All These Shiny Worlds

by Jefferson Smith

  She was here. Finally.

  Lāākē’s heart stuttered. He sidled along the branch, closer to the Cleaving wall. Her blue-white skin shone radiant beneath the morning suns. Tendrils of long black hair tickled her smooth cheeks, catching on generous pink lips. She brushed them aside with casual elegance. Today her forearms were painted with pink swirls to match the small pink stone she always wore suspended above her breasts on two silver chains. She was well-curved but slim. And tall. Taller than most Cerrelean women he’d observed through the barrier. Taller still than most Cerrelean men. But not as tall as he. The top of her head would tuck neatly beneath his chin. It was easy to imagine the Blue Breeze had gentled itself just for her, turning from bitter to sweet.

  She crossed the grassy field with smooth grace, her eyes fixed on the wall at precisely the place where the kissama grew. The kissama ruffled a payment demand, but Lāākē’s flesh barely registered the scrapes. The tree tilted the branch beneath him, threatening to slide him into the sunlight. Lāākē hastily paid with the largest rodent in his satchel.

  The female voice he’d heard that first day called from behind the boulders. Aleesha frowned and headed back to the entrance. Lāākē’s chin jutted forward. She’d never left so soon. With a single backward glance she exited the Cup. Lāākē almost called after her. She would have heard him. Like the Blue Breeze, sound passed easily through the barrier. But the words died on his tongue. What would he say? Come, Goddess of Light, draw near to my darkness so that I might…what?

  No, that would only frighten her and she might never return. He would be patient and perhaps some incautious day she might—

  “You can’t run away from me, Aleesha.” A man’s voice rang from behind the boulders.

  Aleesha appeared again at the entrance, her cheeks flushed violet, her breath fast and shallow. Alarmed blue eyes darted over the meadow, searching for a place to hide. There was none. Two guards in yellow uniforms hurried through the entrance behind her. She spun to face them. They paused, and then slowly advanced as she backed away.

  The burlier of the two grinned. “I’ve chased many women, but none as swift as this one.”

  His fellow, thinner and with a bulbous scar where his left ear should have been, laughed. “The faster they run, the louder they scream.”

  Lāākē’s jaw tightened. Beneath his chest the kissama gave its branch an insistent shake. Lāākē ignored it. He scooted farther out, recklessly close to the Cleaving.

  Aleesha drew an ornately carved dagger from a waist sheath. Lāākē’s shoulders tensed. She held it as if preparing to stab an unsuspecting victim, rather than wielding it like an experienced fighter.

  “Stay back,” she warned the Cerrelean guards.

  A man as bald as a pamu’s butt and twice as ugly strode into the Cup of Justice. He spread the voluminous sleeves of his yellow and purple robes in a fatherly gesture.

  “Ah, there she is.” He smiled, revealing wide-spaced teeth. “A knife?” He tsked. “My dear, I realize you are unwell, but—”

  “I am not unwell,” Aleesha said. “I’ve only pretended to eat at your table this past week. I will not miss the Choosing again. I will take the Path. I will wear a blue stone.”

  For an instant the man’s mask of amiability slipped, revealing a glimpse of something hard and vicious. Then he smiled again, his tone reproving. “You speak as if the fact that you still wear the pink is my fault. Four years ago you were a mere child of fifteen, too young to choose well. Yet did I not put my own misgivings aside and order the servants to prepare the procession? Have I not done the same this very week? It is not my fault both times you have fallen sick.

  “I am not sick this time. And if I must starve until the suns align and burn a passage between the southern and northern mountains, this time I will travel the Path.” Aleesha retreated farther.

  Two more steps and Lāākē could easily slip the end of his bow over her neck and pull her into the darkness. He would not, of course. He had no need of a blue-eyed trophy for his lodge wall, and no life to offer a companion, especially a blue-skinned one. And yet…

  “You can travel the Path in another four years. You will still be young, an exquisite flower. You will still have your choice of companions. Trust me in this. Haven’t I always done what is best for you?”

  Aleesha raised her dagger. “You do only what is best for yourself, Eeloos.”

  “Uncle Eeloos.” He moved toward her. “Sweet child, how you do test my heart.”

  “Stay back, Uncle,” she ordered. “Or I will test your heart with my blade.”

  Lāākē shook his head slowly. Courageous words, but she was no match for Cerrelean guards. And with her back to the Cleaving wall, she’d no place to run.

  Beneath Lāākē the kissama’s knotholes snapped in irritation. He fumbled with his satchel, seeking another rodent. Distracted and in haste to appease the restless tree, he unintentionally turned the satchel upside down. The remaining rodents tumbled to the ground below. The kissama rattled its displeasure. Lāākē clamped his thighs to the quaking branch, but his eyes never left Aleesha.

  “Take her,” Eeloos commanded. The guards advanced. Aleesha’s dagger flashed, but found only air. The men wrested it from her with ease. One-ear pinned her arms. The burly guard lifted her legs from the ground. They held her suspended and struggling between them. Lāākē’s blood heated.

  “She’s not screaming.” The burly guard’s grin rounded into an umph of pain as Aleesha’s foot slammed into his crotch. He stumbled, but didn’t release her.

  “Yet. But perhaps some parts of you are.” One-ear laughed.

  “Bring her,” Eeloos commanded. “And do not bruise her overmuch.”

  Lāākē yanked his bow from his back. Among the Wasobi it was forbidden to loose weapons across the Cleaving. Any kill was not retrievable, and pleasure-killing wasn’t worth the loss of a good weapon. But like sound and the Blue Breeze, objects without life could travel unharmed into the light. No, the Wasobi never loosed a weapon across the barrier. But as they reminded him often, he was not Wasobi.

  Lāākē’s half-breed soul growled in anticipation. He loaded arrow to bow.

  The kissama went suddenly still. Lāākē’s mind registered the wrongness of that, but there was no time to ponder it. He sent the arrow from darkness into light. The burly Cerrelean holding Aleesha’s legs cried out. His knees hit the ground, a bright red stain forming on his yellow-clad buttocks.

  Fear lit Eeloos’s eyes. He spun, searching the grassy meadow for the source of the assault. He motioned frantically at the one-eared guard.

  “Bring her!” Eeloos fled the Cup of Justice, leaving the wounded guard sprawled on the ground moaning and One-ear fighting alone to subdue a ferociously struggling Aleesha.

  Lāākē pulled a second arrow from his quiver. The kissama shuddered a giggle. Too late Lāākē realized his danger. Something clamped his ankle, pinning it to the tree. Lāākē’s flesh went cold.

  Wrapper.

  The one predator feared by every animal, large or small. The one predator welcomed by every hungry plant.

  Like living ropes they crept through the Hell Hollows, hunting in packs, ambushing the unwary. Stealthy rather than quick, they used their thumb-thick, short-rope bodies to tie their victims to whatever was handy, extending their length as needed by knotting themselves together. And while they could be sliced, pulling at them only made them constrict more tightly around their prey. Once they’d secured their victim, they simply waited. Waited for starvation or other predators to kill for them. And when the creature was dead, they waited still. Waited for insects to lay their eggs in the decaying corpse; waited for the eggs to develop into larvae. Then, finally, they feasted.

  Even among the extraordinary variety of deaths waiting at every turn within the Hell Hollows, a wrapper death was a singular horror.

  The kissama snapped its knotholes in anticipation. Wrappers were paying guests.

  Lāākē kicked his free
leg, sending an unsecured wrapper flying through the charcoal air. He rolled from the branch, twisting as he went to avoid breaking the ankle already bound fast to the tree. They could still wrap him, truss him like hung meat. But with most of his body away from the tree at least he’d have a fighting chance.

  He kept his knee bent as he fell, but his spine still jerked. Arrows dumped from his quiver to click-clack together on the ground below. Blood rushed to his brain. For an instant he swung wildly, a full body length above the ground, a pendulum suspended by one ankle. He tapped his free foot to the branch above to still the worst of the sway, then bent it well away from the tree. Wrappers didn’t fly. They crawled. Already one was winding slowly down his leg.

  The only weapons remaining to him were the knife sheathed at his thigh, a single arrow in one hand, and his bow in the other. He used the bow to flick a wrapper toward the Cleaving. It sizzled as it passed into the quick death of the light. But more came. If they reached his arms, they would wrap him inescapably. He needed to cut the one at his ankle and hope the head-first fall wouldn’t break his neck. With the end of his bow he sent a second and a third to fry in the light. Still more came.

  Beyond the Cleaving a man screamed. Aleesha had sunk her teeth into One-ear’s shoulder. He slapped her, knocking her to the ground. The blood pooling and pounding in Lāākē’s head turned icy hot. Aleesha scrambled on hands and knees, closer to the Cleaving. A wrapper wound past Lāākē’s knee. Lāākē pressed his lips, narrowed his eyes and nocked arrow to bow.

  The shaft streaked over smoking wrappers and found its mark in One-ear’s shoulder. He screamed but didn’t fall.

  Aleesha’s brow knit, her eyes on the arrow. With dawning understanding she turned to the darkness. And though it was impossible, Lāākē felt seen.

  A wrapper wriggled over his chest. The tip of his bow launched the creature and three of its brothers to a fiery death. Aleesha gasped and jumped to her feet as one landed close and burst into flame.

  Eeloos re-entered the Cup, shielded behind a new guard. “Who’s there?” he demanded of the darkness.

  One-ear wrenched the arrow from his shoulder and flung it aside. Blood bubbled from the wound. His face puckered with rage. He lunged at Aleesha, knocking them both to the ground. They breached the Cleaving, landing with their legs in the mountain light, their heads and shoulders in Hell Hollow darkness.

  The third guard ran to grab One-ear’s ankles. Lāākē sent several more wrappers through the Cleaving. They rained around the third guard, their bodies popping and sizzling as they ignited.

  “Leave him. Save her!” Eeloos ordered. He fled to the safety of the entrance and pressed himself to the side of the opening.

  Aleesha lay on her back beside One-ear, her eyes closed, her long hair splayed over the emerald moss like a dark fan. She’d breached the wall. Was she unconscious or simply waiting to die?

  Death moved toward her.

  Hissing with pleasure, it lumbered out of the forest.

  The phantel had probably been following the wrappers at a safe distance, waiting for them to bind and settle, to present it with an easy meal. Now it saw a new opportunity. The six-legged lizard, five paces wide and ten from snout to tail, headed toward One-ear. And Aleesha.

  “No!” Arrows gone, Lāākē hurled his bow at the massive lizard, and watched it bounce harmlessly off the phantel’s horned head.

  Perhaps his voice awakened her, or perhaps she suddenly realized she’d survived the fall through the barrier. Aleesha opened her eyes. Blue blinked up at turquoise, and didn’t look away.

  Even as a wrapper bound his left arm to his waist, Lāākē felt seen.

  The phantel’s razor tongue whipped from its green-scaled snout and severed One-ear’s head at exactly the same moment the third guard yanked his fellow back into the light. Blood fountained from the neck stub, spraying both the Hell Hollows forest and the gentle mountain grasses red. The guard dropped the dead man’s legs and turned to run.

  “Not him, you idiot. Her! Save her!” Eeloos screeched from the entrance.

  Lāākē drew his only remaining weapon from his thigh sheath and held his arm clear of his body. Multiple wrappers bound his legs. More crawled to help the one trapping his left arm.

  “Sit up! Now!” he shouted. “Run!”

  Her eyes left his. She saw the creature moving toward her. All blue tone drained for her face and the high-pitched, horror-whoosh of breath she pulled in nearly burst Lāākē’s heart.

  The phantel’s long green tongue licked out to curl around One-ear’s severed head and draw it into its mouth. Skull crunched. Brain splurted. Still Aleesha didn’t move.

  The lizard swung its long snout toward her. Lāākē aimed for the creature’s eye and let his knife fly. But fortune favored the phantel. It blinked and the same scale-armored hide that protected its massive body sent Lāākē’s knife thudding harmlessly to the ground. The phantel advanced on Aleesha.

  “No!” Lāākē shouted and struggled to keep his final arm free. The lizard’s tongue whipped out. Lāākē felt his heart would explode. But the creature didn’t sever Aleesha’s head. The razor edges of its tongue folded inward, transforming it into a flat, blunt-edged appendage. With fluid dexterity the phantel gathered Aleesha’s splayed hair and wound it into a leash.

  Curved horns rose in two parallel rows down either side of the lizard’s back and between the rows its spine sunk. Above the bowl created by the caved spine, the horns arched and bent inward, coming together at their apex like steepled claws.

  Lāākē released a rattling breath. Like his own death, Aleesha’s would not be swift or merciful. The phantel was female.

  Aleesha’s legs kicked in the mountain sunshine as the creature dragged her through the Cleaving and fully into the darkness. She twisted and flailed, digging her heels deep into the moist soil. Her hands clawed frantically at the ground. Anything she could grasp—rock, stick, plant—she threw at the creature. As she passed beneath the kissama tree her hand closed on Lāākē’s knife.

  “Go for the eyes,” Lāākē shouted. But it was too late.

  The phantel released her hair. Its tongue encircled her waist. The horns steepled on its back opened like a pair of hideous jaws. With an effortless flick of its tongue the lizard tossed Aleesha into the bowl on its back. The horn steeple snapped closed.

  Aleesha scrambled to her knees, stabbing and lashing at the creature with the knife. But the walls of her scale and horn prison were impervious to the blade. The phantel ignored her, stopping to lap One-ear’s blood from a bush.

  Lāākē shook a wrapper from his free arm. “Use the knife on yourself,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been shouting for hours.

  She gazed up at where he hung from the tree. Turquoise eyes held blue.

  “She will take you to her den. Feed you alive to her young. Use the knife on yourself.”

  Aleesha’s gaze left his to dart around her. To the carnage across the Cleaving wall. To the dead rodents, bow, and arrows littering the ground beneath the tree. To him, tethered upside down, wrappers trussing him like curing meat. The phantel turned to leave. Aleesha looked at the knife, and then again at the bow and arrows. Her eyes met his and she bobbed her chin once in acknowledgement.

  Her arm extended out from between the horn bars of her prison. With a grim smile, she flung the knife upwards.

  He caught it. The blade flashed with savage swiftness. Wrapper bodies rained from the kissama as the phantel’s spiked tail disappeared into the forest tangle.

  On the other side of the barrier, Eeloos shoved his guard toward the Cleaving wall. “Go. Get her back.”

  But the guard’s fear of the Hell Hollows was greater than his fear of his master. He backed away, shaking his head and muttering beneath his breath. Eeloos’s face turned indigo with rage. He charged the guard, boxing his nose. “You worthless imbecile. Post men around the mountain. If she comes back, deliver her to me. Immediately.”

  “N
o one has ever come back.” The guard pressed one hand to his bloody nose.

  Eeloos snatched up the arrow One-ear had ripped from his shoulder before he died and shook it at the man. “No one has ever had help.”

  The guard dragged One-ear’s headless body from the Cup. The burly guard, arrow still protruding from his buttocks like a feathered tail, crawled after them.

  Lāākē sliced the last wrapper free of his ankle and rolled as he hit the ground. He took no more than the space of a breath to find his feet before gathering arrows and rodents.

  His bow had fallen across the Cleaving just as Aleesha had, half in the darkness, half in the light. Eeloos stood near the bow, his jowly cheek not quite pressed to the wall.

  “Aleesha?” the bald man called slyly. “You are there. Alive. I know it. Come back, child. We are family, are we not? I am yours. You are mine.”

  Lāākē stooped to retrieve the bow. As he straightened his face passed breath-close to Eeloos’s.

  “No, old man,” he whispered from the darkness. “Now, she is mine.”

  ***

  Lāākē tracked the phantel as closely as he dared, occasionally catching a brief glimpse of Aleesha, her hands gripping the horn bars, her expression grim. And yet despite the desperateness of her situation there was nothing defeated in the set of her shoulders, in the way she studied her surroundings, looking for an opportunity.

  It became clear that they were near the lizard’s den. The reptile was more cautious, stopping frequently to sniff the air with her flickering tongue. Lāākē was forced to hang farther and farther back to avoid detection.

  At a place where the ground turned rocky, the phantel’s trail disappeared with a suddenness that told Lāākē she was home. Aleesha had been safe enough while riding caged, but once inside the creature’s den her time would be short. Urgency pounded in Lāākē’s temples. He forced a deep breath.

  Phantels were burrowing reptiles, but there would be no obvious opening to the lizard’s den. They hid the entrance using their sharp-edged tongues to fell and weave sturdy saplings into trapdoors, then covered those doors with thick sod flats. Their precision made the door nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding ground.