Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  “Help me,” K-Kwan pleaded with Sos. “I must take him into sunlight.”

  Sunlight! To finally get above-ground. Sos inwardly rejoiced. “I will get Dasse.”

  She rested a hand on his. “No, only you are permitted to accompany me. Dasse must stay.”

  “Why? If we can get–”

  “You must return here with me and my son.”

  “Must?”

  “I will explain soon.” She patted a small leather satchel slung over her shoulder. “But for now, we must hurry. Take Kran’s arm. I will lead the way.”

  Confused and confounded, Sos took Kran’s good arm and guided the young boy along a slight inclined passage behind K-Kwan. She briefly studied rock protrusions, nodded in confirmation, and moved on, unhesitatingly.

  Each day he marvelled at how the Ratava knew where they were going; she’d told him before that each passage had a name, each projection was identified, and they retained mind-maps of the vast warren of tunnels and caverns.

  There were dog-leg turns, a cluster of other passage entrances and before long Sos had lost any sense of bearing, save that they climbed gradually upwards. Once out there, he decided, he would make a run for it. Maybe then he would come back for Dasse with a group of miners.

  They passed strange coiled formations, sections of the stone like strands of honey, glinting gold, others resembling bloated worms. In all of his mining days, he’d never seen anything so different, so wondrous.

  After what seemed an age, K-Kwan halted, raised a hand.

  “What now?” Sos snapped.

  “Around the next bend is the opening.”

  He moved with Kran, and the boy gave a muted yelp of pain. “Sorry,” Sos said, realising he was very anxious to emerge into sunlight after so long cooped up underground.

  “Wait!” she barked imperiously.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re a miner, you know the effect of sunlight after you have been in your tunnels.”

  “Yes, it can be blinding; but we used torches, lights so the effect wasn’t…” He paused, then added, “Oh, my eyes won’t be accustomed to the change in light out there, since the underworld you live in doesn’t rely on torches?”

  “That’s right.” She tore off a small strip from her loincloth; this action didn’t leave much to conceal her intimate parts. She used a knife to cut two slits into the strip of leather. “Here, put it round your eyes. It will help.”

  From the satchel she plucked two other strips already made for her and Kran.

  He did as he was bid. The leather retained a musky scent.

  His vision was reduced to two slits now.

  She bound the strips round her eyes and her son’s. “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  REGENERATION

  “If you want to live and thrive, let the spider run alive.”

  - The Book of Concealed Mystery

  (Ascribed to Lhoretsorel)

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Badol Melomar arrived at the royal chambers and approached the king’s secretary seated to one side of the throne room’s entrance doors. “I have an audience with the king,” Badol said. “It is a matter of life and death, actually.”

  The secretary checked his appointment book. “You will have to return tomorrow. The king is indisposed.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?” He trusted he hadn’t arrived too late. Had the attempt been made on the king’s life? Was it successful? Were they keeping it quiet while the Prince Royal could be located?

  “No.” The secretary gestured vaguely. “A minor issue relating to spiders.” The secretary sniggered then raised a hand to cover his mouth of rotten teeth. “I regret that all appointments for this morning will be cancelled.”

  “Couldn’t I see him later today? It is life and death, you know?”

  “As far as the king is concerned, his life is already at risk until they find the spider.”

  “Spider?”

  “Forget I said that. I’m sorry, but it will have to be tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” Turning on his heel, Badol marched out, fuming.

  ***

  Underground

  K-Kwan led Sos through a cave opening in the side of a craggy outcrop. The daylight glare was so intense he instinctively closed his eyes, even with the leather strip protecting him from most of the brightness.

  Kran groaned and coughed.

  “Lay him down over here,” she instructed and knelt.

  Cautiously, Sos opened his eyes. Green moss, stone glinting in sunlight, yellow weeds. He was out, at last!

  Then he was distracted by Kran letting out a small moan. The boy lay supine while his mother delved in her satchel.

  She took from her satchel a little pot, unstoppered it, and poured a gelatinous unguent onto her palm. “This will help him heal.” She spread the stuff on the two bad cuts in Kran’s chest.

  Kran gasped then bit his lip, bravely let her continue.

  Rising, she placed the pot in her bag and peered at the sun.

  Sos followed her gaze but immediately desisted, it was too hurtful.

  “Now we wait. It will not be long.”

  “But he has a broken arm – it will take a long time to–”

  “Normally, in your world, it would,” she said. “You enjoy the mushroom meals we give you?”

  “Yes…” He licked his lips at the memory of their taste. They served mushrooms with every variety of meal. Dasse now detested them. “What has that to do with–?”

  “The mushrooms we harvest grow in our caves. You will find that they are addictive.”

  He stopped licking his lips. “So? I’m addicted to minsdaur, too. What of it?”

  “We Ratava cannot survive without the mushroom for more than three days.”

  “What happens, then?”

  “We go insane, and eventually fall into a coma and die.”

  He swallowed, licked dry lips. All of a sudden, he didn’t want any more mushrooms, no matter how addictive they may be.

  “We do surface to bathe in sunlight occasionally,” she said. “Our bodies need that too – though not too much or that can kill.” She gazed at Kran; the boy was sleeping peacefully. She untied the leather strip from her eyes and then let loose her loincloth, let it fall to her feet. “Our physicians learned that with the combination of sunlight and the mushroom effect, our bodies are regenerated, becoming much like you surface-dwellers.” She turned to him, raised her arms as if in supplication to the sun.

  “I’ve grown to like you as you are,” he said hoarsely. “There’s no need to change on my account.”

  She didn’t reply. Surprisingly, as he watched, the translucent nature of her skin became opaque; her muscles covered the veins and hid the glimpses of bone structure.

  After a while, she stood before him transformed, desirable.

  With an effort, he drew his eyes away, and regarded Kran. The boy too was changing. The two wounds were closing; the crooked aspect of his forearm was altering, even now appearing almost normal.

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  While searching under the bed, Bayuan found time to study the slip of paper. It was clearly a message from a Goldalese saptor. But why did the queen have this?

  The king trembled. “So, have you found it, Sergeant?”

  “No, they’re difficult to track down, sire. They could be anywhere.”

  “I know! They move so fast, in unexpected directions.” Saurosen shuddered then peered at Bayuan. “Weren’t you at Oxor with Captain Aurelan?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “What transpired there?”

  “I thought Lord Tanellor would report to you, sire.”

  “I’m sure he will, when he returns.”

  “But he has returned, sire. He retired to his town house; he said he would request an audience today.” Out of the corner of his eye he detected movement. By the gods, it was big and black, and ha
iry. Swiftly, he stamped down hard and heard an unpleasant squelch. “I’ve got your spider, sire!” He raised his foot. Glutinous and hairy remnants stuck to his sole and the floor tile.

  “Oh, creature of Bridansor!” the king snapped and spat at the squashed remains. Abruptly he sat on his bed and exhaled a great sigh. “Well done, Sergeant!” He leaned forward, his head in his hands. “I suppose the entire court knows about my dread of spiders?”

  Bayuan stood awkwardly, looking at his king. “No, sire. We know about your spider patrol, but that is all.”

  Saurosen raised his head, his eyes filled with a haunted aspect. “That was a shomshur spider, wasn’t it?” He shuddered.

  Shomshurs originated from the misty lands of Shomshurakand; they were rare here, though in winter they had been known to ride the somarkin, the wet ranmeron wind that blew up from the barrier, bringing unhealthy mists. The shomshurs’ poison sacs contained potent venom that paralysed a human in an instant and the victim then lingered for as long as a moon in agonising pain. “Yes, sire. I was pleased I squashed it before it could do you or the queen harm.”

  “You will be rewarded, sergeant; you have even bettered my spider patrol!” The king stared at the tapestry on the far wall: it showed a likeness of Queen Neran. “She prophesied on her deathbed that I would die because of a spider. Until today, my patrol has kept them away from me. And now it is you who have very probably saved my life.” He stood and clasped Bayuan by both arms. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “I – I think this will go a little way to explaining, sire.” Bayuan handed the message slip to the king. “A Goldalese saptor brought it to the queen.”

  Peeling the slip open, the king read aloud, “Be warned. Tanellor recruits an army of rebels.” Burnt-almond eyes glaring like coals, he rasped, “Leave this with me, Sergeant.”

  ***

  No sooner had Bayuan Aco left than Nemond Xara entered the king’s bedchamber from a side doorway. “Mother!” he exclaimed, all insincere smiles. She wore a white gown with one shoulder left bare. Bracelets and bangles round her wrists and ankles announced her approach as she joined her son. The long white hair from her askew wig trailed down her back.

  When she stood next to him, she leaned to his ear, and he wished she wouldn’t; he felt uncomfortable in close proximity to the hair that sprouted from the moles on her left cheek and from her ears. Her warbling voice was a high-pitched whisper. “You should never have married that woman, my son!” She beat a fist on her chest. “Jikkos conspires behind your back and spawned a son who now plots against you!”

  “I won’t listen to your vitriol, mother!” Her words wounded, because they made him doubt. Why was Jikki receiving saptor messages from Goldalese? What was she doing? “I have given Haltese everything. I love Jikki … and she loves me, truly.”

  “I heard what your soldier said. She withholds vital news from you!” The sagging jowls of her parchment face wobbled. “To what purpose, if not to benefit her son over you?”

  “I tire of your constant bickering about Jikki all these years! She is my wife, my queen! She only seeks to protect me by concealing hurtful news!”

  She sniffed her hooked nose. “I too only have your wellbeing at heart, my dear.”

  “I know, Mother. I shouldn’t have snapped at you in that way.” He cocked his head. “What are you thinking?”

  She curved her narrow bloodless mouth in a failed attempt at a smile.

  “Tell me, Mother, please.”

  “I think we should call upon Nostor Vata.” She raised a wizened hand to stay his protest. “The time is right. Before–”

  “Mother, she isn’t natural!” He hunched his shoulders. “She must have counted fifty years, if a day, yet she has the body of a young virgin.”

  “Perhaps she hasn’t been deflowered yet? That may make her more potent, no?”

  He snorted and shook his head. “No, I think the opposite happens then. Age dries them up and they wither on the vine. Ageing virgins certainly don’t ripen like Nostor Vata.”

  She clasped his arm, her painted nails digging in. “If she is powerful enough to hold fast time, then you should recruit her to your cause. Now, my son.”

  “You’re probably right – as usual. Very well, Mother. Summon her. Let us at least see if she can provide guidance.”

  ***

  First Dloin of Fornious

  Underground

  “Tell me, Dasse, what do you see in the king that makes you support him?” Sos asked as they sat with their backs to the cave wall, idly watching the flickering flames from the camp-fire in the centre.

  “He can’t win, whatever he does, can he?”

  “Well, if he thought less of his treasury and his palace, maybe the populace would like him more.”

  “Circumstances work against people in power. The king doesn’t eat babies, you know, or have sex with animals.”

  “I know that, Dasse. That’s what his critics say – if they live long enough.”

  “Him cancelling the carnival. He had no choice. His life had been threatened. He’d lost men in his entourage. I don’t know the true story, but there’s talk of witchcraft, magic and even a melog!”

  Sos let out a laugh. “A melog?” He shook his head. “No, that’s fantasy talk for children.”

  “I’m not too sure, Sos. We’ve heard about these Underpeople before, but we thought they too were old tales.”

  Sos clapped Dasse on his back. “I’m glad I’m stuck here with you. It helps to talk about the life we’ve left behind.”

  “Aye. You’re not a bad sort, and–”

  A deep-throated thrumming sound reverberated through the tunnels, twice, then a pause, then twice more.

  “What’s that?” growled Dasse.

  “A scragrak horn!” K-Kwan exclaimed, picking up a wooden club from the cave shelf at the entrance. “Come, join the hunt!”

  “Hunt?” Sos echoed. “What are we hunting?”

  “Garstigg, a very tasty creature. You’ve eaten it a number of times already. That signal twice, pause, twice means there’s a pack of them nearby! Quickly now, if you want to eat later!”

  Sos and Dasse snatched a club each from the shelf and scrambled over the tunnel floor, after K-Kwan. Soon they were joined by a number of other Ratava from other tunnels. The mood was surprisingly full of cheer.

  The hunt was on! They would feast tonight!

  Tonight? Sos still marvelled that they knew night from day. If it wasn’t for the fact that when he slept he regarded that as “night”, he’d have no idea.

  Even now he found it odd that a select few of the Ratava were not capable of observing colour. They could only see black and white and shades of grey; but, as if to counterbalance this encumbrance those so afflicted could see very well in the dark and were often appointed as leaders of a hunt. U-Gath was one of those, too. Perhaps it was a blessing, to see things only as black and white – but then, he mused, in life there were always those shades of grey.

  In a while, they met U-Gath who deployed groups to different levels of tunnels. “Our lookouts have spotted three packs foraging,” he explained. “They’ll be hunting schwarms, the swine!”

  For a fleeting unthinking instant, Sos prayed that he and Dasse would be sent to a higher level, from where they might make good an escape from this subterranean existence; but then he recalled that exposure to the sun would now mean death. Dasse sometimes voiced the thought that death was preferable to this being buried alive.

  Still, his prayers were not answered: “Go down there!” U-Gath pointed to a sloping tunnel. “Take torches, it’s very dark at that level. And be careful, garstigg are vicious creatures!”

  Two Ratava men lit torches and went ahead of Sos, each wielding a short spear; Sos had been told that long spears were inappropriate in the confines of the underworld.

  After a while, as the tunnel rounded a bend caused by an enormous solid rock intrusion, the two men were out of sight, leaving a fai
nt glow behind. They were gone only for a short time, for the pair screamed and one of them stumbled into view, moving backwards, almost colliding with Sos.

  “Get back, get away!” the man shrieked, discarding his spear. His face was streaked with dark ochre – blood?

  “Where’s your companion?” Sos asked, holding the man’s shoulders.

  “Eaten – it ate him!”

  “All of him?” queried Dasse.

  “Surely not,” said Sos.

  Ignoring their scepticism, the man wrestled free, bounced off the tunnel wall and fled the way they had come.

  His stomach churning in fear, Sos bent and picked up the fallen spear. His pulse quickened; his mouth was dry, as if he’d been in the mine all day without a drink. He glanced at Dasse.

  Give him credit, Dasse stood his ground. “If we want to eat,” Dasse said, “we must hunt!”

  “Well said!” Sos moved forward, tentatively, eyes screwed up, trying to discern any movement in the gloom ahead. Right now, he wished he possessed Ratava eyes.

  A short distance along Sos found the discarded flickering torch, dropped his club and took the light, then carried on, Dasse limping by his side.

  They hadn’t covered much ground when the smell of death invaded his nostrils. Sos glimpsed a bulky dark shape on the ground ahead. Pointing the spear, he held the torch aloft in the hope of further illuminating the place.

  “Ye gods!” breathed Dasse behind him.

  Slumped over the man’s corpse was a black hirsute creature the like of which Sos had never seen. It was easily the height or length of a man; it had thick squat rear legs and powerful hairy arms that tapered into paws with vicious claws. Beneath its hairy snout gaped a big mouth full of blood-covered sharp teeth. The man’s spear had pierced the animal and the point protruded from its hunched back.

  The dead man had lost an arm, it seemed, leaving only a bloody stump. “It only ate his arm,” said Dasse. “Some people do exaggerate, don’t they?”

  Sos released a pent-up breath, relieved by his companion’s grim levity. He lowered his spear and searched the dead man, unstrapped a knife. Though friendly enough, the Ratava had not provided Sos or Dasse with any weapons until now, and they were only hunting spears. He felt a little safer with a knife, a familiar weapon with which to defend himself.