The White Towers

by Andy Remic

  “I’ve come to warn you,” said Suza.

  “Yeah? Horse shit!”

  “No, really… when you step back into your own world, into your own time; Sameska the elf rat is even now sneaking through the kitchen of the farmhouse. I don’t know if his intentions are murder, or help; but I do know the elf rats must be halted.”

  Kiki stopped, scowling, and glanced over her shoulder. “Back there? Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why the fuck would you warn me?”

  “Because the elf rats are a scourge on our land.” Then she smiled. “Even worse than the fucking Shamathe.”

  Kiki gave a nod, turned, and felt herself squash through an invisible barrier. Then she was back, and Dek was snoring softly, and she grabbed one of her short swords and, naked, hair swaying to her shoulders, moved to the stairwell and listened.

  All was silent.

  She trod carefully, one step at a time, shivering a little. They’d allowed the kitchen range to extinguish, and the winter cold was fighting a winning battle against the insulated warmth of the borrowed home.

  Sameska was seated in a rounded comfort chair, head tilted to one side, watching as Kiki approached through the doorway. He had his narrow bony limbs crossed before him, long fingers like talons submissive in his lap in a non-threatening way. Kiki met that gaze, met those bright yellow eyes, those large eyes in the oval face with skin like bark, deeply grooved and marked, almost like tattoos of wood grain, and she smiled gently, walking forward, grabbing a blanket from another chair and wrapping it around her shoulders for modesty. She seated herself opposite Sameska on a wide couch, and crossed her legs, arranging her blanket discreetly, sword across her lap.

  “You came back,” she said, finally.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of you, Kiki.” He looked at her, almost shyly. “Because of your past. Because you were born… different.”

  Kiki blinked. Her breath eased out like oiled smoke. “How could you know that?”

  “You are Shamathe. I am an elf, dear lady. Born of the earth and the trees. Us rats, us elf rats, are not so different from your kind.”

  Kiki considered this. “I cannot control my powers,” she said, eventually. “They are available to me only on occasion; and even then, they are so terrible I feel like a tiny fishing boat lost at high sea in a raging storm. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” said Sameska, gently. “You lost your control when you submitted to Dalgoran’s curse, the curse that infected all of the Iron Wolves. In fact, do you realise the curse relied on your Shamathe ability? No, I did not think you understood the magick which governs you all. General Dalgoran was a wily one. He mined you like they mine for gold; used you, as a binding tool to hold the Iron Wolves together; to give them strength. If you die, Kiki, you all die.” He whispered the last few words, and Kiki felt a terrible chill run through her soul. Her hackles rose on the back of her neck and she felt herself drop into the chilly embrace of understanding.

  “Thank you for sharing that information. I will keep it to heart. But there is another reason you have come.”

  “Yes.”

  “You need our help?”

  “Very observant, Kiki. But it will involve very great danger, for no personal gain.”

  “We have friends, trapped in the city of Zanne. Indeed, they are trapped by your kind. By elf rats. We watched hordes of elf rats stampeding through the streets, hunting down survivors, pulling children limb from limb.”

  Sameska gave a nod, and Kiki was surprised to see tears running down his cheeks. “There are some of, as you say, my kind, who have sunk very low indeed. But your friends are safe; for now.”

  “How do you know?”

  Sameska closed his eyes. “I can find my way there, through the roots of every tree and holly bush and blade of grass. The big one with the axe, and the ice-eyed woman of cold beauty, they fought their way free and escaped into an old factory. The woman of ice stitched the big man’s wounds. They are safe. For now.”

  “This is true? True?”

  “Yes. I do not lie.”

  “But your deviated people invade our lands and murder our fucking children.”

  “Yes. The situation is far more dire than you could ever imagine. Daranganoth, the elf rat king, has ordered his armies out of Zalazar to annihilate your kind, in return for the genocide and poisoning visited on our people centuries earlier by the lineage of King Yoon, and King Tarek before him. Their bloodline has been condemned by Daranganoth. Extermination is his aim. He is a king filled with bitterness, hate, and a singular lack of mercy.”

  “These armies – they are in Zanne? Now? They are in our cities?”

  “No,” said Sameska, softly. “Those are just the Flood. Sent in advance with the elf rat sorcerer, Bazaroth aea Quazaquiel, to take key strategic points across Vagandrak; to take the cities and religious places, where our stones are buried. General Namash is here, also, with a scouting force; the real armies are on their way, and when they come they will hunt down every one of King Yoon’s battalions and smash them in bloody war. Your men will have nowhere to turn; nowhere to find food and shelter and weapons. They would have to lay siege to their own cities. An ironic reversal. And they would be broken.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Kiki could not keep the sneer of cynicism from her voice.

  “King Yoon was correct when he told you of Zalazar, when he spoke about the White Towers. And I know they have been in your dreams these long months… have they not?”

  Kiki nodded, sneer tumbling from her face to be replaced by the images from her dreams; from her nightmares.

  “You must travel there, find the Elf Heart. And either bring it back to Zanne, bring it home to me. Or destroy it, if you can. We will be purified. The elf rats will regain their nobility, their kindness, their humility, and their sense of civilisation.”

  Kiki stared at Sameska for a long, long time. “I could ask if it was a trap, but that would be pointless. I believe that you are far more powerful than anyone could imagine. Am I right, Sameska? I believe what you’re saying is true; however, what I want to know is, why don’t you do it?”

  Sameska smiled, then. “That is one of the great ironies. If an elf rat touches the Elf Heart, they turn to ash. If you like, it is our curse, visited upon us by the ancient magickers and Shamathes of Vagandrak. The only people who can save us, return us to some semblance of civilisation, are those very people who exterminated us. The Elf Heart is not our creation, Kikellya Mandasayard; it is yours. This was a way the magickers protected themselves.”

  “Finally, Sameska, tell me: what do you get out of this?” Her eyes held those of the elf rat, and they sat in silence for long moments.

  “Can you not see, Shamathe? Can you not read my thoughts?”

  And Kiki could see past burning moorlands and fire-filled citadels, a great battle raging. Two brothers at war to be the ruling leader of the land of Zalazar. On the one side, leading massive armies of mounted elf rats on twisted horse beasts from horror came Daranganoth, mighty, barrel-chested, twisted out of all recognition; and on the other side, leading battalions of elf rat soldiers in silver and black armour came… Sameska. Two brothers. Fighting to be… king.

  Kiki gasped. “You want to rule?”

  “I want my people back,” said Sameska, “but more, I want diplomacy, I want society, I want civilisation. I do not want war and retribution. I do not want fucking carnage.”

  “Why not?” snarled Kiki. “What makes you so different?”

  “Because we can exist together in this world, Kikellya. If not in Vagandrak, then in Zalazar – or in other places. I see my brothers and sisters being slaughtered, and I am tired of the death, exhausted by slaughter. I want peace, Kiki. And you, and your Iron Wolves, can help save not just Vagandrak, but the elf rats from your darkest legends. You can put right what is wrong. You can make good the evil of Vagandrak’s past.”

  Kiki placed
her chin on her fist and stared hard at Sameska. There came a sound from behind, and Zastarte glided into the room. His sword was out, glittering alongside his eyes. He was staring at Sameska, and then turned to Kiki.

  “You heard that?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough.”

  “And your thoughts?”

  Zastarte weighed up his response, then snapped at Sameska. “For some reason which is unfathomable, I actually fucking believe this twisted pile of shit. And if he can prove to me, prove to me, that Trista – and Narnok, obviously – are still alive in Zanne, and if he can assure me Trista – and Narnok, obviously – aren’t about to be viciously slaughtered, then I agree to accompany you, Kikellya,” he grinned, then, “on this madcap fool’s fucking errand to save not just our own world, but those of our ancient enemies who are now toxic deviations polluting our land with their poisonous trees.” He smiled broadly. “How do we keep getting into these rancid piles of staggered horse shit?”

  “We need to talk to Dek. Go get him.”

  “That’s all right. Dek’s already here,” said the big man, easing himself from the gloom of the corridor.

  “You were both there the whole time?” said Kiki.

  Dek nodded. “Let’s call it protection; backup for the Little Lady.” He gave her a wink.

  “I have one more thing to say, before I leave for the snow and the poison seeping into your land, into your trees. You may have noticed them already? The toxicity of Zalazar is making its way here through root and bedrock and river and leyline; it could be surmised King Daranganoth is intent on making your slaughter a one-way process.” He smiled, teeth like thorns.

  “Speak,” said Kiki, all too aware that the presence of Zastarte and Dek with weapons drawn, two of the most evil, lethal bastards she knew, had done nothing to even make Sameska stutter. He was indeed an elf rat without fear; or one of the best poker players Kiki had ever come across in a lifetime of gambling in shit-holes and Red Thumb gambling dens.

  “There is a great threat to you, Kiki, and to you alone. They are aware of you. They have been sent for you. They may even have appeared in your dreams.”

  Kiki felt goose bumps crawling up and down her arms.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tree Stalkers.”

  A cold silence met Sameska’s words, as they all tried to digest the name, and indeed, the concept it represented.

  “Tree Stalkers?” said Dek, eventually.

  “They are our natural killers. Our elite. The nightmares that stalk children’s dreams. The reality that rips out throats and spines in the dead of night. These are King Daranganoth’s elite. His special killers. His shadows in the dark. They are patient, and they are merciless, and they are deadly. They will come for you in your sleep. Always in your sleep. They will send in their quests…”

  “Quests?”

  “Thin roots which come from their hands, they can crawl inside your brain through ears and nose and mouth and rip your head apart with a simple tug. Failing that, they will face you in battle. They are fast, and deadly. Beyond the understanding of mortal man.”

  “I’m pretty fucking deadly myself,” growled Dek.

  Sameska threw him such a look that Dek went cold inside.

  “You will know them when you see them,” said Sameska, “and they will hunt you through Vagandrak to take your souls back to the Dark Places; back to the Toxic City. First there is Ugrak, brutal, primitive, he is basic and simple but so, so strong. Try chopping down a five hundred year oak with a hand axe. That is Ugrak. Then comes Aeoxir, a thief of shadows, covert in every word and action and deed. His intelligence is legendary. He plays life and death as if it is a board game; and he is always the winner. His special skill is that he can merge with the trees. Become completely invisible. Become a part of the woodland. Then, there is Ffaefel, incredibly tall and thin and elegant. It is said he sleeps with other males, and young boys, and slits their throats after copulation. That is his ejaculation: the bringing of death. There is Sileath, the only female of the group. She is like smoke, dark smoke inhaled through a drug pipe. She will intoxicate your mind and get in close and deliver a blade to the heart. It is why she was born. Why she was twisted. Why she was trained.

  “And finally, there is Villiboch – a warrior and archer beyond compare. He is the leader of the group, and without doubt the most deadly elf rat ever to walk the lands of Zalazar. He has bested more than two hundred contenders in single combat. Most matches – and these were against the most deadly swordsmen and warriors in our lands – most matches last less than a minute. I have seen this amoral bastard fight; and he is like nothing on the face of our decadent planet.”

  Sameska trailed off into silence, and looked away, and then back at Dek, then Zastarte, and finally Kiki. “It is unfair of me to ask you to do this thing. I know how large are the risks, and I know the probable outcome. And yet I must ask you. It is not something I can physically accomplish myself.”

  “So what will you do here?” said Kiki.

  “I will work at bringing down Daranganoth from the inside. I will do my utmost to slay his primary weapon.”

  “Primary weapon?” Zastarte raised his eyebrows.

  “The elf rat sorcerer, Bazaroth aea Quazaquiel. He is dangerous beyond belief.”

  “How will you do that?” said Kiki, voice low and level.

  “I will find Narnok and Trista,” said Sameska, with a smile of sharp, slightly twisted thorns. “And I will help rally the rebels inside the city – ready for your triumphant return with the Elf Heart. Either that, or its destruction.”

  Sleep came easily to Dek. He snored the snore of a pig, and Kiki was annoyed at first, and then grinned to herself. Better the snore of a pig, than the utter total silence of loneliness, she tried to convince herself. It was a hard fight to win.

  She lay on her back, the blankets warm around her, cosy, pondering the words of Sameska. A long journey. Hunted. Battles. War. But then, wasn’t that a description of her entire fucking life? Not for her the chance to settle down, find the right man, marry, have children. Raise those children with love and education and understanding.

  But why? Why not?

  It was in her hand before she even realised, and slowly she placed the stolen honey-leaf coin from the Zanne processing plant under her tongue. The reaction was almost automatic, a reflex instinctive rather than learned. The hard coin softened, and slowly crumbled, and gradually melted. It tasted bitter. And yet the bitterness was like an old, welcome friend. A fine whiskey. A perfect steak. The passionate kiss from a perfect partner on New Year.

  The honey-leaf crumbled under Kiki’s tongue, and Kiki crumbled into the honey-leaf.

  And it felt good.

  It felt right.

  And nothing, nothing, could ever be the same again.

  Can you control it?

  Hell yes!

  Really?

  No, not really.

  So. Can you control it?

  What the fuck do you think?

  Do you want to control it?

  Sometimes, I’m beyond giving a fuck. Sometimes, I wonder what death will be like. I’m tired of the fight. I’m tired of the struggle. Sometimes – sometimes – I wonder what it would be like to simply lie down, and go to sleep, and stay asleep. Forever. No more waking up into pain and anguish and battle. No more messing about with the pain that is life.

  Do you think that’s normal?

  Who gives a fuck? And what’s normal, anyway? I know what I feel, and I know what I want.

  And what do you want?

  I want another honey-leaf.

  Do you think Dek will value your new path?

  Fuck him.

  Really?

  No, not really.

  So you respect him?

  More than anybody.

  This will torture him.

  Maybe.

  So you have no respect for him.

  Of cour
se I do. Of course! I love him. I love him more than words can say. I’ve come a long way through the shit, and he’s my guiding light; my moral beacon.

  So… why are you doing this, then?

  Because I can.

  Really?

  Because I want to.

  Do you really want to?

  I cannot help myself.

  And do you want help to escape?

  No. Fuck the help.

  So you enjoy the drug?

  I need the drug.

  You enjoy the pain?

  Kiki blinked in the candlelight, and ran her hand down Dek’s flank. Fuck yes; pain is what tells you you’re still alive.

  RED THUMBS

  The four huge dogs – Duchess, Duke, Sarge and the monster from Hell that was Thrasher – charged with scrabbling claws across polished marble leaving trails of saliva. At the last minute, Narnok turned and heaved Trista to one side, grabbed a nearby chair and leapt up onto the long feasting table, boots scarring the highly polished surface. Duchess came first, and the heavy wood clubbed her down. She rolled, yelping to one side, and came up fast. Then the other dogs were there and Narnok laid into them, the chair smashing into pieces in his fists. Thuds echoed out as Narnok beat all four dogs from the air like a batsman playing Heart Ball, and they fell, yelping, rolling, and Narnok’s eyes found Mola and the two men exchanged a moment and Mola knew, knew Narnok was playing the kind man, the kind soul, and suddenly he threw down the sticks and hefted his axe and it was no longer a game. Mola had had his chance, and Narnok had given him an opportunity, but now, if he didn’t call them off, real blood would be spilt…

  Narnok readied himself with his axe. In truth, he loved dogs, and it hurt him to beat even these huge shaggy brutes with a club. But this was no game and they’d drag him down and tear him apart given half the chance. Narnok was under no delusions as to their ferocity. It was just… he remembered his puppy. And he fucking loved puppies.

  “Dogs!” roared Mola. “Down!”

  Three turned to stare at him, almost in disbelief. Only Duchess obeyed immediately for she loved him without question. She was a good bitch.