Black Halo

Eighteen

THE BENEFITS OF SWAYING GENITALS

On the very small list of upsides that came with wearing a loincloth, Dreadaeleon counted the ability to urinate without adjusting the garment to be somewhere between gross exposure to insects with a taste for his flesh and the persistent sensation of having a dead rodent lodged up one’s rectum.

Though he had been enjoying all in obscene measure since his arrival on Teji, he found the former to be the one most practised.

Of course, he told himself, it wasn’t his fault. Venarie was not a precise art. Even the most careful practitioner could find himself strained too much, his spells improperly channelled, and end up with the occasional premature liver spot or loose bladder.

Surprisingly enough, the boy didn’t take much comfort in that.

Instead, he pressed his hands against the reed wall of a nearby hut and attempted to convince himself that clenching his teeth and grunting would pass as casual behaviour amidst a plethora of lizardmen. If they had taken notice of this the first dozen times he had done it, they had long since ceased paying attention to the scrawny fellow with the trail of yellow dripping down his leg.

‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘finish, finish …’

Even knowing this was far beyond his physical control now, let alone his verbal control, he couldn’t help but urge it along. Thus far, he had been able to convince himself that such commendations were all that kept his companions from finding out. Relief had come when Kataria began tending to Lenk, and Denaos had never really taken an interest in him before.

It was Asper’s outburst that caused him conflict. On the one hand, the doubtless endless inquiries as to his health that she would have usually hurled at him were better off avoided. Fortunate, he considered, for he hadn’t yet figured out a way to make loss of bladder control sound like the kind of thing she would want to concern herself with. But at the same time, she was snappish and curt with him, as well as everyone else, and did her best to avoid them all.

And, he thought with a sigh, he had indeed grown fond of the sight of her in Teji’s native garb.

The stream ended with a shudder as he carefully wiped himself down with a handkerchief one of the Owauku had offered him in exchange for a brief display of fire dancing along his fingers. Not quite an even trade by his reckoning, since that display had likely been the reason behind his sudden breakings of the dam.

He found himself hard-pressed to stay mad at the creatures, though, if only because he found himself hard-pressed to even look them in their tremendous, rotating eyes. This became doubly difficult due to the fact that he was especially hard-pressed to find any way to avoid the creatures.

He looked down from the lip of the sprawling, spiralling valley that was their village. Sandy paths topped the concentric rings of stone that formed their streets and held their reed huts. Tiny, swift-moving streams flanked each road. And walking upon these roads, swimming in these streams, dozens of little green blobs scampered about.

Scampering was apparently one of their very few ambitions in life, haggling and yelling at each other being the others. But above both of these, they seemed very fond of lounging. Under the shade of their lean-tos, amongst the pools fed by the waterfalls dripping in from the forest that loomed over their valley, in the half-drowned sandy bottom of their village; it didn’t matter where they happened to fall, the Owauku had turned laziness into an art form.

And because of this, Dreadaeleon found himself wondering, once more, where this particular village had come from. The stone circles were far too smooth, far too orderly to be anything born from nature. The waterfalls did not trickle of their own accord, but were fed into their streams and pools from aqueducts and trenches that undoubtedly had required many very patient men a long time to carve from the rock. But the creatures scarcely seemed to have the attention span required to carve a slur into a coconut, much less hew this marvel of sand and stone and stream.

He studied for as long as he dared until he heard the unmistakable cry of greeting. He assumed it was greeting, anyway; the Owauku’s language tended to blend salutations, curses and propositions into remarkably similar words. The dozens of green blobs became dozens of pairs of bulbous golden globes as they all looked up at him, yellow smiles splitting their faces and stubby appendages waving at him. His grin and wave were equally meek as he noted with no undue relief that only the Owauku demanded such a reaction.

The Gonwa were mercifully curt.

There was no shortage of the lankier bearded lizards walking amidst the sandy pathways, either. Very rarely did the more stoic creatures even deign to notice their companions’ presence, and when they did it was only with a mutter in their own language and a downturn of their eyes.

Side by side with the Owauku, they didn’t look particularly strange, and their smaller cohorts didn’t seem to mind their presence one bit. Together, they soaked in the dozens of pools that lined the rising sandy ridges in the valley, each one fed by gently trickling waterfalls, flowing swiftly from the forest above to splash in the pools below, sending cascading droplets against the damp earth and …

His eyes widened as he felt a sudden warmth cascade down his inner thigh.

‘Oh, come on,’ he whispered, turning back to the hut’s wall.

The effects of an overuse of Venarie were random and imprecise, ranging anything from pink sweat to instantaneous internal combustion, swiftly followed by external combustion. Horror stories lingered about the occasional bout of extreme overindulgence that resulted in spontaneous hermaphrodite transformation combined with the sudden growth of tails, fins, horns and extra mouths.

Dreadaeleon supposed he ought to be pleased that an uncontrollable bladder was all that he suffered.

And he was, indeed, pleased up until the moment he heard a familiarly unpleasant voice behind him.

‘Well, well,’ the distinctly masculine voice muttered, ‘watering your garden, are you?’

He whirled about, seeing his horrified visage reflected in Denaos’ broad, white grin. The tall man folded his arms over his naked chest and canted his head to the side at the boy, the wrinkled lines in his face suddenly giving him a decidedly sadistic visage.

‘I’m not sure what you know of botany,’ the rogue said, stifling a chuckle, ‘but you won’t be growing any daffodils with the fertiliser you’re using.’

‘How long have you been standing there?’ Dreadaeleon demanded, painfully aware of the startled crack in his voice.

‘You’re never happy to see me anymore.’

‘Possibly because you watch people while they urinate for purposes I cannot begin to even summon the will to fathom.’

‘Intimidation, mostly,’ the rogue replied with a shrug.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, see, a fellow who can sneak up on you and put steel in your kidneys while you’re not looking is just unpleasant. A fellow who can do all that while you’re indulging your glittering wine?’ His grin took on an exceedingly unpleasant quality. ‘Well, there’s a man to be scared of.’

‘I suppose I should have clarified,’ Dreadaeleon muttered, waving a hand, ‘I don’t want to follow. Go away.’

‘I don’t see why I should,’ Denaos replied. ‘You’re doing well enough.’

‘Did you take me for the type that would lock up while being watched?’ the boy growled.

‘Well, no.’ The rogue chuckled. ‘That would be weird.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, mind telling me?’

‘Telling you what?’

‘Why, precisely, you go wherever you please? Being amongst half-naked reptiles is hardly an excuse to cast modesty to the wind.’

‘It’s not your place to know.’

‘It is my place to ask,’ Denaos retorted. ‘Frankly, if you’re going to go explode in some magical blaze of fire, I think I have the right to know.’

‘You think it’s magical, then?’ the boy asked, sneering.

‘Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things wrong with you that aren’t magical, but this …’ He gestured to the soaked earth. ‘This seems more in the realm of “things that could go horrifically awry.”’

‘It’s just a little loss of control,’ Dreadaeleon replied as calmly as he could. ‘Magic needs fuel. I am that fuel. I don’t get to decide which muscles it eats away.’

‘That doesn’t seem much like a muscle you should be gambling with,’ Denaos said. ‘What was it that caused it? Too much magic stuff?’

‘Yes, exactly. All the wondrous thought and power that goes into my gift and you’ve boiled it down to “too much magic stuff,”’ the boy snarled. ‘You have a promising future as an archivist for the drunk and simple.’ He glowered disdainfully at the sleepy look in the rogue’s eyes, sniffed at his foul breath. ‘Mostly the drunk.’

‘Well, there’s hardly any need to be snide about it,’ the rogue replied. ‘Really, though, I am a bit curious.’

‘And I’m a bit uncomfortable with where this is heading.’

‘Hush, I’m pontificating.’ The rogue leaned back with an air of scholarly ponder, tapping his chin. ‘Why in Silf’s name, or whatever gods you don’t happen to believe in, would you still be suffering magic-related ailments if you haven’t had need, cause or want to continue using magic for all the time we’ve been here?’

He knows. He knows about the tome, about the scrying, about the stone …

The thought came almost unbidden, and the stiffening of his spine and sudden dripping halt of his flow came completely unbidden. The rogue’s eyebrow rose so slowly, with such arrogant curiosity, that Dreadaeleon could almost hear the muscles behind it creak like a door.

No, he told himself. He knows nothing. How could he?

How could he not? the boy countered himself. It’s not like you’ve been particularly subtle about it. And he has a penchant for sneaking up on people …

That made sense, the boy had to admit. He should have known he couldn’t get far enough away to avoid Denaos.

Still, he told himself, he can’t know much. What could he know? He doesn’t understand how scrying works.

But he could have learned. He could have found out, watched the wizard in his meditations long enough to have discerned that he was sniffing about the island, that he was pulling down more and more seagulls for purposes beyond getting covered in bird stool.

His heart started to beat quicker. How much did the rogue know? Was he aware of the tome’s location? Was he aware that the boy knew? Had he surmised the boy’s plan, to delay their discovery until he could bring himself up to his full strength and find it himself?

He must know; he’s not an idiot, Dreadaeleon told himself. Maybe I should just tell him. He can be persuaded to keep a secret …

No, fool! He reprimanded himself with a mental snarl. Tell him, and he’ll tell Lenk. Lenk will get it and what will you have done? Tattled like a child? They’ll be the great heroes again, adored by her, and you’ll be nothing more than a whiny little brat who had to go running to the men again.

He paused, frowning. Maybe I’m overreacting. They can’t possibly see me like that.

But when have they not? The irritation came flooding back into him with a scowl. They treat you like a match, sparking you and throwing you away at their convenience. You set the fires and they enjoy the warmth. It’s time you proved that your fires shouldn’t be ignored so lightly. You’ve conquered bigger obstacles with magic before. You can do this.

Right, he told himself. I can do this. He grimaced. Right?

‘You’re hiding something,’ Denaos said, angling the accusation like a knife.

‘What makes you so sure?’ the boy replied as smooth as he could manage.

‘You just froze while I was talking you, likely disappearing into some bizarre stream of thought that you’d rather I was not privy to.’ The rogue sniffed. ‘Also, your piss is on fire.’

The smoke filled his nostrils before Dreadaeleon could even think of a reply. He stared down with twofold horror: once to see the stream renewed and twice to see the yellow taint ending in a small blaze that smouldered angrily on the ground. His cry, too, came twice as he leapt backward and sprayed fiery soil across the earth.

‘Good Gods, how do you explain this?’ Denaos leapt from the errant stream.

‘It’s … it’s perfectly natural,’ Dreadaeleon stammered. ‘Well, all right, not natural, but not uncommon. Sometimes fluids get crossed when a wizard channels them through his body, resulting in urine that explodes when exposed to air. Nothing to worry about.’ He nodded sternly, placed his hands on his hips, then looked up at the rogue. ‘So, uh, what do I do?’

‘How should I know what to do about your fluids?’ Denaos said, cringing away. ‘How often does this happen?’

‘Not enough that I know what to do,’ the boy shrieked, gesturing wildly. ‘How do I stop it? What do I do?’

‘Well, don’t point it at me!’ Denaos angled himself sharply behind the wizard, seizing him by the shoulders and directing him toward a nearby bush. ‘There! Just … just close your eyes and think of Muraska. It’ll wear itself out.’

Damn, damn, damn, Dreadaeleon scolded himself mentally. This! This is what happens when I don’t rest! I knew this was going to happen. Well, not this, specifically, but something like this! Oh, I’m so bad at this … His hands twitched about his loincloth, fearful to touch and aim the suddenly lethal spewer. Well … no, it’s fine. Denaos can keep a secret, right? He’ll make me pay for it later, but for now, all that matters is that no one sees—

‘What’s going on?’ a familiarly feminine voice lilted to his ears.

He nearly broke his neck as he contorted it to see over his shoulder. Asper stood, hands on bare hips, her expression a blend of concern and irritation that drifted between the wizard and the tall man standing between them. Dreadaeleon felt his blood run cold, even as he felt a sudden, fiery spurt.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!

‘Watch my back,’ he whispered his plea to Denaos.

‘Better than your front, surely,’ the rogue muttered in reply.

‘Is there something going on here that I should be informed about?’ Asper demanded again, crinkling her nose as she witnessed Dreadaeleon’s activity. ‘Or is this actually as foul as it appears?’

‘Foul?’ Denaos mimicked her indignant stance. ‘What’s foul about it?’

‘He appears to be urinating on a burning bush,’ she replied, fixing him with a suspicious stare. ‘Why?’

‘Dry season.’

‘And Dreadaeleon is …’

‘Performing his humanitarian duty by putting it out.’ The rogue sighed dramatically. ‘Listen, this is rather a personal aspect of a man’s life, so is there something we can help you with?’

‘Lenk has something to say to us,’ she said. ‘He has a hard time climbing the rings with his injury, so I went out to find you.’

‘Well, injured or not, he’ll have to come to us,’ Denaos said with a shrug. ‘Dread’s going to be a while.’ At her confused stare, he nodded sagely. ‘It was a very dry season.’ Following that, he thrust his own curious stare at her. ‘Interesting that you should come this far just to find us, though … Almost out of character, isn’t it?’

Even over the crackle of the blazing bush, Dreadaeleon could hear the accusation intoned in Denaos’ voice. He lofted a brow, then lofted it higher as he heard Asper’s feet slide aggressively across the sand and her hand clap on the rogue’s naked back. An instant of remembered pain flashed through his mind, memories of the rogue’s arm around the priestess, the sensation of impotent fury that followed.

He hid his scowl, strained to stifle himself and hear the harsh whispers emanating between her clenched teeth.

‘You say nothing of what happened,’ she snarled to him, pulling him closer. ‘Nothing.’

‘Ashamed?’ Denaos muttered in reply.

‘Secretive,’ she growled. ‘You know the difference.’

‘I don’t know why it matters so much.’

‘No, you don’t.’

By the time he heard her break away from him, listened to hear feet tramping down the sandy hill, the blood boiled in his ears with enough fury to render him deaf to all else, save the thunder in his own head.

You fool! You FOOL! What was she doing while you were scenting out the tome? What was he doing while you were preparing to save them all? Of course, why wouldn’t they? Filthy, god-fearing animals acting in decidedly filthy mannerisms …

‘She’s gone now,’ Denaos said, glancing down the hill. ‘How’s the progress over there?’

Maybe it’s not like that … Maybe she’s talking about something else. Let’s remain calm here. It’s the fumes that are making me like this … burning urine can’t be good for the sinuses.

‘Really, though,’ the rogue continued without his reply, ‘I’m not sure why it needed to be a secret. Chances are she’d be impressed that you could pull off something like this.’

She doesn’t need to know anything, he muttered inwardly. She doesn’t need to know that you can’t even control yourself while he … He felt his teeth threaten to crack under the strain of their clenching. She knows all about his bodily functions, doesn’t she? No … no, stop thinking like that, old man. He’s a cad … a liar … a rat.

He probably seduced her, tricked her … I’m still the better man.

The stream sputtered and died out, leaving a fire that gave no heat that Dreadaeleon could feel. His head throbbed, but he didn’t mind. His fingers ached, but he didn’t feel them. All feeling poured into his stare as he felt the crimson light flicker behind his eyes.

The better man with all the power.

Too late, Kataria realised that not everything could be learned from the wisdom of the elders. For years, she had been content to accept their categorisation of the human menace as a disease. It had made sense when she had only four notches in her ears.

Humans contaminated, infected, multiplied, spread. It was how they had bred to the point where they threatened land and people, where they began to require a cure. Still, she was forced to admit, certain aspects of the elders’ wisdom left out key information.

Such as onset time.

Perhaps one year was enough, she thought as she stared down at the strain that sat against the reed hut. Perhaps one year and six days was enough to be infected beyond the point of a cure. That made sense now that she had six notches in her ears.

After all, she thought resentfully, how long has it been since you felt the urge to kill him?

‘Six days.’

‘What?’ Her eyes went wide, as though fearing he could hear her thoughts with those puny little ears.

‘Six days since we landed,’ Lenk elaborated.

‘Shipwrecked,’ Kataria corrected.

‘I was trying to be optimistic.’

‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘Six days since we were shipwrecked on an island forgotten by man and abandoned for dead by the very people we so foolishly trusted to come and rescue us from a slow, lingering death surrounded by an impenetrable wall of salt and wind.’ He turned a glare upon her. ‘Happy?’

‘Well, now you’re just being negative,’ she replied. ‘What’s your point, anyway?’

‘My point is that I’ve had enough of it,’ he said. ‘Enough loincloths, enough lizardmen, and enough forbidden islands.’

‘Better than berserker purple women, giant fish demons and gaping, diseased wounds, surely.’

‘I haven’t forgotten those.’ He rubbed the bandages upon his leg thoughtfully. ‘And I’ve had enough of that, too.’

‘Enough adventuring?’ Her tone was as sly as her smile. ‘I thought it was all you wanted.’

‘No one wants to be an adventurer. They just do it when they can’t get any other work.’

‘Your grandfather was an adventurer,’ she offered. ‘He wanted to be one.’ She frowned at his puzzled expression. ‘Or so you said.’

His face twitched, an expression of doubt flashing across his features like sparks off flint. She held her breath at the sight, waiting for the question that would inevitably follow. He didn’t ask it, didn’t have to. The doubt upon his face twisted to an all-telling despair in an instant as he undoubtedly realised he couldn’t remember his grandfather ever having been such a thing.

His memory was improving. He had said that, but he was human. Humans lied. He had little to offer in regard to his past, save for brief flashes of memory in a deep and smothering darkness: a name of a girl he once knew, an image of a tree struck by lightning, the sound of cocks crowing. Even those days he spoke of slid by swiftly, into memory and out, back into darkness.

To look at him struggling to recall brought her own memories to the surface. When she looked upon him out of the corner of her eyes, his silver hair was a pelt, his eyes were faded and cloud-covered, his breath slow and stagnant. In those brief glimpses, he was no longer Lenk; he was a beast, and he was sick.

When she looked at Lenk, it was difficult to see him as a man anymore. More and more, he resembled something dying, struggling with the symptom of his own memories.

And you know what happens to sick beasts.

She closed her eyes, trying to forget the sound of shrill whimpers fading under the crunch of pitiless boots.

‘Yeah,’ Lenk suddenly whispered, ‘he was, wasn’t he?’

She opened her eyes and he was smiling at her, and caring not if it was for her sake or his own, she returned it.

‘So,’ she said, ‘no more adventure?’

‘No more near-death experiences,’ he grunted.

‘No more sharp pieces of metal aimed at your vitals.’

‘No more fervent pleading to gods.’

‘No more waiting to be eaten in your sleep.’

‘Or stabbed or crushed or otherwise maimed,’ he said, nodding. ‘No more adventure.’

‘No more,’ the words spilled from her mouth unconsciously, ‘companions.’

It was a slow and heavy dawn that rose on their faces, a long and jagged frown that was shared between them. Neither could find any words of the same weight. None were exchanged. They turned away from each other; she fought back both her sigh of relief at the knowledge that passed between them and the urge to turn and look at him.

No, she told herself, don’t look. The solution is easy … Now you don’t even have to worry about anything else. No one has to die. You’re still a shict. He’s still a human. All you need to do is not turn around and stay—

‘So …’ she muttered.

Silent. Damn it.

‘If not adventure, what?’

‘Back to my roots, maybe,’ Lenk replied, rolling his shoulders against the reed wall. ‘Find some land, build a farm, hack dirt, sell dirt. Honourable work.’

‘Alone?’

Damn it, she immediately scolded herself, don’t ask him that! Why do you keep doing that? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

She turned to look, couldn’t help it, and saw him staring at her thoughtfully. Whatever she screamed at herself next, she couldn’t hear. Whatever he was about to say next, he didn’t say.

‘Cousin!’

Another sigh of relief was bitten back before they both looked up to see the massive yellow stare above a massive yellow grin set in a massive green head. A three-fingered hand went up, tipping a round black hat upon Bagagame’s scaly crown as he sauntered toward them.

‘Y’farin’ well, guests of Teji?’ He kept one eye upon them, the other circling in its socket to look at the bandage upon Lenk’s leg. ‘Sun feelin’ mighty fine on your meat, no? No cure better.’ He drew in a long breath through his nostrils and twisted his other eye up at the sun. ‘Too bad it never actually makes things stop hurting.’

‘Medicine does,’ Lenk replied, rubbing his leg. He glanced up at the Owauku’s rotating eyes and shuddered. ‘Do … do you always do that?’

‘’S’yeah, cousin,’ he said, bobbing his great head. ‘M’always extendin’ the warmest of welcomes all the damn time.’ He tipped his hat again. ‘King Togu’s always pleased to have humans on Teji, always pleased to share his medicine and hospitality.’ His scaly lips split in a broad, banana-coloured grin. ‘All for the smiling faces.’

‘That wasn’t what I was talking about, but—’

‘Oh.’ If such a thing were possible, the creature’s eyes seemed to grow even larger, threatening to erupt from their sockets with despair. ‘Oh no … you ain’t happy.’ His hands, trembling, reached up to clutch his face. ‘Oh, sweet spirits, I knew ’s’would happen. Was it me?’ He jabbed at his shallow green chest. ‘W’did I ever do to you?’

‘It’s … it’s nothing, it’s just—’

‘You’re hungry.’ His head nearly came toppling off with the force of his nod. ‘That’s it. Sunshine and happy thoughts can’t heal. M’get you a nice gohmn, cousin. A fine, fat one.’

Before anyone could protest, Bagagame had spun on his heel and scampered toward a nearby pool ringed by several rainbow-coloured carapaces. Another Owauku wearing a leather hood and wielding a crooked stick looked up as Bagagame began hooting something in their high-pitched babble. A dozen feathery antennae twitched, a dozen compound eyes looked up from their drinking pools, and even from such a distance, Kataria could see her distaste reflected back at her over a hundred times.

‘Gohmns,’ she muttered disdainfully.

‘You don’t like them?’ Lenk’s lip twisted in a crooked grin.

‘We have a history.’ She tried not to remember, but a sudden itch on her face prevented her from doing so. No matter how many times she washed it, she doubted she’d ever get her face clean again. ‘Stupid insects.’

‘It doesn’t seem a little odd to hold a grudge against an insect?’ he asked.

‘I’m entitled.’ She growled. ‘Anything that sprays anything from its anus I dislike on principle. Anything that sprays anything from its anus on my face I’m obligated to hate.’

‘Really,’ he mused, ‘I would have thought you’d admire them.’

‘For what?’

‘Well, you’re always boasting about how shicts ate every part of their kill, right? I thought you’d appreciate them for versatility alone. The Owauku use them for everything: food, milk …’

‘Clothes,’ she added, scratching her loincloth. ‘It’s one thing for a deer or a bear to fulfil those needs. If it comes off a giant rainbow roach …’ She moved her hand up, scratching an errant itch on her belly. ‘They don’t even taste good. What I need is venison stewed in its own blood … maybe a nice, hairy flank right off a pig. Something made of meat.’

‘Insects are made of meat.’

‘It doesn’t seem a little odd to defend an insect so vehemently?’

‘A little.’ His smile was broad, if no less crooked. ‘Maybe I’m not so averse to the various oddities that surround me anymore.’

His lips twitched, something tremulous scratching his mouth, straining to find a place where it could break out. She recalled how many times she had seen his gaze before, bereft of the softness it bore now. His gaze had been something hard and endlessly blue before, something to be avoided.

Quietly, she longed to see those eyes again. They would at least be easier to turn away from. Instead, she was bound by his stare, forced to look at him as he stared back at her with an expression that was terribly human.

‘Maybe,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t want to leave all of them behind.’

Why do you keep doing this? Her voice was growing ever more faint in her mind, but still returned to gnaw at her heart with sharp teeth. Why do you encourage him like this? Even if you wanted this, even if you wanted to be infected, this can’t last. It can’t even last as long as you think it can.

Lenk didn’t see the fear on her face as he looked up. His smile diminished only slightly as he stared at the three half-naked figures approaching them. His wave was weak, his eyes lost their softness; it only reminded her painfully of how he had just looked at her.

‘Other oddities, I’ll be glad to be rid of.’

‘The same could be said of you,’ Denaos muttered as he slunk forward. ‘At the very least, don’t expect me to leave flowers on your grave.’

‘And don’t expect me not to leave something brown and steaming on yours,’ Lenk replied sharply. ‘But I didn’t call you out here to just insult you.’

‘Just insult me? Were you going to kick me, as well?’

‘Not today.’ Lenk patted his leg. ‘I had something to—’

‘You should kick him.’

Dreadaeleon’s voice was as sullen as his frown was long. His eyes shifted irately toward Denaos, who merely sneered in reply.

‘Some gratitude,’ the rogue muttered. ‘This is the thanks I get from you?’

‘For what?’ Asper asked, cocking a brow.

‘For …’ Whatever it was that flashed across Dreadaeleon’s face, only Denaos seemed to catch it. ‘A secret.’

‘Secrets,’ the priestess repeated quietly. ‘I suppose he knows all about that, doesn’t he?’

This time, something flashed across Denaos’ face. His visage shifted, as though he tried on and discarded a mask in a single breath many times over. When he finally chose one, the blankness on his face was as cool as his tone of voice.

‘Everyone knows something about them.’

His eyes flickered and Kataria’s breath caught in her throat, as though he had hurled that sentence like a dagger and struck her squarely in the heart. Her ears lowered, flattened against her head as a thick and awkward silence smothered the air between them, even if it could do nothing to hide the scowls darting from face to face.

And, like the baffled eye of a half-naked storm of scorn, Lenk turned a single raised brow to his companions.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Not at all.’ Kataria spoke up with a swiftness that made her want to kick herself. ‘Nothing, really. Nerves are … you know, worn, from having sand up our collective rear ends for a while.’

‘Six days,’ Dreadaeleon said, nodding, ‘since we arrived.’

‘Since we were shipwrecked,’ Asper pointed out.

‘Yes, we’ve been over this,’ Lenk snarled, rubbing his brow. ‘And now, it’s over.’

A panoply of furrowed brows and confused looks met him.

‘Did I miss something?’ Denaos asked. ‘We don’t have the tome, don’t have a boat, we certainly aren’t paid and, in fact, seem to be poorer by about three pounds of clothing, give or take, since we started.’

‘Not to mention the fact that Kataria has, in fact, told you that netherlings are on the island,’ Dreadaeleon pointed out.

‘And I think Denaos mentioned something about demons, didn’t he?’ Kataria asked.

‘Yes, but when you found them, they were busy killing each other,’ Lenk replied. ‘And none of them saw you, did they?’

A choral attempt at inconspicuousness assaulted Kataria’s ears: Dreadaeleon cleared his throat and appeared to study the sky overhead, Denaos sniffed and spared a momentary sneer, Asper shuffled her feet briefly before reaching for a holy symbol that wasn’t there and resigning herself to casting her eyes downward. The shict couldn’t afford to furrow her brow at them for long before Lenk turned the same scrutinising, expectant stare upon her.

She blinked, then shook her head briefly.

‘No one,’ she replied. ‘The netherlings were busy with the demons, as you say.’

‘And likely the same can be said of the other fish-things,’ Lenk replied, rolling his shoulders. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘Well, basically, everything,’ Asper interjected. ‘Between the presence of the longfaces, the demons, the lizardmen and the noted absence of the presences of the tome, our clothes—’

‘The gold,’ Denaos added, ‘our dignity, and so forth …’

‘Point being,’ Asper said after shooting the rogue a silencing glare, ‘things certainly don’t look over.’

‘Because you’re not looking at it with the proper perspective,’ Lenk replied. ‘What you’re seeing is the broth, not the meat.’

‘The what?’

‘I wrote about it earlier.’

‘How does that help any—’

‘As I was saying, you’re only seeing what we don’t have: the tome, the gold. We didn’t have a lot of dignity to begin with, so that’s no great loss.’ He offered a weak smile around the circle. ‘But we do have each other. We have our lives. We should hold on to them.’

Kataria wasn’t quite certain what he expected, be it a raucous chorus of cheering approval or a weary sigh of resignation and agreement, but she could guess by the sudden narrowing of his eyes that he wasn’t expecting the choked snort Denaos forced through a crooked grin.

‘You girl,’ the rogue cackled and held up his hands for peace. ‘No, no, sorry, I meant to say something far less insulting to our female cohorts and far more insulting to you, but … you girl.’

‘Don’t feign bravery now, you roach,’ Lenk snarled at him. ‘You were the most eager to run when we started this.’

‘And I still am. I agree with your philosophy, but not your reasons. Let’s not go acting like you give a damn over everyone’s lives at this point, not after we’ve nearly died … how many times now?’

‘Roughly thirteen since we left the Riptide,’ Dreadaeleon interjected. ‘Those are only the potential deaths by injury, of course. Taking into account factors such as accidents, disease and premeditation sans follow-through, the tally rises considerably.’

‘All of which you remained conspicuously silent through until now,’ Denaos said, scratching his chin. ‘What’s changed?’

Lenk made no reply for the rogue to hear, nor did he offer one to anyone. Still, Kataria saw it in the brief flash of blue as he cast her a sidelong glimpse. It was only the barest sliver of azure, but she could see his answer in the sudden softness of his stare, the quiet thaw of his eyes. Something had changed; what it was, he would not say to her or any of the others.

And so, as he stood silent, she ignored the feeling that she should follow and spoke up.

‘The longest-lived rat doesn’t ask why a crumb comes his way,’ she snarled at the rogue. ‘The fact that this one standing in front of me is suddenly so interested in why he’s not getting stepped on should be more questionable than anything else.’

She had expected anything from the rogue: a sneer, a snide comment, a veiled threat, even the sudden appearance of a dagger he had somehow unnervingly concealed. These she was prepared for; these she had retorts for. Thus, when he angled his eyes away from her stare and said nothing more, she was struck dumb.

‘As always,’ Lenk continued, sighing, ‘I don’t expect anyone to follow me where they don’t want to. If any of you wish to stay here, carve out whatever life you care to amongst the lizards and count the days before something – purple, black or otherwise – rips off your head and eats it, feel free to.’ He sniffed. ‘Anyone else is free to listen to my plan.’

Another chorus of begrudging coughs brought a grin out on his face.

‘How swiftly the tide turns, eh? Was it the mention of escape or the promise of having your head digested, then?’

‘I’m more curious about how, exactly, you plan to get off this island, given our circumstances,’ Denaos interjected. The sullenness from his face was banished and reinvigorated with snidery. ‘Did we or did we not miss our trip back to Port Destiny?’

‘We haven’t missed it.’ Kataria looked pointedly at the ground. ‘Sebast might still show up.’

‘If he doesn’t arrive soon, I still have a plan,’ Lenk replied.

‘Does it include a way to leave the Owauku,’ Asper began sharply, ‘who, I feel the need to point out, saved our lives and who, I feel again the need to point out, we are about to abandon as they are caught in the cross between the netherlings and the demons?’

‘Yes,’ Lenk said. He coughed discreetly. ‘In a way.’

‘In what way?’

‘If we tell them, they’re not going to help us escape, so I figured we’d … I don’t know, leave a note or something.’

‘Good,’ the priestess said, nodding. ‘Maybe they can use it to stanch the blood when their intestines get spilled out on the ground.’

‘They took our stuff,’ Lenk replied with a shrug. ‘Seems a fair trade.’

She blinked. ‘They made us slightly sunburnt and uncomfortable … so we’re being reasonable in condemning them to a slow, agonising death.’

‘Stop being dramatic,’ Denaos said. ‘You know as well as we do that the longfaces kill their prey quickly.’

‘Oh, so now you’re for this?’ She whirled, snarling at the rogue. ‘What was that momentary conscience growing out of your mouth a moment ago?’

‘Indigestion, probably,’ he replied. ‘Upon further consideration—’

‘You mean three breaths long?’

‘Further consideration,’ he replied forcefully, ‘it’s rather clear we aren’t going to make any money or avoid an imminent disembowelment any longer by staying here. Prudence dictates we leave, maybe come back later when everyone’s dead and sift through the innards until we find something.’

Kataria glowered at the distant gohmn herd sipping from a pool. ‘If there’s anything left.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Well, it’s all moot, isn’t it?’ Dreadaeleon suddenly chimed in. ‘I mean, we can’t just leave yet.’

‘At least someone has a sense of decency,’ Asper muttered.

‘Not a person in this circle is in a position to lecture anyone on decency, young lady,’ Denaos replied. ‘He probably just wants to stay as long as he can to catch a glimpse of all the flesh on display.’

‘Clearly,’ Dreadaeleon said, sneering. ‘But I was more referring to the fact that we’re, as yet, incomplete.’ His expression was half-beseeching and half-curious as he swept it about the circle. ‘I mean, what about Gariath? If the rest of us are alive, he probably is, too.’

‘He seemed fairly determined not to be when we last saw him,’ Asper said.

‘He’s alive,’ Kataria said softly.

‘How do you know?’

The shict felt a sudden unease as the human eyes turned toward her, scrutinising her slowly. She felt the urge to flee, to escape both their stares and the memory of her encounter with Gariath. She had done a good enough job over the past days, she thought, trying to trick herself into thinking that the dragonman was dead and her secret was safe.

In her heart, though, she knew he was alive. There was no way she could be so lucky for anything else to be true.

‘She knows because she’s not an idiot,’ Lenk replied before she could. ‘He’s stronger than all of us. He would survive. And I suppose we can delay our plans until we find him.’

‘A thought occurs,’ Denaos interjected. A thoughtful look crossed his face and he inhaled sharply, as though about to deliver a stirring conclusion. ‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why? He’s part of our group, isn’t he?’

‘Well, we’re not really a “group”, are we? And he’s really more of a hanger-on that chose to insinuate himself into our loose coalition … a parasite, if you will.’

‘Parasites don’t so abruptly try to kill us,’ Kataria muttered.

‘Well, he’s been doing it for the past year,’ Dreadaeleon retorted. ‘I thought we were past holding that against him.’

‘Yes, but he came awfully close this time,’ Asper said. ‘It’s probably wiser to abandon him now after his … what, eighteenth try?’

Denaos chuckled. ‘Stick up for the lizardmen that you just met, but abandon the one you’ve known for ages? Is that sort of behaviour condoned in the Talanite faith?’

‘I sleep easy,’ she replied. ‘Do you?’

‘I’m sure there’s some lovely backstory that I don’t care about between you two,’ Lenk interjected, ‘but I’ll have to interrupt to put this to a vote.’ He swept a careful stare around the circle. ‘Acknowledging full well what it means to say so … how many of you want to leave Gariath behind?’

Denaos’ hand shot up with swiftness, Asper’s followed with only enough hesitation to display a minor internal struggle. Dreadaeleon glanced at them both with a frown that went slightly beyond disapproval. It wasn’t until Lenk looked to his side and saw the pale, slender arm in the air that he quirked a brow.

‘Really?’ he asked Kataria. ‘I would have thought you to be his only supporter.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong, would it?’ she growled at him.

He frowned. ‘I … guess not.’ With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it? If he is alive and we go through with this, I suppose we’ve got one more thing that can and will kill us.’

‘All the more reason to leave,’ Kataria agreed.

‘Which you still haven’t explained how you intend to do,’ Denaos pointed out.

Whatever Lenk had to say in response was suddenly drowned out by the sound of a heavy breathing, heavy footsteps and a heavy stick being dragged through the sand. It was hard to ignore the sight of Bagagame approaching the group, and outright impossible to miss the sight of the screeching writhing roach he dragged by its antennae alongside his stick.

‘Okay, cousin,’ he gasped, pulling his twitching prize before Lenk. ‘Ol’ Bagagame got you covered. Took some whacking, but m’found you a nice slab to chew on.’ With a grunt, he hurled the insect forward. ‘Eat hearty.’

‘That’s … nice?’ Lenk said. ‘But there’s something else you can do for us.’

‘Ah, right. Rude.’ The Owauku’s tiny muscles strained as he hoisted his stick high above his head and brought it down in a shrieking splatter of foul-smelling ichor. His tongue flicked out from behind his grin to slurp up a glistening gob on his mouth. ‘Juicy enough for a king, eh?’

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Lenk said as he turned his smile from the lizardman to his companions. ‘Bagagame, show us to Togu.’