Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  What was he talking about? They were still standing in the middle of—

  Lyon exploded into a swarm of white bats.

  And so did she.

  Ember might have screamed.

  14

  Rxa hummed as he sat on the edge of the stone planter that ringed a large tree in the street. He kicked his feet idly. “Alas, poor Fred! I knew him well, Horatio.” He giggled as he held up the skull in his hand. It was dripping weird, murky gloop out of the spine. It had ceased to be blood a long time ago, and now was simply some kind of liquified organic material.

  It also smelled terrible.

  Rxa sighed and hurled the head away. It hit the wall with a quiet thump and rolled along the sidewalk into a gutter. “Oh, well.”

  Maybe it wasn’t the head that smelled terrible. Maybe it was him. He sniffed his arm and wheezed. “No wonder she didn’t like me!” He frowned. Or he tried, anyway. He still wasn’t sure that he fully owned lips. He owned enough to talk, but they felt…sticky.

  Could have been the smell that scared her off.

  Could have been the blood.

  The open wounds.

  The army of mindless, shambling undead.

  He sighed again, more wistfully than the first, and began to walk up the street. “You, there—Fred Two. Find me somebody to eat. Someone fresh and alive.” He gestured a hand aimlessly at the pack of corpses next to him. The ones on the ground that Lyon had re-killed stayed re-dead, but there were plenty more where that came from.

  He knew this because he could sense them. Little by little, his head was starting to clear. Nothing made sense—things were still jumbled up like a bad jigsaw puzzle. But at least he could see the images on all the little pieces, even if he had no idea what order to put them in.

  He suspected they were from all different puzzles.

  Knowledge was buzzing around in his head that he didn’t remember having before. I was dead. I was in the Pool of the Ancients. Who knows what kind of shit they used to put me back together?

  “Maybe you could have included the rest of my organs?” He was shouting at the sky. He knew it was pointless. But he didn’t care. “And what the fuck is a meme, anyway?” With a grunt, he shook his head. He didn’t expect an answer.

  The Ancients never talked to him. Not once, in all his years. No matter how hard he prayed. No matter how devoted he was to them. He was never blessed to hear their voice. He assumed it had been because they wished to protect his sanity. He had seen what happened to all the Oracles who had come and gone through the House of Fate. They never lasted long, carrying the burden of the visions the Ancients gifted their Oracle.

  But now he knew it was because they never loved him back.

  They had never cared for him.

  He was just another tool to them. Another toy to entertain their precious only son, Aon. The only one who had ever graced Under without being stolen from Earth. Or Gioll, he amended to himself.

  He smiled. How wonderful it was to think that Under could cross paths with other worlds. It meant there was more in this universe than he had known.

  Good.

  It meant he’d feel a little less bad about destroying this portion of it. If Under was only one of many worlds, it wasn’t such a great and terrible sin to burn it all to the ground. Yes. He was going to make the Ancients watch as he turned their precious world and all their little toys to dust. He would march his army all over Under, spreading and growing like a plague, and only then would he return to their cathedral—the place Rxa had called home for so very long—and find a way to kill them, too.

  The thought made him happy. He tried to whistle and confirmed that he really didn’t have much in the way of lips.

  He missed owning lips.

  And a face.

  And organs.

  And muscles.

  And skin.

  But he knew what would fix that. He watched with a grin as a few of his drengil—what an odd, but charming, word for zombies—dragged a terrified, whimpering man toward him. The man wore blue ink on his face marking him as one of Ini’s.

  Rxa was humming an old tune to himself as he grabbed the man by the hair. He was untouched, save for the dirt on his clothes and scuffmarks on his palms. The corpses hadn’t hurt him. They were so very good at following orders. It’s nice not to have to deal with the wants and needs of others for once.

  “Let me go! Let me go, please!” the man screamed.

  Rxa ignored him. “I spent my life worrying about other people. About Under. About the Ancients and their will.”

  “Please—Sir, spare me, I beg you!”

  Throwing the man to the ground, Rxa pinned him there easily. “No.” He cackled.

  “Please—please!” The man was crying now.

  His weeping broke off into a wail of terror as Rxa removed his mask, confirming his theory that he wasn’t exactly in ownership of a full face yet.

  But he did have something he remembered. Baring his sharp fangs, the hallmark of those who served in the House of Blood, he lowered his head to the man’s face and tore his soulmark from his cheek with nothing but his teeth.

  The man bucked and struggled, but Rxa barely felt the effort. He had always been strong. Now, even more so. Good. It would be easier to fight those like Edu and Dtu who preferred to fight hand-to-hand.

  He wondered how those two were doing. It would be nice to see them again, even if it would be right before murdering them.

  Chewing on the scrap of flesh, he swallowed it. The man was still screaming. The sound didn’t bother Rxa any as he leaned down to lap at the blood pooling in the wound. He moaned in bliss as the hot liquid slid down his throat. Oh, he had always relished the flavor. It had always been ecstasy to sink his fangs into a willing victim and drink from them.

  He had always insisted on picking a consenting partner when he had chosen to feed.

  I was the kind one. The loving one. The fair one.

  There had also never been a shortage of offers. He had been truly beautiful.

  So much had changed.

  He dug his teeth into the soft flesh of the man’s cheek, pulling his head back and ripping another chunk off like he was a wild animal tearing into a kill.

  Rxa ate.

  Slowly, bit by bit, the man’s screams tapered off to silence. He had gone into shock. His heart was still pumping blood out of the wounds that now decorated his face, neck, and chest. Rxa dug bloody fingers into the man’s stomach, clawing through skin, and sinew, and tendon. He ripped it open, tossing the less appetizing pieces aside. His corpses had no problems eating his scraps.

  He was after one thing in particular. One thing that he’d want to eat while it was fresh. Shoving his hand up inside the man’s ribcage, he grabbed his heart in his fist and yanked. It took a few good tugs, and a bit of squirming his arm around, but he finally managed to pull the vital organ lose from the now very permanently dead man’s body.

  It was a little torn. It hadn’t wanted to come out, after all. But it was warm, gooey, red, and beautiful. Licking it, Rxa moaned again and shivered as pleasure rushed over him. It was good to know his nerves weren’t limited to just feeling pain.

  Sinking his teeth into the heart, he said one last prayer to the Ancients.

  I pray you’re watching.

  When the man was gone, and nothing but bits of bone and refuse, he stood. He felt a little less hungry, if only a little. But he felt itchy on the inside. My dove said I was healing. Maybe this is how I do it.

  He grinned and put his mask back on his face. He had no problem eating as many people as he could. With a happy heart, and an extra one in his stomach, he started up the street to the road he knew headed west. He snapped his fingers—well, he tried, it made more of a wet sounding peh peh noise and less of a snap—at the line of corpses who stared at him, waiting for a command. “We’re going to go visit an old friend. A very old friend.” He hooted in laughter. “We march to kill the King of Shadows!”

  The cr
eatures turned and began to move.

  Slowly.

  Very slowly.

  They were dead.

  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

  Rxa sighed.

  “Eventually.”

  Ember fell onto her hands and knees in the grass and fought the urge to be sick. Her head was spinning, and she felt as though she had just been thrown down a steep hill.

  A hand pressed gently to her back. “Forgive me. I was unable to provide you with the customary warning.”

  She groaned. “That was terrible. What happened?”

  “I am able to transport a limited number of people along with me by my method of changing my shape, as if I were to lift and carry you by normal means.”

  She glared up at Lyon through her nausea. “You turned me into bats.”

  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” He helped her up to her feet and brushed some dust off her arms. “Are you quite all right?”

  Apparently, he needed her to speak slower. She halved her speed and redoubled her glower. “You turned me…into bats.”

  If it were possible for an immensely tall, incredibly pale, inhuman statue of a man to look sheepish, Lyon once more managed. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Again, I apologize. I would have flown us farther toward our destination, but I fear it’s dangerous to leave you like that for too long.”

  “Fantastic.” She shook her head. It was just another thing added to a growing list of impossible things she had seen in the past twenty-four hours. Or however long it had been. “You shouldn’t have to come back for me. It was dangerous.”

  “I could not leave you to die.”

  She watched him for a moment. “In my world, if someone falls behind, they’re already dead. But…thanks. Thank you for coming back and saving me.”

  He bowed his head. “You are very welcome.”

  “What do we do now?” She took stock of what she had. Her bag with her supplies…and nothing else. “I’ve lost all my weapons.” It happened from time to time, but it was incredibly nerve-wracking to be unarmed.

  Looking around, she didn’t know why she bothered. They were in the woods on a dirt road, but she didn’t recognize anything she was looking at. It was a firm reminder that she was a fish out of water. But at least she wasn’t alone.

  “We walk,” came his simple reply. “For a long time.”

  “Where are we?” She brushed some dirt off her knees. The clothing was new, and it seemed sad to get it mucked up so quickly.

  “West of the city. I had enough time to warn Ini. She fled with whoever she could find.” Lyon began to walk up the road, looking for all the world like a white blot of ink on a dark canvas. His long white coat was spattered with blood. At least none of it seemed to be his.

  She followed him. “Where are we going?”

  Lyon’s expression was unreadable. He once more resembled a living statue. “To regroup and acquire assistance.”

  “From whom?”

  Lyon’s lips twitched up. “You really do have a thousand questions, don’t you?”

  “I’ve found myself dropped into a world of magic and monsters. I rather think I have a right to ask questions.” Ember reached for the strap of her spear, only to find it gone. That loss hurt more than the knife. But she’d make another, eventually. Hopefully. She shoved her hands into her pockets instead, needing somewhere to put them.

  “That is quite fair. But I see in you someone with an inquisitive mind, all the same. Maverick would not have taken so kindly to you if that were not the case.”

  “That was Maverick taking kindly to someone?” Ember arched an eyebrow at him.

  Lyon chuckled. “Yes, believe it or not.”

  “Is he…is he okay? Did he make it out?” Worry rose in her. No, you idiot. Don’t get attached to anyone. They aren’t your friends. You don’t know them. But she might as well have been yelling at the tide for coming in. She cared. “Is he all right?”

  “I found him and took him to Ini, yes. He was the one who told me where you were.” Lyon looked at her then, his brow creasing in concern. “Did Rxa harm you?”

  “No…he didn’t.” She looked down at her feet, trying to think back on their bizarre conversation. She rubbed her throat, remembering the strange and…somehow erotic sensation of his lips there. “He wanted to ask me questions about Gioll. About where I came from.”

  “Interesting.”

  “He also asked if I knew what happened to him.” She glanced back up at Lyon. “I don’t think he’s to blame for all this.”

  “No. I don’t suspect he is. He is, as are we all, a pawn of the Ancients. But that he does not know what has occurred…that is troubling.”

  “Can’t you stop him?”

  Lyon shook his head. “Rxa was always one of the strongest royals. He never showed his strength…he preferred diplomacy to violence.”

  “I think that’s changed.”

  “Indeed. He believes he was betrayed by the world he dedicated himself to. That tends to lead one toward vengeance, I’m afraid…” Lyon sighed. “And it is not so simple as killing him, even if I could.”

  She kicked a piece of gravel on the road, sending it skittering up ahead. “Why?”

  “We royals represent the Ancients in their slumber. One royal for each of their aspects. If one of us is to die, the balance falls apart. Our world would slowly fade away. It has nearly happened once before.”

  “So, killing him…kills Under.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.”

  Lyon chuckled before his expression fell again. “Indeed. We need a way to restrain him until a solution can be found. Perhaps we might even find a way to convince him to call off his army of the dead.”

  “And the person we’re going to go see knows how to restrain him?”

  “Yes. You could say he…is experienced in confining a royal and depriving them of their power.” Lyon’s jaw twitched. “We will keep Rxa prisoner. At least until we can talk sense into him.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible.” She looked off into the woods, into the darkness and multi-colored shadows. There was a green moon overhead, casting strange and eerie shapes through an already unsettling forest. “He didn’t seem…together. And I don’t mean the missing organs.” She tapped her temple. “I mean upstairs.”

  “Being dead for quite a while and then resurrected as…that thing you saw, must shake one’s grasp on reality.”

  “I suppose.” She frowned. “I can’t help but feel bad for him. He’s clearly in so much pain.”

  Lyon placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You are a kind soul, Miss Ember. I cannot imagine what you have endured in your life, coming from a world overrun with mindless death.”

  “I suppose.” She smiled faintly. “My world was unkind, but it was simple. The rules were clear.”

  “What were they?”

  “Trust nothing. Trust no one. Expect death at all times. Live for every second.”

  “Live for every second?”

  “Do whatever it takes to survive to the next tick of the clock. Do that every time, and you survive. The moment you stop…is the moment you die.” She pulled her hair out of her ponytail and ran her fingers through the strands, combing out some of the snags.

  “And yet, you sympathize with Rxa. Why?”

  “I empathize with his pain. I don’t sympathize with his motives. Anyone who slaughters a city like that…I’ve never seen that kind of wrath.” She frowned. “Our drengil have no minds. They’re innocent in their crimes. They can’t help what they do. That’s what makes them so terrifying, but also makes them more of a force of nature than an enemy. Why bother hating the weather? But the creature I met has a mind. A broken one, maybe. But he knows what he’s doing. And I saw in him the reason why it’s better that you can’t reason with a drengil. Why it’s better that they have no thoughts. Because I’ve never seen that kind of wrath—but I’ve also never seen that ki
nd of pain, either.”

  Lyon didn’t answer, his brow furrowed as he seemed to lose himself in thought. She wasn’t used to having company, so she didn’t mind. They walked along the dirt road in companionable silence for what must have been half an hour before they rounded a bend.

  Ember gasped through her nose and reached for her knife, only to find empty air.

  Lyon chuckled. “Ah, Ini. Ever thoughtful.”

  “What the fuck are those?” She gaped. She didn’t understand what she was looking at.

  There were two enormous creatures in front of her that looked as though someone had taken an insect and modeled it after a horse or a deer. Its back legs folded the wrong way and extended up behind its back like the legs of a grasshopper. Eyes on the head of a horse were faceted and bulbous like a fly, sticking out proud of the creature’s skull. A pair of large horns arched back away from its head in elegant curls. It was covered in armored plates.

  The two creatures were tied off to trees. One was deep crimson in color, and the other was a purplish blue. The purple one stomped its front hoof into the ground irritably.

  Lyon patted the plated neck of the animal, who shook its head and sniffed the blood on his coat. He smiled at her and motioned her to come closer. “These are horses, Miss Ember.”

  “Those are not horses.”

  “In Under, they are.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she fought the urge to yell at the man. Horses had fur. They weren’t covered in armored panels. They certainly didn’t have horns. She threw her hands up and walked toward him and the two animals. “Screw it. Why not? Sure. Horses are insects now.”

  Lyon had a tender smile on his face as he watched her. As if he were enjoying her reaction to his world, and as if he had seen this kind of thing many times before.

  She laughed. “By the old gods. Where have I found myself? A world of immortal madmen and insect horses.”

  The “horse” snorted.

  “No offense, cricket.” She patted its neck. Lyon put his foot on the plate of the creature’s leg and used that as the means to climb up. It didn’t seem to hurt the “horse” at all, so she did the same. The layers of the creature’s exoskeleton on its back made for a natural saddle, and she found sitting on the monster wasn’t uncomfortable at all. She reached down and took the reins. “I think that’s a good name for you, huh? Cricket?”