The Ryle of Zentule

by Michael Green

  Alek noticed Andy’s expression and stepped back.

  “Tell me something about Martin,” Andy said, trying to change the tone of their meeting.

  Alek paused, but then stepped forward again. “He had a hard time controlling the link between emotion and feather-dilation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh—what’s that indeed. It’s a half-baked term to describe the opening and closing of junctures in the feather filaments. There are three channels in every one of our feathers. Each channel corresponding to one of three colors. From those three, all others are made. Our bodies control this process involuntarily, when we are young, but as we advance some of us can develop more control.”

  Andy recalled Martin changing color with his mood. He nodded at the memory.

  “So, Martin is unique in having this trouble?”

  “More or less. Though there are a few breeds who cannot change color at all, and most of us will drift in color if we don’t pay attention. In fact, you might have spotted those speckled ychorons.”

  Andy nodded.

  “Their master was showing them off. While Martin wouldn’t have been good on parade, he was excellent in other ways.”

  “About your question, Martin is well; at least he was the last time I saw him. He is leading a goblin mercenary team. And yes, he does have the ability to become completely invisible. I’ve seen it in action.”

  Alek’s eyes widened. “I see, he developed. It’s probably how he escaped. And now he’s in a position of military leadership…”

  Andy gave him a questioning look.

  “Our master dances on the line when he creates such high-functioning specimens. Amal—Martin and I were created at similar times. I’ve never been able to cloak for more than a second at a time; I’ll pass out if I try for longer. On the other hand, I’ve never experienced the impulse to run away,” Alek had an almost stupefied look on his face. “Goblins? Of all things. And he leads them?”

  “He’s skilled, and he shares command with a goblin leader. They are impressive.”

  Alek gawked in wonder. “Should I tell any of our peers? They probably won’t believe it.”

  Andy wanted to tear the lid off the tray and dig in, but he suffered in silence, and waited for Alek, who finally shook himself out of his pondering. “Thank you for your earnestness, Lysander. I hope you live up to your guardian’s high expectations. Such is best in life.”

  He handed the key to Andy, who unlocked the lid and saw an oddly colored dinner. He scoffed one more time at the locking tray and ate with his bare hands.

  A slice of onyx-tinted steak and orange mash sat steaming. The first bite of mash revealed exotic tones. The spices underscored the sauce, which was tart and smoky in a way he never tasted before. But the core of the meal, the steak, despite its color tasted familiar, even delicious. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the noise as he took another bite.

  It’s almost like a home-cooked dinner.

  Andy tore through his meal and, after a few peaceful minutes of watching the treetops float past, he felt himself falling asleep. He nearly fell from the chair as he drifted.

  Better stick to the floor.

  Andy got off the chair and lay on the floor of the cage. He rolled over and over. It was massively uncomfortable, but eventually his fatigue won out and he slept.

  He flashed in and out of wakefulness, his eyes registering figures and faces looking in on him through bars. They were talking to him, and he was talking back.

  “Morning killing—I’m an animal. Feed me, before I feed myself.”

  His eyes popped open.

  “Do you know that your ex-lover has named her city after you?” Veloiz asked conversationally.

  “I’m not Caspian,” Andy said, pulling an unfamiliar blanket from between his arms and legs.

  He shot up and looked around. He was still chained, but the cage was gone. He had been sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

  When did they move me?

  “Ah, the boy is back,” Veloiz said to the ychorons nearby.

  Andy looked around and spotted many of the ryle, all sitting in chairs, surrounded by harried ychorons. They were tired. There were piles of pages stacked here and there, several broken quills, and ink stains on the floor.

  “What’s going on?” Andy yelled. Creatures leaped at the sudden noise.

  I don’t remember them moving me.

  Andy lunged, aiming to grab a pile of pages from a nearby ychoron. The ychoron stumbled backwards, knocking over an ink jar and slamming into Ziesqe’s chair.

  Ziesqe glared, which sent the ychoron off in a hurry. “We’ve been having a most trying conversation for the past few hours,” Ziesqe said.

  “On the contrary; I’m now convinced that Caspian is nearly upon this boy. Voice of the Dead God or not, another intelligence shares his body. Xyth can do nothing but confirm him—he won’t dare a test with the Argument.” Kal said, with a tired yet excited look on her face.

  “We can only hope,” Ziesqe muttered.

  The ryle nodded, as if Ziesqe had implied something dire.

  “What did I say?” Andy demanded.

  Ziesqe held a claw to his head in annoyance. “Softly, Lysander, or I’ll have you gagged.”

  “Nothing of import, really. Just historical trivia, and threatening rambling,” Master Boqreq said, going over his notes. “We mentioned events and places, and the voice inside you occasionally made reply with information that you could not know, young human.”

  Kal nodded. “It will take research, but I think some of those answers predated even Caspian’s original life.”

  “Well, you have good timing either way, Lysander. We’re almost to Hyadoth, and this day is about you, not us,” Ziesqe said, getting to his feet.

  The ryle and their ychorons sorted their notes and cleared up. The brutox were back on high alert. Andy felt tension in the air.

  Inxa came rushing his way with silver robes. “We need to get you dressed. They let you sleep in.”

  Andy cooperated, and asked, “What’s happening to me today?”

  Inxa fretted over the layering of the robes. “I don’t know exactly, but I expect Xyth, ruler of Hyadoth and custodian of the Maelstrom, will want proof of Ziesqe’s claims. The other ryle here will back him up, but proof will still be needed.”

  “Proof of what? That I’m Caspian?”

  “In a way,” she said, working on his sleeves.

  “How do I prove that?” Andy asked, already guessing the answer.

  “Through answers, or possibly, another combat.”

  Andy sighed.

  “Armor?” he asked hopefully.

  “No armor,” she answered. “But you will be better off this time.”

  Andy stared questioningly.

  “In one of his chests I saw a sealed reliquary.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that he’s brought a piece of the Argument, possibly to arm you.”

  Andy’s eyes widened, and then sharply narrowed.

  “What does he get out of all of this? If I am Caspian, or however it works, shouldn’t you just execute me and get on with enslaving humanity? Apparently, I can’t make etherium like the other Seers, so what’s the point?”

  Inxa finished with his robes and gave him a conflicted look. Her feathers bled into a darker green. “My master has his reasons, and the scale of them is past my understanding. I know that this current plan is recent, likely formed when his ward was compromised,” she said, more for her own understanding than Andy’s.

  She had the brutox unlock his chains and then led him to the fore of the ravager.

  A litter had been made up with flowing silver drapes and a cage built over the seat. Andy stepped inside and sat down. Inxa was about to close and lock the cage, but Zava came up and interrupted her.

  “Leave it open, the master has one final touch to add.”

  I wonder what it could be. Maybe they’ll shave my he
ad, or glue on some facial hair.

  Andy looked over the sides of the ravager and saw the jungle had given way to dark, marshy wastelands. Ragged and disorganized buildings dotted the landscape and, approaching quickly, was a distinct city. The sky surrounding this city was dark and swirling with clouds that blocked out the flashing light further above. Something jagged interrupted his view of the clouds. Andy realized that a massive angular tower, the color of the dark clouds, reached up from the center of the city and rose higher than those clouds.

  Andy felt a slight burning on his arm. A speck of dark purple liquid had fallen there. It stung and bubbled before he wiped it away.

  Ziesqe approached the cage door, with something bundled in a red cloth. He bent down and opened the bundle.

  Andy was surprised to see a helmet, like those worn by knights. The full helm was made from a metal that shined like silver. The faceplate was delicately modeled into a roaring lion. Its mane was short, cropped into ringlets that fell on the brow beneath an embossed wreath.

  “What is it?” Andy asked.

  “An artifact. Your scribes referred to it as the first debater’s helm, or sometimes as the Casque of Destruction.”

  “Why are you giving this to me?”

  Ziesqe laughed as he put it over Andy’s head. “I’m lending it to you. The piece is priceless and mentioned in a number of your legends. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.”

  Andy flashed an annoyed glance at Ziesqe before the Casque closed over his head. He felt a click, and it shut tight.

  Andy took a breath, afraid that it would be hard to breathe, and found the air to be surprisingly fresh. He had the sudden urge to rise and stretch.

  Ziesqe pushed him back down to his seat, but Andy pushed back and slammed Ziesqe’s hand into the top of the cage. Andy rose to leave the cage, but Ziesqe slammed the door, and it locked tight.

  “Not now. Save it for Hyadoth.”

  Andy put his hands on the bars and pulled, but they would not bend. He expected they might.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” Ziesqe said as a guttural roar pierced the sky.

  More of the dark purple rain gushed down onto them.

  Andy screamed out in pain as it hit his skin. He brushed it away, but more came.

  “Sheets, damn it! Cover him!” Ziesqe commanded, quickly draping a silver cloth over the cage to keep Andy dry.

  As abruptly as it had begun, the rain stopped.

  Andy watched the little purple drops converge again and again, droplet after droplet, until they were large blobs of purple filth. A huge mass of the stuff crushed an interfering brutox.

  Everything on the deck backed away, and even Ziesqe was shocked.

  Finally, the globs formed into a massive grotesque face, reminiscent of a bloated and aged ryle. A huge beak emerged from behind its tentacles.

  “What do you bring into my lands? Cowards are not welcome here.” Its eyes pulsed as it focused on each ryle present. “Is this another scheme to avoid ascension?”

  “Within this human is the Voice of the Dead God. The Usurper is moving swiftly towards him, I swear it and my peers attest it,” Ziesqe spoke firmly.

  “Where did it find the Casque?” The head shook violently, seeing Andy in the cage.

  “The boy invaded my palace and infiltrated my strong room. He is drawn to it, and now the Casque is locked in place. It will not allow itself to be removed.”

  “I will remove it, along with his head!”

  “No, my master, there is more!” Ziesqe called out.

  The head shook, and a red light shone through from inside the mass. It exploded. Acidic gunk rained down. Brutox writhed in agony, and ychorons screamed as they were struck.

  Moments later, other ychorons rushed forward with vials of what Andy assumed was minoe. Andy avoided the worst of the gunk, with Ziesqe’s aid, but Zava carefully handed him a silver vial. “Put it on your skin where you are burned. You need to be whole for the test. Assuming there is going to be a test,” she mumbled, glancing around at the masters for some indication.

  Arguments flared between the ryle, but the ravagers continued on their path.

  “Make ready to dock! Keep an eye sharp for vaulters,” a voice commanded.

  “He will press the test,” Ziesqe muttered to Kal. “But will he demand the Argument?”

  “Not likely,” Kal said.

  “We should turn around,” Boqreq insisted.

  “It’s too late, Xyth has seen us all and the Maelstrom will have our names. We are now committed to this course,” Ziesqe said.

  The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as the ravagers entered through the city walls and slipped into the docking channels.

  Andy lifted his eyes to the many towers and tall tenements that overhung the docks. Though smaller than the mountain fortress, the local towers still loomed far above the ravagers. Misshapen creatures looked down from balconies.

  Are they ryle, or ychorons, or brutox?

  Ziesqe’s brutox flew into action as the locals tried to rush the ravagers at the dock. Fights broke out and were quickly ended as the locals fell to the deadly efficiency of Ziesqe’s brutox. A few were even thrown overboard, to be trampled fifty feet below.

  A local green-skinned ryle leaped down onto the deck from the buildings above. “A million mouths yawn to meet you, traitors!”

  The red ryle thrust with her trident and caught the green before it could dodge. “Let them hear my reply!” She hissed, hurling its body into the crowd on the dock.

  The stout ryle led his brutox in a broad sweep off the ravager and onto the dock. A few sporadic fights broke out, but, after the red ryle had shown her disregard for life, the locals relented.

  With military precision, Ziesqe’s company took the docks, and Andy was carried on his litter over the gangway. Andy found himself missing the quiet dignity of Zentule.

  He saw the mountain fortress. It reached into the sky and stood taller than any building her had ever seen. A swirling mist emanated from the highest tower, which reached out like a factory smokestack, pumping inky vapor into the air.

  “Disgusting place,” Ziesqe commented as he walked. His brutox were hunched and bared their weapons as they moved in teams to clear the path and inspect every alley and building entrance for potential ambushes. Other brutox kept their eyes and crossbows aimed at the windows.

  Thick rain fell sporadically. Bursts of red flame in the sky, emanating from around the fortress, heralded the momentary downpours. Andy spotted chunks of the fallen rain forming arms and legs or jaws. But more often than not the piles were pounced on by a horde of inky slithers. The fortress walls tapered gently and glistened like the surface of a lake. As he looked closer, he thought there was movement there, movement akin to winds playing across water.

  “What’s on that tower? It looks like it’s moving,” Andy asked Ziesqe.

  “The city of Hyadoth is overlooked by the Hyacap; its surface runs with the overflow of low grade etherium and precursor that is processed inside. What you’re seeing is thousands of potentials killing one another in their struggle to spawn from the runoff.”

  Andy looked back up. That’s thousands of creatures?

  Veloiz, who wasn’t pleased by the distraction, stepped up to Andy’s cage. “Directed evolution, my dear human. Ychorons first formed that way from the slithers, oh, a couple thousand years ago. You won’t find mention of them before a certain point.”

  Andy gawked, disgusted and terrified by what he was hearing.

  “Oh, but you do look brilliant in the Casque. And, if it comes to an Axiomatic fight—ah,” she paused and looked at Ziesqe, “you did remember the…”

  Ziesqe put a hand under his robe. Andy saw red armor underneath. Ziesqe produced a spiked metallic container hanging from a heavy chain.

  “Oh good,” she said, satisfied.

  “What’s that?” Andy asked.

  “Hopefully you won’t have to find out,” she answered, dodging a fa
lling slither and then impaling it with her heel.

  The city had been built without order. Buildings had crumbled into sink holes now full of stagnant dark water. The streets winded in some places, and intersected regularly in others. Canals and changes in elevation between levels of the city meant an occasional waterfall as dams had given away here and there, creating rapids in unlucky locales, and dangerously wet stairs in others. Andy spotted red and purple flesh in the water. He also saw hordes of flapping heads, though the ones here were of many colors and varied shapes.

  As they moved closer to the center, Andy saw that the fortress, the Hyacap, as Ziesqe called it, was indeed covered with thousands of writhing forms. The same scene up there repeated itself down in the streets when the occasional blobs of rain grew large enough. Andy saw creatures that looked like enormous hunched ychorons with wild, monstrous faces chained in front of the less dilapidated manors and warehouses.

  They approached a wide set of stairs and descended. They were entering a round pit surrounded by a massive, yet ramshackle stadium. A promontory, jutting from the bulk of the fortress, overlooked the pit. Andy saw figures looking down from balconies on the promontory.

  Ziesqe’s company took control of the stairs that led down into the pit. Ziesqe himself entered first. He walked across damp sludge to a wooden podium left in the center of the pit. Half-formed arms and mouths rose from the floor to grasp at his feet, but they barely slowed him.

  He stood by the podium and raised a hand.

  A great raucous booing poured from the monstrous audience. Andy saw hundreds of banners and many thousands of creatures filling the seats.

  There was a rumble, like thunder, and the creatures in the stands became silent. Andy saw crimson stains appearing on the Hyacap. The crimson became more and more prominent, and then it moved, and snaked its way to the promontory, where it amassed in a huge droplet.

  “What the hell is it?” Andy called out.

  No one answered. They were all fixated. The ychorons were trembling, and even the ryle looked to be second guessing their plan.

  Wind whipped up from a dead calm to a sudden gale. Banners were torn from poles, and even the large brutox bent to keep balanced.

  The crimson droplet strained and tensed under the violent wind. Andy made out shapes, like arms and wings, underneath the surface.