Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2)

by Toby Andersen

  When Altan’s aim was perfect, the Radchis moved, leaping from the ground onto the bark of a thick tree trunk, its sharp claws holding it in place like a squirrel. A long blue tongue flickered out, tasting the air like a snake. It had sensed something, but it couldn’t pinpoint them.

  Then everything happened at once. The Radchis bolted from the tree sailing into the air at the bushes where they crouched. Altan loosed his arrow as the creature reached the apex of its leap, skewering it, but not stopping it. It raked its claws across Altan’s face as it landed clutching and tearing at his ears. Altan dropped his bow and grabbed at the creature, yanking it from his head and throwing it away into the undergrowth.

  Totelun watched the spot where it had disappeared, his bow string still taut, his arrow still ready. He’d hesitated, but now that seemed like a fortuitous decision. There was a sound from the left, then the right. Altan made a deliberate noise, groaning in pain, and the Radchis burst from cover intent on its victim despite their size difference.

  It paused for a split second as it left the leaves, searching for them, sniffing, and Totelun’s arrow found it, pinning it to the ground with a cold thunk.

  Totelun looked at his father. His cheeks were scored, his ears bleeding. He would have new scars for that mistake.

  ‘Well done, Totelun,’ he said, emerging from the bush and investigating the Radchis corpse. ‘A clean kill.’

  Totelun beamed, pleased to hear such rare words of praise from his stern father. Altan pulled the arrow from the earth, and held up the Radchis for Totelun to see.

  ‘That wasn’t what we were looking for,’ said Totelun. ‘Couldn’t we have just left it alone?’

  ‘Once a Radchis has sighted you, you cannot turn your back on him. We are fortunate we found him, before he found us. We would not have been so lucky had he come at us from behind, while unarmed.’

  Totelun nodded. He could see it made sense with a creature so ferocious, despite its size. His father’s face bore painful witness. If only it could have been counted on to just leave them alone.

  As evening fell, Altan built a small fire in a tiny clearing they’d found. There was enough of a break in the canopy overhead that the smoke would have a place to escape, and wouldn’t choke them in their sleep. Totelun peered around the dark forest; even with the flickering light he could barely see ten feet out. Some things out there really did want to kill them. He was certain sleep wouldn’t find him, not while he waited for more ferocious beasts to circle in. A Radchis could be out there, just beyond the glow; it could probably leap that distance without any trouble, bite into his throat and tear it out. He shivered. He reminded himself, if he could hear the hoots and calls of birds and lemurs in the trees, their cautionary noises meant there was nothing to fear. If they were to fall silent, he knew that would mean his end. The other animals were like a warning; noise was life, however jarring the calls sometimes were.

  Silence was death.

  Altan grunted, spat into the flames. ‘There is a hierarchy to the forest, Totelun. Your uncle ever tell you the story of the Radchis and the Trelki?’

  Totelun shook his head, keen to hear his father’s tale. Altan was sparing enough with his words and praise, and Totelun grasped at any excuse to take his mind from what lurked in the darkness.

  ‘It’s an old hunting tale, from the dawn of the islands. Come here and I will show you how to skin your kill.’ Totelun handed Altan the Radchis and his father began to slice carefully down its length with his wickedly sharp curved skinning knife.

  ‘The Radchis and the Trelki,’ began his father, in a low cadence, ‘both lived in the original dark forest created by the great Anatesh. They were both the deadliest of predators and every other animal would bow to them, every bird would take flight, every plant eater would make way, when they stalked their territory. “There is a natural hierarchy to the forest,” said the Radchis one day to the Trelki. He’d just had an epiphany. “The insects sit at the bottom,” he said, “eating the plants.” The Trelki agreed, her long muscular body coiled in a branch of her favourite tree. “Then come the larger plant eaters and the rodents that eat the insects,” she added, her voice a hiss. “Yes,” said the Radchis, “and finally, above them all, sit you and I, the most dangerous and lethal of all.”

  ‘Clearly neither of them knew of the Celestial Medusi the size of the island itself,’ said Altan, cutting into his own flow, ‘or it would have blown their proud little minds. But the Celestials are another story.’ His careful cutting had sliced the Radchis from its skin like a human shed their clothes after a long day. Totelun took careful note, as he did to his father’s tale.

  ‘The Trelki, she eyed the Radchis, and said, “There can’t be two at the top. Which one of us is actually the most dangerous, which the deadlier?” The Trelki was a trickster; always she had a game, an angle. The Radchis had never considered this. The Trelki dropped from the branch and slid her way around the Radchis. He turned and followed as she moved, listening intently to her seductive voice. “We know the insects are eaten by the rodents,” she said, “which are in turn eaten by us. Everyone has their place. Everyone except you.” She twined her coils around and around him, speaking softly, keeping his attention. The Radchis hung on her every word, like a spell had fallen over him. He could hear her voice inside his mind, enchanting him. “We can’t very well have two predators at the top. No one will know who is actually in charge,” she said, as she looped the last of her length around him and began to tighten. “We will have to determine which of us is the greatest. There must be some way to know for sure.” The Radchis nodded mesmerised by the soft sound of her voice. He was still nodding as she squeezed him slowly to death. “The last part of the story,” she said, as she lay his lifeless body down in the leaf litter, “is where your body breaks down, and feeds the soil that the plants grow from. There can only be one at the top.”

  It took Totelun a moment to realise his father had stopped speaking. His mind was still playing over the image of the Radchis being slowly suffocated. ‘Why didn’t the Radchis fight back? Why did he allow himself to die?’

  Altan smiled a rare smile, amused by his son. ‘He didn’t allow it. He was bettered by a superior intellect, by a greater predator.’

  ‘Skill over strength.’

  ‘Yes, something like that. The Radchis could have torn the Trelki apart with its razor-sharp claws, like it did my face, but the Trelki used its own skills in manipulation and enchantment to set itself above.’

  The young hunter watched as Altan stretched the skin out and rubbed the inside with rubbery wax to make it supple. ‘You want to keep your skins pliant, until you can get them home and tan them properly.’ After a moment he said, ‘Maybe the lesson is, always be prepared, always expect treachery, and always have an escape plan, lest you end up like the Radchis. Do not allow yourself to be manipulated. Or maybe it’s to always be mindful of the Trelki. I don’t know. I’ve never been the storyteller your uncle is.’

  Totelun nodded. The stories his uncle Kamal told of the creation of the islands, the spirits of the wind and water, of Jagraton and Anatesh, and the animals they governed, always had a moral too, but Altan’s tale was different.

  Not passed down by the Shamana, but by hunters.

  A special tale just for those who must fight and take life.

  Just for him.

  It was better.

  ‘When man enters the forest,’ his father continued, ‘he must make it clear he is now chief. You asked why we killed the Radchis earlier. For the same reason as we must face the Trelki as well. Because we cannot avoid it. Others will fight, Totelun, but you must be willing to assert your right to survive. It is life. Leaving the village, the homestead and venturing into the forest, is like growing from a child into an adult. You cannot avoid the dangers of life. You must face them head on. You must prove yourself a man.’

  *

  Another day passed before Altan began to find trace of the Trelki territory. He knew w
here to head and had hunted Trelki many times before, but the creatures could change their habitat and the darkness of the forest made everything look familiar. Totelun couldn’t be sure they hadn’t been turned around many times already.

  Altan beckoned Totelun toward him and held up a small dry parcel of bones and feathers between his fingers. ‘A Trelki pellet,’ he said. ‘They regurgitate the parts of their prey that they cannot digest. From here on we must be silent, Totelun. Be mindful of the Trelki’s song. The story I told you was not just a campfire tale, it was a warning. They can draw you towards them like you are the prey yourself. Do not be like the Radchis. Do not give in to it. Pinch yourself if you have to. Cut your hands with your blade. But do not allow yourself to succumb to the Trelki’s song.’

  Totelun nodded slowly, finding it hard to close his suddenly dry eyes. He hadn’t been blinking while Altan spoke. The song, that coercive lullaby that had trapped the Radchis, was real?

  ‘Can’t we just block our ears?’ he asked. ‘Grab some mud and cover them over?’

  ‘Being deaf in the forest carries its own risks,’ said Altan, shaking his head, ‘and besides, it would make no difference. The Trelki’s song isn’t out there.’ He pointed from the forest and then to his own temple. ‘It’s in here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll hear it, but not through your ears. More like it’s in your mind. Anyone could hunt Trelki if all they needed to do was block their ears. This is why it is a test. You cannot stop the song, you have to resist it.’

  Totelun stared into the forest ahead, dense and foreboding. He didn’t want to go inside. Not anymore. He’d thought this hunt was his father’s apology, but it was a deadly test that he wasn’t sure he was ready for. It was more than fear. His death could lie ahead, the end of his young life before it had really begun. Couldn’t they just turn back? He could go back to helping around the farm, his father could keep the hunting to himself.

  He looked back to find Altan watching him, eyes narrowed.

  ‘That fear is like the Trelki song,’ his father said. ‘You have to overcome it. That is what it means to become an adult. The life that lies ahead of you will be filled with things to fear. But you cannot run from them. They’ll just attack you from behind. You must face your fear head on, conquer it.’

  Totelun nodded.

  ‘Survive the Trelki song,’ Altan said. ‘Prove you are ready, prove it to yourself, and I will take you on the next Great Hunt.’

  Together they ventured stealthily into the territory of the Trelki. The undergrowth was dense and impassable in many places. Totelun was in mind to use his knife to cut their way through, but Altan gestured for them not to disturb the clawing brush and instead to go around. They took tentative steps forward only to be pushed back by particularly stubborn thatches of brambles, or coiled creepers.

  After an hour or so of hush, Totelun noticed that it was not just quiet, but beyond silent now. The normal background noises, the buzzing of insects, the occasional calls of birds, the low-humming susurrations of the crickets, all of it was gone. Totelun was afraid to breathe. The silence he had feared during the night had come to pass. There were no animals here to make noise, because this was a place of death.

  Altan pointed ahead to where a large gnarled tree sat at the confluence of all the other plant-life and what few paths there were.

  One step closer and the silence was no longer complete.

  Into it had crept a lulling hypnotic melody, just on the edge of hearing and consciousness. If he turned his head too swiftly, he lost it, it was so subtle. Another step and it was stronger again, coaxing him forward. He could see Altan crouch and secure the Radchis skin to a stick, in a manner that allowed him to manipulate it from a few feet away. He stopped at the edge of the undergrowth before the large tree, hidden only by a thin layer of leaves.

  The trunk must have been as wide as Totelun was tall, warped and twisted as it grew towards the canopy. Its branches splayed like an old crone’s fingers, stretching for metres above them back the way they’d come. But most interesting of all were the holes.

  The old tree was pocked with dark recesses, each clearly home to something. As he gazed, he realised the haunting melody was coming from the holes, from inside the tree itself. If maybe he could just reach inside, he could grab hold of whatever it was that made that sound. No, maybe he could climb inside himself?

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge the powerful intoxicating lullaby. Why would he want to climb inside, with the teeth and the death?

  Altan finished with his contraption and sent forth the Radchis skin toward the tree. The Radchis came to stop a foot from where the trunk met the ground, and Altan made a short yip into the heavy air; a perfect imitation of a Radchis cry.

  Totelun watched as a bright white-blue eel shot from one of the holes, its long tongue tasting the air between its distended fangs. The lower jaw was so large as to be unable to close, drooping fangs jutting from the top and growing up from the bottom, like a deep lake fish. The Trelki didn’t come all the way out, holding itself still inside the hole; with no arms or legs, Totelun guessed it must be another few feet long inside, muscular like a snake.

  Its eyes were intent on the Radchis, swaying with subtle movements Altan gave the skin. The Trelki was still producing that strange lullaby, and so much more powerfully now. The noise blossomed inside Totelun’s head like a dark flower, crowding out thought, crowding out reason, beckoning him to come closer.

  It would be nice to just reach out and touch it, he thought. What harm was there really? The fangs looked friendly if anything, its coils looked warm and inviting. Totelun could almost see himself curling up to sleep in that warm embrace.

  Then he saw Altan move, saw his eyes drift closed and the stick with the Radchis drop from his weak grip. He watched as his father stood and stepped from the undergrowth into the open.

  What was he doing?

  Altan approached the tree, reaching slowly towards the Trelki. Totelun saw the creature’s muscles bunching ready to strike, to sink its fangs into his father’s neck.

  All the power of the song of the Trelki vanished from Totelun’s mind. All he could think of was his father. Totelun leapt from the undergrowth, all thought for personal safety forgotten. The creature didn’t have time to react. Totelun sliced through the air with his daggers extended, cutting straight through behind the Trelki’s head.

  The lullaby died instantly, replaced by real, cold silence.

  Altan blinked, shuddered and fell to his knees.

  The Trelki’s headless body thrashed and writhed, bashing into the ground, then the trunk of the tree, before tensing and dropping to the ground. The rest of its length slid out of the hole.

  He’d done it. Totelun had done it.

  He’d survived the Trelki song.

  And Altan hadn’t, he realised.

  He’d saved his father’s life.

  *

  Totelun and Altan emerged from the forest again, squinting into the sunlight and the cool breeze that didn’t penetrate the heavy stillness under the trees. As they approached the village and Totelun could see beyond it their own small homestead, it was clear from some miles away that there was a commotion.

  Smoke rose from a number of campfires, though not out of control; the women of the village preparing a feast.

  Altan looked at Totelun.

  ‘The Shamana?’ Totelun responded.

  Altan nodded. ‘Let’s not keep them waiting.’

  When they stepped over the village boundary, they found the whole village crowded round the fires, some forty families, a hundred total. Children ran about, getting underfoot, laughing and yelling. He saw his brothers. Totelun felt the urge to drop his burden and chase after them, but he had to remind himself those days were over. He was soon to be a man; his father had said he was ready for the Great Hunt. A meaty scent warmed his lungs and drew him and Altan to the centre of the congregation. They were greeted with embra
ces from Sedara who was helping with the preparation of a large heady stew. She smiled at Totelun, clearly pleased he had returned unharmed.

  ‘The Shaman Lord is here,’ she said to Altan.

  Altan jerked his head for Totelun to follow. They retrieved the Celestial crystal from their homestead, headed for the chief’s home and were admitted by the guardsman.

  Inside was warm and smoky; a dying fire, but the space above swirled with dark air currents. Totelun gaped. He recognised Chief Kerbuto sat to one side of the embers, smoking a pipe, but the three men on the other side wore strange clothes; headdresses made of bird feathers and furs from shoulder to foot, the men were scarred and tattooed on their bare arms. The two apprentice’s faces were visible, but the Shaman Lord wore a mask, white and long, like dried carapace from a Medusi. He towered over the other two, at least seven feet tall, all shadow and secrecy, ancient lore and ritual passed down for centuries.

  The Shaman Lord wove the flurries of smoke from the fire, chanting incoherently in a litany of dull syllables. As Totelun and Altan walked in, the fire crackled and a tiny image appeared in the smoke between the Shaman’s hands. Totelun only just saw it, as the Shaman quickly obliterated it with a violent swish of his fingertips; a dome-like skull, that drew down into strange tentacles below. He broke off his chant suddenly, turning to them like a strange and dangerous apparition of a bird god.

  ‘Altan,’ the Shaman Lord hissed, as he seized the hunter’s hands in his own claws. ‘Do you have it?’ His voice was like Totelun imagined a snake’s might sound, only larger to fit with his size. His mask’s dark orb-like eyes rested on Totelun for a long moment, then back to Altan.

  Altan drew the large crystal that he had taken from the Medusi Celestial on the Great Hunt from a bag strung across his shoulder. He knelt slowly and held the crystal up to the Shaman Lord who now stood over him.