by Jack Conner
“Look, I’m just gonna say it,” Hildra said. “That fat fuck was trying to worship the same shitwads the ngvandi were. Things like her.” She indicated Layanna. “What’d she call ‘em?”
“The R’loth,” Avery said. “Otherwise known as the Collossum. Or, I suppose, it would be more accurate to say the Collossum are R’loth in human form.”
“Yeah, them. Wonder why they didn’t answer?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Guess not,” Janx said, taking another slurp.
“They didn’t use the stones,” Avery said. “Don’t you remember, at the ngvandi city, the ngvandi used stones quarried from the mines near the grottoes; that’s what they’d set their slaves to doing. I can only assume that the power of the Mnuthra leeched through the stone. Suffused it. They used those blocks to make their monoliths with, their altars, where they made their sacrifices, and that provided a connection to the Mnuthra. They could actually sacrifice to and commune with the ones they worshipped through the monoliths. I’m sure the altar we’re traveling to, the one in Cuithril, operates on a similar basis. Somewhere during the history of the God-Emperors, though, the God-Emperors lost that knowledge. It occurs to me we could get into the good graces of His Eminence by telling him how to resolve the problem—only I wouldn’t want to help him do so. Gods know what would happen if he actually did get in contact with the R’loth.”
“It would work not, anyway,” Layanna said. She had cracked her eyes and was looking at him mildly.
“And why not?” Avery asked.
“Even if quarried stones from ngvandi mines, he only able commune with Mnuthra. Serves them no he. Their masters he serves.” A look of frustration crossed her face. “I hate Ghenisan,” she said in Octunggen. Then, more slowly and working the words out, she said in Ghenisan—obviously she had been practicing, if only internally—“He would have to quarry stones from the deep, near one of our cities, or use our machines to awaken the altar. Such is what my kind gave Tallis, that and sacrifices he could use to breed, to continually bathe the altar in extradimensional energies. But those machines must have been lost to history.”
“So it was your lot.” Janx watched her with interest. “I wondered about that when Hunried mentioned fish gods.”
She stared up at the ceiling. “We tried to convert L’oh, but we were new to world. Misjudged things. Created civil war, brother against brother. Caused end of L’ohen Empire.”
Janx and Hildra shared a look. A strange smile, half admiration and half dread, flickered across Hildra’s scarred face. “You caused the Fall of L’oh.”
Layanna met her stare. “Not me. My kind. But yes, we set events in motion that brought about Fall.”
“Amazing.”
“They’ve helped shape our world—for thousands of years, it seems,” Avery said. “They caused the Atomic Sea, they caused the Fall of L’oh, they caused the current world war, and gods know what else.” He rubbed his cheek. “Did it bother anyone else that our lord host was talking about how the Octunggen might listen to his pleas as he walked away?”
Janx’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I heard that too.”
“Think he’d really betray his own country?” asked Hildra.
“He’d do whatever it took to save his own neck.”
The night continued, and fire crackled in the fireplace. Logs snapped, and sparks flared. Avery worked on one bottle of wine—Janx was right, it was superb—and started another. He couldn’t get the image of the orgies and the sacrifices out of his mind. The flame burned lower and lower in the fireplace, and the members of the band began to retire. Janx and Hildra traipsed to the same room together, and someone in there turned on a gramophone to mask their noises—unsuccessfully.
Trying to ignore them, Avery repaired to his own bedchamber, leaving Layanna on her couch to meditate.
Just as he began to undress, he heard knocking on his doors and opened them to see her standing before him. For a mad moment he thought the example of Hildra and Janx had motivated her to do something similar—she had mentioned taking human lovers, after all—but an instant later he realized it was not lust in her eyes. It was hunger.
He cleared his throat. “May I help you?”
She nodded, seeming uncertain, perhaps nervous. She still looked sickly.
She approached him and laid a hand on his arm. Her touch was warm. “Doctor,” she said. “I need your help.”
“Yes ... ?”
She gathered her nerve. “The bodies in the chapel. I need them, their extra-planar energies. They will be weak now that they’re dead, energies drained off, but there are enough bodies there that I can still derive a substantial meal from them, more than any eelfish.”
“How so?”
“Sentience breaks barriers, creates extradimensional facets that don’t exist in lesser creatures. Doctor, I can heal. But I need you to stand guard while I do. We must do it before dawn, when there will be renewed activity in the Throne Room.”
“But—”
“There is no time. Come!”
She pulled him after her. Fumbling for words, he allowed himself to be tugged along.
“Layanna, are you sure this is the right thing—”
“It’s the only thing.”
They left the suite and ventured down a hallway. As they rounded a bend, a pair of drunken nobles stumbled past, one male, one female, both groping at each other as they went. They didn’t seem to notice Avery and Layanna and they surely wouldn’t have cared if they had.
“This way.” Layanna led down a connecting hall to a grand stairwell, its white balustrade tipped in gold leaf.
“Beautiful,” Avery said, as his eyes found the great chandelier. A thousand candles blazed inside, reflecting the crystal facets, making the gold-leaf glow.
“You should see the lanterns of the deep,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“Imagine lamps, each lit in a different sphere, each plane affecting the light and sound and smells and more in unique ways, the lamps bleeding through the dimensions, from several at a time, different in every one.”
“It sounds amazing.”
“It is. But my description is ... inadequate. Imagine vast beings, you would perceive them as formless, bending through the spheres even as the spheres bend them, some joining, some passing through each other, some separate, lamps bleeding, winking, a part of the beings and yet not part, all around you echoing the great songs of worship to the High Ones who dwell in their palace in Vat’ala....”
“Who are they?”
A dark look crossed her face, but also a look of awe. “Powerful beings, as unfathomable to us as we are to you. Heralds of the Outer Lords ...”
He felt a chill and was relieved to find that that’s all she seemed prepared to say on the matter.
“This way,” she said.
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and she pulled him on.
“Speak Ghenisan,” he reminded her. “I know it’s late, but still ...”
She made a sound of frustration. Still in Octunggen, she said, “I sound like an idiot when I speak Ghenisan.”
“But a loyal idiot, not an Octunggen spy.”
“Very well. Is this with you right better?”
She tugged him into the Throne Room, though he could have found it on his own. Once more he marveled at its massive dimensions and opulence. The party had wound down in the late hours of the night, but there were still people drinking and copulating. Many rested on the furs on the floor, some with blankets thrown over them, some naked and uncovered. Others lay slumped in drunken stupors along the tables. Against the walls heaped countless animal corpses, their various bloods and ichors staining the altars before them. The stink when Avery traveled close to them was unimaginable. He’d smelled many corpses in his time, but never so many different kinds so close together symbolizing so much waste. How much would the starving masses packed into the city beyond pay to have access to this room? It was beyond obscen
e.
“Haemlys must be desperate to venture outside his own gods,” Avery mused. “By sacrificing these animals, he’s even suggesting that he doubts his own divinity. His connection to even greater deities. He’s risking open revolt.”
“Desperate—or mad.”
“Yes.” Avery had considered that as well. He looked about furtively as they passed through tables heaped with old food and hunched forms. Some snored loudly. Others shifted. A few still ate, drank and talked, though their voices were subdued. They paid no attention to Avery and Layanna. “You think it might be possible?” he asked.
“Honestly I little care. He can be mad. Just give us what we need. Only ...”
“Yes?”
“Only it seems shame that his people must suffer him. Yes.”
That almost sounded human coming from her. Avery was encouraged. They passed the last line of feasting tables and made their way toward the throne, picking their way around sleeping or mindlessly rutting forms. Avery supposed the God-Emperor might still be out here somewhere, spent and huddled together with his fellows. More likely he was in his stately bedchambers on the top floor. Avery had heard it took up a third of that level.
They rounded the bend, and Avery heard Layanna’s breathing increase in pace, almost as if in sensual excitement.
As they passed through the curtain of coral beads, she gasped. He came through right behind her, prepared to find someone lying in wait for them. Instead he found her staring in joy at all the rotting corpses. Their stink was foul, even worse than the ones outside because of the tight quarters, but she acted as though she sniffed an epicurean banquet. Almost girlishly, she hopped forward and leaned against the lowest basin. She eyed the corpses eagerly, as if trying to pick out the juiciest one. She fairly trembled in excitement.
Avery thought he actually heard her laugh as she tore off her clothes, exposing smooth white flesh, rounded buttocks, long shapely legs. She didn’t seem to care whether Avery watched or not. He felt himself grow hot in embarrassment.
Then, to his immense disgust, she climbed up the lowest basin and leapt in. Bodies bobbed up and down, water sloshed over the side, and crabs scuttled away. Up to her waist, Layanna grabbed the nearest, freshest corpse, hauled it close to her, and then, with no further ado, bent over and began ripping at it with her teeth. She used her hands to stabilize it while her mouth gnawed, tore, and pulled a chunk free. She lifted her head and swallowed, then shivered in ecstasy. Avery shivered, too, but not in ecstasy. She bent over and began again. Sometimes she lifted her head to swallow, other times she simply gnawed on the corpses like a dog, like a wolf, swallowing pieces whole. She gorged and gorged. Avery turned away.
He took up station at the bead curtain. Sticking his face partway out, not far enough to be observed, he kept watch while Layanna feasted behind him. He tried not to hear the sounds, the rippings, the tearings, the sloshing of water, the crunch of bone, the creak of gristle, the growling noises she made as she ate, but it was no use. He tried not to imagine her naked, swimming in inky blood, gnawing on the inhuman dead one after the other, half-clotted blood spraying her face, neck and breasts, but he could not.
She gorged for what seemed like hours, and his legs grew tired from standing, his back sore from bending forward. For a time he leaned against the archway. For a time he sat. That position encouraged sleep, and he pushed himself back to his feet. The sounds of feeding became mere background noise, and he hardly noticed it.
Finally, however, he became aware that the noises had stopped.
He waited. Nothing.
Hardly daring to look, he turned around.
Layanna lay slumped against the second tier, surrounded by bodies and pieces of bodies bobbing idly in the water. She breathed tiredly, a sated look on her face. Inky blood spattered every bit of her, dripped from her hair, ran from the corners of her mouth, and yes, trickled over her breasts and slim belly. He tried not to look.
“Satisfied?” he asked her.
Half smiling, she met his gaze. “I feel ... better.”
“Good. Then let’s leave.”
She stood. Inky water coursed over her, making her body seem to shimmer. She almost looked dyed in blue. Some of the fluid tangled in her pubic mound, dripped from it down her long legs. He forced his gaze away.
She stepped forward. Water sloshed. Inadvertently he looked back. She reached the lip of the fountain, poised there, and leapt nimbly off. Little droplets of water sprayed in all directions as she landed, and her breasts shook at the impact.
He felt the back of his neck grow warm.
She stalked toward him, a strange smile curling from one corner of her lips. As before, the smile was hungry. Something glittered in her eyes.
“I feel better,” she repeated. “But no. I am not ... satisfied.”
“Um ...”
She was very near. He could smell her now, the odor of the sea. Perhaps he had become used to it. It almost smelled good. Enticing.
She stopped before him. Her eyes stared into his, and they were even bluer than the rest of her. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell. When they rose, the nipples just slightly, just barely, touched the front of his shirt. After a few moments he could feel the wetness soak in.
“Ah ...”
She reached out a hand. Gently, authoritatively, she touched the side of his head and traced a strand of hair to behind his ear. “It has been years since I’ve known a lover,” she said. “And you ... you have saved my life time and again.” She said the words impatiently, as if she knew they were obligatory for him, but she was in an animalistic mood; he could see the fire in her eyes, feel it radiating off her. She was an unstoppable force, a being of sex, of sensuality. There was no point in denying her, no reason why he should. His head swam.
She stared into his eyes, and he felt something stoked deep inside him. Warmth spread outward.
She stepped even closer. Her breasts mashed up against his chest. They were warm, wet, full and firm.
“Are you sure ... ?”
She leaned her face in hungrily, as if to kiss him, but her lips just lightly grazed his. She ran her lips over his one way, then another, almost roughly. He could just about hear her growl, feel it through his bones.
The warmth he felt inside him spread lower. He realized he had been feeling a stiffening for some time. His member strained against his pants.
She rubbed one of her legs against his side, stroked his back with her free hand. She was everywhere, surrounding him, inviting him. He could taste her on his tongue. He realized he had not known a woman, not happily, since Mari, a decade ago.
Slowly, almost hypnotized, he reached up and ran a hand through Layanna’s hair.
Her breathing quickened. He felt the hot puffs of air on his face.
His breathing quickened as well.
“We should move this to the suite ...” he started. “The bodies ...”
“They haven’t affected him.”
She caressed his crotch.
“No,” he said. “Please. Shower first. Come.” He took her hand and led her from the chapel. Ten minutes later, her fire undiminished, she stepped from the shower in their suite and joined him in his room. Her skin was hot from the water, and she had not bothered wrapping herself in a towel.
She reached down, helping him free of his zipper. He felt a belt snapping, and his pants fell around his ankles.
She leaned forward. Her lips touched his.
He responded.
* * *
The next day Avery awoke in his bedroom, afternoon sunlight streaming in from a window. He sat up with a start, wondering if it had all been a dream. He felt strange. Lighter somehow. Clearer. He glanced idly around. Layanna was not in bed beside him. Yet he saw the sheets in disarray and was reassured it was not a dream.
Gingerly, head reeling—he’d had too much to drink last night—he climbed from the sheets and began his morning rituals, including a vigorous washing. One of the joys of the suite w
as its opulent private lavatories. As he cleaned himself, he tried to remember last night. It was only a vague, mad blur of passion and physicality, her moaning into his mouth, him thrusting inside her, squeezing a breast, her raking nails down his back, gyrating against him. It had been the first time he’d finished inside a woman since his married life.
He dressed slowly, his head pounding. The Ungraessotti had provided new clothes for them all. He could not help smiling as he donned a set.
In the main room, Avery discovered Janx entertaining Hildra with a naughty sailor’s ballad. When he was done, Hildra clapped and whistled. Janx bowed. He looked to Avery, and Avery wondered at the knowing light in his eyes.
“Have a good night, Doc?”
Avery tried to hold himself with dignity. “Rather, yes.”
“I’ll bet,” Hildra said.
Some tea had been made, and Avery sat down and helped himself to a cup, grateful to have something to do.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
“Yeah,” Hildra agreed, looking around. “I could almost get used to this.”
Janx had come to stand before one of the portraits of the old emperors. The man in the picture looked distinctly fishy, quite like Tallis, the emperor the fountain was built after—or like Muirblaag. Staring at it, Janx looked suddenly morose, and Avery didn’t have to wonder why. As if there was any doubt, Janx suddenly rubbed his arm right over his newest tattoo. During the jeep-ride through the mountains, Janx and Hildra—and Avery, by his own volition—had tattooed themselves with the names of Muirblaag and Byron, having borrowed the inking equipment from a refugee. Avery hoped Muirblaag’s name was the last tattoo he ever received.
Hildra squeezed Janx’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said. “He’s better off now.”