The White Towers

by Andy Remic

  “No,” hissed Zastarte, glaring at Dek; but his teeth clacked shut.

  “Dek’s right. We’re no use to anybody like this. We need to rest and plan. Come on.” Kiki started off across the snow, each footstep leaden and weary.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I know a family who live a few miles from here. They have a farmhouse with a welcoming fire and, I hope above all else, fresh baked bread, butter and a spot of red wine. Hot water would be an incredible bonus.”

  Dek and Zastarte glanced at Kiki’s retreating back, then over at the high black walls of Zanne; shut down, closed down, silent and ominous.

  “Don’t think we’re leaving her,” said Zastarte, fire in his eyes, “because we’re not.”

  “Nobody is thinking that, lad,” said Dek, gently, and guided the distraught figure of Zastarte after Kiki, whilst all the time thinking, I knew it, deep down in my heart and soul, I knew it – but didn’t quite believe it. I knew this bastard was capable of some kind of love for something other than his own lustful pleasures, his hard cock and the gleaming gold in his purse; but imagine choosing here, and now, this place, this time, to fall in love with the most savage, man-hating, ball-slicing back-stabbing bitch in the whole of Vagandrak? Not just bad luck, my friend, but an emotion just about ready to get you cut down in an instant.

  Dek followed Zastarte, his nose and ribs throbbing, the cold wind biting him like a merciless wolf.

  The farmhouse, a large white building backed by cobbled yards and five generous barns, was deserted, and there was evidence the occupants had left in a hurry. The front door was half open and snow had piled through into the hallway. Kiki shouted out a few greetings, but there came no answer. The kitchen had items strewn over table and floor, and Kiki bent, lifting a fallen chair and placing it on the flagstone floor with a clack.

  “They left in a hurry,” observed Dek.

  “I wonder where they went?” said Zastarte, who had calmed down considerably and seemed to have withdrawn into himself, almost in the sulky state of a child who didn’t get what he wanted.

  “Maybe they saw the elf rats invading the city,” said Kiki, and turned, kicking the snow from the hallway so she could shut the door and throw across a few bolts.

  “We need to check through the rooms,” said Dek. “Make sure everywhere is clear.”

  Kiki nodded, and they moved as a unit carefully through the house. Upstairs, there were several chests half full of clothes; obviously intended for departure, but things must have got worse, and worse fast.

  In one room, a collection of children’s dolls and teddy bears were spilled on the floor and Kiki stooped, lifting one little ragdoll and stroking the soft hair. She carried it with her as they clomped back down the wooden, uncarpeted stairs.

  “At least we can get some sleep,” said Dek, rubbing his exhausted eyes.

  Kiki nodded.

  “Can we light a fire, is the question that burns me?” said Zastarte. “I could do with a hot bath and a hot sweet drink. I’m beginning to stink like a charnel house. Maybe you peasants don’t mind the dried blood and elf rat brainslop, but I certainly do.”

  Zastarte went for wood from the woodshed as Dek used kindling to light a fire in a great iron stove. He rooted through the cupboards and larder, and although many of the supplies had been taken, he found plenty that they could use; two half pigs, cured and salted; onions; potatoes; carrots; some dried and salted fish; some stale loaves of black bread. “This’ll soften nicely in stew,” mumbled Dek, returning with laden arms to the kitchen. Kiki had filled several large brass pans with water from an outside barrel, cracking the icy surface with the hilt of one short sword.

  Zastarte appeared, arms laden with wood, and with Dek they piled the black iron range high and soon watched fireflies dancing up the iron pipe. Both men stepped outside, looking up at the chimney where smoke poured free.

  “Well, every fucker will know we’re here, now,” said Zastarte, words clipped.

  Dek shrugged, and rolled his shoulders. “You know what? That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Kiki appeared. “Who’s doing the cooking? I’m damned if you think I’m doing it, just because I’m the only woman present.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Zastarte, grinning. “I’m sick of eating your tough beef slop. I’ll cook you a meal fit for any princess. As long as you get busy filling that bath with nice hot water. I actually think I’ve got entrails in my hair. Can you believe that? Fucking entrails. In my fucking hair.”

  “Maybe you need to hack it off. It’s looking a bit feminine,” said Dek.

  Zastarte gave him a withering look and the gentlest of nods. “What? And end up with it looking like that?” He gestured. “I’ll take my chances with the entrails, if it’s all the same to you. But on a more positive note, I found something else when I was looking for the woodshed.”

  “Such as?”

  “Horses,” said the dandy. “Live horses.”

  “Much better than dead horses, I think,” snorted Dek.

  “Well, I was actually considering them in a food sense. Fresh meat. After all, we wouldn’t be needing them for a journey – because we’re heading back into Zanne to find Narnok and Trista, aren’t we?”

  Kiki and Dek exchanged a quick glance, which Zastarte noted. He scowled, eyes narrowing, licking his lips and baring his teeth. “I’ll go and prepare us something to eat whilst you two ponder the impending terrible deaths of our abandoned friends. I just want you to be aware that if anything happens to Trista…”

  “Yeah?” said Dek, eyes dangerous, hand on the hilt of his long sword.

  Zastarte grinned. “Then watch your back.”

  Kiki reclined in the hot water, scrubbing at her skin with a block of soap. It felt amazing. It felt more than amazing. An orgasm that lasted over and over and over. The simple, basic premise of washing sweat and gore and crap from her skin until she emerged, scrubbed and pink and… feeling like a woman again. Dek was waiting for her. He grabbed her round the waist, held her naked, but she slapped him in the chest with the heel of her hand. “Get off me you oaf – you stink!”

  “Ha, you didn’t say that the other night in the forest!”

  “That’s because we both stank. Get in the bath and get rid of that filth. Look, you’re covered in elf rat gore. It’s disgusting!”

  “Wait for me, my lady,” he grinned.

  “I’ll be downstairs, helping Zastarte with the food.”

  She moved through to a bedroom, coarse towel wrapped around her, and rummaged through Beth’s old clothes. Beth. Beth. I wonder where you are, Lady of the House? I hope you are well, and that you and Old Skern and the Little Ones are safe. I hope you headed away from this madness. I hope the evil in Zanne didn’t suck you in and tear you down.

  Beth’s clothes fit reasonably well, and Kiki dressed in tight-fitting leggings and a cool cotton shirt of white. She pulled on a thick lambs-wool jumper, and found some soft leather boots, handmade and uneven, but wonderfully comfortable.

  Stepping lightly down the stairs, she found Zastarte frying onions and garlic in butter. He glanced at her, but his face was a mask; unreadable.

  “Would you like me to help?”

  “No.”

  “Have I upset you?”

  “I heard you. Upstairs, with Dek.”

  “Meaning?”

  Zastarte turned on her. “If it was Dek we’d left behind there, in Zanne, we’d already be on the fucking march, searching for another way in, looking to help our old war comrades. We’ve been through a lot together, Kiki, and I know you well, but this turn of events is beneath you. We have abandoned them. Can’t you see that? Left them to fucking die under the claws of the elf rats.”

  “No.” Her face went hard. “We were separated beyond our control. Narnok and Trista are both incredibly competent soldiers; warriors. They are alive, Zast, and you know it, and I bloody know it too.”

  “But how do you know?” he said, almost plea
ding.

  “I am the Heart of the Wolves. You know I only want the best for all of us. And I would crawl over broken glass and a million dead enemies to rescue a single one of you.” She took hold of Zastarte’s shoulders. “You know that, Zast. You fucking know it.”

  “And what about Yoon?”

  “What about him?”

  “About what he said. About Sameska. About Zalazar. About the White Towers and the Elf Heart?”

  “That’s a different discussion,” said Kiki, gently, eyes locked to Zastarte. “But trust me, my friend, when I tell you we’re not going rushing off on some fool’s errand on random information given by some lunatic like Yoon. Narnok is a brother to me, and yes, Trista is a sister to me. You are my family. The Iron Wolves are in my blood. By the Seven Sisters. You are my blood.”

  Zastarte ladled out the onions and garlic – which smelled amazing – and added dried beef, tomatoes and water from a boiling pan, which he then stirred idly as he returned the pan to the hot plate of the wood-burning range. “You want to know what’s ironic?” He barked a short laugh. “I believe him. Believe that mad fuck, Yoon. I think what he said is true. It was like a prediction, Kiki. A vision of the future; like he knew the fucking elf rats were going to invade Vagandrak.” He stumbled into silence, stirring the bubbling broth.

  “Let’s eat, and sleep, and regain our strength,” said Kiki, wincing as Dek’s stitches pulled tight in her side. “Trista will be all right. I promise.”

  “Yes,” nodded Zastarte, and listened to Kiki move away, back up the stairs, to the encompassing arms of her lover.

  Nobody saw the tears running down his cheeks.

  She ran her hands through the curled hair on Dek’s chest, and lowered herself onto his throbbing, erect cock. It eased inside her, an inch at a time, and she closed her eyes, throwing her head back, chewing her lower lip. His hands found hers, their fingers interlocking, and she pushed down on him with every beat of her heart, every th-thump of her twin hearts. And as they fucked long into the dark hours of the night, the world and battle and Vagandrak, everything fell away in that basic farmhouse bedroom, lit by candlelight; everything fell away, slow swirling like oil down a sink hole. And even as Kiki felt herself rising to climax, and her eyes flickered open to see Dek writhing beneath her, his teeth gritted, face beautiful in this moment despite his absolute lack of beauty, she felt their union, their symbiotic power, the rush of blood through veins, and she came with a long low moan and felt him come inside her, felt his hot rush and his total utter abandon, and then she collapsed on him, rolled to his side, snuggled into his cuddle, one hand on his heaving chest as his panting quickly receded and he turned to look at her.

  “You’re beautiful, my lady,” he said, eyes earnest and bright.

  “Fuck off. You’ve got what you want, you don’t need to mock me.”

  “I’m serious.” He jacked himself up on one elbow. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. You look…” he stroked her red-flushed cheek, “radiant.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, snuggling against him again. Outside, wind and ice needles drove against the windows, howling. The storm had returned with a vengeance.

  “Yeah. And they all believe it.”

  “Bastard.” She punched him in the bicep.

  “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “Want me to kiss it better?”

  “So soon?”

  “I’m a hard woman to please,” she said, stroking his sex-warm flesh.

  “Go on then. Kiss it better,” he said; and she did.

  An undulating, snow-filled plain.

  Trees surrounded the edges, tall and thick and foreboding. Creatures watched from the dark places. They were wolves. She could sense they were wolves. She could smell the blood on their muzzles. Smell the need in them. The lust for the kill.

  Five figures walked towards her, boots crunching in the snow. They halted. She could see them more clearly now.

  “We have come for you, Kiki, Captain of the Iron Wolves.”

  Kiki drew both her swords.

  “At least tell me who you are, before I fucking kill you.”

  “We are the Tree Stalkers,” said a tall, beautiful figure. His limbs were slightly twisted, his eyes black like molten glass. “And I am Aeoxir. Remember it well.” He charged, and Kiki’s swords attacked in a blur of steel. But he was too fast, sweeping past her, hardly shifting to avoid her clumsy strokes. She felt both her belly and throat part under soft whispers of razor steel. Watched in disbelief as her blood pattered to the crisp white snow, and felt the shift as her bowels spilled from her opened abdomen…

  She hit the ground with a grunt, which spat blood before her disbelieving eyes.

  And, as shadows fell over her, she closed her eyes and her mouth filled with warm blood and she remembered how hot the blade had been; the one that cut across her throat.

  Dek slept, and Kiki stared at the ceiling, shivering. There were cracks in the plaster running diagonally between the beams. She wondered if Old Skern knew. She wondered if Beth was still alive, and she pictured the woman’s round, happy face, remembering the time at the Cider Fayre when they’d both got stinking drunk and Old Skern had had to bring them back to this very farmhouse in a cart. She realised tears were on her cheeks. Gods be with you and your family, Beth, she thought.

  And she thought about Aeoxir.

  Thought about the chilling ice of the razor across her throat.

  Beth? Old Skern? Like you give a flying fucking barrel of horse shit. Suza sidled into the dark recesses of Kiki’s mind, and Kiki felt herself sigh internally. And yet she could see Suza, hazy, as if through a veil and standing in the corner of a fire-scorched room.

  What do you want?

  I want nothing you haven’t already given me.

  Well fuck off, then, thought Kiki. I’m tired of your… presence.

  You’re tired? That amuses me greatly, sister of mine. Because if you’re tired, then you’re weary, and if you’re weary, you’ve had enough of the world and, hopefully, you’ll soon be hanging from a noose tied by those delicate, pretty little fingers of yours. Oh how pretty they are, long and white and tapered; the nails could do with a bit of a manicure, but that’s, as we all know, because you like to play hard and rough with all the soldier boys.

  Haven’t you got something better to do?

  Of course. Always have. But sometimes, it’s fun to poke shit at you, you useless, pointless excretion.

  Kiki smiled to herself, and rolled from the bed. She glanced down at Dek. Gods, if he knew the shit that went on inside my head. Surely he’d think I was…

  Crazy, agreed Suza.

  Do I have no secrets from you, bitch?

  None at all. She felt, more than saw, Suza smile in the blackened room. But she felt it. The lies. The fake.

  You’re lying, realised Kiki. You know some things, but others are a distant dream from when you were alive.

  Horse shit!

  No, I am right. In the same way you can no longer experience the amazing sensation of a man’s huge cock inside you, bringing you to a slick, fast, hard, mind-blowing realm of fucking ecstasy, so you can no longer see into my thoughts, or into my heart. Something’s changed, hasn’t it, Suza? That’s why you’re here. You want something, bitch.

  I want nothing! The scream almost blew Kiki’s brain out through her ears with its random suddenness and terrible ferocity. No human vocal cords should have been able to make a sound like that; but then, this was not a sound in the air, but a pulse of power, or magick, in the mind.

  The world seemed to blend, to merge, and Kiki was in that fire-blackened room. Above her, fire ravaged timbers creaked, bowed, barely able to support the roof. Through ragged gaps she saw a sky so black it was a bottomless chasm. There were no stars. Around her, the walls had been kissed and devoured by flame, and yet still stood, carbon-smeared stone proud and solid and refusing to buckle. But the worst thing was the stench, the absolute terrible f
ucking stench of the fire. It was more than woodsmoke, more than warm ashes; it was scorched flesh, pig flesh, human flesh, rich and ripe with bubbling fat and the sickly sweet aroma of over-cooked baby meat. Kiki nearly gagged, but forced herself into some semblance of civility and sanity and her head came up and she saw the dark, blackened face of Suza.

  “Welcome to my world,” said Suza.

  “I came invited?”

  “Of course not. You are a fucking intruder.”

  Suza took a step forward. Her clothes were melted rags. Every inch of her skin was blackened, dry, cracked. Her hair was crisp dry stalks. Her fingernails had burned free. Only her eyes held colour, and they were dark, glittering, and filled with a purity of hate directed straight at Kiki.

  “You brought me here,” said Kiki, frowning, unsure.

  “You brought yourself here. You stepped across the threshold. I want you to leave.”

  Kiki smiled, then, a long, slow smile. “You want me to leave?”

  “Fucking leave, fucking bitch,” snapped Suza, taking another quick step forward. Her hands curled into claws. “Before I take out your eyes.”

  “Relax, sister,” soothed Kiki, but she changed her position with infinite subtlety, awaiting the attack, making herself better placed to defend. “I’m not here to ruin your day. Or your life. Not like you seem to try and ruin mine!”

  “I show you things; I keep it real,” snarled Suza.

  Kiki laughed, a laugh filled with mockery. “Oh do fuck off. You torture me for your own personal amusement; you cause me pain to exact some kind of petty retribution for the pain you suffered at my hands. Well, I’m sorry, Suza. If I could take it back, I would. If I could change the past, I would. But I cannot. Are we going to play this silly, petty game for the rest of our existence?”

  “Until the day you die,” spat Suza, so full of hate it filled her to the brim.

  Kiki felt her own anger fire through her like acid, and she stalked forward as Suza raised her hands, palms outwards.

  “I’m sick of this game. Release me from this place! And leave me alone!”