by Brandon Barr
Aven nodded as the VOKK translated telepathy. He recalled Daeymara and Harvest. Piz’s words made sense. How had such a horrific animal come to exist?
“There’s no way to shut it off?”
“Nah, that’s the beauty of it,” said Piz. “When you wake, after he’s ripped the bowels out of you or your mother, or that one hussy you’ve never forgotten about, it’s like…pure ecstasy! Biggest sigh of relief. Like smoking a track of Marsh Leaf. Course, everyone else on the ship wants rid of it. If it was up to me, it’d be the ship pet.”
The thought of anyone enjoying that twisted experience was madness. Piz was crazy. Crazy and deranged.
Aven had more questions, but more important was the tantalizing smell coming from the other side of the grating. It reminded him how empty his stomach was. He noticed two thin containers in the mercenary’s hand.
“Hungry?” said Piz. He slid the two containers through a slot in the grates.
Aven hurried over and opened one up. The sight of food made his stomach tighten. He quickly put a scoop in his mouth and savored it.
“Is this all I get?” said Pike, annoyed. His fingers touched the pieces of bread and meat as if they were too meager to eat.
Piz cocked his head, amused. “What? ‘Ave we royalty aboard our ship and didn’t know it?! I’ll inform captain immediately!” sang Piz, then gave an exuberant bow, slowly extending both arms in a drawn out gesture. “I promise, yer majesty, the next meal will be unforgettable. The finest shit our humble crew can grunt out!”
Pike looked pale.
“I’m sorry,” said Pike, flatly. “It’s fine. Forget what I said.”
“Oh, no-no,” said Piz. “I insist.”
Piz rubbed his stomach, then curled his upper lip, as if in pain. “Oh, yeah. I feel it.” He started walking down the hall. “Gonna start squirtin’ your dinner out real soon. Just wait, yer majesty. Piles of food. Piles and piles…piles and piles…”
Piz’s voice faded, then all was silent.
Aven left Pike standing at the metal grate and sat down beside Daeymara.
Pike remained where he was, but had turned around and was staring blankly at the back wall.
Aven ate wearily, peering up from Daeymara’s face every so often to read Pike’s ever changing mood.
His eyes were disturbingly hollow, void of any detectable emotion. Where were Pike’s twisted thoughts leading him now?
Aven wished he had telepathy, like the beast in the cage. Then he could read Pike’s thoughts and know whether he was still safe.
…Or if he should slyly begin unscrewing the lever while he still had a moment of surprise.
CHAPTER 11
AVEN
“Daeymara….”
Aven placed his hands on her side, and shook her gently. He brought a hand to the side of her face. “Daeymara,” he said again, more urgently.
“What’s wrong,” said Pike, waking at the sound of Aven’s voice.
Aven ignored him. He watched the rise and fall of Daeymara’s chest. Something had changed. There was a stutter that shook each breathe now, and a wheezing. Aven wanted it to be a sign that she was waking up, but he sensed otherwise. She was beginning to slip away.
Aven pulled his shirt off of her and put his ear to her chest. Heard the thrum inside. Daeymara’s heart sounded erratic, unstable.
Pike squatted beside Aven. “What do you hear?” His voice was filled with concern. It was friendly Pike. The oaf reached out to touch Daeymara’s arm.
Aven smacked his hand away. “Leave her alone.”
Pike started to stutter something, but then fell silent.
Daeymara’s face no longer looked at peace. There was struggle there.
“Daeymara, please,” whispered Aven. He ran his hand over her forehead. “I’m here with you,” he said softly. “It’s Aven. Your friend.”
Aven looked at Pike. Pike wore a sullen expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” said Aven. “Here.”
Aven placed Daeymara’s hand in Pike’s.
For a brief time, he sat there angry. Angry at the gods. At himself—as if he hadn’t tried hard enough to save her back on Loam.
He looked on her now, her mouth open, breathing labored. All he could do was watch and listen. Stroke the side of her face. Accept the fact that he was helpless.
The space between each breath grew longer. Aven blinked away the tears.
It did not feel like a long time.
Finally, she lay still.
Her last moments echoed in his mind.
Pike hadn’t tried to say anything, his only sound a light, blubbering cry.
Aven bent and kissed the side of Daeymara’s face. She was still warm. He placed his shirt over her chest again and stared at her a while longer, numb. Lost in dark thoughts.
He turned finally and lay flat on the floor, face buried in his arms. In his hand he held Daeymara’s braid.
Out of the dark morass of his thoughts, a painful realization struck him.
His entire life, he’d looked out for someone. Winter. Harvest. Then Daeymara.
All were gone. Taken from him. Part of himself wanted to die.
Another dark thought came.
He should kill Pike now. While he had a chance.
But he didn’t move.
--
Raucous laughter cut through Aven’s grim dreams. Something hard tapped his head. Aven turned over and got to his knees. Three mercenaries stood in the cell with him. Three more stood outside, gleeful expressions hanging on their faces.
“Captain won! Damn him,” came Piz’s cheerful voice.
A chorus of cheers sounded. “What do you say, Captain?” shouted another mercenary.
A tall, muscular man standing back by the cell door raised a glass of dark liquid and shouted, “I’m so damn drunk, I don’t care what I said. I won, but—fugg-it-all! Let’s have some fun tonight!”
Shouts and laughter echoed in the room.
“It’s time to meet the ship’s mascot,” yelled Piz. “We calls him Big Ol’ Fugger-up, cuz that’s what he does!”
Whistles and cheers sounded from the mercenaries behind the cell door.
“And give that other boy his dinner!” said Piz.
A plate was thrown at Pike. It hit the floor at his feet, shattering the plate and sloshing its contents over Pike’s shoes and pants. The stink of feces reeked heavily in the room.
“There you are, your highness! A feast fit for a king!” said Piz.
Piz turned to Aven. “On your feet boy!”
Aven rose as laughter continued cackling from the men’s throats. Aven gave one last look at Pike. Nice Pike’s face was white as death.
Hands pushed Aven forward, shoving him outside the cell. Piz led the way, singing loudly as he danced and clapped.
A cold horror came over Aven. This was not how he wanted to die. All the dark thoughts he’d had after watching Daeymara’s last breath had sprung from disgust at himself, his inability to help those he longed to save.
He hated himself. If he could simply blow his life out like a candle, then maybe death would be welcome.
But not this.
Chills crawled all over his body as he saw the metal bars ahead.
“What about my VOKK?” shouted Aven desperately. “It will get destroyed!”
“Put her on my tab!” shouted the captain, and the laughter of his men continued. “Someone pass me another bottle before I come to my senses!”
“That’s the spirit!” shouted Piz. “Fourteen’s the record!”
A small green bottle was handed to the captain and he pulled it back and downed the liquid inside.
Aven froze, fighting against the hand pushing at his back. Hysteria came over him. The men behind him shoved him forward. He turned to punch the closest mercenary in the face, but one of them grabbed his arm. Suddenly he was being carried, every limb held by a man. He struggled, trying to break loose.
Tears fell from his eyes and suddenly his will
surrendered to the inevitable and he simply breathed in and out as the men carried him. He counted. These last moments were all he had. Like a man going over a waterfall, soon to be dashed against the rocks below, he tried to grip these last moments tight. Found himself talking to the gods. To Winter.
With his right hand, he was able to grab Daeymara’s braid. The feel of it in his hand brought a consoling thought. He’d watched her endure death. Perhaps she was watching him now.
The men halted outside the bars. Aven was set on his feet, his arms held behind his back. Four men held large sticks in their hands; the ends glowed blue with electricity. The gloom behind the cell was suddenly lit with overhead lights, and the gate opened with a metallic squeal. Aven locked his feet against the floor, the sense of terror returning with force.
A combined shove threw him past the gate, and before he could turn and jump back through, the gate shrieked shut behind him.
Aven spun, facing the room.
In the dim light that eked from the ceiling, a sole mass of flesh lay in a corner of the room. Aven moved away from it, against the opposite wall. The space was much larger than his cell, but it felt small and bare with the animal lying on the far side. There was nowhere to hide.
The men shouted at the sleeping monster.
“Time to wake up, beastie! Supper’s here.”
The mercenaries jeered at Aven, but he ignored them. The creature seemed to be asleep, its back turned to him. The monstrosity was huge. No animal on Loam compared to it. From the back, it looked somewhat like a lizard. A thick, heavy hide with scaly bumps. Only it was enormous. Lying on its side, its height reached to the top of his head. He imagined when it stood on its legs—it would be twice his height.
Aven was about to sit down against the wall when the creature moved, its head sliding out along the floor.
Aven remembered that shape from when he’d first walked past the bars in the hallway. The massive head had risen up out of the gloom and the creature’s tongue had shot out at him.
But now there was light upon that head. A lengthy, broad snout lay on the ground. A long, thin line ran along the lower part of the snout.
The mouth sprang open, exposing wet, pinkish flesh and sickle-like teeth.
A pang of dizziness hit the back of Aven’s head. He gripped the braid tight in his hand as he felt his mind drawn forward, moving him closer to the monstrous animal.
It was as if he had been pulled right beside it.
Piz’s words about the kiehueth returned. Telepathy. The creature was using it now, torturing Aven’s mind.
Aven tried to move back, but was unable. He couldn’t turn away.
The creature’s head was cocked to the side, its gums contorted further, like a giant rat baring its teeth. Aven looked over the length of the head for the eye, but found only the pebbled skin, and sparse hair as thick as cat whiskers.
Suddenly Aven’s focus was forced downward, below the line of the mouth, but above the low hanging throat at the base of its head.
There was the eye, looking at him through a heavy slit. He hadn’t seen it, for he’d been looking above the mouth line, not below.
The eye reminded Aven of a cow’s eye, not a reptile. A large round pupil, black, surrounded by yellowish-white pus.
The dizziness hit Aven again, but it was painful this time, like a massive headache. He shut his eyes until the pain left.
When he opened them again. Winter’s body hung from the snout, head pinned in the rows of teeth. Before Aven could react to what he saw, Winter’s head cracked and split open as the teeth of the creature crushed through her skull.
CHAPTER 12
AVEN
Laughter faded in and out, slowly growing louder as Aven opened his eyes. Faces stared at him through the bars. Faces gleaming with anticipation.
“There he is, he’s waking,” said one of the men.
Aven realized he was lying prostrate on the ground.
He pressed his hands against the metal floor to lift himself, but as he pushed up, his head hit against something hanging over him.
A gasp sounded from the men gathered at the bars. Aven dropped back down to the floor and froze. Slowly, he turned his head and saw that he lay under the wide jaw of the creature, its throat hanging down in a heavy, sack-like bulge.
Aven closed his eyes, the dark behind his eyelids the only refuge. At any moment those sickle-teeth might pierce him. He wanted to run, but he was paralyzed by fear. It was all going to happen soon. The pain. Then death. His mind went numb.
Weight came down on his back. He imagined the creature’s snout sliding toward his neck.
The weight paused at his head.
Aven went rigid with terror as a name consumed his thoughts like a desperate prayer.
Winter. Winter. Winter. I love you. Winter. Winter…
A wet bulk slid around his side, like a heavy slab of meat, and then muscled beneath his stomach, wrapping under him.
The tongue. He knew it was the tongue. It lifted his upper body off the ground.
Winter’s name drowned out the grim, unthinkable reality around him.
He imagined her face and grasped onto her, a refuge from the horror of the outside world.
He felt the hot breath on the top of his head, then his face and neck slid into the airless wet space, the right side of his head brushing against what he knew were rows of the monster’s teeth.
His right arm was pinned downward, but he twisted with his left to reach into the pocket of his pants.
The kiehueth’s teeth slid open as the tongue held him down in a pool of saliva.
Aven gripped Daeymara’s braid within his pocket, then brought his arm up instinctively to protect his head. He braced himself. Soon it would be over. One twitch of the muscled tongue and he’d be tossed into the waiting row of razor sharp teeth.
The jaws halted, poised. The tongue’s grip around his chest slackened. He felt himself lowered to the floor. His feet touched the ground. The tongue let go of him and he collapsed upon his knees, too weak to stand.
What was happening?
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw his hands on the floor. The shadow above him moved, and with all his will power, he forced himself to look up. The eyes of the creature bulged from the side of its head. They stared at him.
The pink tongue slid from the mouth, moving down to Aven. Down past his head. The large, repulsive muscle came near the floor and moved toward his right hand, the hand that held Daeymara’s braid.
The tip touched the lock of hair, and then slid over Aven’s hand and brushed against the little blue wing. The tongue recoiled back, the wing clinging to the wet muscle as the creature drew it into its mouth.
Did this animal know the significance of that wing? That it belonged to his sister? That Aven had kept it only because it reminded him of Winter?
“What in the fuggin’ stars is it doing?” came Piz’s voice.
A low thundering sound rumbled from the creature’s throat, sharpening into a snarl. Aven put his palms to his ears.
The creature moved to the side of Aven. He watched, warily. It lowered itself down near him, placing its large head next to his back while the bulk of its body lay below Aven’s legs.
The monstrous eyes peered at him, then closed.
Aven did not move.
“It’s messing with his head,” said the mercenary with the spiked-hair running down the center of his skull. “Let’s get him out so we can have some shut eye.”
“No,” said the tall man who was called Captain Mhadrees. “Let the kiehueth have him. Another twenty hours and we’ll arrive at Hearth. I want to see what its going to do to him.”
“Yeah,” said Piz. “Might give him the nightmares all night. Someone should stay on duty. Give us the sweet n’ pretty details of how it all ends.”
“You lost the bet, Piz,” said Mhadrees. “You get the first round.”
--
Aven lay awake for hours, listening to the kiehueth
breathe. He wondered if it was baiting him, waiting for him to try and move away. A handful of times, Piz shouted and whistled, trying to rouse the animal. Aven twisted his head around. The slow rise and fall of the creature’s side was the only sign that it was even alive.
Aven’s eyes grew heavy, but he forced himself to stay awake. What if the creature was only waiting for him to sleep, and would do something the moment he slipped off into dreams?
What did it matter? He couldn’t deny sleep forever. He glanced over at Piz. The mercenary sat in a chair, slumped against the wall of the hallway, snoring softly.
Aven tried to occupy his own mind, but knowing that thing at his back might snatch him up in its mouth at any moment rattled his thoughts.
Aven tucked Daeymara’s braid safely back into the pocket in his pants. They were filthy and stank, the white color stained with grass and dirt and whatever sludge greased the ship’s floors.
Why did he want to go on living? Everyone who mattered and was still alive remained back on Loam—Winter…Arentiss. His dreams existed on Loam. Dreams of quieter days on his new farm. The freedom to live a simple farmer’s life. They were all gone.
Yet he wanted to survive. Why? The hope of making it back to his cell alive? To live as a slave to people who wanted to watch him die like the demented man outside the gate?
He’d been ready to die when the kiehueth first had him in its mouth. Was his yearning to live part of that creature’s twisted plan? Was it intelligent enough to torture him so cruelly as to give him these small, dismal hopes before it slaughtered him?
Aven laid there, his mind beginning to drift, as if unable to hold the thoughts any longer. His eyes rolled back and his head dipped against the floor.
Sleep was almost upon him when he snapped his head up.
He knew if he lay there, he’d no longer be able to keep his eyes open. Gingerly he stood, very slowly, and stepped away from the animal. He moved toward the far side of the room, stopping to look back several times, just to be sure the thing hadn’t stirred. At the far side, Aven lowered himself down on the metal floor. His eyes fluttered open and closed, checking to be sure the kiehueth had not moved. Utter exhaustion finally purged him of all concern. Soon, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, not a single thought remaining as to what he might awaken to.