Across the Largo

by Mitchell Atkinson

  ***

  The plan for the escape was simple: they would ride to the gate and ask to be let out. If anything went badly, Ngare and the Elite Guard would practice their trade. The custom in Alavariss was that people were free to leave the city if they chose. It was just that Alavariss was so designed that few had the ability to make that choice. They had two carriages between them and six horses. Dorthea regretted that Darius had been left stabled at Shrine. He would have been a fine addition to the chase. Ngare and the soldiers rode in one carriage, and Dorthea, Raahi, Robert and Yaris rode in the other. Raahi deferred to Dorothea as the driver of the second carriage, feeling she was more qualified.

  They reached the southern gate and found it nearly deserted. There was a single sentry in the guard station. He walked up to the lead carriage and addressed Ngare, in the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t see many horses anymore. You’ll have to turn ‘em around. No one out tonight,” the sentry said.

  “But sir, why not?” Ngare was cordial.

  “Not sure. Trouble at the Palace. Word is just trickling through about it. The Man says half the army is being mobilized. Something has a bug up the Emperor’s you-know-what.”

  “Sounds serious,” Ngare said. “Listen, we need to go up-country. Got to be there by tomorrow to pick up a load of Altain Dust. Northern, Eldgred stuff, very potent. Listen, why don’t you let us pass and I’ll drop an ounce or two of it off here day after tomorrow for you?”

  The sentry licked thin lips and smiled greedy, little, brown teeth. “And maybe you don’t come back the day after tomorrow. Maybe you’re not picking up any shipment of Altain. Maybe you’re a liar.”

  Ngare reached into his robe and casually pulled out a dark leather pouch. “Maybe I have a little left over from the last shipment.”

  The sentry’s eyes went wide. He licked his lips. “You are something, Mister. This never happened. You got it?”

  Ngare smiled, tossed the pouch. “I got it.”

  The sentry opened it and sniffed. Pleased with what he found, he raised the gate, smiling as the two carriages passed him by.

  The matching carriages whipped over the stony road away from Alavariss. They would travel with all possible speed, through the night, in hopes of reaching the Phoon. The creatures used an unknown transportation and so traveled at an unknown speed. The drivers of the carriages pushed the horses not cruelly but with great urgency. Little was said as the uncertain mission began; even Yaris was for the most part silent. Behind them, in the pale glow of Alavariss, the war machine churned.

  8. Among the Phoon

  Esmeralda awoke in a dark place. Her hands and feet were bound, and she felt pressed on all sides. She could feel no covering over her eyes but still saw nothing. She felt motion, almost as if she were riding in a car. Harsh voices floated from somewhere, perhaps speaking but in no language she had ever heard. In fact, it was impossible to tell whether she heard some ugly speech or whether she listened to the rhythmically repeated grumbling of a strange beast. She felt the flute pressed against her stomach. Apparently, they hadn’t searched her.

  In the darkness, behind or perhaps within the horrible grunting, she heard an elusive whisper: the same whispering she felt in the palace before she was taken. Not exactly a sound, it bounced within her head, just on the edge of understanding, but refused to become words.

  “Hello?” she said.

  The whispering became very loud for a moment, but no translation came. Esmeralda closed her eyes, useless in the darkness anyway, and concentrated.

  “My name is Esmeralda,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

  A thousand voices entered her mind at once, a thousand songs, a thousand bright lights. She could make no sense of it, though she felt that in some way her question was being answered.

  “Please,” she said, “speak to me.”

  Everything was silent for a moment. The darkness reigned. Esmeralda strained her mind.

  “Ko.” The word came faint but clear.

  “Ko,” Esmeralda echoed.

  All motion stopped. She heard rustling nearby, footsteps in crunching dirt. She tried to move her hands but they were quite expertly bound. Seconds passed. Her breath came slow. Suddenly, light burst before her eyes. Rough hands grabbed her and pulled her up into open air.

  It was early morning, just after sunrise. She must have slept for five or six hours.

  They had stopped in a very rugged, flat place. Scraggly trees grew in patches, fighting the rocky soil. Ahead in the distance lay a range of grey mountains.

  Esmeralda was surrounded by little slivers of brightly colored eyes and twisted faces. Behind her, a giant vehicle with many long, articulated appendages, like a spider, sat hulking. It was very much like the vehicles she had seen crawling across the streets of Alavariss, only larger. The Phoon had three of these, plenty of room for the creatures now holding her captive.

  One of the Phoon, smelling terrible, held her by the back of the neck in a grip so tight she feared the blood would well up in her head. She wasn’t sure if they were discussing anything or not. They stood in what was almost a circle, sniffing the air and grunting at each other. It was disconcertingly like watching a group of dogs trying to relate.

  “Who are you?” Esmeralda said.

  The creatures turned and stared, the light of their eyes slicing through the air and assaulting her. She thought perhaps she would be silent for the rest of the trip.

  “You won’t get an answer from them.” A voice came from behind. “They can hardly speak.”

  She tried to turn her head but was held firmly in place. She waited, and a tall figure wearing the simple clothing of the other Phoon stepped into her view. His eyes were a little more human than his companions, but they flashed bright crimson. His nose was that of a hound, and when he grinned, regarding her, he exposed a set of razors.

  “They’re really little more than empty shells,” the figure said.

  “Who are you?” Esmeralda asked again.

  “Ah, persistence. My name is Acheron, a captain in the armies of Phoon. I am a humble servant of the God-King Khalom.”

  “I…” Esmeralda hesitated. “…am Princess Yaris, and you should release me now and not get into trouble. My father—he’s the Emperor, you know—will be searching for me.”

  Acheron smiled. “Your father is nothing compared to the glory of my king. And besides, I could not care less who he searches for. We are hours ahead of your sluggish and pathetic army.”

  “Why did you take me?” she asked.

  “The king wants you for something. You and your flute.”

  They knew about Ko.

  “Why have we stopped?” Esmeralda asked.

  “I thought you might like to see something.” Acheron raised his fist, signaling a group of the Phoon.

  Immediately they fanned out and gathered all of the scraggly, squat trees nearby. These were thin of branch and dried out; the area seemed to get little rain. The Phoon assembled the wood and set to building a fire. They built it up to quite a height and left it raging, heading over to one of the spidery vehicles. They retrieved one of their own from it, carrying him by the shoulders. He was wounded badly, probably from the fight surrounding Esmeralda’s kidnapping. The Phoon dragged him toward the fire, picked him up by his arms and legs, swung his body once, and tossed him in. The wounded Phoon didn’t make any objections, not one sound or gesture to indicate that he had any problem with this.

  Esmeralda turned away, gripping the flute to her chest.

  “He was wounded in battle with the puny Alavarisian sentries. He doesn’t deserve to ride with us. We would eat him, but I don’t think there is enough to go around, and I don’t want the men to fight among themselves. They would never fight with me, but with each other…” Acheron looked down at her, flashing his horrible teeth. He chuckled. “I want you to ride with me in the lead Crawler. Come.”

  With that, she was dragged into the interior of one of the veh
icles. This time, she was placed in a hard stone seat next to another that was lined with some kind of animal fur. Acheron entered and sat on the fur, comfortably settling in. The other vehicles, Crawlers he had called them, lined up behind, and they sped off, metallic legs driving into the rocky earth. Behind them, the fire burned on.

  “What is it like, living in the Green Palace?” Acheron asked her after they left.

  “I don’t know,” Esmeralda said. “Probably better than where you live.”

  Acheron laughed. “Oh, you are an amazing little thing. Very lively. My king told me you would be so. He knows all about royalty, how useless you are.”

  “Isn’t your king royalty?” Esmeralda asked.

  “Well, now we’re talking about the definition of words. We call him a god-king because he is the greatest among us, because he is near to the ultimate perfection.” Acheron pointed into the front section of the Crawler. “Up there is a driver and his crew. It takes four of those monkeys to drive one of these dreadful things. If I were to ask him to come back here, cut off one of his hands and give it to you, he would. No questions asked. That is part of the greatness of my king.”

  “I don’t understand,” Esmeralda said.

  “You wouldn’t, princess.” Acheron sneered. “The Lord of the Phoon is a force of nature. He does not build palaces like your vulgar, little Emperor. He eats. He has eaten the annoying parts of the souls of those driving this vehicle. He eats not to make himself fat but to make things stop existing. He is the greatest entity in the history of history, because he has gone further than anyone else in consuming the world.”

  “Then one day won’t he eat you?” Esmeralda pointed out the obvious.

  “I could only be so lucky.” Acheron grinned.