Black Halo

Twenty-Seven

AN INVITATION WITH FISTS



‘KAMPO!’

The collective roar of jubilation rose from the village’s valley into the night sky like an eruption from a volcano too long dormant.

The Owauku had come exploding out of their huts and lean-tos in waist-high green tides, setting bonfires alight to challenge the black sky overhead. Their drums had followed shortly after, pounding relentlessly without concern for rhythm. And, as though it were some honoured guest arriving to mark the official beginning of the festivities, the mangwo had been rolled out in tremendous hollowed-out gourds, dispensed into smaller cups for the patient. Those lizardmen not possessing such restraint simply buried their heads in the drink and came out barely alive but wholly satisfied.

Once Lenk had seen enough to know that he was quite annoyed by the whole affair, his attentions turned to the Gonwa. To a lizardman, they abstained from the merriment, keeping out of the paths of the exuberant Owauku, lingering near fires only long enough to cook gohmn. Against the throngs of their squat, joyous hosts, they stood in groups of three or five, with only three or five groups amongst them.

Only now, as he walked along the edge of the upper lip of the valley, did Lenk truly notice how few and how silent they were.

‘They aren’t going to join?’ he asked the brightly coloured creature to his side, gesturing to a nearby throng of Gonwa.

‘The Gonwa come from Komga,’ Togu explained. ‘They have always had enough, so they don’t think it cause to celebrate when you no longer have nothing.’ He sniffed. ‘Also, they’re just weird.’

‘Right, but weren’t they invited? You said this was for us, didn’t you?’

‘That might have been a lie.’

‘Might have been?’

‘They get hard to keep track of when you have a position of authority,’ Togu replied. ‘You know … well, of course you know. You lead, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t really lie.’ Lenk’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. ‘Is that what I’ve been doing wrong?’

‘Probably,’ Togu said. ‘At any rate, it’s not a complete lie. This time twenty years ago, humans came to our starving island and brought with them all we needed to become what we are today: coin to collect, grains to make the gohmns grow strong …’

‘And all the brandy needed to forget when we didn’t be havin’ ’em!’ a passing Owauku cried out, to the roaring amusement of his companions.

‘I’ve been curious,’ Lenk said, glancing to the distant forest. ‘If your forests are barren, how have you survived this long?’

‘Barely,’ Togu replied. ‘Our numbers reached a point where we could subsist off of the occasional fish caught. But they swam so far from our shores that we could only bring back so many. We survived by starving.’

‘Until the humans came.’

‘Yes,’ Togu continued, ‘and the Kampo is here to remind us of what the humans have done for us, and to celebrate what we came from. In a way, it is a celebration of you.’ He flashed a broad grin at the young man. ‘Of course, there was some hope that you’d be smitten by our native charm and be convinced to stay and convince more humans to come.’

Lenk blinked, pondering if the intent fixation of both of the Owauku’s eyes was supposed to be expectant, speculative or possibly slightly nauseous. Hedging his bets, he simply shrugged.

‘Sorry,’ he replied. ‘We’re hoping to leave tomorrow.’ He glanced over the ledge, deeper in the valley, where he spied Denaos adding another half-gourd cup to a growing pile. ‘Most of us, anyway. In fact, I was hoping to see the boat.’

‘The boat?’

‘The one you’re lend … giving us,’ Lenk replied. ‘If I can figure out how it works now, it’ll save the time of learning it tomorrow.’

‘Of course … tomorrow …’ Togu waddled to the edge and stared down at the jubilant masses. ‘My people have forgotten the word, it sometimes seems. A few down there likely remember the barren forests we came from, but they have plenty now, so why should they remember?’ He sighed deeply, and then looked to Lenk. ‘Have you ever had this problem in your position? Sparing your friends the harshness so that they might continue to laugh and smile?’

‘As far as most of them are concerned, the laughing and smiling tends to come from killing, which in turn seems to come from being honest,’ Lenk replied, shrugging. ‘But that’s killing. It’s done when it needs to be done.’

‘And you leave Teji? Will you not return to more killing?’

‘I don’t plan on it. I’ve seen plenty of it.’

‘I see …’ Togu said, looking back down at his people. ‘You would say it is fair, then, to avoid spilling blood when need be?’

‘I would say,’ Lenk replied slowly, ‘that bloodshed is something that gets very tiring, quickly. If it’s at all possible to live without it, I don’t think it’s a ridiculous idea.’ He offered a weak smile. ‘So can’t some things just come without it?’

He laughed a vacant laugh. Somehow, he didn’t feel quite convinced by his own words.

‘I am glad you see things that way,’ Togu said, bobbing his head as he turned about and began heading back up the valley’s edge toward his stone hut. ‘Apologies, cousin. The Kampo is tiring to people in my position. I will see you at the end of it all.’

Lenk nodded stiffly. Somehow, Togu didn’t sound convinced, either.

It was quickly forgotten, however, as he watched Togu fight against the tide of Owauku pouring into the deeper levels of the valley. The king’s words lingered in his ears, the uncertainty in them infecting his thoughts.

He wasn’t much of a liar, he admitted to himself. Honesty had been bred into him. But when it came to his companions, it was really more a matter of practicality; lying to them simply wasn’t feasible.

Asper had taken enough confessionals to know them before they even began. Dreadaeleon asked too many questions for any to hold up against him. Gariath claimed to be able to smell lies and proved to be able to beat the truth out of people he suspected it of. Denaos would hear them, nod slowly, and then grin knowingly. And Kataria …

She believes you, he told himself. She follows you, anyway, doesn’t she? The others threaten to leave if they don’t get their way and you tell them you don’t care if they do and that’s the truth. But she’s never tried to leave …

He swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry. The bonfires were suddenly unbearably warm.

‘So what are you going to tell her when she does?’

‘Hey!’

He turned and saw her wading through the green herds towards him. He blinked.

‘Hey,’ he replied.

‘Not as earth-shattering as you’d hoped, is it?’

‘I thought you’d be with the others,’ Kataria said, stepping over a staggering, laughing Owauku.

‘Probably not a good idea,’ Lenk said, glancing down to the pink shapes in the valley below. ‘They …’

‘What are you going to tell her? That they looked at you like she does and you wanted to strangle them?’

‘Annoyed me.’

‘Not quite honest, but that hardly matters.’

‘I’m sure you could join them, though,’ he offered, ignoring the voice.

She shook her head. ‘Asper and I had a disagreement.’

‘What kind of disagreement?’

‘I beat her with a roach leg.’

‘Ah.’

Through the din of festivities rising from the valley, a silence hung between them that felt unfamiliar. Even amongst the roiling green stew below, even as she stood beside him, he could not help but feel as though he were alone.

‘A thought occurs.’

Almost alone, anyway.

‘Why bother telling her anything? Is that not how all your problems start?’

I can’t deal with you right now.

‘Why not simply enjoy the celebration? Can’t some things come without strife?’

I … suppose that makes sense.

‘You said it yourself, did you not?’

I did. It made sense, then, too. He smiled. I should relax, shouldn’t I?

A cold wind swept over the ridge.

‘Idiocy.’

He trembled at the sudden chill. That her hand then fell upon his shoulder should have stopped such a quaking, he knew, yet it didn’t. Not until he turned and looked into her eyes.

After that, he felt himself about to shudder, shatter and fall apart.

There was a certainty in her stare that pained him to see. In her eyes was reflected that which he had feared, that thought that had consumed him since morning. She stared at him with a knowledge of who she was, what she was.

She knew how this was going to end.

He knew it now, too.

‘Hey,’ she said again.

‘Hey,’ he replied.

He waited for the confirmation, the declaration as to how it would all happen, how it would all end. He braced himself, wondering if it might be easier just to hurl himself off the ledge right now. She spoke.

‘Let’s get drunk.’

‘Oh!’ His eyes went a bit too wide for anything other than tumbling screaming over a ridge. ‘That’s what you want to do.’

‘Yeah.’ She eyed him cautiously. ‘What did you think I wanted?’

He glanced down into the throngs below. Not too steep, he noted. Probably wouldn’t have killed you, anyway, not with your luck.

‘Nothing,’ he said, sighing. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Huh …’

Asper had done many services for the Healer in her time, tending to the wounds of many different people. Absently, as she felt a pair of fingers prod the bruise under her cheek, she wondered if others felt as uncomfortable as she did when she tended to them.

‘Yeah, this isn’t anything to be particularly concerned about,’ Denaos said, giving her cheek a light pat.

‘She beat me with a basted leg from a giant bug,’ Asper growled, slapping away his hand. ‘How is that not worth concern?’

‘She does a lot of things,’ Dreadaeleon offered with a shrug. ‘She spits, farts, snorts …’

‘And I have a strong suspicion that she once left a steaming pile in my pack,’ Denaos added.

‘I liked that pack,’ Dreadaeleon said.

‘It will be missed.’ the rogue replied, sighing. He glanced Asper over and took another sip from his half-gourd. ‘At any rate, she wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’d say she was likely pulling her punches, probably just to scare you.’ He eyed her curiously. ‘What’d you say to her, anyway?’

‘Nothing that’s worth repeating to someone who gives his medical opinion while drinking,’ she replied sharply.

‘It’s not like there’s a lot of other options.’

‘Well,’ Dreadaeleon said meekly, taking a step forward and extending trembling hands, ‘I … I could take a look, I suppose.’

‘It’s fine, thanks,’ Asper said, waving his concern away.

‘Well, no! I mean … are you sure?’ the boy asked, swallowing hard. ‘It’s not that much of a problem, really. I’m familiar with …’ His eyes quivered. ‘Anatomy.’

‘Yes, very familiar,’ Denaos agreed. ‘Particularly the relationship between fists and genitalia.’

‘That’s not—’ The boy’s anxiety boiled to ire as he whirled upon the rogue, glancing at his drink. ‘That’s what? Your fourth tonight?’

‘Astute.’

‘I think you have a problem.’

‘I agree.’ Denaos downed the last of the liquid and leaned in close to the boy, his words tumbling out on a tangy reek. ‘Though I’m hoping that if I drink enough, you’ll go away.’

‘You are drinking quite a bit,’ Asper said, furrowing her brow. ‘How is it you’re even still standing?’

‘This stuff is tasty, indeed,’ Denaos replied, smacking his lips, ‘but not that rough to anyone who’s ever drunk stronger than wine.’ He cast a sidelong glare at Dreadaeleon. ‘Or milk.’

‘I’ve drunk before,’ the boy protested.

‘You had one sip of ale and started crying,’ Denaos replied. ‘Perhaps you should preserve your dignity now and flee before you find a sip of this stuff and add involuntary urination to the problem.’

Dreadaeleon somehow managed to find a healthy medium between fury and astonishment at the insult. Asper felt the passing – swiftly – urge to question the rogue’s sudden and frequent interest in the boy’s bladder, but something else about the tall man drew her attention.

He had made it clear from the moment she had met him that liquor was second on his list of great loves, wedged neatly between cheap prostitutes and portraits depicting expensive prostitutes. And he had taken great pains to make it clear that there was never any excuse for a rush when enjoying any of those three.

Thus to see him imbibe so, with such reckless desperation, made her pause.

‘Why are you drinking so much, anyway?’ she asked.

The swiftness with which he turned to regard her was not half as startling as the look upon his face. It lingered for only a breath longer, but she saw it clearly, the same slight slackening in his jaw, the same subtle sinking in his eyes.

And then, even swifter, it was gone, replaced with a grin too fierce to be convincing to either of them.

‘It’s a party, is it not?’ he asked, laughing weakly. ‘Who doesn’t have fun at a party? Besides you, I mean.’

‘I’m not having fun because of the fact that I was violently assaulted and I’m surrounded by drunks’ – she paused and edged away from a flailing, cackling Owauku – ‘of various sizes and pigments.’

‘Perhaps you could try, possibly?’ he suggested. ‘I mean, before too long, you’ll be back in cold temples, reciting stale vows and flagellating yourself whenever you even think of something mildly amusing. This might be your last chance to do something interesting.’

‘Wait, what?’ Dreadaeleon glanced at Asper, worry plain on his face. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘What did you expect was going to happen when we reached the mainland?’ Denaos answered before the priestess could.

‘I don’t know … find more work or something?’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘That’s what adventurers do, isn’t it?’

‘Adventurers take the opportunities they’re given,’ the rogue spat back. ‘And given that only one of us has the opportunity and reputation to return to decent society, why wouldn’t they take it?’

Asper made no response to the tall man beyond a look of intent scrutiny. There was something to his eyes, she thought, a quaver he sought to bury beneath snideness and sarcasm that continually dug its way out. It was as if the minute cracks to his visage had begun to spread, seeping into his voice, exposing something dire and desperate beneath.

‘And what,’ she asked him softly, ‘will you do when we part ways, Denaos?’

She had barely expected to be heard through the din of drumming and raucous cheer that echoed off the valley walls. And yet the expression on his face made it quite clear that he had. It didn’t so much crack as fall off in one great, pale sheet, leaving behind a wild, sunken stare and a long, sleepless face.

He merely stared at her, hollow, as though he weren’t certain whether to search for words or a knife.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.

His words were lost on the smoke of the fires, vanishing into the night air. And he, too, vanished, turning and staggering through the green jubilation. And she simply watched him go.

Against the chaotic festivities and imbibings in the valley, she was starkly aware of Dreadaeleon’s impassiveness. And against his cold expression and folded arms, she was suddenly aware of her own furrowed brow and open mouth.

‘You look calm,’ she said with a hint of envy.

‘Should I not be?’ he asked, glancing over to her.

‘You weren’t at all … confused by what just happened?’

‘A drunken lout is doing things drunken and loutish,’ the boy said, shrugging. ‘He’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache and a desperate desire that we all forget what he said tonight. Shortly after that, we’ll be back to hearing snideness, cynicism and sarcasm until his neurosis demands him to try and drown himself again.’ He glanced over the woman’s shoulder. ‘Speaking of …’

She followed his gaze to a nearby puddle fed by a thin trickle of water, in which an Owauku was passed out facedown, a rapidly fading line of bubbles emerging. She made a move to rise up and help the creature, but Dreadaeleon’s lips were quicker. At a muttered, alien word, the lizardman was flipped over by an invisible force and unceremoniously dropped on his back. Apparently heedless of the roughness, he looked up through eyes as bleary as those the size of fruits could be and grinned.

‘Oh, cousin,’ he burbled through liquor-stained teeth, ‘someone loves me tonight.’

She couldn’t help but smile at the boy. ‘That was rather nice of you.’

‘Oh,’ he said, looking a little surprised. ‘Yes, I suppose it was.’

‘I thought wizards didn’t waste power, though.’

‘Well … he was probably going to die,’ Dreadaeleon said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I suppose we could have pulled him out ourselves, but by then he might have inhaled a lot of water and you’d feel compelled to give him the kiss of life and …’

‘Ah,’ she said, laughing. ‘How noble of you to save me from having to mouth a lizard.’ Her laugh faded, but her smile did not as she regarded him intently. ‘How did you know?’

‘I suspected that it was worth it to spare you having to resuscitate him and—’

‘No, how do you know?’ she interrupted. ‘How are you always so sure?’

‘What?’ He cast her a baffled look. ‘I’m not sure I—’

‘Yes, you are,’ she replied. ‘You always are. You were certain that you could get us to shore when the ship was destroyed, you know Denaos will be fine, you knew you had to save that lizard … how?’

He studied her intently and she suddenly understood that her face mirrored his own; somewhere, her expression had gone from smiling curiosity to careful scrutiny. His voice, however, bore none of the uncertainty of hers.

‘Why,’ he asked, ‘do you wish to know?’

‘Because I’m not sure,’ she blurted out, the answer writhing on her tongue. ‘I haven’t been sure for a long time.’ She glanced down at the earth. ‘It wasn’t always like this. I used to know, because the Gods had to know, and I was content with that.’

‘I know you don’t want to hear it,’ Dreadaeleon replied, ‘but I don’t think you’ll find any answers in gods. I don’t think anyone ever has.’

She should have grown angry, indignant at that. Instead, she looked at him again and frowned. ‘When did you first know?’

‘What?’

‘That you didn’t believe in the Gods?’

‘Ah,’ he replied. Now he stared at the earth. ‘About a year after I was indoctrinated into the Venarium. I was about eleven, then, my parents having said good-bye to me when I was ten.’ He sighed. ‘They were Karnerian immigrants to Muraska, strict followers of Daeon.’

‘The Conqueror,’ she said.

‘Indeed. They raised me to believe that their horned god would descend one day, subjugate the Sainites and lay waste to the bestial races, ushering in a new age of progress for humanity. When I learned of my power by accidentally setting my bed on fire, my father wasn’t furious, nor did he sing praises to Daeon. Instead, a week later, the man who would become my tutor took me away and my father had a thick pouch at his belt.’

‘They sold you?’

‘It’s not an uncommon practice,’ he replied. ‘The Venarium has the right to demand children who show talent – to preserve the Laws, of course – but an incentive is offered for people who turn theirs in before it comes to hunting them down.’

‘So it was then …’

‘No. I was still saying my prayers as I practised my spells, not taking meals I hadn’t earned, still cursing Sainites. It wasn’t until my indoctrination …’ He stared up at the sky. ‘We all do a task with our mentors to realise our duties to the Venarium. Mine was to hunt down a heretic, someone who practises magic outside our influence.

‘We learned he was a priest, a Daeonist, who had thought to put his talents to help his church: repairing roofs, warding off Sainites, that sort of thing. We tracked him down to his home and burst in, demanding that he come with us. He was weak, having no control over his powers had drained him. So his wife stepped before us, my master and I, and threw her arms out to stop us, saying we could not take him, that Daeon needed him.

‘We followed protocol, of course. We cited precedent, the agreement between the Venarium and all civilised nations to respect our Laws. After that, a verbal warning, and then finally, a demonstration of power.’ His face grew hard, bitter. ‘She refused to abide by all three.’ His voice was a whisper. ‘We … I burned her alive.’

Asper stared at him intently. The shock in her gullet was choked by sympathy; she edged closer to him.

‘So that did it?’

‘That only made me wonder,’ he replied. ‘If a god did exist, and he did love us to the point that we would die for him … why did my parents give me up so easily?’

When he had finished speaking, she saw him differently and was certain it was his face, and not her eyes, that had changed. By faith or nature, she strove to see him softer, more vulnerable. She scrutinised his eyes for moisture, but found only hardness. His body had become more rigid, as though it ate and found sustenance from his words as he folded his arms and stared past the crowds of lizardmen.

It was neither faith nor nature, she told herself, that made her reach out a hand and place it upon his shoulder.

‘Have you ever … told anyone else about this?’

She expected him to tremble, as he occasionally did in her presence. It was with utter calm that he turned to her, however.

‘It is not a problem of the Venarium, hence not a problem of my mentor, hence no.’

‘There are others to talk to, you know,’ she offered.

‘I find no solace in priests, obviously,’ he replied coldly. ‘And who amongst the others would listen, even if I wanted to talk to them?’

‘Me?’ she asked, smiling.

Now, he trembled, as though the thought were only occurring to him now. ‘I … already said about priests—’

‘I’m also a friend,’ she replied, her smiling fading as she glanced down. ‘And I’ve been considering my position as to the Gods.’ She awaited some considerate word, some phrase of understanding from him, perhaps even a little reassurance. When he merely stared blankly at her, she continued, regardless. ‘It seems … sometimes that no one’s listening. I mean, up there.

‘Well, how could they, right? Even if you don’t believe that the Gods watch over everyone, they’re supposed to watch over their followers, aren’t they? So how come I’m frequently surrounded by people obsessed with causing injuries that I’m supposed to cure? And half the time, they’re inflicting said injuries on me. I’ve thought it over, wondered if this was just all a test, but what kind of test just doesn’t end? And what about gods whose messages conflict with others’? If there are so many, and not all of them can be right, who is?’

She sighed, rubbed her eyes, heard him take in a deep, quivering breath.

‘You’ve probably thought about this before, haven’t you? I mean, maybe you’ve wondered if there was anything beyond just this. So, if anyone has some insight, I’d wager you—’

Empty space greeted her when she looked up, the boy vanished amidst the crowd.

‘Do.’

No sigh followed; she was out of them, almost out of sources for answers, as well. She muttered angrily, reaching out and snatching a mangwo-filled gourd from a passing Owauku who scarcely noticed. She stared down at it with more thought than liquor likely deserved.

Almost, she told herself as she tipped her head back and drank, but not yet.

Feasts, fetes and parties were foggy memories in Lenk’s mind. He could recall food, lights, people. He could not recall tastes, warmth, faces. Disturbing, he knew, cause for great alarm, but he could not bring himself to care. The world was without chill memories and cold fears. The bonfires burned brightly; the liquor had long since drowned any concern he had for the sweat peeling off his body and the loincloth precariously tied about his hips.

No sense in worrying about it, anyway, he thought. After the Kampo, he determined that no other parties would ever matter. Even if he could have remembered them, Steadbrook’s humble festivities would be a world behind the Owauku’s riots.

And, to hear from her, at least six worlds behind a shictish party.

‘So, anyway,’ Kataria said through a voice thick with restrained giggling, ‘there are pretty much only three things worth celebrating.’ She counted them off on her fingers. ‘Birth, death and raids.’

‘Raids,’ Lenk mused, his mind seeming to follow his tongue rather than the other way around. ‘You typically kill humans during them, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes, and only because they’re the most numerous. But Tulwar, too, and Vulgores, Couthi … well, not Couthi, anymore, obviously, but only because they had it coming.’

‘So, you celebrate birth, death … and more death?’

‘If you want to dumb it down like a dumb … dumb, yeah,’ she grunted, slurring at the edges of her speech. ‘But it’s the whole atmosphere that makes it special. See, we bring back all the loot … er, reclamations back to camp and eat and drink and sing, and if there was one who was particularly bothersome, we drag his body back to camp – never alive, see – and make a whitetree. That’s when we take them by their legs and … and …’

She looked up, the fierce glow of her green eyes a contrast to the sheepish smile she shot him.

‘It’s a tradition,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Even if it is violent, you aren’t in any place to pass judgement.’

‘I never did,’ he replied, offering a grin of his own.

‘Yeah, but you were thinking it.’ She made to step closer and wound up nearly toppling over, her face a hairsbreadth from his. ‘I know. I can smell your brains.’

That statement, at the moment, was the least offensive thing about her and, no matter what she smelled, brains certainly weren’t what filled Lenk’s nose. Her breath reeked of liquor, roiling out from between her teeth in a great cloud. This was challenged only by the smoky odour of her body, her usual musk complemented by the copious amounts of sweat painting her flesh.

He was not intoxicated, not by the sight or scent of her, at least. His fifth empty cup lay in the sand behind him, forgotten and neglected. His head was swimming, his body quivering; it felt as though the mangwo coursed through his veins. Drums were still pounding, song still roaring, but the idea of crashing down onto the sand and waiting for the morning to come seemed quite appealing.

Or it had, anyway.

Her presence invited a quick and ruthless sobriety. It was not likely that she could smell his brains anymore, since he could feel them threatening to leak out of his ears as she swayed closer to him. Thought faded, leaving all focus for sight and sound … and smell.

The firelight bathed her sweat-slick skin in gold, battling the pervasive moonlight’s determination to paint her silver, both defeated by the smudges of earth and mud that smeared her pale skin from where she had fallen more than a few times. Her breath was an omnisensed affront: a reeking, heavy, warm cloud. Her smile was bright, sharp, lazy like a sated predator. The typical sharp scrutiny of her eyes was smothered beneath heavy lids. Her belly trembled, a belch rising up out of her mouth. He blinked, stared, heard, smelled.

Arousal, he reasoned, was possibly the least sane, and – given his attire – most awkward, response imaginable.

It hurt, if only slightly, to take a step back.

‘So,’ he said, ‘do you miss it?’

‘Miss what?’ she asked with a sneer. ‘My family? My people?’ She raised a brow. ‘Or the killing?’

‘Is that all you have to go back to?’

She turned her frown away and asked the ground instead of him. ‘What else is there?’

‘Other things.’

‘Oh yeah?’ she asked. ‘What is it you’re going back to?’

A good question, he thought, as he stared at her. He had no family to go back to, and while, technically, his ‘people’ were in no short supply, he had no particular group of humans he wished to call by that name. She stared at him expectantly, as though waiting for his eyes to offer an answer his lips could not.

‘To a place where I don’t have to kill anymore.’

Her expression was unreadable. It might have been, anyway, if he had been staring at it. Instead he met her eyes, the same eyes that he had squirmed under, that he had shouted at her over, that he had turned away from, feeling the chills that followed the stare, hearing the voice that followed the chills.

Turn away now, he told himself. Better to not know her answer. Even if she doesn’t kill you right now, even if she doesn’t say she’ll go back to the killing even after all of this, you can’t live with this. Not the staring. Not the question if she ever really means what she’s going to say. You can’t live with this, just as she can’t live without the killing. Better to turn away now.

Drums thundered. Her ears twitched. She didn’t blink.

Better to turn away.

Fires smouldered. He breathed deeply. He stared back.

Turn away.

Her lips twitched. He held his breath.

She smiled at him.

All at once, heat seemed to return to him, his blood turning to mangwo again. He smiled back, strained to smile harder than she was, to show her he felt the same as her. Of course, he thought, if he could read past the pained smile and know exactly what she was feeling, that would have been helpful, too, but he resolved to make do with what he knew.

He knew he wanted this bloodless moment, this voiceless silence, this stare he could not turn away from to last for the years to come.

And as he stared at her – at the sad, pitying smile she gave him – he knew he had only one more night.

‘So!’ she said swiftly, lids drooping, smile widening. ‘Why aren’t we still drinking?’ If that.

‘It’s a party, right?’ she asked with a quavering laugh. ‘We’re going to be at sea for who knows how long by tomorrow. Best not think about anything but tonight, right?’ She jerked a nod on his behalf. ‘Of course right.’

He said nothing as he followed her farther over the ridge, her eyes furtively searching for any sign of the drink. Any drop visible, however, was fast disappearing down gaping, green gullets. He noticed that her ire seemed to rise with every moment her lips were left dry, a growl rumbling through her body. He could almost see the hackles rise on her naked back.

Denaos was probably right, you know, he told himself. She thrives on the violence. She can’t even go this long without getting angry. How long could you possibly take that in? It’s the right decision, then. Say nothing. Try not to even think about her. That’s wisest.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he rarely took the wisest course of action. And as he walked behind her, eyes drawn to her slender, sweat-kissed back, he began to develop a theory as to why that was.

Desperate to turn his attention to anything else, he glanced at the rapidly thinning throngs of various green bodies. The lizardmen were vanishing, either collapsing into dark corners or wandering off, leaving only the echoes of their laughter and their aromas behind.

‘Where the hell are all of them even going?’ he muttered to no one. ‘Is … is it us? Do we smell or something?’

‘Who knows?’ she said, chuckling. ‘Maybe there’s some ancient code of conduct for drinking with lizard-things that we’re not adhering to.’

‘Of course. Maybe if we ate insects we’d be fine.’

She laughed a long, obnoxious laugh. The very same noise that he had once loathed now put him at ease. Whatever he might be feeling, all the tragic and inconceivable thoughts he might have, she felt none of them. That much was clear by the ease with which she carried herself around him, how swift she was to laugh, how very much unlike him she appeared to be.

Good, he thought, glancing at a nearby fire, that’s good. If she’s not feeling anything, then there’s nothing to talk about. I mean, if she was going to feel anything, she would have done it with a lot of drink, wouldn’t she? The worst is behind you, my friend. Well done. Well done, ind—

His brief self-congratulatory mood was quashed the moment he collided with her. She had turned about, regarding him with an intent stare. Enraptured, he was only aware of their proximity as he felt their sweat mingle between their skin, the rise of her belly pressing against his as she breathed deeply. His pulse raced, far too swiftly for him to feel hers, as blood quickened through his body.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and moved to step away.

He hadn’t made it another step before she lashed out her hands and seized him. The blood had rushed out of his head, leaving him far too slow-witted to realise what was happening, let alone resist it. Her nails sank into his skin with predatory possessiveness as she drew him against her body and leaned out to press her lips against his.

There was no patience in her embrace, no sense of tact and certainly no hesitation. Her tongue slid past his lips in hasty, urgent fury. His thoughts were left far behind as his senses raced ahead on a thundering heartbeat. He could taste the mangwo on her tongue, feel the need in her breath and hear the growl that welled up inside her, quaking through her body and into his.

Breathless and blind, his mind finally caught up to his senses, barely conscious of what was happening. By the time he realised it, however, his body had already acted. His arm had snaked around her, feeling the tension in her as he pulled her close. His hand had woven into her locks, pressing her lips farther against his, and a feral need that he hadn’t even realised was inside him burst out through his mouth. It matched her vigour, matched his pain, fingers clenching her hair where hers sank into his skin, drawing her firmly against him as she pulled at him with animal fury.

And when he finally had the space to think, it was without words: a short, fleeting sense of overwhelming satiation that threatened to bring him to his knees.

And it was made all the shorter when her hands snaked out, parting from his skin in an instant to come up between them. His chest nearly ruptured against the force with which she shoved him, sending him toppling upon his rear to the sand. He stared up, agog and slack-jawed, only to find the same expression staring back at him.

‘Hey,’ she said softly. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘No, it wasn’t—’

‘It was,’ she interrupted, shaking her head. ‘It … it really, really was. Sorry. Sorry.’ Her face contorted in agony as she whirled about, fleeing past the throngs of lizardmen, past the smouldering fires, into the night. ‘Damn, damn, damn, damn …’

And he, sitting on his rear, staring at the darkness into which she had vanished, finally found the time to think.

Well done, indeed.

‘Not fair, not fair, not fair.’

Dreadaeleon’s words churned into his mouth on acrid bile. His breath was clogged with the taste of acid; his mouth felt packed with a tongue twice its actual size. With every step he took as he scurried behind Togu’s stone house, his stomach pulled its knot a little tighter.

And he still spoke.

‘She was about to … about to …’ He collapsed beside the hut’s wall, gasping for air as he felt the nausea roil in his throat. ‘About to do something. And now this happens? NOW?’

His indignation was punished with a painful clench within his belly that sent his hands to the earth, his mouth gaping open with a retching noise that stripped his throat. Something was brewing inside him, fighting its way through his knotted stomach with thick, sticky fists. His eyes bulged, blinded by tears. His jaw craned open, stretched painfully wide in anticipation of what clawed its way out of his throat.

The vomit came out on a gargling howl, tearing itself free to douse the nearby shrubbery. Dreadaeleon knew not how long it lasted; his attention was focused on keeping all other orifices shut.

It did end, however, and Dreadaeleon lay gasping on the sand, the bile dripping past his lips to pool on the earth. The pain subsided in diminishing throbs, but not slowly enough to spare him from his own thoughts and his regrets and his anger.

This was something to be worried about. This was something to be terrified about. These reactions were not normal, not to anyone not suffering the Decay. Now was a time for prudent thought, careful concern. At any rate, he certainly shouldn’t have felt the rage that he did.

But he had been so close.

It had been a graceless exit, naturally; there was no graceful way to run away to spill one’s intestines out on the earth. He would have very much liked to have stayed, to discuss philosophy with Asper. She had been so open, enough to make him open, as well. He had told no one of his parents, of his initiation into the Venarium. She had listened so thoughtfully; she had looked at him so eagerly; she had touched him. He could still feel her fingers on his shoulder.

And then he had gone and ruined it all. She loathed him now, he was certain. How could she not? She had reached out to him, he had bared his past to her, and when she sought answers, when she recognised that he had them, he had run away to paint the shrubbery with his supper.

It was better that she hadn’t seen that, of course, but not by much.

He would have spared himself more thought for self-loathing if not for the pungent scent of smoke drifting up to his nostrils. He glanced up at what had started as shrubbery, now resembling some sort of half-digested salad. His vomit was hungrily chewing on it with a thousand tiny, semiliquid mouths, belching steam with every moment it reduced the plant to a brown, messy blob.

Suddenly, the days of fiery urine seemed not quite so bad.

His condition was worsening.

Whatever offences he might have committed were forgotten as that phrase echoed in his head. His body was acting, amplifying its functions, functions that should not be amplified, of its own accord. It had likely been that little display in the valley, pulling the Owauku from the puddle, that had done it. It was a stupid thing to do, he reminded himself.

But she had been so impressed …

A small compensation. Too small. As he struggled to rise, he found his muscles weak, even weaker than they had been moments before. His magic was going awry, applying itself to all his bodily functions, and he paid for it as he paid for any other exertion of power. Of course, flashes of lightning and fire were far more impressive than flaming urine and acidic vomit.

The stone … he had to retrieve it.

A violation of Laws, perhaps, but there was no other option. It was the stone of the longfaces – that chipped, red sphere – that had kept his body in check, that had kept it from being overwhelmed. He had to retrieve it; he had to return to the sea, search the wreckage, find the damn thing and return to normal.

But how? More scrying would mean more magic. More magic would kill him sooner than later, it was becoming clear.

Voices burbled out of the hut.

Togu.

Of course, he thought as he staggered toward the door. He would beseech the king, convince his companions to delay the voyage. He needed the stone; they didn’t need to know why beyond the fact that it gave him the power to move their ship. The lizardmen had trawled the sea for their belongings and found nothing, Togu had said, but that simply meant they weren’t looking hard enough. He could convince them. He could force them.

He would have believed it, too, if he hadn’t paused outside the king’s door to retch again.

‘What was that?’

He pulled himself up from his spewing, holding his nausea-soaked breath at the sound of voices burbling out of the king’s hut.

‘There is someone out there,’ Togu’s deep voice spoke.

‘Soon to be many more,’ another voice replied, a lilting, lyrical phrase that flooded into Dreadaeleon’s ears on a song that would be soothing if the recognition didn’t shock him into wide-eyed silence.

Greenhair, he thought. The siren … here?

‘The longfaces have just arrived, Togu,’ she continued from within the hut, ‘ahead of their master. He will arrive shortly and he will expect you to be there to greet him with the human offering.’

‘They haven’t arrived yet, Togu,’ another voice, this one gruff and hissing, spoke. ‘There is still time to avert this. The forests are dense and the longfaces are not given to caution. You can flee.’

‘And they will burn the forests down,’ Greenhair replied sharply. ‘They will find you, Togu, one way or another. Embracing this way means that your people live. Hongwe should understand this better than even I.’

‘I do understand this,’ the speaker identified as Hongwe snarled, ‘and that is why I know what it is you’re sending the humans to. I saw it happen on Komga, to my people. I will not watch you do this to others.’

‘You intend to stop this?’ Greenhair’s voice contained an edge of harmonious threat.

Hongwe muttered in return. ‘They are your people, Togu. I can only ask that you see the stupid villainy in this plan.’

Dreadaeleon, heedless of the vomit hissing on the sand or the lancing pain in his stomach, held his breath, listening intently to the long silence that followed. In the valley below, the sound of drums were dimming, the noises of jubilation quieting. In the quiescence, Dreadaeleon could hear the king’s body rise and fall with the force of his sigh.

‘I do what is best for my people. Do as you must to make the humans ready to give to the longfaces.’

Dreadaeleon turned, bit back a shriek as he stepped in the pile of his sizzling bile, dragged his foot on the earth as he made to run down as fast as his cramping body would allow him. The pain shot through him in great spikes that he forced himself to ignore. He had to get below, to warn his companions, or at least one of them.

He collided suddenly with a bare chest and looked up, frowning. This wasn’t the one he had hoped for, but still …

‘Denaos,’ he gasped, ‘we have to get below. Togu, he’s—’

‘Who cares?’ the rogue asked, on a reeking chuckle that sent him swaying. ‘Who gives a flying turd what’s going to happen anymore?’

He wasn’t sure how much the tall man had actually drunk to push him over the edge and he hardly cared. The man’s only purpose now was to perhaps stall Togu and his conspirators when they emerged. Thus, Dreadaeleon wasted no more words and tried to push his way past, only to find a long arm in his path.

‘You don’t see what’s going to happen, do you?’ Denaos said, laughing. ‘Not as smart as you thought you were, huh? Can’t see we’re all damned without Asper following us, without the Gods on our side.’

‘No one’s following anyone if you don’t get out of the way,’ Dreadaeleon growled. ‘The longfaces are—’

‘I said who cares?’ Denaos emphasised the question with a hook that sent the boy sprawling to the earth. ‘Don’t feel bad, Dread. I’ll be punished for that. For a hell of a lot more.’ He held a hand to his temple, pointing to eyes that had gone from sunken to two fevered, black-lined pits. ‘I can’t … I can’t stop seeing her. The whispering just doesn’t stop. I thought it was the demon, but … but it’s something inside me. Something I did, can’t you see?’

‘I can’t, and I don’t care,’ Dreadaeleon’s words were laced with wincing whines as he struggled to regain his feet. ‘I … I’m having a hard time moving. Denaos. You have to get down there and warn the others that—’

‘Not important,’ Denaos replied. ‘Asper’s leaving. She was going to hear my sins, tell me it was fine, but not yet, not now. She’d never forgive me now. Neither would They.’ He pointed to the sky. ‘Whatever happens now is just … just …’

As his voice crumbled on his tongue, the music sliding through them could be heard. He recognised the siren’s song in the same instant that Denaos did not. One clapped his hands over his ears; the other collapsed to the earth. Dreadaeleon spared a glance for his fallen companion before looking up as he felt a presence beside him.

Greenhair’s alien expression was indifference laid thick to try to choke the pity in her eyes, to no avail. Dreadaeleon shot back a scowl intent on conveying all the curses and venom his mouth could not produce. The siren said something he dared not hear; an apology, perhaps, or a brief explanation, or an insult.

Though whatever she said could have only been half as insulting as the fact that she turned from him as she might a gnat and strode away, towards the mouth of the valley.

He snarled, reached out a hand to wrap about her pale ankle and pull her back, only to find the reason for her disregard. No sooner had his fingers stretched out than they were forced to clench. The pain that ripped through him was extraordinary, bludgeoning breath from his lungs, tearing vigour from his body, sending blood from his head as though it were split open. He collapsed into a quivering, curled position on the ground, unable to form even a sentence through the agony.

Through eyes vanishing into darkness, he stared at Greenhair as she walked down the valley, toward his companions, leaving him coiled in a pile of his own uselessness.

Drums dying with leathery gasps. Unseen liquor vapours wafting out on snores. Gohmns chittering to each other in the night.

‘So loud,’ she whispered, clawing at her ears.

Futility. Trees groaning, shedding leaves. Rivers muttering curses to those who defecated in them. Gonwa jaws clenching together in ire.

‘Shut up,’ she fervently whimpered, ‘shut up, shut up, shut up.’

The sounds were impossible to tune out, impossible to ignore. Every last one rang angrily in her ears, the soft ones intolerably loud, the moderate ones deafening. She couldn’t hear her thoughts, couldn’t hear her tell herself to breathe, couldn’t hear herself chant over and over.

‘It’ll pass,’ she was barely aware of telling herself, ‘it’ll pass, it’ll pass. It’s just a symptom, just a symptom, just a symptom.’

It was a symptom, she confirmed to herself, a symptom of the round-eared disease. It had to be, she reassured herself, because it had come from him.

She cursed him, spewed a torrent of verbal venom into the sand as she trudged across it. She didn’t hear her own curses. She hoped they were good ones.

It had been brewing all afternoon in her head, coming in flashes of clarity: a mutter of resentment from the bottom of the valley, a wistful sigh on the breeze, feet dragging heavily on sand exactly four-hundred and twenty-six paces away from her. The sounds, sounds usually too insignificant to be worth hearing, had reached her ears with crystalline clarity.

She hadn’t worried when she had sat beside Asper, heard the twitches in the priestess’ back and felt the blood flowing with ire, with fear, through her body. That was good. Humans were supposed to feel fear around shicts. Shicts were supposed to hear.

But then, Asper had taken her hand. Kataria had heard the muscles in her body relax, had felt the fear turn to concern, the ire turn to some maladjusted form of affection. That was not good. Humans were not supposed to feel that. Shicts were not supposed to hear that. She was a shict. She had heard that.

And that was cause for worry, for violence. She hadn’t regretted what she had done to the priestess. It was a natural response. It was treating a symptom before it became an infection. It was a cure.

The noises hadn’t stopped, though. She had tried to dull them with liquor, tried to ignore them with chatter. That might have worked, she reasoned, if not for him.

He had ruined everything by making it all quiet.

Standing beside him, the sounds slowly went soft, became mute. Staring into his eyes, her ears stopped throbbing. Breathing in his liquor-stained breath, smelling the stink of his sweat-laden flesh, watching him smile with crooked sheepishness, she had just begun to stop hearing altogether.

That was not good. She knew it as much then as she did now, but it was difficult to recall why she had not worried at that moment. The noise was so inoffensive, suddenly; the world’s noises ceased to press upon her in intangible walls of racket. No more worries, no more weight, just lightness, just her, and …

And then he had done what he had.

And she had heard him.

She had heard things in him that humans were not supposed to feel, that shicts were not supposed to hear. And she had felt …

Well, there was really no other way she could feel.

The howl was what had coursed through her, a sourceless noise that did not obey the laws of noise, starting in her brain, clawing its way out and tearing through her ears. It lasted for but a moment, all the time it took her body to realise what she had pressed her lips against, but it hadn’t needed more. It had ripped its way free, rang in her skull.

She had heard him. She had heard the Howling.

And then, she heard everything.

Instinct had told her to run, and she did, fleeing far into the forest, into the night. It was the right thing to do, she knew, because it was the voice of her body. What had happened before, what had made her quiver when he snaked his arm about her middle and press her body against his, what had made her slide her own arms around him and draw him tighter, what had made her think she enjoyed it …

No, not her body’s voice. Something from somewhere else inside her. Not her body.

Her body had told her to run; her body had howled at her. It was a natural defence, a rejection of the disease, of the infection that had plagued her and made her do those things. The noise – the unbearably, agonisingly loud noise – was just a side effect, the lingering symptoms of which were the last go.

That made sense, she told herself as she trudged to the nearby brook. It was a symptom; it just needed to be cured. She splashed the water gently over her face, ears ringing with the ensuing splash. That would pass, she told herself; it would all pass. She had been tested, passed, survived the disease, for that’s what he was.

‘He’s a disease,’ she tried to hear herself say, ‘he’s a disease, he’s a disease …’

The water settled. She stared down at her reflection. The face staring back at her didn’t look convinced.

A realisation dawned on her just as the entire island conspired against her, the forest and creatures all falling silent so that she might voice it and hear it ring through her ears and heart with one painful echo.

‘He didn’t come after me.’

She found herself surprised that the face in the water frowned back at her at that. She found herself surprised that she didn’t bother to lie to herself and say it was because she missed the silence. But found herself surprised it hurt.

What, then, she asked herself as the noises began again, is left? You can’t do this, she silently told the reflection. You’ve tried – I know you’ve tried – but you just can’t do what you need to do, what shicts do. If you could, you would have killed him when you first saw him, when you knew you had to, when you were given no choice. But you didn’t, so what else is left? She leaned forward. No, the water’s too shallow to drown yourself. Once more, what else is left?

But to live with the disease?

Footfalls crunching on sand. Soles sinking with shoulders heavy with dried blood. Breath short and irritated, gasped out.

Him.

She sat up on her knees, pulling her spine erect, staring into the water, saw herself biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. Dignity, she reminded herself; she could afford a little of that when she said what she knew she had to, what a shict never would. The world fell silent again as the footfalls came upon her; she would hear every word she said. One more cruel joke she resolved to be defiant in the face of.

She closed her eyes, whispered as softly as she could.

‘You came after me, Lenk.’

‘What’s a “Lenk”?’

Iron on iron.

Her eyes snapped open, spied a leering face in the water: long, hard, purple. She whirled about just in time to see the boot’s toe coming up to kiss her jaw.