Seven Kings

by John R. Fultz

  He forced himself to sit upright. Gritting his teeth and peering through a curtain of pain, he examined the place that was not Death. A hole in the earth’s bowels no bigger than a slave’s hut. A single round exit with only flickering darkness beyond. A tiny fire of twigs and moss gleaming near the wall of the threshold. Carmine furs and animal skins hung from the crude walls, along with implements of wood made for cooking and tools of stone wrapped in sturdy vine. Shuffling toward him from the far recesses of the cave, a hunched figure entered the fireglow. One of the pale beasts, long of arm and leg, fantastically clawed, with curling horns instead of eyes, and a horribly wide mouth full of fangs. There was no sign of the great tongue that lay coiled inside that maw. The creature’s gaping nostrils sniffed at him, pink and flaring. Instinct ignited, and he tensed, ready to leap away from the beast.

  The cave swirled about him and he fell hard upon a mat of woven reeds. The arrows had been removed from his body, yet his wounds were still fresh. And they were deep. The venom sang its painful melody in the current of his blood. He could not sit up again, let alone stand. He lay at the mercy of the quiet creature. His eyes swelled, dripping salty excretions onto the cave floor, and his reopened wounds seeped.

  The squatting beast loomed over him. The stockyard smell of its flesh had awakened him. It filled the entire cave… a tang of loamy musk. In the firelight its smooth white skin took on a golden sheen. Unlike the others he had seen, a pair of pendulous breasts hung from its chest. The pink nipples reminded him of Matay’s body, and his stomach churned. He might have retched then, but there was nothing in his stomach to expel. The creature placed a single hand upon his heaving chest. Its touch was gentle, the palm of the hand soft as a human woman’s. Its other hand went to his forehead, where a second tender caress calmed his spasms.

  As he fell again into lonesome darkness, the beast opened her mouth and sang.

  Matay waited for him beyond the living world.

  Perhaps now he would die and join her.

  Yet he failed to see Matay, not even in his poisoned dreams. He wandered lost in the crimson jungle, swam through pits of ruby-eyed cobras, swam dark waters that clutched and drowned him. He ran from the laughing heads of demons that hung from the branches of dead trees. There was no rest in his sleep. He fought to survive the poison, and something deep inside him decided to win that fight.

  He opened his eyes again, no way of telling how much later, and stared once more at the glimmering cave roof. The female beastling squatted near him already, spooning a hot broth into his mouth. It ran down his cheeks and her long pointed tongue extended to lick it from his face. The flavor was a mix of root vegetables and mushrooms. His odd caregiver cradled his head in one massive hand as the other spooned the broth from a broad steaming bowl. Why could he not die? Despite this grim thought, he lapped hungrily at the soup. His wounds were cleaned, wrapped in mud and ruddy leaves… a poultice resembling the earth medicine of his own folk. He did not resist the feeding; his belly ached with hunger. He sipped from the big wooden spoon, and the she-beast cooed, then trilled a weird melody. Somehow he knew these were the sounds of approval.

  He recognized now another figure, one of the male creatures, crouching in the cave. It sat near the entrance, as if watching the feeding with its eyeless head. Its nostrils twitched and its round skull nodded. He marveled at its ivory horns, thick as the hafts of spears and coiled into points at either side of its jutting chin. It placed a handful of brown moss on the fire without turning its head, and the flames danced brighter.

  Whatever they were, they wanted him alive. He did not have time to wonder why, as sleep claimed him again. His belly groaned contentedly, and the she-beast laid his head back upon the reed mat. Again she sang a strange lullaby as he faded.

  Several more times he awoke to such a feeding. Helpless, he had no choice but to submit to the she-beast’s nurturing. After a while the blackness of his wounds faded, and the venom worked its way through his system. The she-beast had taken his urine often in a hollow gourd, and when necessary she helped him void his bowels into a stone bowl. These she emptied immediately somewhere beyond the cave.

  She kept the cave immaculate, despite its dirt floor and chaos of hanging tools and hides. Finally he found himself able to sit up. He accepted from the cave dweller an unknown fruit shaped like an egg but covered in fuzzy amber flesh that faded to pink at the tips. She licked her lips with a viperish tongue and raised a second fruit to her own maw. He followed her lead, biting into the fruit. It was sweet, delicious, and substantial. It tasted like sunlight, whose warmth he had almost forgotten in this deep place. He devoured it, examining his wounds one by one.

  The poultice had worked well. His scarred flesh was pink and new. A few more days and he might even run again.

  Run.

  The thought hit him like a bolt of sky-fire. He wiped the sticky juice from his mouth with the back of his hand. There could be only one reason why these beasts had saved him from death at the hands of the Onyx Guards. He had only one value to anyone in this cruel and vicious world. He was a slave. A strong one, when healthy. He could outwork ten other men in the fields, and often had done so.

  These earth dwellers were keeping him alive, nursing him back to health, for one purpose. So he would be of value to them as a slave. This was the same reason that wounded or diseased slaves were treated in Khyrei. They were property, nearly as valuable as well-bred horses to the Overseers and noble houses of the city.

  Tong had fled into the jungle seeking vengeance and death. He had found the first goal, but had stumbled back into slavery. His eyes combed the walls of the cave, looking for something sharp. Now that he had some strength back, he might draw a blade across his wrists, or pierce his heart. He would not serve these inhuman masters, as kindly as they had treated him. He would die and find the long-promised happiness that was impossible for his kind in this world.

  The she-beast offered him another fruit. He took it but nibbled slowly. Her usual visitor, the male, had not come today. So Tong sat alone with his nurse and savior. No doubt when she gave the word validating his strength, the male would take him out into whatever field or workyard required the labor of slaves. That day would not be much longer in coming. He did not intend for it to arrive.

  His heart beat faster as his eyes spotted the Khyrein sabre hanging on the wall. A sheathed longknife hung from the same wooden peg. These must be the weapons he had stolen from his pursuers and used to take his vengeance. The pale beasts had brought them along as souvenirs. There were no other signs of weapons, although a few small stone cooking knives lay farther back in the cave. They were tossed amid reed baskets full of green leafy produce.

  Now. She would not expect it. He was not fully recovered. If he waited until his health was normal again, it might be too difficult to cut his own throat or impale his willing heart. He might only wound himself, and therefore play out this extended drama all over again.

  The sabre was his passage into the Deathlands, his second escape from slavery. He must strike fast and true.

  For Matay.

  Without warning he kicked the she-beast away from him and lunged toward the cave wall. His limbs were heavy and stiff. He could not move as fast as he wished. Yet his clumsy hands grasped the sabre and pulled it free of the scabbard. A white blur leaped into the cave mouth as Tong wrapped his hands about the hilt and turned the blade inward. He pressed the blade’s tip against his chest, aimed directly at his heart. It would take all his strength, but he would do it by falling forward and using the cave floor to drive the sword deep. He had no more use for any strength beyond that last lunge. He squeezed the hilt and flexed his biceps.

  A pale arm slammed against his own. The blade flew from his numb fingers. He lost his balance and fell among the bowlfuls of harvested roots. The male beastling stood above him now, sniffing, clawing at the air. Tong coughed and writhed against the stone. Again, death eluded him. He cursed at the creature and its mate behind him. S
he grabbed the sabre and the knife, hanging them back on the wall with care. The male picked Tong up as if he weighed no more than a child and carried him back to his sleeping mat.

  “Why?” he asked. The blind beasts stared at him, nostrils pulsing, claws gesticulating unknown ciphers. “Why don’t you let me die?”

  But he already knew the answer. He was a slave.

  Slaves did not choose the hour of their death.

  That honor must go to their masters.

  “Matay…” He wept, and curled himself upon the mat.

  Sleep came fast upon him, a shallow imitation of the greater peace for which he longed.

  There was no day or night in the subterranean realm where he lay and failed to die. Always the little fire glowed, always the orange light shuddered on the rocky walls, and always the darkness beyond the cave mouth seethed. What lay out there? These were his thoughts as he woke and gave himself to the ministrations of his inhuman nurse. He was a shell, drained of hope, emptied of the urge for revenge, absent of the need for life. Yet life he had. Like an obstinate weed thriving in a ruined garden, he endured.

  Today the she-beast brought him a new kind of broth. He watched her crumble in her taloned fingers a great crimson butterfly from the jungle above (it must be above) and add its remains to the steaming pot. Then a pair of tiny crystals she crushed, dropping them into the brew. Unlike her other soups and stews, this one was bitter, tangy, hard to swallow. He pushed away the bowl, but she insisted, grabbing his hands and forcing him to take it. When he refused a second time she took the spoon and was ready to force-feed him. He was too strong for that now, and he thought she knew it. To avoid a confrontation he took the bowl and drank the foul concoction in a single quaff. It burned his throat but settled into his stomach nicely.

  She sang again, gathering up the bowl and offering him a gourd full of cold water. He drank greedily, washing down the butterfly broth. A new strength spread along his arms and legs, dancing like a flame in his skull. He licked his lips. In the cave mouth now appeared the male creature, obviously the mate of his caregiver. He had guessed that days ago. He heard them nuzzling and cooing together often in the back of the cave. He could not bear to watch so he made a point not to observe their displays of affection. They seemed to communicate by a language of touch, smell, and some hidden sense that he could not identify.

  The male motioned at Tong. His movements were unmistakable. The great clawed hands waved him forward, calling him out of the cave. The outer darkness pulled him onward. He leaped from the reed mat, feeling better than he could ever remember. The broth of butterfly and crystal had done this. He looked about the cave as he stood. The sabre and knife were missing from the wall. He sighed. This must be the day they would call him to his work. His new slavery was to begin soon.

  He looked back at the she-beast, but she was busy cleaning and ordering the cave. He did not know how to say goodbye, or he might have done so. She had not been cruel to keep him alive. She was kind. It was not her fault that the world was run by the strong who preyed on the weak and enslaved them. Although he might succeed in killing himself at some later date, he would not have tried it in her presence again. She ignored Tong as he left the cave in the company of her mate.

  A sudden wave of dizziness fell upon him as he exited the cave mouth and stood to his full height. The dwelling where he had lain was little more than a niche in the face of a great rock wall inside a cavern of unknown proportions. The cave of his caregiver was only one of a thousand such grottoes dug into its high walls. Narrow stone ledges ran from each of these caves, criss-crossing and slanting from one to the other. In places crudely chiseled stairwells linked together the rows of wall dwellings. Dozens of the eyeless ones scampered along the ledges with uncanny grace, crawling and leaping like white spiders.

  Dim firelight flowed from the mouths of the caves, yet it was not enough to illuminate the greater cavern floor far below. The wall of caves simply fell into darkness, yet down in that darkness a few fires gleamed like red and yellow stars. The male beast tugged upon Tong’s arm. He followed it down a jagged stair and across a succession of ledges. Always they went downward, toward the hidden floor that had to exist somewhere in the lower darkness. Other eyeless beasts moved aside to let them pass, sniffing at Tong with their bat-like snouts.

  From the ceiling hung great columns of black and green rock, tapering to narrow points. Raw nuggets of yellow and purple crystal gleamed along their surfaces in wild patterns, refracting the fireglow into a flux of glimmering lights. The smell of deep earth was stronger here, yet a cool breeze blew from somewhere. Tong could almost smell the sweetly sour scent of the jungle, but he was unsure if it was only his imagination.

  As he descended with his silent guide, the lights from below grew brighter. Now the floor of the massive vault came into view. Some of the depending rock columns fed into the ground here, massive columns linking floor to ceiling. Others rose from the stony floor like miniature mountains, pointed and gleaming with crystalline essence. Now he smelled water, and the air was damp with its presence. It was cooler down here, and the sweat on his bare chest and legs turned chill. He still wore only the stained loincloth of a slave. The eyeless ones wore no clothing at all. His feet, like theirs, were bare on the cold stone. Yet the heat of the butterfly broth in his belly kept him from shivering.

  Now Tong stepped onto the floor of the vault, where a forest of the stone columns rose into glimmering shadow. He followed his guide through a world of bizarre beauty, past rock formations carved into the shapes of strange beasts, among outcrops of purple fungi taller than cornstalks and harvested by eyeless females. He saw no fellow humans among these harvesters. To what unknown labor could they be taking him?

  Great mushrooms grew high as trees, dripping with moss and alive with crawling black beetles. His guide paused momentarily to snatch a few of these insects from a thick stalk and pop them into his maw. He crunched them hungrily between his fangs. He motioned for Tong to do the same, but Tong declined. As on the wall paths, other male beastlings passed about them, but they only sniffed in Tong’s direction or ignored him completely.

  Here and there great fire pits opened in the earth. Flames leaped high from these deep fissures. Near to these flaming holes the cavern’s heat became great. The eyeless ones had no use for light, but they obviously valued fire for warmth and cooking. Among all the living things in this strange underworld, Tong might be the only one who benefited from the light of the natural flames. He silently thanked the Earth God for them. He could not imagine the horror of this experience if he had to endure it in complete darkness. How long he had lain in the high cave he could not say, but his wounds had all healed nicely.

  Now he came upon another high wall of uneven granite lined with grottoes and ledges. By the light of nearby fire pits he saw that this new structure was actually a single great column of rock rising from the floor to be lost in the upper darkness. At ground level it was thicker than a Khyrein watchtower, with firelit caverns visible inside the carved arches. As it rose higher into the vault, it expanded, growing impossibly wider, home to a thousand more caves and cavelings. Suddenly he realized that the entire structure must be grown from the cavern roof into the floor itself. Otherwise its upper weight would surely collapse.

  Ledges and stairwells were more numerous here, and they spiraled about the great city-column where cookfires danced and the children of beastlings capered. Whole families of the creatures moved about the place. Tong watched without words as the true scale of this subterranean tribe dawned upon him.

  Beyond the great city-column, lights glimmered on an expanse of black water. The subterranean lake ran as far as he could see in three directions, rippled by constant drippings from the unseen cavern roof. Tong’s guide stood before the arches of the city-column and raised his apish arms high. He sang in a loud sonorous voice, his song deeper and harsher than that of his mate. His voice carried through the great underworld, ran along the maze of ledge
s and stairwells, penetrated the heart of the great vertical cityscape.

  Tong’s blood rushed in his veins as clusters of the pale beasts came lurching from their holes, crawling and shuffling along the narrow routes toward the cavern floor. From the great arches marched two lines of eyeless ones wearing crimson robes, garments woven from plucked jungle foliage. Jewels and panther fangs hung upon their chests. Identical to the rest of the beastlings save for their ostentatious garments and clicking talismans, they approached Tong and formed a neat circle about him. They sniffed and gesticulated while Tong’s guide replied in some obscure manner. Before long an entire herd of the creatures gathered about Tong: male, female, young, adult, even tiny infants scuttling like crabs between the legs of their mothers.

  Now the robed ones began singing, and a procession began. The mass of beastlings walked toward the dark lake. Caught in their midst, Tong had no choice but to follow. If he refused, they would only pick him up and carry him. He was well aware of their great strength, and the power of their great claws to rend flesh. Yet they seemed a peaceful people, if people they were at all. No sword, knife, or spear was to be seen among the masses. Of course, they did not need such tools to work slaughter upon men. Their whip-quick claws had dispatched a band of Onyx Guards in seconds.

  A new idea came to him as the black waters glimmered. The sound of waves beating against a rocky shore filled his ears. He might leap into the lake and drown himself. But he must wait until this strange ritual was at its apex, when the beastlings would be too involved with their ceremonies to stop him. Now at last he might secure his own death. Not even such a horde of beasts could keep him from joining Matay a second time.

  The black waters stretched into darkness, and a cold wind blew from the gulf beyond. A sense of vastness fell upon Tong as he approached the beach, surrounded by the singing priests. The lake was in truth an underground sea. How far did it extend under the earth’s crust, and how many weird kingdoms lay beyond it? The eyeless ones bowed low before the sunless sea.