The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

  He planted the amber banner in the ground and then struggled for the other.

  “Trophy?” Andy asked.

  The young man looked up at him with a pained face. “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve just made for me.” Despite the words, he didn’t appear to be angry.

  “Sorry—but that beast did try to shoot you—with this,” Andy waved the weapon at him, before bending to pick up the quiver and winch.

  The young man struck him with an appraising look.

  Andy felt annoyed at the lack of appreciation. He aimed the crossbow at the last standing leg of the watchtower and fired. The bolt hit with a heavy thunk. Andy grabbed the young man and dragged him over.

  “Look here.” The bolt was lodged in, more than a hands length. “You might be dead.” Andy tried to free the bolt, but found it firmly stuck.

  The young man laughed. “Slyn likes to fire a few warning shots when he sees me. Our Masters share joint rulership of this site.”

  Slyn? The brutox have names?

  Andy felt his stomach drop. He looked awkwardly at the weapon. “Eh—sorry about that.”

  “Join me; I’m heading back to Caspia.”

  Surprised, Andy wasn’t sure what to say. “Sorry again. I—I’m Andy.” He held out a hand.

  The young man stared at his hand for a moment, unsure, but after a second, he reached out and shook it. “Strange.” The young man looked thoughtful as he stared at their clasped hands. “I’m Quill.”

  “Quill?” Andy repeated, not believing.

  “Yes?”

  Andy almost stammered, but he didn’t want to be rude. “What is that you’re wearing?”

  “Oh, my hauberk?” Quill looked down at the strange, scaled shirt that jangled as he moved. “It’s for protection.” Andy sensed that Quill was frustrated. “We need to move, Andy. Slyn will be back with more brutox—who may not be so friendly.”

  Andy agreed with a nod, and they moved on.

  “So that thing was a brutox?” Andy asked, “I’ve seen a few now, and they all look different.”

  “Oh yes, there are a multitude of types. Luckily, I only know a few. Slyn back there was a pale spider, but I’ve seen scythed manti, armored beetles, hulking brutons, which are really only pack animals, scouts with the eyes of flies, heavy crabs, ravagers too, though ravagers aren’t actually brutox. The trick to them is knowing the coloration as much as the shape,” Quill explained this all academically, much to Andy’s dismay.

  “So, there’s a whole world of monsters down here,” Andy muttered.

  He looked over his shoulder and scanned the horizon. He saw no monsters. Somehow, that wasn’t comforting, and he gripped tighter on his new weapon.

  “Hey Quill, it won’t cause you more trouble if I keep the crossbow?”

  “The damage is done, Andy; you might as well keep it. If they find us, it could come to blows.”

  “How many can we expect?”

  Quill laughed and shook his head, as if knowing that Andy was trying to come up with a plan.

  That’s a bad sign.

  “We might expect a squad of a dozen or so; different types, but—” he raised a hand and pointed ahead. “See that?”

  Andy saw what looked like the skull of a great whale, and a few dozen huge bones, upright, and planted in the soil. The path ran through its jaw and continued on the other side.

  “That marks the lands of my Mistress. We’ll be safe after we cross.”

  Andy grasped the crossbow as they neared the bones, expecting an ambush. Even Quill readied his trident. It was quiet as they passed through the jaws of the once colossal beast.

  Andy realized that the bones were ribs at one point. They were covered in writing. Elegantly curving letters fed into each other, and the lines were carved into the bones in spirals that climbed as they turned. It reminded him of the candy-cane poles outside some barber shops. Andy loosened the grip on his weapon and felt the texture of the carving. Quill gave him a knowing grin and let his trident rest against his shoulder as they marched on.

  “Stories?” Andy asked, as he looked from one rib to the next.

  “Histories, the law,” he paused and pointed to the last one in the row, “that one lists the etiquette expected of a visitor to these lands.”

  Andy paused. “Anything I should know?”

  “Do not stare, particularly do not stare into our Mistress’s eyes. Remain courteous, quiet, and clean. And lastly, bring a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  Andy cringed, realizing he had nothing that could serve.

  The crossbow? He stared at the roughly crafted weapon with a grim look. Probably not. His mind centered on the marble in his pocket. No! That belongs to the mice; I should get it back to them when I’m done.

  “Don’t worry about the gift, unless you ask her a question,” Quill said plainly.

  Andy nodded. “No questions—got it.” He wanted to ask why, but realized that it would set a dangerous precedent, and decided to let it rest until he learned more.

  They passed the last of the bones and walked along a grassy beach dune. Stressed, Andy listened to the jangling of his companion’s armor. He heard the crash of the black sea, and the clinking of his crossbow bolts in the quiver. It was almost serene on the shore, and Andy distrusted this, wondering if he would even be alive in an hour. He suddenly imagined Quill turning on him. He was friendly now, but Andy didn’t know more than his name.

  He considered his companion and wondered if he could make himself fight this young man.

  He sighed and looked out on the waves. Uncertain awe clawed up his throat as he walked along the black coast with the warm wind on his face. He kept up with the steady pace of his oddly familiar companion, every step reminding him that the terrible closeness of violence lurked, coiled and hidden, always near.

  Andy wondered if this was the best or worst dream he ever had. He decided it must be both.

  He felt a slight rumble in his pocket, and produced the marble to give it a close look. Countless silver speckles swirled across its surface. Perhaps a dozen specks of purple floated among them.

  “Hey Quill?”

  “Yes?”

  Quill stopped and saw the marble in Andy’s hand. He took a step back.

  “Do you have any idea what this is? I found it in Cair Froma-je, Fromagge?”

  “Cair Fromage.” Quill leaned in, his brows furrowing.

  “A friend called it the Argument,” Andy mentioned, remembering Titus.

  Quill considered the marble, exaggerated doubt on his face.

  “May I?” He asked, reaching for Andy’s palm.

  Andy felt a jolt of concern, and nearly closed his grip, but Quill was too fast.

  “Ahh!” A spark shot from the marble and Quill recoiled, tumbling into the grass.

  “Are you all right?” Andy pocketed the marble and helped Quill back up.

  “What a jolt! It knocked me off my feet!” he said, surprised and almost laughing.

  Besides being a little frazzled, he was fine.

  “You don’t know anything about it?” Andy felt like it was a rude question, but it had already left his mouth.

  Quill smirked. “The shock confirms it: You do possess a piece of Argument. I’ve never seen it in action before. It really did slice that tower into pieces.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Andy asked.

  “Frankly, I thought you might kill me,” Quill replied, looking hopelessly at his trident.

  Andy rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry; I’m not like that.”

  Quill scoffed. “You did seem violent.”

  That stung.

  Andy took a breath before asking, “Why is it called an Argument?”

  Quill scowled at him. “I don’t care to discuss religion right now—but it is strange that you can lay hands on it—” He trailed off, before continuing, “You said you found it at Cair Fromage?”

  Andy nodded.

  “That’s a rodent hovel?
If I recall correctly.”

  Andy felt his stomach turn at the scorn in Quill’s voice. He couldn’t help responding harshly, “They carve cities into floating boulders, not exactly a hovel.”

  Quill laughed. “Details, friend—ignore me—but in the interest of their wellbeing, you should return that artifact to where you found it.”

  “Of course, I was going to. But what would happen if I’m delayed?” Andy asked.

  Quill shrugged. “Likely nothing happens with it gone. But, there is a chance that, say, the land might spoil, their foes will be emboldened, their luck will turn, and a rodent without luck is a sad thing indeed.”

  Andy wasn’t sure what to make of this. I might need the marble to free Letty. But I’ll get it back to them as soon as I can.

  “You seem to have a fondness for them. If that weren’t the case, you could learn a great deal by keeping the artifact. My Mistress might accept it—”

  Andy interrupted, “How long could they survive without the artifact?”

  Quill’s brow bent with concern. He shrugged. “These things don’t move very often. You saw what happened when I tried to touch it. I suppose that’s why settlements spring up around them. The histories tell tales of Arguments changing axiom, and civilizations crumbling as a result.” Quill turned to keep moving.

  Andy reached out and grabbed his arm, turning him around. “Could you go over that last part in more detail please? What’s an axiom?”

  Quill had a carefree smile. “Come on, Andy! You’re going to Caspia! We don’t have the problems that others do, no religious strife, no slaver’s whips.”

  Andy stood still on the path. I’m being manipulated.

  “What were you doing out there by the circle anyway?” Andy asked.

  “Patrol,” Quill replied. “I like to take the air and stretch my legs; it gets my mind going.”

  “But why are you so keen on taking me to Caspia?”

  Quill sighed. “Look, I’m already in trouble. We have standing orders to bring rogue Seers home by any means necessary. Believe me, it’s for your own good. You seem as ignorant as a newborn, so I understand your suspicion. If you aren’t satisfied by the end of the day, I will beg my Mistress to hear your questions; I will offer her a gift for you. Just, whatever you say, don’t mention the rodents. She can’t stand them.”

  Andy nodded, finally getting somewhere. He looked at the marble. Axioms and civilizations? It didn’t seem that critical, but he remembered what it could do.

  “Caspia, Andy! Just being away for a few hours reminds me of how sweet a life I live. You seem a brave sort, if not reckless. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but, if you behave, you might be invited to enroll.”

  Andy blinked. “Caspia is a school?”

  Quill laughed. “Far better than any school you can imagine.”

  They marched on for a few minutes, before Andy asked, “Are there any new girls at Caspia?”

  Quill nodded with a knowing grin. “We are joined by the potential, Solstaci, her birth hour is nearing. There are just a few things that my Mistress needs to take care of before she is enrolled.”

  “What does—Solstaci—look like?”

  Quill gave Andy a devious look. “I haven’t seen her myself. Our Mistress tends to keep potentials cloistered before their birth hour. I have heard that she has magnificent raven’s hair, but past that—” He shrugged again.

  Could be Letty. Sounds like she’s caught up in this cult.

  Andy didn’t know where he got the word ‘cult’ from, but the longer he thought about what he heard from Quill, the more it fit.

  The Twister led me to believe that I would find a snake. That intercepted scroll implied that Letty was taken as a sacrifice here, and now Quill is telling me that his home is like a school, but they sound insane. I followed the amber, but do I even have the right place? I’ll have to keep my eyes open.

  “Quill?” Andy asked, “When I was back in my world, I saw a creature.”

  Quill looked his way expectantly.

  “It was purplish. I think its face was covered in tentacles, I can’t remember everything else—”

  “Ryle,” Quill interrupted. “The slavers. With those eyes of yours, it’s no surprise. They would have found you at some point.”

  Quill’s bluntness was shocking.

  Dr. Ropt is one of the slavers, a ryle.

  The clarion call of a horn rolled out over the coast.

  “We’re expected!” Quill broke out into a jog; Andy followed along.

  Quill pointed to the top of a jutting coastal cliffside. Someone stood by a banner colored amber with an emblazoned sea shell. The blower lowered their horn and waved.

  They jogged to the sentry, who was an armed girl, also about their age. Quill and the girl exchanged greetings, while Andy looked over the cliff, down onto what could only be Caspia. It was not what he expected.

  He saw a boneyard that had been gem encrusted, painted, and then re-arranged into a sprawling city-fortress. The structures shone with all the colors of the cavern roof and more. Orange, red, amber, and blue sheets were stretched between the ribs and offered shade for every span of road. The buildings also seemed ribbed, as if made of bones as well. The walls and plazas shone with a speckled hue, like mother-of-pearl. Among the structures sat a massive lobster, covered in stretches of green, as if overgrown. Andy began to doubt his eyes. He tried to take it all in, but it was too much to see at once from so high.

  “Is that Python’s Howe?” Andy asked, half to himself.

  Quill shook his head as the girl grunted and reared with her right hand. Andy almost dodged the blow, but she was too fast and caught him squarely across the face.

  “Mind your tongue, unborn, or next time it will be this.” She jabbed her spear sharply, pausing just above his ribs.

  He wanted to explain his ignorance, but her serious mien silenced him mid-stammer. She crouched slightly, spear ready. Sea green eyes stared defiantly at him through her shock of red hair. Her cloak glittered with blue fish scales, though he thought they were metal, and as they shook against each other, their jangling gave the impression of solidity.

  Just like Quill’s shirt.

  She had a necklace of sea-stars and a jagged scar across her freckled cheek. Her sandals were wrapped in a crisscross pattern all the way up her thigh, disappearing under a deep green skirt that looked to be made of sea weed.

  “Excuse me,” Andy finally got out. “I’m new here—I didn’t mean to offend.”

  She ignored him and looked at Quill. “A few hours with this idiot would be enough to make anyone go mad.”

  Andy blushed, and felt suddenly ashamed of his embarrassment. How could he care what this girl thought of him?

  “Let me take him to our Mistress. Go, continue your writing, or is it more carving today?” She implored with a friendly face.

  “Alas, that I could, Staza. Our Mistress will have to punish me.”

  She sighed and gestured towards Andy questioningly.

  Quill raised his brow in assent. “The watchtower over the circle is down.”

  “I recognized the spider’s crossbow.” She said pointing at Andy’s weapon.

  “Oh well, she is in a good mood with the medial tide. Maybe she’ll ignore the crime.” Staza said.

  Andy looked down at his stolen weapon. His face turned a deeper crimson.

  She motioned them towards a stairway that led down the cliff and into Caspia.

  Andy nearly tripped on the stairs. His eyes were torn between making sense of the town and trying to catch a glance of Staza.

  “The Coelodontus triptych goes well,” she said pointing out three images in a courtyard plaza. “You can really see it from up here.”

  Andy looked down and saw others working on mosaics in the plaza.

  They passed two armed guards at the base of the stairs. The guards were enclosed within plated armor, which made them look like giant, axe-wielding lobsters. He paused for a glance and didn�
�t notice when they told him to be on his way.

  Quill grabbed him by the arm and pulled. “No time to stand around, Andy.”

  “Yeah,” Andy agreed and continued. “What were they wearing? They looked like shellfish.”

  “We use everything that crawls out of the sea.”

  Staza nodded. “We have to kill it first. But then we craft every piece of equipment by hand. Caston and Poll are proud of their suits.”

  Andy’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me those guys fought giant lobsters and made armor from their shells?” There was a tone of frank disbelief in his question.

  Both Quill and Staza looked at him strangely.

  A girl with a red bird on her shoulder bounded up and plucked a grating rhythm on her lyre, breaking up the conversation.

  “Pen the chief! Hail! But what! Have you stolen our peace? Are you now, Pen the thief!” She danced around them as they walked down an avenue, shaded by orange and blue mesh sheets that flapped lazily in the wind.

  She looked them up and down, her eyes widening. Andy saw mischief growing across her face. Her large red bird flapped its wings aggressively and cawed at them. Andy didn’t recognize the species; it looked like a bloodred crow.

  “Hello Somni,” Quill answered tersely, as he tried to push past her.

  She grinned questioningly, plucking away at her lyre. “Quilly lad, a frilly lad, with a taste for rhymeless verse. He left today for far away and came back broke—But for a slaver’s lad, a silly cad, bearing a crossbow! Stolen this—” she tapped Andy’s crossbow, nearly knocking it off his shoulder, “and from your Masters too,” she wagged her finger in Andy’s face before continuing, “bad boy.”

  Andy swiped at her hand, but she was too quick.

  “Thieving boys, with tragic ploys, make for fun stories, and a breaking Quill will give me thrills—once our Mistress is through with you!” Finished, she broke out laughing.

  She was far worse than Emma had ever been.

  Quill hurried down the plaza. Andy followed along, but Staza reached out for Somni’s lyre. “Step off, you nuisance! Go and write some more of that garbage you call poetry!” Somni darted back in time to keep her lyre. “Don’t let me get a hold of that thing; you won’t like what I do to you with it.”