The Burning Isle

by Will Panzo

  The boar started at the smell of this new creature, the dank scent of festering swampland. The lizard hissed, and there was a flash of limbs. Cassius caught sight of the lizard’s underbelly, heard the boar grunt in pain. When the struggle subsided, the boar lay on its side, the lizard’s jaws sank into its meaty haunch and poison bubbling from the puncture wounds. The boar twitched and kicked futilely; and then it stilled.

  Someone in the crowd whistled. There was a smattering of applause.

  Cassius held his hands before him, palms up, and a drop of rain appeared in midair and fell. Where the raindrop landed, a crack opened in the earth and from out of the crack burst a vine as thick as a man’s arm.

  The vine rose ten feet into the air and toppled under its own weight. It hit the ground with an audible snap, like the crack of a whip, then slithered off toward Aulus.

  The air rippled. Aulus gestured as though drawing a sword from a scabbard, and before him materialized a flaming scimitar. It floated in midair, spinning, shedding sparks. He motioned at the vine, and the blade sped off whistling. It struck the vine, sliced it in half.

  The newly cut vine never slowed but sped onward and wrapped around Aulus’s ankle and tugged and he collapsed, landing on his back with a groan.

  The vine looped Aulus twice, one of its coils taut around his neck. He gasped, his face red. His eyes were closed, and he was trying to work his fingers into the space between his neck and the vine.

  A cloud of black smoke formed over the ring. There was a sound like a candle being snuffed, then the smell of brimstone wafted through the storehouse. Cassius covered his mouth and nose. Behind him, he heard someone in the crowd vomit. A tense, airless quiet reigned for a brief second, then a column of flame fell from the cloud.

  The fire struck the ground and exploded outward. The shock wave hit Cassius like a hammer to the chest and knocked the wind from him. The air grew hot. He shut his eyes, blocking out Aulus and the ring and the fire and the crowd, so that his world was reduced to a colorless canvas, with a shining rune drawn upon that canvas.

  He opened his eyes to find himself on the floor. His ward had held, deflecting the fire, and all throughout the warehouse small patches of flame danced and shimmered. He rose to his feet and wiped the soot from his face.

  The boar and the lizard were little more than charred bones. Most of the vine had been rendered ash and what remained was limp and smoking. Near the wall, several men were afire, and they rolled and screamed, while others beat the flames engulfing them.

  Aulus crouched on his knees, dusting himself. He spotted Cassius and raised his hand. The sound of stone grinding stone filled the storehouse. A mound of earth jutted up from the ground, churning and twisting on itself. When it settled, it lay in the shape of a creature whose form seemed impossible, made of flesh and hide and having the legs and arms of a man and having also hooves and a snout, a wide spread of white horns that bent forward and tapered into points sharp as any spear.

  Cassius stared in wonder at the creature, the first of its kind he had ever seen. He tried to decipher its parts, to break it into precedents, but he could not tell what was beast and what was man. It rose onto two legs, a man’s legs but ending in hooves, and it spread its arms wide, a man’s arms but too large for a man, and it shook its head, a bovine’s head with ink-black eyes.

  Cassius’s heart quickened.

  The beast stamped and lowed, looking to Cassius, then to the men in the crowd. Across the ring, Aulus pressed his fingers to his temples, sweating and gasping from the effort of will needed to command such a creature. If he could not establish dominance, the creature would heed no will but its own animal instincts or its own human intelligence, whichever reigned in that fearsome skull.

  Cassius saw his opening. He waved a hand, and a burst of light flared near Aulus, a bright display but no real threat, a simple cantrip that ended in a loud but harmless explosion.

  The beast started at the sound. Sighting Aulus, it fixed its gaze on the spellcaster and tensed and charged. It moved faster than anything Cassius had seen on two legs, and Aulus had time to raise his gauntleted hands but no time to cast.

  The beast lowered its head, the huge hump of muscle on its upper back quivering. Aulus managed to twist between the points of its horns, and then the beast lifted its head with violent speed and struck Aulus and knocked him into the air. Aulus sailed over the creature’s back, landed in a motionless heap in the center of the ring.

  The beast turned. It fixed again on Aulus and tilted its head to aim its horns, and as it dove for the prostrate form, a beam of purple light shot from the sky like a falling arrow. The shaft of light punched through the beast’s chest, and although the blow would have floored a full-grown man, it merely stopped the beast midcharge.

  The beast stood stunned for a long second, then reached for the purple shaft jutting from its chest and the shaft vanished and the beast sat down in the pool of blood collected at its hooves and, still sitting, died.

  The storehouse fell silent.

  Cassius crossed to Aulus. He rolled the spellcaster onto his back and removed his gauntlets.

  “Finish him,” called someone from the crowd.

  Cassius did not respond. He slapped Aulus stiffly on each cheek. He ground his gauntleted knuckles into Aulus’s sternum, and Aulus groaned and opened his eyes.

  At the sight of Cassius, he started and raised his hands and, seeing his hands were bare, he exhaled sharply, resigned to his fate.

  “It’s over,” Cassius said. He pulled Aulus to a sitting position.

  “Why?” Aulus rubbed his ribs, winced.

  “You fought me fair.”

  A murmur went up from the crowd, then the crowd parted to reveal Cinna, red-faced, gape-mouthed. He scanned the chaos surrounding the spellcasters as though trying to piece together the chain of events by the sights that lay nearby, a collection of grotesqueries more at home in the realm of nightmares than in the physical world. He looked to Cassius, then to Aulus.

  “Aulus, grab your gear and meet me outside with the best killer in this lot.” He gestured to the crowd of his men. “I have an important job. And gods help the bastard who screws it up.”

  “The best killer here?” Aulus asked.

  “Did I speak too softly?” Cinna roared.

  Aulus nodded toward Cassius. “That’s him.”

  • • •

  They passed into Lowtown at noon. They had kept to the alleyways and narrow lanes that skirted the Grand Market to avoid the roadblocks and guards Piso had stationed in the main southern avenues, and now Nicola led them through deserted side streets.

  “Won’t people recognize us?” Aulus asked.

  “We won’t be here long,” Nicola said.

  It had not rained that day, and the ground was hard-packed and dry. Cassius could not see the ocean, but he could smell sea salt in the air. Gulls circled overhead. The sky was overcast, but there was no breeze, only a stillness that made the air heavy.

  “What are we doing here?” Cassius asked.

  “Master Cinna has misplaced something,” Nicola said. “We’re here to look for it.”

  “What exactly?” Cassius scanned the lane as he walked, peering up and down each cramped alley. He could not shake the feeling of being watched.

  “Money,” Nicola said.

  “Cinna’s money?”

  Aulus laughed. “Ain’t that what we’re always looking for?”

  They made their way through a small market in Lowtown’s garment district. They passed squat huts and storefronts. Overhead clotheslines hung weighted with brightly colored tunics and dresses, blazing yellows and vibrant greens favored by the Natives, deep reds and rich purples popular amongst the Antiochi. Other more exotic wares were on display as well, ornate Fathalan headscarves and rugs, heavy surcoats and cloaks more suited to a Murondian court than a jungl
e, robes of patterned silk modeled after those of the eastern Xin. The air smelled sharply of soap and leather, and the dye runoff that trickled through the streets rainbowed in oily patterns.

  Past the market, they reached a single-story mudbrick house with a roof of thatch.

  “Mind the door,” Nicola said. He drew the long-handled knife from his belt and produced a smaller knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh, this knife short and serrated. He motioned for Aulus to follow.

  Cassius turned his back to the door. He stared out into the street, which was empty now except across the lane, where small children took turns poking an unconscious beggar with a stick.

  He heard the sound of wood splintering as Nicola kicked in the door. He heard Nicola shout, then two screams, a low, guttural one and a high-pitched yell that ended abruptly. He felt a stirring in his chest as someone cast a spell.

  An explosion shook the air.

  The children started at the sound. They looked to Cassius, and the beggar stirred and swatted at the boy holding the stick, and the children fled screaming down the alley.

  “How are things out here?”

  Cassius turned to see Nicola in the doorway. A splatter of black blood stained the front of his tunic. His neck and cheek were red with flecks of gore. He held the long knife backhanded and wiped it on his tunic.

  “Quiet,” Cassius said.

  “Give a shout if you see something.”

  Nicola swung the door shut.

  Cassius heard another scream.

  • • •

  Little foot traffic passed in the street. People seemed not to notice Cassius or else took notice discreetly and continued on their way. After a time, the beggar across the lane rose and urinated in the doorway. He wiped his hands on his tattered tunic and staggered off into an alley.

  The door opened again, and Cassius turned and saw Aulus in the entranceway. He motioned for Cassius to step inside.

  Nicola sat on the floor in the main room. He held a wad of banknotes in one hand and in front of him stood three stacks of similar notes smeared with mud.

  A man lay in the corner of the room. He lay on his belly, his hands and feet bound and tied together with leather straps. He was blindfolded and gagged, missing both of his thumbs. Blood from these wounds leaked down his hands and pooled in the small of his back.

  “What is this?” Cassius asked.

  “Four hundred, four fifty, four sixty-five—”

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Goddamn it,” Nicola shouted. “Shut up before I lose count.”

  Cassius glanced down the hallway that led to the back room of the house.

  “Seven hundred.” Nicola set the stack of banknotes on the floor. “Plus thirteen makes an even two thousand.”

  “Is that it?” Aulus asked.

  “No, it should be three.”

  “Tell me what’s going on here,” Cassius said.

  “Easy,” Aulus said. “No need to get excited.”

  Nicola stood. He picked his long-handled knife off the floor.

  “Yesterday, this man robbed a delivery to one of Cinna’s gambling halls.” Nicola pointed the blade at the bound man. “Cinna’s informant said he was an independent, but I had a feeling he was Piso’s man. We cut him up pretty good though, and still he claimed no allegiance. He gave us everything else. Who told him about the delivery. How he pulled it off. A description of the man he killed during the robbery. I believe him.”

  “And there’s no brand on him,” Aulus said.

  “Right. No brand, either. I’ll tell you, though, whoever he is, he’s coldhearted. We cut that kid to pieces, and still he wouldn’t say a word. Not until those thumbs came off.”

  “What kid?” Cassius asked.

  Nicola shrugged. “The hell should I know? Just some kid that was in here with him.”

  Cassius looked to Aulus, and Aulus lowered his eyes and turned and spat.

  Cassius walked to the back room. It was poorly lit, and most of her lay in shadow. He saw her feet, dirty and pale. He saw her hair.

  He returned to the front room.

  “Why—” He took a deep breath. “Why did you—”

  “He wasn’t talking,” Nicola said. “I needed an answer.”

  “What did she have to do with anything?”

  “I just told you, I don’t know who she was.”

  “Everyone relax,” Aulus said. “Let’s just finish the job.”

  “Why’d you do that to her?”

  “I needed an answer,” Nicola shouted. “And, anyway, go screw yourself. I don’t report to you. The man said the rest of it was buried in the back. So you two get to digging.”

  • • •

  The floorboards in the back room were rotted. Aulus noticed that two of the boards had loose nails, and he pried these up and he and Cassius sat hunched over the opening, digging at the dirt below with their bare hands. The dirt was warm and thick with worms. It smelled of mold and came up in loose clumps.

  Aulus sat facing Cassius, and over Aulus’s shoulder, Cassius could see the shape of the girl in shadow. From under the exposed floorboards, roaches crawled across the room. Some wandered into the pool spreading from beneath the girl and drowned there.

  Cassius was sweating now, and his chest felt tight. He told himself this was from the Garza root and from the lack of sleep. It was not because of the sight of the body. He had hardened himself against that. He had taken the first step toward becoming the thing of which he had dreamed for so long and in the process had scoured himself of his weaknesses, his softness.

  But now he was sick.

  He rose from the hole, shook the loose mud from his hands, and left the room.

  “Where are you going?” Aulus called.

  He walked to the front of the house. Nicola was tying the last of the banknotes with strips of twine. The bound man lay in the corner, awake now, struggling against his binds and grunting into his gag.

  “You find that money yet?” Nicola called.

  “No.”

  “Then get your ass back in there and dig.” Nicola noticed the bound man moving and he cursed and drew his knife and crossed the room.

  “I need some fresh air.”

  Cassius opened the door and stepped outside. He trotted across the lane and into the alleyway. He doubled over. His mouth watered, and he spat to clear away the taste. His stomach contracted, and he vomited up a thin, milky liquid. Warm and rank, it leaked from his nose and left his throat raw. His eyes watered and blurred. He emptied his stomach, then stood gagging until, finally, his body was sore with the effort and he stopped.

  Overhead, he heard thunder. In the distance the sound of rain beginning to fall. A wind swept in from the north, and the air smelled of jungle. Cassius donned his gauntlets.

  • • •

  Nicola sat hunched over the man in the corner of the room. He looked up as Cassius entered and Cassius walked through the front room and into the back room and found Aulus squatting over the hole.

  Cassius cast his fire-ward spell.

  Aulus started with a curse and raised his hands, but it was too late.

  Cassius held his hand out, palm open, and a circle of fire appeared on the floor. A coil of flame rose from the circle to the ceiling and spread outward like spilled water. The flames swept from wall to wall with a sound like a gust of wind, and Cassius stood in the inferno. He heard a scream and smelled the sharp scent of burned hair, the greasy smell of burned flesh. The scream died almost instantly, and Cassius stepped out of the back room. He passed through the flames, and when he was clear, he saw Nicola racing for the door.

  The entranceway grew hazy, and a smell like stale water, like the inside of an old well, wafted through the room. A spider the size of a large dog stood just inside the doorway. It was black with f
lecks of green on its mottled shell. It had stiff red hair, and its torso hung low in the cradle of its legs. It eyes were red and asymmetrical, a burning star cluster set above its crab maw.

  Cassius urged it forward. The spider tapped the ground with its front two forelegs delicately, like a blind man sensing with a cane. Nicola reached for the dagger at his waist, and as he drew it, the spider was on him.

  He stabbed for its head, and his blow glanced off a spindly leg. His dagger struck the creature’s shell with a sound like metal striking hardened clay, and the spider punched its fangs into his thigh and he screamed and fell and then lay silent and twitching and then he stopped twitching.

  Cassius waved his hand, and the spider disappeared in a shower of sparks.

  He shut the door and sat down and slid off his gauntlets. His hands shook, but otherwise, the room was quiet and still.

  • • •

  He sat for hours, thinking of the child in the back room. He decided that he did not like the sight of her body, and he was displeased with this realization, with the weakness it implied. How could he move forward from here, do what was necessary, when such things troubled him? The task at hand required fortitude. There would be more bodies to come.

  He had acted rashly, and now there was the chance he had undone all his work of the past few days. And for what? A child whose name he did not know. This was the work of a rank initiate, not a true strategist. The Masters would be displeased.

  Still, when he thought of what he had seen in the back room, he felt his pulse pound and his skin grow hot and he knew if the two killers were with him now, he would do it all again. He had been a nameless child himself once, one who would have gone unmourned and unavenged in death. He had avoided that fate, though. Now he was here, seeing to his work.

  He had come this far. With a clear head, he would go further. He was changing, growing, becoming something stronger, something more suited to the island. Nothing was going to stop that.

  He remained in the small house until the sun set. Then he rose and walked to the back room and dug in the hole beneath the floorboards. The fire had dried the mud, and under all that brittle earth, he found an oilskin parcel, the banknotes inside worth a thousand gold pieces.