by Sam Sykes
‘And, as I said, I am no fool. I knew you would have to leave, eventually, and I suppose my people did, too.’ He tried to offer a smile, but it was an expression with fragile legs, trembling under the weight that stood upon him. ‘But we wanted you to stay … if only so we could remember those times again.’
Lenk regarded the creature thoughtfully. He tried his hardest not to be suspicious, and indeed, Togu’s story gave him no ready cause to be distrusted. And yet …
Something in the creature’s eyes, perhaps: a little too intent to be reminiscent. Or maybe the long, slow pause that followed: a moment intended to reflect the severity of the memory, or a moment to gauge their reactions? He distrusted the lizard, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t really think why.
‘He’s a liar.’
Oh, right … that’s why.
Lenk wasn’t sure if the voice did have moods, but he suspected that none of them were of the kind to humour him. And so, he felt the cold creep over him with greater vigour, greater ferocity.
‘Surrounded by liars. Everywhere. He lies. They lie. You lie.’
Me, he tried to think through the freezing throb of his head, what do you-?
‘Listen. Listen to nothing else. Only to us. Only to ourselves. Realise.’
No, no more listening. This is supposed to be over. This is supposed to be-
‘THROUGH the lies! Do not be tricked! We cannot afford it! We need to stay! Need to fight! Need our sword! See through them! Do not listen! Do not trust!’
‘Not trust …’ he whispered, finding the words less reprehensible on his lips.
‘Something the matter, cousin?’ Togu asked.
‘What happened to them, King?’ The question sprang to Lenk’s lips easily, instinctually. ‘Where are they?’
‘What?’ Togu’s smile was crushed under his sudden frown. ‘Who?’
‘Lenk …’ Kataria placed a hand on his shoulder, but he could not feel it.
‘The humans,’ he said, ‘where are they now? Where did they go?’
‘They are’ — Togu’s lips trembled, searching for the words — ‘not here. They …’ He swallowed hard, a sudden fear in his eyes. ‘They are …’
‘Shi-i ah-ne-tange, Togu!’
The voice rang out through the hut like a thrown spear, its speaker following shortly through the front door. While it was impossible to slam a leather flap, the Gonwa that emerged, tall and limber with the ridges on his head flaring, certainly gave it his all.
Lenk could only guess at the thing’s gender, of course, and that came only from his booming voice as he shoved his way between the two companions, sparing a glare for both of them. With an arm long and lean like a javelin, he thrust a finger at Togu, using the other hand to pat at a satchel strung about his torso.
‘Ah-ne-ambe, Togu! Sakle-ah man-eh!’
Togu spared an indignant glare for the Gonwa, which quickly shifted to Bagagame as the littler lizardman came scurrying behind, gasping for air.
‘Bagagame!’ the king boomed. ‘Ah-dak-eh mah?’
Bagagame made a reply, his voice going far too rapidly to be discerned. In response, the Gonwa stepped up the tempo of his own voice, his ire flowing freely through his words. Togu tried to dominate them in speed and pitch both, roaring over them as they blended into a whirlwind of green limbs and bass rumbles.
‘Who’s the big one?’ Lenk asked, glancing sidelong at Kataria.
‘How am I supposed to know?’ she growled, fixing him with a very direct scowl. ‘What was that?’
‘What was what?’
‘That. What you just did.’
‘I asked him-’
‘You didn’t ask him anything.’
He strained to keep the shock beneath a stony visage hardened by denial. She couldn’t have heard, she can’t hear that, her ears aren’t that long … are they?
The argument between the lizardmen seemed to end in a thunderous roar as Togu shouted something and thrust a hand to the rear door. The Gonwa swung a scowl from him to the companions before nodding and stalking off to the back, Bagagame following with a nervous glance to Togu. The king himself hopped off of his throne and grunted at the two non-scaly creatures in the room.
‘Forgive the interruption,’ he said as he disappeared into the gloom. ‘This won’t take long.’
‘Huh,’ Lenk said. They were gone, but their voices carried into the hut, only slightly diminished by the walls between them. ‘What, exactly, do you suppose reptiles argue about?’
He turned to her and saw her lunging toward him, hands outstretched. Before he could even think to protest, question, or squeal and piss himself, she took him roughly by his head, pressing her fingers fiercely against his temples and pulling him close. Their foreheads met with a cracking sound, but they were bound by shock and narrow-eyed anger, neither making a move to resist.
‘Stop,’ she said swiftly.
‘What?’
‘Stop.’
‘I don’t-’
‘No, you do. You are. That’s the problem.’
‘I really don’t think-’
‘Then don’t. No more thinking; no more speaking. Don’t listen to anyone else. No one else.’
He felt his temples burn, warm blood weeping down in faint trickles. He saw a bead of sweat peel from her brow, slide over her snarling lip as she bared her teeth at him.
‘Only. Listen. To. Me.’
The warmth from her brow was feverish, intense, as though his skin might melt onto hers and come sloughing off when she pulled away. His whole body felt warm, hot, unbearable yet entrancing, all-consuming. It swept through him like a fire, sliding down his body on his sweat to send his arms aching, shoulders drooping, heart racing, stirring his body as it drifted lower and lower until it boiled his blood away, leaving him light-headed.
And, as such, he could only nod weakly.
‘It’s going to be over, soon.’
She sighed, the heavy breath sending her scent roiling over him, filling his nostrils, one more unbearable sensation heaped upon the other that threatened to send him crashing to the earth. Her grip relaxed slightly, her hands sliding down to rest upon his shoulders.
‘I’m going to take care of everything.’
She stepped away from him, turning her attentions back to the portal as the Gonwa came storming out first. Togu and Bagagame emerged from behind, looking alternately weary and shocked. The taller creature paused in front of the companions, whirling about to level his bulbous, yellow-eyed glower upon them.
‘Togu,’ he uttered softly, ‘Shi-ne-eh ade, netha.’
He raised his hands slowly, deliberately dusting his palms together.
‘Lah.’
And with that, he spun again, the companions having to step aside to avoid his whipping tail as he stalked out the front door. They turned to Togu, each baffled. The king merely sighed.
‘Hongwe,’ he said, gesturing at the vanished Gonwa. ‘Proud boy. His father was, too.’
‘And that was … what?’ Lenk asked.
‘A disagreement,’ Togu replied. He looked up with a weary smile. ‘So … you truly wish to leave, then?’
They both nodded stiffly.
‘Then you and Hongwe agree,’ he said, nodding sagely. ‘And so, I must respect the wishes of my guests and my people. Tomorrow, you depart. Tonight, we offer you a Kampo San-Bah.’
Lenk frowned at the word. It sounded ominous in his ears.
‘And that is?’
‘A party, of course!’ the king said, grinning.
‘Ah.’
Funny, he thought, that the word should get even more menacing with the definition.
Twenty-Two
WISE MEN REMEMBER TO STOMP FACES TWICE
Gariath had never particularly understood the reverence for elders that some weaker races seemed to possess. Celebrating the gradual and inevitable weakening of body and mind that ultimately ended in a few years of uncontrolled bodily functions and a mound of dirt just didn’t
seem all that logical.
Of course, it was different for his people. A weakened Rhega mind was still sharp; a frail Rhega body was still strong. And while weaker races praised senility as wisdom, the Rhega undoubtedly grew craftier with their years. Taking these traits, and only these traits, into account, he could see how an elder might be revered and respected.
However, when he factored in how incredibly annoying elders, particularly dead ones, could be, he figured he was justified in regarding them with a level of contempt just a hair above ‘intolerable’.
‘How long has it been since you saw the sun shine like this, Wisest?’
He growled in response, not looking up. ‘Is that rhetorical?’
‘Philosophical.’
‘There are an awful lot of words to say “pointless”, I’ve found.’
The fact that he didn’t even have to see the elder’s teeth to know he was grinning, with a profound smugness that only someone who had died and come back could achieve, was just number eleven on an itemised list of irritating traits that was quickly growing.
‘Have you not noticed your surroundings, Wisest?’ the grandfather asked. ‘There is beauty in the land.’
Senseless optimism. Number five.
Gariath stopped in his tracks and looked up, regarding his companion, the grandfather growing slightly translucent as a beam of light struck him. Narrowing his eyes, he looked up and out from the river, its stream reduced to a shallow half-a-toe high. The forest rose in great walls upon the ridges of the ravine he stood in, fingers of brown and green sticking up decisively to present a unity of arboreal rude gestures at him. Sunlight seeped through them, painting the ravine in contrasting portraits of black smears and golden rays.
‘Dying rivers,’ he snorted. ‘Broken rocks. This land is dead.’
‘What?’ The spirit looked at him ponderously. ‘No, no. There is life here. We spoke to it, once. We heard the land and the land … the land …’
His voice drifted into nothingness, his form following soon after, disappearing in the sunlight. Gariath continued on, unworried. Grandfather would not stay gone. Gariath was not that lucky. His sigh was one of many, added to the snarls and curses that formed his symphony of annoyance.
The river’s bed of sharp rocks was not to blame, of course. His feet had been toughened over six days, searing coastal sand, twisted forest thorns and, more recently, a number of ravines home to sharper rocks than these.
It was the repetition, the endless monotony of it all, that drove him to voice as he did, if only to serve as reprieve from the forest’s endless chorus. The island’s dynamic environs might have pleased someone else, someone simpler: a leaf-brained, tree-sniffing, fart-breathing pale piece of filth.
The pointy-eared thing would enjoy this, he thought. She likes dirt and trees and things that smell worse than her. This sort of thing would fill her head with so many happy thoughts. He paused, inhaled deeply and growled. As good a reason as any to spill her brains out on a rock.
‘Really? Thinking about brains again?’
The voice came ahead of him. He looked up and growled at the grandfather crouching upon a large, round boulder. The elder’s penchant for shifting positions wildly did not do anything to impress the dragonman anymore.
‘You’re getting predictable, Wisest,’ the elder chided.
‘It weighs heavily on my mind,’ he grunted. ‘And hers will weigh heavily on the ground.’ He stalked past, trying to ignore the grandfather’s stare. ‘Once I pick up the scent again.’
‘It’s been days since you last had it.’
‘It’s important.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she will lead me to Lenk.’
‘Which is important why?’
‘Because Lenk is the key to finding meaning again.’
‘How?’
‘Because …’ He stopped and whirled about, not surprised to see the rock empty of residence, but growling all the same. ‘That’s what you told me.’ He turned and scowled at the elder leaning against the ravine’s wall. ‘Were you lying to me?’
‘Not entirely, no,’ the grandfather replied with a roll of effulgent shoulders. ‘I had simply thought you might lose interest by now, as all pups do.’
‘Pups aren’t big enough to smash heads, Grandfather.’
‘Size is relative to age.’
‘No matter how old you are, I’m still big enough to crush your head.’
‘All right, then, size is irrelevant to someone with no head to crush, which is a benefit of being very old.’
‘And dead.’
The grandfather held up a single clawed finger. ‘Point being, I had thought you would have found something else to do by now.’
‘Something else …’
‘Something else.’
He spared a single, hard scowl for the grandfather before shouldering past. ‘Something other than finding a reason to live? I suppose I could always die.’ He snorted. ‘But someone had a problem with that.’
‘I meant finding a reason that doesn’t involve killing so many things. You’ve tried that already. Has it brought you any closer to happiness?’
‘I’m not looking for happiness. I’m looking for a reason to keep going.’
‘The sun? The trees? There is much here, Wisest, far away from the sorrows that have made you unhappy. A Rhega could live well here, wanting for nothing, without humans of any kind.’
‘And do what? Listen to you all day? Have pleasant conversations about the weather?’
‘Would that be so bad?’ The grandfather’s voice drifted to his ear frills softly. ‘It is rather sunny, today, Wisest … Have you noticed?’
The whisper in the elder’s voice quelled the roar rumbling in Gariath’s chest, so he merely snorted. ‘I’ve noticed.’
‘When did you last see this much life?’
Gariath glanced around. The forest was silent. The trees did not blow. ‘There is nothing but death here, Grandfather.’
He didn’t bother to look up to see. He could feel the elder’s frown as sharp as any rock.
‘The stench is hard to miss.’ His nostrils quivered, lips curled back in a cringe at the scent. ‘The trees are trying to cover it up, but there’s the stink of dead bodies everywhere. Bones, mostly, some other smellier things …’
‘There is also life, Wisest. Trees, some beasts, water …’
‘There’s something, yeah. I’ve been smelling it for hours now.’ Gariath took in a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Broken rocks, dried-up rivers, dead leaves and dusk.’
‘There was so much before … so much,’ the spirit whispered. ‘I used to hear it everywhere. And now … death?’ He sounded confused, distracted. ‘But why so much?’
‘There would be more,’ Gariath growled. ‘Good deaths, too. But someone distracted me from killing the pointy-eared one.’
‘Would that be me or the roach she shoved up your nose?’ The grandfather chuckled. ‘If it means there’s one less dead body on this island, I won’t object to it.’
‘You were the one to tell me she was going to kill Lenk!’ Gariath snarled in response. ‘If she hasn’t already, she’s still planning to.’
‘And if she has? Then what?’
‘You’re the elder. You’re supposed to know!’
‘My point remains,’ the grandfather said. ‘What do you suppose happens when you find the humans again? Given it any thought?’
‘By following him this far, I’ve found Grahta and I’ve found you. That’s a start.’
‘But where is the end? Will you just go chasing ghosts your whole life, Wisest?’
He glanced up, regarding the elder with hard eyes. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Grandfather?’
He blinked and the elder was gone. He turned about and saw him perched on the lip of the ravine, staring down the river.
‘I want you to know, Wisest,’ he whispered, ‘that what you find may not be what you’re looking for.’
‘So much was lost here, Wisest. Sometimes I wonder if anything can really be found. But the scent, since you mentioned it …’
There was reluctance in Gariath’s step as he walked toward the elder. ‘Grandfather?’
‘This place was not dug,’ he said. ‘Not by natural hands, anyway.’
‘What?’
‘Suffering was more plentiful back then,’ the grandfather replied, his voice whispery as his body faded briefly and reappeared in the river. ‘Swift death was the sole mercy, and a rare one, at that. Many more died in agony … many more.’
‘Back when?’
‘We didn’t want any part of it,’ the grandfather continued, heedless of his company, ‘but maybe that’s just how the Rhega are destined to die … not by our own hands, our own fights. What is it we were even fighting for? I can’t remember …’
Gariath stopped and watched as the elder trudged farther down the river, growing hazier with each step. Every twitch of the dragonman’s eyelid saw the grandfather fading more and more, leaving a bit of himself in each ray of sunlight he stepped into and out of.
Gariath was tempted to let him go, to keep walking that way until there was nothing left of him, nothing heavy enough that he would have to drop, nothing substantial enough about him that could ache.
He watched the grandfather go, watched him disappear, leaving him in the riverbed …
Alone again.
‘Grandfather!’ he suddenly cried out.
The outline stopped at the edge of a sunbeam, all that remained of him being the single black eye he turned upon Gariath. The younger dragonman approached him warily, head low, scrutinising, ear frills out, wary.
‘Grandfather,’ Gariath asked, barely louder than a whisper, ‘how long have you been awake?’