Black Halo

Twenty-Four

NAMING THE SIN

The water is cold today.

Lenk let that thought linger as he let his hand linger in the rush of the stream. Between the clear surface and the bed of yellow pebbles below, he could see the legged eels, their vast and vacant eyes staring out from either side of their gaping mouths as stubby, pinlike legs clung to rocks and streamweeds to resist the current.

He mimicked their expression, staring blankly into the water as he waited for a reply to bubble up inside his mind. He did not wait long.

‘Mm.’

The Steadbrook was never this cold.

‘You remember that?’

It was what the village was named for. It powered the mill that ground the grain. It was the heart of the village. My grandfather told me.

‘Memories are returning. This is good.’

Is it?

‘Should it not be?’

You never seemed concerned with that before.

‘You never spoke back before.’

Do you suppose there’ll be more?

‘More what?’

Memories.

He waited, listening patiently for an answer. All that responded was the stream, burbling aimlessly over the rocks. He furrowed his brow and frowned.

Are you still there?

The sun felt warm on his brow, uncomfortably so. Someone, somewhere else, muttered something.

‘Memories,’ it replied with a sudden chill, ‘are a reminder of what was never meant to be.’

He blinked. Behind his eyes, shadows danced amidst flames in a wild, gyrating torture of consumption. Against a pale and pitiless moon, a mill’s many limbs turned slowly, raising a burning appendage pleadingly to the sky before lowering it, ignored and dejected. And at its wooden, smouldering base, bodies lay facedown, hands reaching out toward a warm brook.

‘Remember,’ the voice said with such severity to make Lenk wince, ‘why we do not need them.’

‘No,’ he whimpered.

‘Well, fine,’ someone said beside him. ‘Refuse if you want, but you don’t have to look so agonised at the suggestion.’

He opened his eyes, glowered at the stream and the quivering reflection of a stubble-caked face staring down at him.

‘If I’m looking pained,’ he said harshly, ‘it’s because you’re talking.’

‘Feel free to leave. I don’t recall inviting you here, anyway.’

Denaos was no longer one singular voice, not so easy to ignore as he had once been. Rather, every noise that emanated from him was now a chorus: complaint followed by a loud slurping sound, an uncouth belch as punctuation and the sound of half a hollowed-out gourd landing in a growing pile of hollowed-out gourd halves to serve as pause between complaints.

He looked down at the young man and grinned, licking up the droplets soaked in his stubbled lip.

‘They can’t figure out the concept of clothing that keeps one’s stones from swaying in the breeze, but they can make some fine liquor.’ He held out the fruit-made-cup to Lenk. ‘You’re sure you don’t want any?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what it is,’ Lenk replied, rising up.

‘Drinking irresponsibly is a time-honoured tradition amongst my people.’

‘Humans?’

‘Drunks.’

‘Uh-huh. What’s it called?’

Denaos glanced to his left and cleared his throat. Squatting on stubby legs beside the stream, fishing pole in hand, the Owauku took one eye off of the lure bobbing in the water and rotated it slowly to regard the rogue with as much narrowed ire as one could manage with eyes the size of melons.

‘Mangwo,’ he grunted, slowly sliding his eye back to the bobber.

‘And … what’s it made of?’ Lenk asked.

‘Well, now …’ Denaos took a swig, swished it about thoughtfully in his mouth. ‘I’d say it’s fermented something, blended with the finest I-don’t-want-to-know and aged for exactly who-gives-a-damn-you-stupid-tit.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Delicious.’

‘I suppose I should be pleased you’re making such good friends with the reptiles,’ Lenk said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Or do they just find your sliminess blends well with their own?’

‘Jhombi and I are getting on quite well, yes,’ the rogue replied as he plucked his own rod and line from the ground and cast it into the stream. ‘Probably because he barely understands a word of the human tongue and thusly isn’t as prone to be a whining silver-haired hamster.’ He grinned to the Owauku. ‘Am I not right, Jhombi?’

Jhombi grunted.

‘Man of few words,’ Denaos said. ‘Speaking of, I trust negotiations with Togu went well?’

Lenk stared blankly for a moment before clearing his throat.

‘Yes.’

‘So he’ll—’

‘I said yes.’

‘Oh …’ The rogue blinked, taken aback. ‘Well, uh, good.’ He slurped up the rest of his drink and tossed it aside. ‘When do we leave, then?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Delightful.’

‘After the party.’

There was something unwholesome in Denaos’ grin.

Lenk growled. ‘I hate it when your eyes light up like that. It always means someone is about to get stabbed or molested.’

‘And yet, you have now inadvertently invited me to an event that is conducive to both.’ Denaos chuckled, shaking his head. ‘My gratitude will best be expressed in the generous offer that I will save you for last in either endeavour. How’s that sound, Jhombi?’

Jhombi grunted.

‘Jhombi agrees.’

‘How would you know?’

‘How would you?’

‘How is it that he can’t speak the tongue? Every creature on this island does.’ He glowered as a thought occurred to him. ‘Well, except for Hongwe.’

‘Who?’

‘Tall Gonwa, looked irritated and important.’

‘Ah.’ Denaos furrowed his brow. ‘They all look irritated, though. What made this one look important?’

‘Well, he had a satchel.’

‘A satchel, huh? I suppose that does count as sort of a status symbol amongst a people for whom the concept of pants is an incomprehensible technology.’ The rogue glanced at Lenk with worry on his face. ‘You negotiated all our terms, right? We’ve got pants?’

‘We’ve got pants, yes,’ Lenk said, nodding. ‘Kataria said—’

‘Kataria was there?’ Denaos asked, blanching.

‘She was, yeah.’ He glared at the rogue. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

‘Well, was there any trash to root around in? Filth to roll in? Perhaps a bone with a tiny piece of meat on it?’

Lenk’s neck stiffened. ‘I thought we settled this.’

‘Settled what?’

‘You talking about her like that.’

‘We did settle, but on different things. What you settled with was a willingness to ignore the fact that a woman – called such only in theory, mind you – threatened to kill you.’

‘She saved my life.’

‘I’m not finished.’ The rogue pressed a thumb to his own chest. ‘I settled with the idea that I should cease trying to help a man intent on ignoring that this “woman” has fangs and that he wants them near tender areas.’

‘If she was planning on killing me, she would have done it already, wouldn’t she?’

‘So you’re honestly trying to rationalise your attraction to a woman a step above a beast with the excuse that she hasn’t killed you yet.’

‘I am.’

‘And nothing about that seems insane to you?’

‘Like you’ve never threatened to kill someone and not gone through with it.’

‘There’s no time limit on murder oaths.’

‘Point being, things change, don’t they?’ Lenk replied. ‘Oaths are forgotten—’

‘Delayed.’

‘Even so … things change. Things happen.’ Lenk stared at the stream intently, his mind drifting back to so many nights ago. ‘Something … something happened.’

Denaos cast a suspicious glare at the young man. ‘What kind of something?’

Lenk sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s going to sound insane.’

‘Coming from you?’ the rogue gasped. ‘No. Not the man who’s been spotted, on more than one occasion, talking to himself, yelling at nothing and possibly eating his own filth.’

‘I told you, I wasn’t eating it, I was—’

‘No!’ Denaos flung a hand up in warding. ‘Stop there, sir, for there is no end to that thought that will not make me want to punch you in the eye.’

‘Just listen—’

‘No, sir. You’ve given me the excellent news that we are soon to be off and that we’re having a celebration tonight. My life is going exceedingly well right now. I have food, drink, and the comforting company of a surly green man-lizard. Tomorrow, I’m going to start heading back to a world where undergarments are not only invented but encouraged. I tried to talk you out of this deranged bestiality plot you’ve cooked up, and I defy you – defy you, sir – to say anything to lure me back in.’

In the wake of the outburst, the stream burbled quietly. Neither Denaos nor Jhombi looked up from their lures. A long moment of silence passed as Lenk stared and then, with a gentle clear of his throat and two words, shattered it.

‘Eel tits.’

Denaos blinked twice, cringed once, then swiftly snapped his rod over his knee and sighed deeply.

‘Gods damn it.’ He plucked up one of the empty half-gourds and stalked to a nearby mossy rock, taking a seat. ‘All right … tell me.’

‘Well, it happened days ago, before Kataria found me with the Shen.’

‘Go on.’

‘I was in the forest and I was … hallucinating.’ Lenk stared at the earth, the images returning to his mind. ‘I felt a river cold as ice, I saw demons in trees, I … I …’ He turned a wild, worried stare upon Denaos. ‘I argued with a monkey.’

The rogue blinked. ‘Did you win?’

Lenk felt his brow grow heavy, his jaw clench. Something spoke inside his head.

‘Not important.’

‘Not important,’ he growled. ‘I saw … Kataria there. She said things, tempted me and she peeled off her shirt and … eels.’

‘Eels.’

‘Eels!’ Lenk shouted. ‘She was there, speaking to me, saying such things, telling me to stop—’

‘Stop what?’

‘It doesn’t matter. The fever was eating at me, cooking my brains in my skull.’

‘Are … you sure?’ Denaos’ face screwed up in confusion as he stared at the young man curiously. ‘I was there when Kataria dragged you in, and I should note that I saw nothing writhing beneath her fur. I was there when Asper looked you over. She said your fever was mild.’

‘What would she know?’ the voice asked.

‘It was my head, not hers!’ Lenk snarled, jabbing his temple fiercely. ‘What would Asper know about it?’

‘Considering the years she’s spent to studying the physical condition? Probably quite a bit.’ Denaos tapped his chin. ‘She started screaming and ran us out a moment later, but I remember clearly—’

‘He knows nothing.’

‘Remember what? How could you know? You and Kat have both now said she went mad and drove you out like … like …’

‘Heathens.’

‘Heathens!’ he spat. ‘How could you know what she knew? What happened after she drove you out? Why did she do it in the first place?’

Denaos remained unmoving, glaring quietly at the young man with the same unpronounced tension in his body that Lenk had seen before, usually moments before someone found something sharp embedded in something soft. The fact that there was scarcely anywhere on the rogue where he could keep a knife hidden was small comfort.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is no business of anyone’s but hers. I believe her word over yours.’

‘Liar.’

‘A good point,’ Lenk muttered.

‘What is?’

‘Why so defensive over her?’ the young man asked, raising a brow. ‘You’re always the first to suspect, yet you so willingly take her word over mine?’

‘She has the benefit of not being visibly demented,’ Denaos replied.

Lenk wanted to scowl, to snarl, but the pain inside his head was growing unbearable. On wispy shrieks, the voice was agonisingly clear.

‘Traitors. Liars. Faithless. Ignorant. Unnecessary.’

‘Just ignorant,’ Lenk muttered, shaking his head. ‘Just … just …’

‘Look,’ Denaos said, his tension melting away with his sigh. ‘I’m not sure what kind of message is entailed by displaying the object of your attention with sea life replacing her anatomy, but it can’t be good.’ He leaned back and looked thoughtful. ‘The Gods send visions to speak to the faithful, to reward them, to guide them,’ his eyes narrowed, ‘to warn them.’

‘I didn’t think you were religious.’

‘Silf’s creed is silence and secrecy. It’s probably a mild blasphemy even telling you about this.’

‘So why do it?’

‘Greed, mostly,’ the rogue replied. ‘Averting a man from imminent mutilation of heart, head and probably genitalia seems a deed the Gods would smile upon.’ He glanced at the young man. ‘Tell me, what were you hoping to do once this whole bloody business was over and we stood on the mainland again?’

‘I’d given it some thought,’ Lenk replied, rolling his shoulders. ‘Farming is as good a trade as any. I figured I’d get some land and hold onto it as long as I could. Just a cow, a plough …’

‘And her?’

Lenk frowned without knowing why. ‘Maybe.’

‘Do you remember how she smiles?’

Lenk stared at the ground, a slight grin forming at the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘Remember her laughter?’

His smile wormed its way to the other side of his face. ‘I do.’

‘You’ve probably seen her truly happy a few times, in fact.’

He stared up at the sun, remembered a different kind of warmth. He remembered a hand on his shoulder, a puff of hot air between thin lips, heat that sent tiny droplets of sweat coursing down muscles wrapped under pale flesh. He remembered smiling then, as he did now.

‘I have.’

‘Good,’ Denaos said. ‘Now, of those times, how many had come just after she shot something?’

His smile vanished, head dropped. The rogue’s words rang through his head and heart with an awful truth to them. Surely, he realised, there were some moments between the shict and himself where she had smiled, where she had laughed and there hadn’t been a lick of blood involved.

But had she really smiled, then?

‘So she …?’

‘Was around for the violence? It’s a possibility, really. Nature of the beast, if you’ll excuse the accuracy of the statement.’ Denaos sighed. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it’s the truth.’

‘It’s not.’

‘It is,’ the voice hissed.

‘It’s not!’ Lenk insisted.

‘Her motivation is pointless. She is a distraction, useless. He, as well, but less so if he makes our purpose that much clearer to foggy minds.’

‘Well, it’s not like you’ll have to stop seeing her,’ Denaos offered. ‘Just keep killing things and she’ll continue to follow the scent of blood.’

‘He is right.’

‘He is not!’ Lenk muttered.

‘Ours is a higher calling. We are not made for idle farming and contemplating dirt. There is still too much to do.’

‘What happened to you?’ he whispered. ‘Why do you speak like this now?’

‘Too much to cleanse. A stain lingers on this island. Duty is clear.’

‘Well, you asked for my opinion,’ Denaos replied, raising an eyebrow. ‘It’s hardly my fault that your thoughts run so contrary that you find sanity offensive, but the fact remains …’ He held out his hands helplessly. ‘Adventuring or the shict. You can embrace both or give up both, but never dismiss either. And you’ve got divine reinforcement for that fact, not that godly visions are necessary.’

‘Or real.’

The sudden appearance of what appeared to be a pale, talking stick drew both men’s attentions up to the stream bank. Dreadaeleon stood there with skinny arms folded over skinny chest, nose up in the air in an attempt at superiority that was made unsurprisingly difficult given his distinct lack of clothing, muscle and dignity.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ Denaos cut him off with a direct swiftness. ‘It’s weird enough to be wearing a loincloth, talking to another man in a loincloth, without a third boy sitting and staring … in a loincloth.’

‘I had come by to talk to you. Fortunately, I arrived just as the delusional talk of gods came up.’ Dreadaeleon waved a hand as he sauntered toward them. ‘It’s irrelevant as pertains to the subject of hallucinations.’

‘It is?’ Lenk asked, quirking a brow.

‘Wait,’ Denaos interjected, ‘don’t tell me you’re going to listen to him.’

‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Dreadaeleon replied smugly. ‘Insight based on reason and knowledge is far superior to conjecture based on ignorant superstition and … well, I suppose you would probably cite something like your “gut” as credible source, no?’

‘That and the fact that, between the two of us, I’m the only one who’s managed to talk to a woman without breathing hard,’ the rogue snapped. ‘You’re aware we’re talking about women, right? Nothing even remotely logical.’

‘Everything is logical in nature, especially hallucinations, which you were also discussing.’ The boy turned to Lenk. ‘To credit one hallucination to one delusion is preposterous.’

Lenk frowned at the boy. ‘You … do know I’m a follower of Khetashe, don’t you?’

‘And yet, gods’ – Dreadaeleon paused to look disparagingly at Denaos – ‘and their followers don’t seem to be doing much for you. I once believed in them, too, when I was young and stupid.’

‘You’re still—’

‘The point I’m trying to make,’ he said with fierce insistence, ‘is that hallucinations are matters of mind, not divinity. And who is more knowledgeable in the ways of the mind than a wizard? You know it was the Venarium that discovered the brain as the centre of thought.’

‘Being that this is also a matter of attraction,’ Denaos muttered, ‘brains have shockingly little to do with it.’

‘Then we should introduce a little more to the situation.’ Dreadaeleon folded his hands with a businesslike air of importance as he regarded Lenk thoughtfully. ‘Now, the hallucination you experienced, the … ah …’

‘Eel tits,’ the young man replied.

‘Yes, the eel … that. It was a sign, make no mistake.’ He tapped his temple. ‘But it came from up here. Wait no …’ He reached out a hand and prodded Lenk’s forehead sharply. ‘In there.’

The young man growled, slapping Dreadaeleon’s hand away. ‘So … what, you think it’s madness?’

‘Madness is the result of the rational coming to terms with the irrational, like rel—’

‘Sweet Khetashe, I get it!’ Lenk said exasperatedly. ‘You’re incredibly enlightened and your brain is big enough to make your neck buckle under it.’

‘That may just be the fat in his head,’ Denaos offered.

‘Regardless, can we please remember to focus on my problem here?’

‘Of course,’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘Your hallucination is just that: your rational mind, what you know to be true and real, is struggling with your irrational mind, what you desire and hope. The hallucination was simply an image manifestation of that. That she was not there was rational; that she was there was irrational; the eels represent—’

‘There are precious few ways one can interpret eel tits, my friend,’ Denaos interjected.

‘Can we please stop saying that?’ Dreadaeleon growled. ‘The eels are simply the bridge between, the sole obstacle to what you hope to accomplish, hence their characterisation as something horrifically ugly.’

‘Couldn’t that also suggest an aversion or fear to what lay under her shirt? Or sexuality in general?’ Denaos mused.

The boy whirled on him with teeth bared. ‘Oh, was it a group of smelly thieves and rapists who uncovered the innermost machinations of the organ driving human consciousness? Because here I thought it was the most enlightened body of scholarly inquiry in the world that figured it out. But if Denaos said it, it must be the other way, because he’s so great and he’s right about everything!’

Lenk had never thought he would actually see a man will himself to explode, much less a boy, but as Dreadaeleon stared fiery holes into the rogue’s forehead, chest expanding with each fevered breath like a bladder filling with water, he absently felt the urge to take cover from the impending splatter.

‘Right,’ Dreadaeleon said, body shrinking with one expulsion of hot air as he returned to Lenk. ‘The correct thing to do, then, would be to embrace the urge and simply … you know … have at it.’

Lenk regarded the boy curiously for a moment. There was something different in him, to be sure. The burning crimson that heralded his power seemed to be present, if only in brief, faint flickers behind his dark eyes. And yet, all his being seemed to have sunk into those eyes, the rest of him looking far skinnier than usual, his hair far greasier than it should be, his cheeks hollow and his jaw clenched.

‘Well, ah … okay, then.’ Lenk blinked. ‘Thanks?’

‘My pleasure,’ Dreadaeleon said, leaning against a tree. ‘I’m a little curious as to where you managed to find a girl on this island to hallucinate over, though. Or was this someone prior to our departure?’

‘What?’ Lenk asked. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

‘Bits and pieces. I didn’t catch the identity.’ Dreadaeleon’s eyes flared wide, the fire behind them bursting to faint embers. ‘It’s not Asper, is it?’ Before the young man could answer, he leaned forward violently. ‘Is it?’

‘No, no,’ Denaos spoke up from behind. ‘Our boy here has decided that romancing within his own breed is a bit too dull.’

‘Oh … one of the lizards, then? Tell me, how can you tell the difference between the males and—’

‘It’s Kat, you spindly little freak!’ Lenk snarled suddenly.

‘Oh … what, really?’ Dreadaeleon blanched. ‘I mean … ah. No, I don’t think that’ll work at all.’

‘See?’ Denaos said.

‘What?’ Lenk frowned. ‘A moment ago you were telling me to follow my hallucination!’

‘Hallucination and delusion are two different things,’ Denaos replied. ‘This isn’t a matter of heart or mind, but of instinct. I mean, she’ll kill you.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Denaos muttered.

‘She hasn’t yet,’ Lenk replied, ‘and I’m sure I won’t be the first one she does.’

‘Who can say when or why an animal attacks? Perhaps she’s just waiting to show you her true colours, like a cat stalking. Or maybe she’s waiting until she’s hungry enough?’

‘Now wait just a—’

Denaos interrupted. ‘See, I hadn’t considered that. Here, I thought it was right until she got bored.’

‘She’s not going to—’

‘That’s a good point, but I think it may be biologically spurred,’ Dreadaeleon offered. ‘Like her instincts will only come to light when he spots her demiphallus.’

‘I’m not going to …’ This time, Lenk cut himself off as he stared at the boy with wide eyes. ‘Wait. Her what?’

‘All female shicts have them, it’s theorised. Granted, our necropsies haven’t catalogued enough to—’

‘No, shut up. What’s a demiphallus?’

‘Pretty much what it sounds like,’ the boy replied. ‘Used to show dominance over males, it’s … well … it’s …’ He appeared thoughtful for a moment. ‘All right, remember when we saw those exotic pets being unloaded in Muraska’s harbour?’

‘Right.’

‘Right, and remember the hyenas?’

‘Some noble in Cier’Djaal had shipped them up, I remember.’

‘Remember the female one?’

‘Yes, I—’ His eyes suddenly wide at the memory. ‘Oh … no.’

‘Really?’ Denaos asked, gaping. ‘She has one, you think? That would make perfect sense.’

‘I know!’ Dreadaeleon replied, grinning. ‘Wouldn’t it?’

‘How would that make perfect sense?’ Lenk demanded, eyes narrowing. ‘How?’ He glowered at the boy. ‘And how are you in any position to be commenting on any part of a female south of her neck?’

‘I’ve … read books.’

‘Books?’ Denaos asked, chuckling.

‘Books, yes,’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘I’m … familiar with the basic process, anyway. It’s not like it’s particularly difficult to perform, let along conceptualise.’

The two men stared at him, challenging. He cleared his throat.

‘See, uh.’ The boy scratched the back of his neck. ‘See, a lot of it has to do with the maidenhead. The, er, hymen, if you will, per se.’

‘Oh, I certainly will,’ Denaos said.

‘This isn’t helping me with my—’ Lenk muttered and was promptly ignored.

‘Right, well, this provides a form of … tightness … a sort of barrier that provides difficulty to the expeditious party. That … that makes sense, doesn’t it?’

‘Entirely, yes,’ Denaos confirmed through a grin.

‘All right, then … so, the only thing really necessary is some manner of … of …’

‘Penetration?’

‘No, see, because it’s a barrier. It … uh … needs a sort of crushing.’ He made a fist and thrust it forward demonstratively. ‘A punching motion.’

‘Punching?’

‘Yes. Punching.’ He turned to Lenk. ‘See? It’s a matter of nature, physical and mental. There’s no way you can possibly—’

‘Shut up,’ the young man said.

‘You did ask—’ Denaos began.

‘I said shut up!’ Lenk roared, fists trembling at his side as he impaled the two men with his stare. ‘I can’t believe I asked either of you. You’ – he levelled a finger at Denaos – ‘who would leap at the chance to rut a sow so long as you were drunk enough or you’ – he thrust it at Dreadaeleon – ‘who divides his time between alienating every woman in sight with his pretentious sputter and staring holes in Asper’s robe and trying desperately to hide the chicken-bone swelling in his trousers.’

‘Asper?’ Denaos asked, glancing at the boy. ‘Really?’

‘Did I speak too softly or did you hear me when I told you to shut up?’ Lenk demanded, his scowl growing more intense, his voice harsher. ‘I don’t care what you, you or any voice says. I’m the leader, and even if what I decide to do is at all mad, it’s still a damn sight better than any of you cowardly piss-slurpers could think of. Rest assured that no matter who I walk away from this with, their presence will be a small blessing against the fact that I am leaving both of you to rot in filth, get sodomised in an alley and otherwise die alone.’

He turned away from them, forcing his eyes on the stream, forcing himself to control his breathing. It tasted warm in his mouth, cold on his lips. He could feel their stares upon him, feel their shock. As though there were something wrong with him.

‘We are going to turn around,’ he uttered. ‘Do not be there.’

They left. He did not turn around. He didn’t have to. He could feel their fear seeping out of their feet and into the earth. They hadn’t even waited until they were out of earshot to start running.

Scared little animals. The very kind of animal they accused her of being. The very kind of beast they saw when they had looked at him.

They were the animals. Fearful, weak, squeaking rodents. Useless. Pointless.

He was strong. He saw it in his reflection in the stream. His face was hard. His eyes were hard. No apology, no weakness.

No pupils. He blinked. That can’t be right.

Falling to his knees seemed a bit too easy; his head pulled the rest of him to the earth. He rested on his hands and knees, staring at himself in the river. His breath poured out of him in great, unrestrained puffs that stirred the water, blurred his face in it.

The legged eels below the surface released their grips on the rocks, went drifting down the stream. Lenk ignored them; his image was no more clearer with them gone. He could make out flashes of grey, blue, each one a stark and solid colour that he had rarely seen in his hair or eyes before. Slowly, he leaned down farther, breath pouring out of his mouth to kiss the water.

And freeze it into tiny, drifting chunks of ice that were lost down the stream.

‘That … that definitely is not right.’

‘One would suspect,’ a deep voice spoke, ‘that you are a poor judge of that.’

He looked up immediately and saw no one to match the bass, alien voice. He was alone in the forest, even the birds and chattering beasts of the trees having fled to leave him bathed in silence. Just him, the stream, and …

‘Jhombi?’ he asked.

The squat reptile made no immediate answer, did not even look up from his lure bobbing in the water. Then, slowly, his massive head began to twist towards Lenk, staring at him with two immense eyes.

Lenk stared back, mouth gaping open; of all the words he could have used to describe the Owauku’s gourdlike eyes, ‘gleeful’ and ‘malicious’ had rarely come to mind. And ‘terrifying’, not at all.

‘Hello, Lenk.’ His … or its voice was like sap: thick and bitter in the air. ‘I see you’re experiencing some difficulty with your current plan? Perhaps I could be of help.’

Lenk shook his head, dispelling his befuddlement. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you spoke the tongue.’ He cast a glare into the forest. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked. Denaos has lied to me before.’

‘He has,’ the lizardman said, ‘but he didn’t this time.’

‘He said Jhombi didn’t speak the human tongue.’

‘Jhombi does not.’

Lenk stared as the lizardman’s green smile grew a bit larger and eyes shrank a bit narrower.

‘So,’ the young man said breathlessly, ‘you would be …’

‘I’d say that my name was unimportant, but that would be a lie. You’ve had far too many of those lately, haven’t you?’

‘I’d agree with you, but any bond of trust we might have would probably be shattered by the fact that I am speaking to someone wearing Jhombi’s skin like a costume.’

The creature laughed, not joylessly. Rather, there was plenty of mirth in his deep, booming chuckle, and all of it made Lenk’s skin crawl.

‘You are clever, sir. A bit macabre, but clever.’ He held up a hand. ‘Jhombi is fine, my friend. Not present, but certainly still alive and possessing all his skin. He was lured away long ago by a gourd of his people’s wicked brew. Not half as clever as you were, that one, not half as determined.’ He quirked a scaly eye ridge. ‘Or perhaps now that you’re giving up, you’re roughly on par?’

Lenk could but stare, tongue dry in his gaping mouth. ‘Are … you another one?’

‘A hallucination?’ The creature shook his bulbous head. ‘Would a hallucination admit to being such? After all, they only linger as long as you consider them real. I must linger, Lenk; not long, only enough to speak with you, but I must. After that, you can imagine me away.’

‘All my hallucinations want to speak with me, lately. My mind must have a lot to say … Or is it the Gods that are trying to tell me something?’ Lenk dared a smile at the creature. It could hardly hurt, he reasoned. He would hate to gain a reputation for rudeness amongst his growing collection of mental problems.

‘Good to see you’ve kept a sense of humour about it. I can hardly blame you. Lunatics have a reputation for laughing uncontrollably for a reason.’

‘So you are a hallucination.’

‘No, but you are going mad.’ The creature sighed. ‘Mad and clever, I suppose you could answer me this question: do you suppose it will stop?’

The young man blinked. ‘Will what stop?’

‘All of it. All the madness, the suffering.’ The creature looked at him intently. ‘The voices.’ It nodded slowly, all mirth gone from its face. ‘I know. I can’t hear them, but I know. I know how they torment you, running endlessly: hot, cold, soothing, frightening, day in, day out, screaming, shrieking, demanding, whispering, whining, talking all the time.’

Lenk, having nothing else to respond with, leaned forward, unblinking, unbreathing, unmoving.

‘Will they?’

The creature stared back at him and shook his head. ‘One will.’

‘One? There are …’ Should have realised that, should have known that. He stopped cursing himself long enough to breathe. ‘Which?’

‘Scarcely matters. One whispers lies, the other whispers what you don’t want to hear. You think either of them will stop?’ It sighed deeply. ‘Or is it that you think the one with the sweet lies will be correct? The one that tells you that everything will be fine, that you’ll go back to the mainland and leave all this behind you, grow fat on a field with your slender shict bride and watch the sunset until your lids grow too heavy to keep up and you die feeding the horseflies.

‘And yet, everything isn’t fine, is it? You are still here. Your companions fear you to the point that they have difficulty following you even back to their precious civilisation. You feel sick without your sword, angry in the company of those who smile at you, experience silence from one voice only when the other speaks …’

The creature shook its head.

‘No, not fine, at all, I’d say. One could scarcely be blamed for fleeing, especially when the alternative is to stay here, amidst the intolerable sun and rivers that turn to ice.’

‘There is nothing here,’ Lenk replied, ‘nothing but lizardmen and bugs. What purpose is there in staying here?’

‘When was the last time you found a purpose by looking behind you? What awaits you there? Burned ruins of your old home? The graves of your family?’

‘What would you know of it?’ Lenk snarled, feeling his hands tense, restrained from strangling the creature only by curiosity and dread for the answer.

‘I know they will not be there when you return,’ the creature replied. ‘Just as I know what little family you’ve scraped together you only have by coming this far.’ It grinned broadly. ‘Go farther and who knows? Blood, yes. Death, most certainly. But in these, you find peace … Perhaps you’ll find the kind that lasts? The kind that lets you know who it is that speaks in your head and who it was that sent you on a road that began with the blood of your family? The kind where everything is fine at the end?’

Lenk swallowed hard.

‘Will I find it?’

‘Are you asking me if things will get better or if things will turn out the way you hoped?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Just as well. Much of the future is uncertain, save for this …’ It leaned forward slowly, eyes widening, mouth widening. ‘None of that matters.’

‘My happiness does not matter?’

‘You were not bred for happiness. You were bred to do your duty.’

‘I … wasn’t bred! I was born!’ Lenk nodded stiffly, as if affirming to himself. ‘My name is Lenk!’

‘Lenk what?’

‘Lenk … Lenk …’ He racked his brain. ‘I had a grandfather.’

‘What was his name?’

‘He was … he was my mother’s father! We were all born in the same place! The same village!’

‘Where?’

‘A … a village. Somewhere. I can’t …’ He thumped his head with the heel of his hand. ‘But, I knew! I remembered! Just a moment ago! Where …’ He turned to the creature, eyes wide. ‘Where did they go?’

‘It hardly matters. They won’t be coming back … not on the mainland.’

A long silence persisted between them, neither of them breaking their stare to so much as blink. When Lenk spoke, his voice quavered.

‘But they will here?’

‘I did not say that. What I implied was that there is nothing to gain upon returning to the mainland.’

‘And what is here, then?’

‘Here?’ The creature grinned. ‘Death, obviously.’

‘Whose death?’

‘A meaningful one, be certain.’ It twisted its yellow gaze toward the distant edge of the forest and the village beyond. ‘Ah … sunset will come soon and your precious farewell feast with it. I would be wary of these green creatures, Lenk. You never know what might be lurking behind their faces.’

The creature’s saplike voice felt as though it had poured over Lenk’s body, pooled at his feet and held him there staring dumbfoundedly at the creature as it strode away like a thing much larger than its size would suggest. Dumbstruck, the young man found the voice to speak only as the creature began to slip into the foliage, green flesh blending with green leaves.

‘Wait!’ Lenk called after it. ‘Tell me … something! Anything! Give me a reason to keep going!’ As the creature continued on, he took a tentative step toward its fading figure. ‘Tell me! Will Kataria kill me? Who killed my family? Who is it in my head? You never told me!’ He growled, his voice a curse unto itself. ‘You never told me anything!’

‘I know …’

Whatever pursuit Lenk might have mustered further was halted as the creature turned to look over its shoulder with a face not its own. Its jaws were wide, impossibly so, to the point that Lenk could almost hear them straining under the pressure.

Gritted between them, reflecting his own horrified visage that shrank with every horrified step he retreated, a set of teeth, each tooth the length and colour of three bleached knucklebones stacked atop each other, glittered brightly.

‘Ominous, isn’t it?’

The words echoed in his thoughts, just as the polished, toothy grin embedded itself in eyes that stared blankly, long into the sunset, after the creature had vanished and drums began to pound in the distance.