by S. M. Beiko
“Did you feel the ground move just now?”
He cocked an eyebrow, bent down, and felt around with his free hand to humour me. “Ugh!” He jerked back upright with a glistening handful of mucus.
I screamed, trying to stagger away from him. I tripped over what felt like an upturned root and pulled the both of us down, dragging him on top of me as I rolled and pressed my face to the ground.
It was ribbed and warm and the slime gelatinous, but the ground was definitely not ground at all, which I discovered only as a huge grey worm pulled free of the tangle of bodies, and seemed to look me directly in the eye.
“Fuck!” I screamed, struggling to get out from under my partner-in-slime and hoist him back to his feet. “Worms! God! Why did it have to be worms?!”
“What the hell is this place?” he said through gritted teeth, suffering from as much a case of the heebs as I was.
Pain stabbed through my brain, and I tried to catch my head in my hands. The world was spinning.
“Get up!” he exclaimed, crouching to tear my hands away from my head and pull me back up. But he stopped. “Don’t move,” he hissed, his hands coming round to the back of my head. “You’ve . . . there’s . . .”
I froze as he guided my free hand to the soft, throbbing thing planted at the base of my skull. I whimpered but stayed still as I tightened my fist around the offending globule, and yanked until it was free. I whined through my nose and saw the underside of the worm — rows of thistle-teeth with dollops of my blood still fresh on them, and a giant sucker-mouth in the middle of its terrible body, tasting the air as if my brain was just out of its reach. It convulsed and let out a shattering wail, which was answered in kind under our feet.
“Shit goddammit,” I shuddered, throwing the thing away like a live grenade. My head thrummed, but the pain was gone. I felt clearer. “My name is Roan Harken,” I choked, before the world toppled and the ground surged.
We were thrown aside and stopped only by the pit wall. The wailing got higher and louder, and all we could do was cover our ears and shout.
“You can remember?” my cohort screamed.
I dared to think about it and found no nausea fly up to meet it. I suspended reality (however much there was left) and guessed that the worm on my head had been feeding on my memories and making a damn fine feast of them. But some things were coming back: We weren’t down here by accident, but by design — my design. I’d brought us here. I was still fuzzy on the why.
“Sort of,” I admitted. “But I still have no idea what the hell we’re going to do about them.”
The worms had decided, apparently, that it’d be a better bet to join together and take us out at once. Their bodies wound into one massive, throbbing worm, pulling away from the ground and looming over us with a thousand aggravated squeals.
And the squeals formed a gut-piercing word: “HUNGRY!”
I was pulled roughly to my feet. “Get behind me!”
This was an awkward request, given the chained-uped-ness going on, and I was in no mood to let this random whackadoo be chivalrous. “Why?” I shouted. “What the hell can you do to get us out of this?”
His expression went from heroic to blank. The shrieking mass-worm pitched down and launched at us. It had a hundred piercing sucker-mouths and zero patience for us.
I pushed my prison-mate back and held my free hand up. I felt a slight tingle from my elbow to my fingertips, but I definitely wasn’t expecting the air in my palm to catch fire and launch a comet’s blaze at the hungry, writhing mass.
The heat was explosive, and my cohort reactionary — he leapt to the side and dragged me down with him, so that we were a bundle of limbs tumbling out of the way of slimy, charred offal raining down on our heads.
“What the hell was that?” my buddy-in-arms shouted in my face before being clocked in the side of the face with a screaming wretch-worm detached from its hive. Half burnt, the thing still had some kick left in it, and when I ripped it off my cohort’s head, it sizzled in my palms like a live steak.
“Agh!” I hurled it away from us, but I could see that the worms that had survived my attack were regrouping. A second layer of demon-slugs was churning up from under our feet, too, respawning for the next wave.
My friend was blank again. “Is this really happening? What’s —”
“No time.” I yanked us over, my hands feeling for the wall of the pit. “I could probably barbecue these things all day, but I have a feeling there’s an infinite supply of them down here.” I felt around, but the rock was flat. “Dammit! Can’t climb out, can’t see a foot in front of us, going to be eaten by giant-ass worms . . . don’t you have anything to contribute?” I whirled on him, indignant. “What were you gonna do back there with the big one, anyway? Stare vacantly at them until they got bored?”
It was his turn to scowl. “I don’t just stare at things! I got that thing off your head, remember? Before that you were as useful as a paperweight. Maybe if I —”
He stopped midsentence, and our chained-hands slapped the back of his neck. Sure enough, dug deep in his black hair . . .
Schplorp. The memory-eating slug pulled away with a horrible sucking noise and a cry of dismay, cheated out of its meal. Luckily my hot-plate hands charred it to silence.
At first, he smiled with relief, then he clutched his chest, bringing me up short and so close to him that I was immediately uncomfortable. “Wha-what’s going on?”
It was like a sea of ice was pressed between us — cold and harsh and powerful enough to capsize me. Whatever fire was inside of my body shrank from it, and I managed to push away his shirt to reveal the rough-cut stone I’d seen earlier.
It was pulsing in short bursts of white light, with a flicker of gold at the centre. When I looked back up into his eyes for an explanation, they were clear as the cold shard under my hand.
“My name is Eli Rathgar,” he said. Then he put the other arm around me and held me tight. “And I think I have a way out of this.”
“What the hell are you —” I blurted, but then he tilted his head upwards and closed his eyes as if I wasn’t there.
I felt his body heave, and with a grunt two huge somethings crackled and burst out of the back of his already wrecked shirt. They were huge and black and heavy.
I gaped, resisting the urge to pump my fist. Instead, I swallowed and held on. With a slight bend in his knees, Eli launched upward, wings stirring the grey fumes to reveal the thousands of worms rearing up and shrieking at their meal’s getaway.
My stomach flipped as we climbed, and I opted to look out and around for a sign of level ground. When we finally broke through the fog and the dark, I let myself get excited.
“I hope you know how to land this thing!” I shouted over the rushing air. He grinned at that, and in a swoop we banked, coming down like a diving swallow until he pulled up short, beat his enormous wings, and brought us to rights with a single step to the ground.
I let out the breath I was holding. “Wow. I take it back. You’ve definitely shot up the what-are-you-good-for pyramid.” I disengaged from him gingerly because he hadn’t yet let go. Before, his eyes had been human and affable. Now they were intense and unrelenting. They were weighing me as though he’d never seen me before.
I backed up as far as our short leash would allow. “Uh . . . what’s up?”
He snapped his arm up and mine along with it, the golden chain glinting in the grey light. He wasn’t studying the chain — he was studying me.
“Your eyes. They’re different colours.” His head tilted, like an animal’s. I didn’t contradict him.
“What else do you remember, before coming here?” he asked coolly — a demand more than a question — and he sounded accustomed to having those demands met.
I flinched, but he wouldn’t put his arm down. “Like I said, not much. My name, my . . . family .
. . I live with my aunt and uncle, but . . . we were staying with my grandmother. No. Not with her. In her . . . house.” Then an image flashed over the vision in my left eye, and I jerked. Superimposed over Eli’s face was an owl — the piercing golden glare of a prey animal about to clamp down with its powerful beak. His hand was an obsidian set of razor talons. And the feathers of his face concealed a hatred I recognized.
Then warmth and terror cascaded across my sight, a tidal wave that sent me reeling and trying to shut it out. I couldn’t make sense of it — a woman who was also a fox made of towering flames, rabbits with severed limbs, and a girl with hair-antlers. An Inuit teen divided a river, a man with dark wings and a vendetta.
And an enormous snake-woman with her mouth open.
I swallowed my gorge before it came up again, and when the images finally dissolved, I focused again on Eli, who hadn’t moved.
“I can’t . . . make sense of my memories,” I lied. Things were still blurry, but I knew that he and I were not allies.
He finally blinked — for a second I thought his eyes had changed. “Neither can I. But I have a feeling I want to kill you.” He pulled a bit against the chain binding us together, testing it. “Which would be inconvenient, given our current state of . . . dependency.”
I swallowed but couldn’t help cocking an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style with my bloated corpse or anything.”
His mouth twitched, but he fought the grin. I assumed showing any good humour was against his character; no wonder he wanted to kill me. “Look,” I tried, “we are down here for a reason. And we’re down here together. I don’t think that was an accident, but because I planned it. And I don’t think I would’ve put us together so intimately if I wanted us to fail or I was remotely suicidal. I’m guessing, anyway.” I stepped closer, keeping eye contact and trying to assert myself, despite being a head shorter than him. “Like you said down in the pit. We have to work together if we’re going to get out of this. So maybe put aside the homicidal yearnings for just a little while longer, and I promise we can get back to each other’s throats once this is done. How’s that sound?”
Eli’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything. Then he winced again, clutching his chest. “Ugh . . . can’t you hear that?”
“What?” I took a panicked look around; it was slightly brighter out here, and I could make out the dark shapes of twisted trees in the distance, tendrils of acrid smoke-fog still crept around our ankles. Though we’d been expertly pounced-upon earlier, it was quiet. I wondered how long that’d last.
Then Eli parted his shirt, chin down as he examined the stone in his chest. Seeing it up close now, it almost looked as though the stone was growing as a fungus would; there were smaller, glittering “spores” around the source stone, pushing the flesh away wherever it grew. It was still glowing, and I didn’t dare touch it.
Instead, I took a chance while Eli was mesmerized. “What is it?”
He sighed for a moment, searching for the answer behind closed eyes. “The Tradewind Moonstone. I . . . earned it.” When his eyes opened, they’d lost their intensity, and they seemed sad. “I can’t remember why I wanted it. And I think it’s . . . speaking to me now. There are many voices in my head. They told me how to get us out of that pit back there. And they’re telling me that you need to die. But I’m able to resist their influence, and I don’t think they’re pleased. I . . . know how crazy this all sounds. A talking stone with a mind of its own.”
I frowned, but didn’t question him. I had a feeling all this stuff was legit, despite my immediate skepticism. I decided to meet him halfway.
“When I looked at you just now . . . you were an owl. I could only see it through this eye.” I pointed at my left. He nodded. “And I saw all kinds of other things, things that might seem crazy, too, but . . .” I looked down at my palms. “I can shoot fire out of my hands. We’re on an even playing field.”
He covered the stone with the tatters of his shirt. “You’ve got a point —”
An explosion rocked the air. I wheeled one arm, and we just caught ourselves in time for another horrible boom that sent us reeling again. The almost-thunder continued on with a steady beat. Then it stopped. My ears and knees rang with the reverberations, and I peered past Eli into the black knot of trees a hundred feet away, just in time to see a big one come crashing down. The fog and the dirt settled, but in the wake of the fallout, a peal of agonized screams followed, much worse and more pained than the worms. What the hell was this place? We looked at each other.
Eli squinted into the distance. “I have a feeling our time is limited, so we’d better get started doing . . . whatever it is.”
I don’t know how, but I suddenly felt he knew exactly where we were, and what would happen once we entered the dark bones of the woods. I wondered how long it’d take for the dazzling stone in his chest to convince him to cut the chain holding us together and leave me here to die.
I clenched my fists; they were warm, and that warmth tingled and spread throughout my limbs. He may have flight, but I could burn those wings off him if I needed to. I forced my face to become a blank slate, trying to prepare for whatever betrayal or pitfall I was about to face.
“Let’s get a move on, then.” I steeled myself as we set off at an even, cautious pace, the chain around our arms tightening as we headed for the trees.
*
Phae helps Natti up off the floor, making sure she hasn’t sustained any injuries. The Owls around them seem lost now without their leader. Which means that Roan has succeeded — so far.
The doors of the legislative building crack open, and in come more men and women — older, less intimidating, yet purpled with rage all the same.
“What is the meaning of this?” shrieks the large man in the front.
Alien, horrible cries rise up to meet the challenge. The river hunters, led by Brother, slink from the shadows with their sideways teeth bared and throats chattering for more bloodshed.
Unsure, but tense for another round, Natti elbows Phae behind her. “Get back there and put up one of your fancy shields. Your other one is probably down by now.”
Phae scampers away, leaving Natti to it. Although the sprinklers have run their course, there’s still some errant puddles lying around, just enough to . . .
Another man, one with an ample steel-grey mane, strides forward and brings with him a storm-wind so fierce that Natti is lifted then dropped hard enough for her to lose her breath. She watches in dismay as the water dries up around her. The hunters shriek, skittering into shadows or heading for the broken windows from whence they’d come. Without water, their allegiance is broken.
But Brother lays his river-reeking body over Natti’s and hisses venom as the powerful Owl approaches her. He stops. “This hunter is protecting you? How?”
Natti puts a hand on Brother’s nearest claw, gently pushing him away. Though he obeys, he does not go far.
“He’s protecting our interests, you could say.” Natti wipes a hand past her lip to remove the blood there. Giving the man a once-over, Natti recognizes him. “You’re his father, then. The nasty one that was after Roan.”
The man’s sharp eyes narrow. “Where is Eli?”
Natti straightens to her full height, standing tall despite barely exceeding five feet.
Natti snorts, making a decision. “This way,” she turns, motioning for Brother to watch the man and his entourage as they make their way to the Pool of the Black Star. The other Owls, dumbstruck, come out of their shocked paralysis and follow.
Barton is still in the same spot, the marble tiles around his spirit-arms crumbling into finer and finer pieces as the roots penetrate for a stronger hold. Arnas is muttering reassurances, telling his pupil to just hold on, just a little longer, but Natti can see that keeping the gateway open is taking its toll. The golden rings set in the ground are fixed and strobing, an
d Barton shudders, eyes screwed shut, threads of light clinging to his shoulders.
As they get closer, Natti realizes that they aren’t threads, but chains. They are knotted between Barton’s limbs like a cat’s cradle, and they culminate in one line, which feeds into the pit the newborn Rabbit is straining to keep open. The crumbled tile floats around the black cavern, tiny fingers of lightning bouncing off each shard. There is a foul grave stench coming from the pit.
“By all that is Ancient . . .” a woman with raven hair murmurs. “They’ve opened the Bloodgate.”
Another man sputters, “Solomon, do something! Arrest them, close the portal! Who knows what could come out of that hole!”
Solomon stares into the pit, wordless. Phae and Natti exchange glances. They have nothing left to fight with now, fully surrounded and outnumbered, with maybe one river hunter to their name against dozens of Owls, and what appears to be their interim leader, now that Eli is gone. And if this is Eli’s father, then surely he wants the same end for Roan that his son so desperately desires.
But Solomon does not look away from the open gateway, eyes fixed on the chain that vanishes down into it.
“My son is down there, isn’t he.” His voice is soft, and it isn’t a question.
Natti nods. “They’re down there together. They’re going after the targe.”
Solomon swallows. But the first man, wiry and furious, gnashes his teeth. “The targe!” he all but screams. “Stop this abomination now! The Fox-girl —”
“My son,” Solomon bellows, and the chamber is silent — even he did not expect the words to rush out, but they are painful and necessary, another wound opening afresh.
Solomon turns to them all, Natti and Phae included. “The Narrative has changed. We were fools to believe it wouldn’t. The time has come to realize we are custodians of a dead god, and our story is ours to shape.” He turns back to the maw in the earth, expanding and shrinking, it seems, as the Rabbit beyond the edge strains to control it.