Ahead, more torches and signs, all with the same nonsensical, random shapes carved into them. He noticed an empty cesspit off the path, lined with cracks and ancient, but otherwise clean, unused stones.
“Is there anyone here who can help me?” Canis called out.
The path opened into a clearing, cut in the middle of the woods, filled with the same banal structures he had just seen. He tried the doors again, but not one of them budged. He punched it, and the building shook. They were all decorative. What’s happening? He rammed his shoulder into the fake door, more from frustration than any kind of plan, and it splintered apart as he stumbled in.
He brushed the wood from his shoulder and looked around, his hand already on its way to the hilt of his sword.
Crooked shelves decorated the inside, half hanging, half fixed in place. Under one of them, a bed frame, but it took up most of the room; as ill-proportioned as the building itself. Canis shuffled around. None of the inside looked of any use for a person his size. He took a few steps farther in and saw the hearth. Nothing more than a hole cut into the wall, no flue or chimney, as though the function was unknown to the builders.
“And I thought Mortalo’s sense of style was warped…” he mumbled.
Rhythmic pounding sounded on the dirt outside. Canis was sure it was only one pair of feet. The animal earlier had caught him off guard, but this time he forced rage to the surface by biting his lip; red mist rose, and his muscles tensed.
He squeezed the sword’s hilt. Beyond the next set of torches stood a giant of a man, dressed in rags, his toned physique bulging, glowing in the light. He pulled something from a wooden crate.
Chittering filled the air, but he couldn’t see what was making the sound. The man turned to face him. Canis ran to meet him. Others came into his view and he slowed. A woman, tall and statuesque, walked back and forth between the decorative buildings.
With every step, more toned, perfect men and women entered his view.
Canis stopped and shook his head. Each of the dozen or so ragged people were doing something, but, at the same time, not doing anything in particular, instead walking in simple patterns or performing repetitive motions in front of a container. They were all physically perfect and oblivious to the presence of the others. Still, he kept his sword at the ready.
They mumbled mismatched phrases in enunciated staccato. Did I mistake the sounds for Scourge? They spoke in unison, scraping growls, causing him to shiver. I don’t understand what’s going on!
One of the women, a pale blonde, turned and locked eyes with him. He stared back, mesmerised by her angular features and strong, curvaceous figure. The woman tilted her head. Canis loosened his grip on the sword and walked toward the people. A gust of wind cut through the woods, snuffing one of the torches.
“Hello,” Canis said, dumbstruck but with a primal urge to grab her, hold her close.
“Our dwellings, welcome?” the beauty asked.
He hesitated for a second at the strange phrasing. “Yes. Yes, thank you.” His gaze kept wandering to her chest.
“Here,” she said.
“How did you survive? What are the buildings back there?”
“Is here. Us.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”
One of the men walked to the extinguished torch, arms rigid at his sides, eyes straight ahead. He struck a small piece of steel against a flint, and the torch lit anew. Canis looked at the woman. Her skin, flawless at first sight, was dull and wax-like up close. She turned her head, smooth and measured, and looked at him. Her eyes were empty. Dead.
“Stay, with here,” she said, smiling. As soon as the corners of her mouth lifted, they dropped again.
The bits of fuzz dissolved from Canis’ sight. His muscles shook. A cold, sick feeling returned to his stomach; the mooncap’s potent phase faded fast.
She stepped closer and grabbed his arm. “Here. Dwellings. With us.” She smiled again, a strained howl vibrating from her lips, more like a grimace this time. “Human.”
Her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood to the surface. She grabbed his head with her other hand and forced a kiss. He kissed her back and his manhood grew, the urge uncontrollable.
Her tongue writhed in his mouth and something scratched the walls of his throat, hooking spikes through his skin, pulling its way into his body.
“Scourge!” he yelled as he pushed her away and launched his fist across her jaw. A strained howl burst from her lungs again, the tone splitting into the exact chittering that had haunted him his entire life. The others joined it. His eardrums ached.
He struck out again, and the woman toppled over without a sound whilst the rest of them stood as still as the perfect statues they so resembled.
Canis backed away. “None of you come any closer.”
The blonde clambered to her feet and shook, alternating her face between the forced, grimacing smile and opening her mouth as wide as possible, not saying another word.
His muscles were deteriorating, and the sword rattled in his hands. “Don’t take another step.”
He closed his eyes and called upon his inbred rage to return. With nothing but anger, Canis struck the ground with his sword, then his face with the other hand. And again. White light flashed in his head, and the blade sparked off a stone. If he was going to survive, then he’d need the rage in his blood—Mortalo’s legacy.
He felt heat behind his eyelids and opened them. The world flickered under a veil of blood red. The sword became lighter and the enemy smaller. He struck the ground another time, the force of the impact jarring his arm, the sound inviting them to attack. They chittered again, their mouths wide open.
His heart convulsed with a desperate need for rest. He charged, though, and instead of stopping in awe of the woman’s features, he cleaved his sword through her face. Bone split under the force, and the woman’s teeth clattered to the ground. Doubt pushed its way into his thoughts and he wondered if they really were the Scourge, but he examined the woman’s corpse and saw the black fluids stuck to the floor like tar.
The others walked forward, all with the same hollow eyes and waxy skin. Not a single one blinked as the wind whipped into their faces. Spit dribbled past his chin as he pointed at the enemy, the Scourge. He held his sword with one arm now instead of two, his veins protruding, a network of power. Canis went to strike the large male, but the thing put its arm in the way. The blade tore through skin and bone, the limb flailing off. Blood spurted, covering the Scourge-freaks in an arch around him.
They stopped to inspect Canis. Rage took over, and Canis leapt into them. He slashed left to right, their defenses shredded by his steel. He pulled the weapon back to strike again, but something held it in place. He pulled. Nothing. He squinted through matted, bloody hair. The one-handed man, mere inches from his face, held the sword by the blade.
Canis kicked out and landed a foot into the Scourge’s gut. Its stomach was as hard as the stone in Mortalo’s citadel. It struck Canis in the chest. Air rushed from his body along with any rage or power he had felt. His body skidded across the dirt.
The dark beyond the torchlight invited him to escape. His hand trembled as he rose to his feet, half bent over and clutching his stomach. How could I fail him, my master? And how could I leave Vann alone? I’m a failure, just like everyone else. Just like I always knew I would be.
Sword in hand, the physically perfect male Scourge bounded over and knocked Canis to the ground. It tried to stab Canis in the face, still holding the weapon by the blade. Canis moved his head, but it caught him, slicing the skin off from his eye to his ear. Blood trickled onto his cheek, agony pulsating though his jaw.
Rising pain shot through his spine, outdoing the cut on his face. His body went rigid as if Mortalo played with his nerve endings again. His muscles cramped, and the Scourge male released him when Canis went limp a moment later. Something inside him moved, rearranging his innards, ragging his gut
s. Again, he went into spasm.
Mortalo…
He watched through bulging eyes as the Scourge dropped the sword beside him and carried on as if nothing had happened, blood dripping from its stump. Canis coughed up fluids and dirt that threatened to flood his lungs. He rolled onto his hands and knees. The Scourge horde had dispersed.
Canis grabbed his sword and stumbled into the forest, gibbering manic prayers of protection. He crawled and dragged himself as far away from the light as he could. The thing, the Scourge inside him, continued to move, to wrap itself around his spine. Why did I fall for their tricks! Mortalo told me to be careful. He warned me, but I was too stupid. Agrim the spider climbed onto his face, its big eyes confirming everything Canis was thinking. There isn’t enough mooncap in Blackrose for this, he thought as he found escape in the shadows.
Chapter 4
Belloch Storme kept to the shadows as he scouted the other Companies on behalf of the Bone Singers. The warts on his face throbbed and his crotch stung after weeks without a wash. He had watched the King of Demons lead another slave to his doom. Why does the madman insist on sending his men out of the city?
He would need to report the news to Kruger Sky, although he guessed it wouldn’t warrant a reward, or even a meal. The sound of footsteps echoed through the alley, and he darted into the next one, ready to draw his dagger. He stopped breathing. No one came.
Belloch navigated the next maze of intersections and gutters. He smiled as he stepped over the empty soul lines dividing the Companies and skulked back to his home turf. Scarecrows propped up by spikes spied on the empty streets. Some of them made from wood, some of them made from the dead bodies of their enemies. And, if you knew where to look, maybe one in five hid a real person ordered to keep watch in disguise.
What sounded like thunder shook the last few raindrops from the clouds, but as the sky became a black mass, the buildings around him shook too. He craned his neck to take in the full size of the ship hovering above the city. It came now and again; a barge in the sky, sucking in the excess dead souls floating above. Only the souls knew what happened once it left, and he vowed never to find out himself.
Although the place looked empty, his Company scurried below the cobbled streets. He entered the nearest building. He eyed the trapdoor that opened to the Bone Singers’ world and descended into the darkness, leaving his shabby bicycle behind.
Chapter 5
Vann Xan crouched in the corner of his cell, rubbing his hands warm, as he heard Teller Redmaw fumbling with the terminal on the other side. Torchlight filtered in, and he tried not to look upward, the thought of staring into its glare painful. His foot slid on a thin layer of excrement as he shifted position.
“Vann?” asked Teller with the same questioning tone he always used when entering.
“I’m still alive,” said Vann. “What do you want?”
“Mortalo needs you.”
“Why?” Vann scoffed. “So he can send me to my death too? I’ve heard people talking. I know what Mortalo has done.”
“Everyone liked Canis, even Mortalo. We must have faith.” Teller licked his lips.
Vann saw the man’s features as the light grew stronger. His eyes were lopsided, uneven, and his cheeks were scarred, twisting his mouth into a perpetual frown. He was Mortalo’s favorite whipping boy, but he was one of the older generations, and the one who got the abuse if his master’s target was out of reach. He had a cock and balls, but everyone knew he was sterile; an offshoot of Mortalo’s breeding project.
Teller came closer and his muscles twitched. Vann watched his eyes. Watched for his chance to escape. Teller unlocked Vann’s shackles. Vann held his breath before pushing Teller against the wall.
“Why doesn’t he send you out of the city!” screamed Vann as he rammed an elbow into Teller’s throat.
Teller didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, and kicked Vann in the knee. Teller followed up the attack with a swift head butt, which Vann countered by lowering his head. Teller’s nose exploded, and they staggered backward.
Blood pooled into the scars of Teller’s face, running into his mouth. Vann fled, his knee swelling. The light in the hall stung his eyes and his black hair fixed together in sweaty ringlets.
He hobbled down the hall but stopped a moment later. What am I doing? Even if I do escape, what’s the point? Which Company do I join? Where do I go?
Teller dove out of the chamber covered in blood. The servant ran at him, and Vann noticed his dilated pupils.
Teller struck him in the face, his wide jaw absorbing the strike. A tooth came loose, and he swallowed it as his chin hit the stone floor. He curled into a ball.
Vann felt the buzz of hate at the back of his neck as he looked at Teller, but he bit back his rage as Mortalo shouted, his voice projected by the narrow halls, the King of Demons haunting the other Iron Hands close by. We’re his play toys, experiments he can parade as demons to keep him safe! Teller stopped too and slumped against the wall next to Vann. He ground his teeth, but it wasn’t because of his rage. It was because Mortalo would soon be upon them.
“We’re lost now,” said Vann, shivering with cold.
“We?” Teller’s face drooped.
Mortalo stomped into view, and Vann lowered his head. “What’s going on?”
“He tried to escape,” said Teller.
“I’m sorry,” began Vann, but Mortalo grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back to the chamber. Stone scraped his skin, rubbing dirt into his wounds.
Mortalo stood at the door while Vann crawled back into his corner, cowering; a hand held up to block his master’s disappointed stare. He peeked through his fingers, and their gazes met. He felt sick.
Vann looked around for something to use as a weapon. I won’t go down without a fight. You took Canis from me! Vann rose but Mortalo took a step forward, and he sat straight back down again, shaking.
“You’ve always been trouble, but because you’re Canis’ brother, I need you if things go wrong with him,” said Mortalo, as if he read Vann’s mind. “And that’s the only reason I’m not going to kill you. If I can unlock in you what I’ve found in Canis…”
“Why do any of this? Let us live our lives!”
“No. Your bodies will be the stepping stones to Blackrose’s freedom. You think you’re the only one without a life? I’m consumed with the need to free this city. It’s all I have.”
“I—” started Vann.
“You don’t understand?” Mortalo laughed. “You creatures never do.”
“Why did you send Canis if he’s so important?”
“People will die for the greater good of the city. I do everything for a reason, so why do you think I sent him and not you, Teller, or any of the others, despite your mothering?”
Vann paused a moment. “He’s stronger?”
“That’s one word for it, I suppose. I’ve learned all I can in this citadel. His body will take anything I throw at it and I believe he’s ready. I need a Scourge to dissect. I need one of those dirty little parasites in my hands.”
Vann stared at Mortalo from the shadows. “But nobody ever returns. He’s just a boy, Mortalo.”
“He will because he’s mine. And when I find a way to harness the Scourge’s power, I’ll save this city. We’ll rise and take back our lands.”
“For Blackrose…”
“For Blackrose,” Mortalo repeated before leaving Vann, locking the door behind him.
Vann banged the back of his head on the wall as tears formed. Mortalo believed his own words, believed in the world he was going to create, but Vann knew better. No good could come from the way Mortalo treated people. No good could come from the abuse of man. And if he did find a way to fight the Scourge, the Companies would sooner slit each other’s throats than follow one leader.
I’ll kill you, Mortalo. And Canis will help me see you dead. We’ll save these people, not you. We won’t be your demons anymore.
&n
bsp; Chapter 6
Something called to Canis Rayne, demanding him to rise. He flicked his head from side to side and was sure someone watched him. His vision was blurred. Am I in my cell? He stroked the floor, dirt soft between his fingers.
He twisted onto his stomach and tried to steady himself. If he didn’t do as he was told, he’d get a lashing for sure. Despite the beatings and lack of food, he clambered onto his heels with relative ease. He was still in the forest. Something shifted inside him, still rearranging his guts.
Am I dead? Am I infected? he thought. His stomach rattled.
He took a step backward, the feeling of being watched still clawing at him. A twig snapped to his right. He turned. Nothing came. A cold sweat stung his body. He looked about, puffing his chest. I won’t die!
He edged forward. The forest took on a different appearance during the day, and although it wasn’t much brighter, the shadows danced to a different tune. Dense thickets of trees still stretched in all directions, isolating him in a maze of slime greens and rotting browns.
A burning tightness crawled into his arms and legs. His joints locked, and he tipped over. He launched into a spastic fit and did the only thing his body allowed him to do of his own volition—scream. He wailed until he was sure the creatures in the forest would either find him or wish to be stricken deaf. He started to regain control. His joints loosened, and he could move on his own again, but he remained in a ball, his nose running and his body shaking.
The silent presence—more like an impulse than spoken word—beckoned him to rise once more. He hoped he hadn’t been infected, but he knew in his heart, he had.
He glanced over his injuries. The wounds from the previous night would need attention. He brushed away dirt and pebbles stuck to his arm. Not a hint that anything had scratched him remained.
He brushed his fingertips against his skin. No gash, no cut, no scrape, no scar tissue. Not even the crust of dried blood remained. But I could smell the blood and feel the skin peeling off. He shuddered at the memory.
A Thousand Eyes Page 3