Skylar moaned, helpless. "You have to let me go! I have things to do, I..." he gurgled as she cut off his words with another grasp upon his throat.

  "You dare... oh, but of course you do. Always ruining everything." She eased upon her grip slightly, letting him gulp in a breath of air. "What mission drives you this time, magnificent zubnak? Are you here to kill me? Destroy this place? Or save it? You'll fail, you always fail." Her burning, psychotic eye whirled in its socket, delirious with possibilities. "Well, almost always. Such fun...!"

  Then, suddenly, she came to a decision; in a single, swift movement, she rolled off him and had him up against the wall once more, his left hand gripped in her own tightly as her fingers interlaced with his. "A game. Oh, you love games, don't you?" Her fingers gripped his painfully, and he had to work hard not to cry out. "A question for a question; three each. And I get to hurt you until you answer." A drop of sweat trickled down Skylar's neck; her grin widened. "Lie, and you'll suffer. I know you... I know your tells. I know your body." Skylar flinched back as she bit him painfully on neck, then grunted in his ear, "My first question. My easiest question. What are you here to accomplish?"

  In lieu of a poll this chapter, suggest questions you want to ask!

  -- AMBLE