by David Hair
He heard a loud sliding sound, his face whipped about and he saw the male creature coming towards him, a stick of barbequed meat in his hand.
Horse meat? Venator? Or human—
For a moment he thought he would be sick. Then the smell hit him: roasted meat, tangy and rich with blood and heat. His mouth filled with drool.
Kore forgive me, but I need to eat.
It tasted like spit-roasted chicken, and he hoped that meant it was venator flesh.
The creature stayed with him, regarding him cautiously, and Alaron studied him in turn.
First the female had dragged him along the channel, then they plunged over the lip of the tidal-shelf and into the depths – by then he’d realised that her kiss had bestowed a water-breathing spell on him – how or why, he had no idea. Snakemen existed in Lantric legends, not in reality.
They’d swum – he had no idea for how long as he’d blocked out the nightmare by fainting – until at last the snake-creature had brought him ashore at a narrow part of the tidelands. She’d kissed him again, returning his air-breathing, then with a snake-man carrying him like a child in his arms, they’d made their way up an impossible cliff to a cave near the top.
There were nine adults, horrific enough, with their human–snake bodies, but then two of the females had disgorged smaller versions of themselves from distended bellies and Alaron had stared until he realised that they had not just given birth but had been carrying their offspring in belly-pouches. Incredible.
He stared at the male who’d fed him. He was typical of these creatures: apart from his colouring and comb, his upper torso was almost human – almost, but not. His eyes were fishlike, and there were no earlobes. His nose had a membrane that covered the nostrils when beneath the water, but they were open now. His neck was thick, bull-like. His chest muscles were massive, and clearly visible beneath his almost transparent skin, which only darkened about his waist as it merged with the snake skin. Alaron risked a glance lower and noted there was no penis or scrotum, though there was a bulge that suggested it might house such appendages. He’d glimpsed a similar mound covered by a membrane between the female’s two snake-limbs. They could obviously breed – and they could speak. Their voices were low and melodious, a fluid, almost hypnotic sound, far more cultured than their wild appearance suggested.
‘You wish for more?’ the male enquired. His tongue was thick and purple, his teeth rows of hooks. Up close, one could never mistake him for human, especially not when you saw the thin, slitted black pupils of his amber-coloured, reptilian eyes.
‘No, thank you,’ he replied tentatively. He tried to clear his thoughts. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I, or my people?’ the creature responded. Then it made a wet gurgling sound that it took Alaron a few seconds to realise was soft laughter. ‘My name is Kekropius, my mate’s name is Kessa, and we are lamiae.’
‘I never knew you were real,’ he exclaimed weakly. A lamia was one of the mythic creatures of Lantric tales – to think they actually existed …
‘It is good that we are not known. We must be secret to evade the hunters.’
‘What hunters?’
Kekropius scowled, a fearsome sight. ‘Those who hunt you also. The Inquisition.’
Alaron gaped. ‘Is that why … you saved me?’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I haven’t thanked you. They would have …’ He trailed away, feeling ill at the thought.
‘We know what they do,’ Kekropius replied darkly. He glanced back at his people, coiling about each other before the roasting fire, never getting too close to the flames. ‘I could not stand aside and let them take you.’
They fell silent while Alaron plucked up his courage. ‘How is it you even exist?’ he finally dared to ask.
Kekropius slithered closer. ‘Ah, now that is a tale. But not one we tell outsiders.’ He looked Alaron over with piercing eyes. ‘You wear a periapt. You are a mage?’ The question seemed to have dangerous overtones.
‘Yes,’ Alaron replied carefully, ‘but I hate the Inquisition.’
‘And they you, it seems. He was arresting you, that one I slew?’
‘They’ve been chasing me for days.’
Kekropius leant in closer until his face was inches from Alaron’s. ‘Why?’
Alaron had his answer prepared. ‘I am a failed mage and they wouldn’t let me practise my skills, so I ran away to Silacia. I thought I’d be safe.’ It made more sense than the truth.
‘We have heard of failed magi before,’ Kekropius said, apparently accepting his story. He cocked his head. ‘This is too large a matter for me alone. It must go before our council. Until then, you must remain with us, as our guest.’ His tones were conciliatory, almost apologetic, but there was a threat there too.
*
Alaron thought of running, but he didn’t. For one thing, he was still weak. Any attempt to run and he’d be easily hunted down. Secondly, if these strange creatures didn’t find him, the Inquisition would. In truth, he was intrigued, and not a little afraid, but they treated him well, neither binding him with ropes nor spells, though he was sure they could if they wished to.
He had thought they would return to the sea, but the next night they went inland, following a river flowing between thickly wooded slopes. The lamiae slithered on their massive snake limbs faster than he could walk, but Kekropius and Kessa stayed with Alaron. Though they didn’t tell him much about themselves, he soon worked out they were air-breathers, with a rudimentary, instinctual version of Water-gnosis; all the water-based affinities appeared to be at their disposal, in a limited way. Healing came easily to them, cuts and scratches vanishing in minutes, and some lamiae could heal others; he saw that when one of the young gouged an arm on a broken tree-branch. And he could detect mental communication constantly flickering among them, hinting at Mysticism, but they projected emotions and images rather than words. Whether any could Divine, the other water-based Study, he couldn’t say.
Beyond the gnosis and the ability to speak, they were as much beast as man. It looked like they were driven by appetite and little more. They ate meat both raw and cooked, and roughly thrice what a man would eat – they could stuff themselves enough to last for days at a time. Close up they had an animal smell. Rescuers or not, Alaron was quite simply terrified of them.
Kekropius told him they would reach their destination in three days. They watched the skies warily, but saw no sign of pursuit. There was always someone watching over Alaron, even during the day when they slept, the meat cooking in cunning food pits that emitted no telltale smoke until opened at dusk.
On the third night, just before dawn, they reached the top of the small river they’d been following. They stopped before the cave-mouth from which the water issued and Kekropius turned to Alaron. ‘This is our home. We call it Sanctum Lucator.’
The Haven of Lizards, Alaron translated. The words were old Runic, which he’d learned at the Arcanum, and seemed to confirm that the lamiae were more reptile than mammal; he’d noticed it in the way they moved, the way they were sluggish at night; it was in their alien eyes and the way their skin changed in different lights.
Kekropius touched his arm. ‘Our laws forbid contact with men. Though we have rescued you, we are compelled to bring you here. Our council must see you, and debate what to do with you.’
‘But I’ve got to find—’
Kekropius interrupted. ‘I am sorry to put you in this position, but you cannot leave without the permission of our council.’
Alaron’s temper rose, but he drove it back down. ‘That’s just a formality, right?’
Kekropius shrugged enigmatically. ‘It is a serious matter. We have no greater secret than that of our existence. Though you are the enemy of our enemy, we cannot risk this place becoming known to the Inquisition.’ He ducked his head. ‘It may be that you will not be permitted to leave.’
Before Alaron could react, another lamia, larger even than Kekropius, blocked their path forward. Fire flared above its
left hand and lit its features. The newcomer had a reptilian face with amber eyes and looked even less human than Kekropius. In a deep rumble he said, ‘Kekropius? You were not expected for days.’
‘Naugri, I greet you. We ran into trouble and had to return.’ Kekropius waved a hand towards the sacks of cooked meat. ‘We found fresh meat, but ran into an old enemy.’
‘You were not seen?’ Alaron realised that Naugri was not actually carrying a torch and his mind churned. Fire-gnosis – what are these creatures?
‘Our secret is safe,’ Kekropius started, but Naugri jabbed a finger at Alaron.
‘Then what is this? A prisoner?’
Kekropius laid a hand on Alaron’s shoulder. ‘He is my guest, rescued from the enemy.’
Naugri slithered forward and Alaron saw that he wore a huge sword on a belt just above where his waist became snake trunk. ‘We take no guests. All of the First People are our enemies.’ He drew his sword; fire ran along the blade.
‘Naugri, sheath your weapon!’ Kekropius snapped. ‘The Council of Elders will decide this matter.’
The two faced each other for several long fraught seconds while Alaron held his breath and wondered whether he ought not to be trying to blast his way out of this – if he could. He could feel Kessa’s cold presence behind him; she could probably move much faster than he could. He wondered what she would do if Naugri attacked her mate.
Then abruptly the flames on Naugri’s blade winked out and he stalked away. ‘The Elders will decide,’ he rasped over his shoulder as he went. ‘But either way, the human will never leave the valley alive.’
Alaron looked at Kekropius. ‘What’s he saying?’
The lamia’s amber eyes blinked apologetically. ‘I am sorry. Naugri is just speaking his mind. He is very … blunt.’
‘But you can’t keep me here!’ He clutched the wall for strength. ‘You might as well have just let the Inquisitors kill me!’
Kekropius looked back at Kessa. ‘My mate told me to intervene. Sometimes she sees things that may be.’
Alaron’s eyes shot to Kessa, whose face remained impassive. Divination. They have Water-gnosis, and some of them have other affinities. ‘What did she see?’
Kekropius shared a glance with his mate, and something passed between them. ‘Safety,’ he said softly. ‘She saw you lead us to safety.’
*
They took a long passage deeper into the hills. The rocks here were limestone, porous and easily shaped, and someone had been using Earth-gnosis to do so: the cave had been smoothed and widened, the water-channel widened and deepened and a path cut alongside. They crossed over a narrow stone bridge and followed dim natural light to another cave. The air was cold and damp, but it smelled clean and fragrant and Alaron inhaled heavily, trying to steady himself. He felt like he’d stepped into a dream.
They emerged into a narrow tree-lined gully just as the sun rose, turning the slit of sky far above pale blue. He stared about him in awe: a low, man-made dam ensured the bottom of the gully was filled with water. He glanced at Kekropius and corrected himself: not man-made. There were other cave-mouths scattered about the pool, subtly concealed by the topography of the land. Naugri was waiting beside the pool, watching three lamiae young swimming, laughing gaily as they rippled gracefully above and below the surface. Naugri snapped at them and their laughter faded, their eyes going round as they saw Alaron.
A dark shape detached from the walls and slithered to Naugri’s side. His mate: he stroked her head fondly. She turned to face the newcomers, then ducked behind Naugri fearfully as she saw Alaron. ‘Man,’ she said fearfully.
More and more lamiae appeared, their skin hues changing from green to grey as they left the foliage. They bared pointed teeth and hissed menacingly.
‘Kekropius, what have you brought us?’ called a cold, creaky voice from the mouth of the nearest cave, and the entire gathering stopped and bobbed their heads.
‘Mesuda-Eldest,’ Kekropius said reverently. ‘We have a guest.’
The newcomer was the first of this gathering that Alaron saw to show any obvious signs of age. She was hunched and moved awkwardly, and her skin did not change readily. Her comb was dry and shrivelled, as was her face, like wrinkled leather; there were flaking patches on her snake-skinned limbs and her breasts were barely discernible. Only her twin snake-legs and a certain caste to her face marked her as female. She glided to Kekropius’ side and peered at Alaron, swaying gently.
These creatures are impossible … He felt as if he’d stepped out of the real world and into Lantric mythology. They have to be constructs …
The old female smiled. ‘He guesses the truth.’ She slithered up to him and stared; though her body was stooped, her eyes were level with his. For a second Alaron was unsure whether his instincts had lied and he was in immediate danger, so deep and complex were the emotions he saw in the old woman’s eyes: loss, awful grief, and lingering fury all vied for mastery in her complex gaze, overlaid with sad tranquillity. They both exhaled together and he felt their minds touch. She had a strange fluid style, but it was recognisably the gnosis. He hurriedly shielded his thoughts.
‘Yes, boy,’ she said softly. ‘We are constructs.’
Naugri snorted grimly. ‘Must we tell our secrets so swiftly, Eldest?’
‘One way or the other, our secrets will be safe, Naugri,’ Mesuda replied evenly. ‘Take him to the high chamber.’ She reached out and lifted Alaron’s periapt from about his neck. ‘For safe-keeping, child,’ she said softly, then, to Kekropius, ‘Feed him, and send him to the meeting within the hour.’ She glanced at Kessa. ‘You may attend and report.’
Constructs were not common on Noros, but they were part of life in Pallas and the north. The Imperial Beastarium in Pallas was renowned for breeding constructs, for the military and for commerce – mostly that meant beasts of burden, but they also created the venators for the Inquisitorial Fists. Many of the beasts had been inspired by Lantric mythology – Rimoni might have been the first great Empire of Yuros, but Lantris was undoubtedly the first great culture, and its gods and goddesses the first widespread religion, suppressed by the Kore but never quite eradicated. Children grew up with the fairy tales of the Lantric Pantheon and their debauched ways, and they provided inspiration for some of the output of the Beastarium. But two things were forbidden: constructs could have neither human components, nor human intelligence. If these were truly constructs, they were very, very illegal. And these lamiae have the gnosis … That was something he’d never heard of.
‘What is your name, child?’ the old woman, Mesuda, asked him.
‘Alaron.’
She stroked his cheek with her big, brutal-looking hands, and it took all his strength not to flinch. ‘I hope we have the chance to know each other better,’ she said gently, then turned and slithered away.
Alaron was taken to a small chamber inside the caves. Without the periapt his use of the gnosis would be weaker, less efficient. He thought about the numerous opportunities he’d had to run over the past three nights that he had passed up; they felt like mistakes now.
I have to trust that Kekropius means me well, and that Kessa’s divination was right.
After a brief meal of dried meat, Kekropius and Kessa led him to another passageway, a steep smooth trail spiralling upwards. He got the impression that Kessa had something at stake here, and guessed that her precognitive skills were as much on trial as he was. ‘What did you see?’ he asked her, but she ignored him.
The hills were honeycombed with passages and chambers, though they seldom saw others. In one dim cavern he saw two young-looking lamiae, one male, one female, clasping each other. He was powerful, she slim and lissom, with big slanted eyes, and their hands were slender and graceful as they stroked each other’s bare shoulders. They were kissing, their arms and snaky hair entwined, and they both started guiltily and jerked apart when they sensed his gaze. If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have laughed aloud. Kessa hissed at them and they fle
d.
The cave-mouth opened onto a small dell open to the sky and bathed in evening sun. Four creatures were seated on subtly shaped boulders set at each corner of the compass. Kessa led him into the middle, and stood behind him. ‘These are the Elders,’ she hissed. ‘Give respect.’
One of those Elders was Mesuda, who bobbed her head, as if to reassure them. ‘Welcome Kessa, mate of Kekropius and trusted child of the lamiae,’ she started, and a rumbled greeting ran about the circle. ‘With her, as her guest, is Alaron-mage, a human.’
To Alaron’s right sat a hulking being who looked like an older version of Naugri, with scarlet mottling on his snake limb. His breath smoked in the cool dawn air. ‘I say again, why is he not already cooked?’ he rumbled.
Opposite him, a female lamia with a wizened face and a tangle of grey hair cackled merrily. She didn’t appear to be able to straighten her shrivelled body, but her yellow eyes were bird-bright. ‘No, Hypollo, we should torture him first. Pain gives the meat more flavour.’
‘My wife has seen him provide a greater value, Reku.’ Kekropius’ voice cut across her laughter and Alaron turned in surprise. He’s an Elder too? His rescuer gave no sign of familiarity. ‘Kessa has that gift.’
‘An unreliable gift,’ sniffed the ragged female, Reku. ‘I do not want her shifty dreams to cheat me of a fine meal.’
Kessa rose slightly on her powerful snake-limbs and her shoulders went back slightly. A threat-gesture, perhaps. Alaron could feel her conferring mentally with her mate, after which she subsided again, a chastened look on her face.
The four Elders went silent, and he could feel information flowing through mental linkages. He had some proficiency in Mysticism and it wouldn’t have been hard for him to tap into that link, but he knew better than to try; these creatures were used to being intimate with each other, and his presence in that link would be impossible to conceal. Instead, he concentrated on what he might do if this went badly: he wasn’t much of an Air-mage at the best of times, and they still had his periapt. Running would futile, but he was damned if he’d let them eat him.