by Jeffrey Hall
“Not without him,” she answered.
The growls grew louder.
You will not leave it again.
And there, emerging from the shadow on the other side of the pond, were eyes as golden as the great fire above, tiny sets of fires defeating the darkness to stare out across the milk at Wish, their desire, their prey. Stripes flowed out from them, ragged black patterns connecting them to the shadow of the forest. The only other things visible were what appeared soon after, their claws and teeth, stained and tainted from the countless meals they had devoured with them. Everywhere Wish looked they were there. If their numbers had dwindled since the attack, it did not appear so now. And at the center, stepping out of the shadow and into the light of the pond’s edge, was the Red One, its fur as dark as blood, its tail swishing in mute anger.
“Pasa...” whispered the Gibbon.
“Wake the trees!” she cried, but before the whispers could even leave the botamancers’ tongues, the streaked ones began throwing their spears.
The lances careened over the pond, cutting the air in high-pitched screams thanks to the patterns etched into the tips, a feral racket that roared compared to the croaks and buzz of the creatures that surrounded them. The spears fell onto the other side of the pond. Wish dove beneath Pasa’s okapi, braving the creature’s plodding hooves rather than the weapons crashing down all around him. The okapi mewled. Pasa cursed. Beside them the Gibbon fell to the ground, gurgling, a spear straight through his chest, the box flung from his hand as he fell.
Pasa’s okapi bucked and then fell, throwing the botamancer to the ground nearby, but exposing Wish to the fall of the spears. He rolled, the spears pocking the ground all around him, kicking up specks of dirt. He grabbed the box, and then grabbed hold of the dead Gibbon’s okapi, snatching the creature’s reins before swinging his leg over its side. It was only once he was upon it that he noticed the spear sticking out from its haunch.
“That’s my box, djinn!” cried Rive over the chaos. The jungle-diver had come to his feet and was wielding one of the streaked ones’ thrown spears, sawing his bindings against its sharp tip.
He didn’t bother to answer him. He slapped the okapi’s hindquarters with the flat part of his machete, sending it frantically into the forest.
We will hunt you wherever you go, the Red One yelled in his head, and growled, rumbling over the forest behind as if his voice itself was trying to catch up to him.
Spears crashed through the forest, snatching leaves as they fell, grazing the air about his face. The okapi lumbered forward, the spear in its leg barely slowing it in its frantic state. All that mattered was surviving. The only way to do it was to escape the slaughter.
The animal sprinted through the avenues in the forest, navigating the roots and stones and vegetation that stood like hurdles meant to prevent them from escaping.
It didn’t take long to put the noises of the fight behind them, but that safety lasted only moments. The roars started not long after.
They boomed in succession. Claps of thunder lost in the forest. Wish dared to look behind. Three of the streaked ones charged behind him.
They navigated the wiry jungle floor so effortlessly, it was impossible for the wounded okapi to outrun them. One of the creatures heaved its spear. The polearm fluttered just over Wish’s shoulder as he ducked. Another sprinted and lunged for the okapi’s backside. Wish swiped down with his machete, the totem flaring to cut away the creature’s right cheek, taking away its fur and whiskers in one stroke.
It tumbled away in a roar, but it was not done. It scrambled to its feet and reconvened its chase, its fangs now exposed as if it had a permanent, wicked smile. Not far behind, its brethren homed in on him.
Another sprinted just inches behind him. Wish slashed down with his machete over and over, trying to keep the creature from lunging. The okapi jerked, shifting to avoid a fallen tree. Wish had to put both hands on the creature in order to avoid falling off completely. His defenses down, the streaked one jumped. It dug its claws into the side of the okapi, clinging onto its massive hindquarters like a monkey would a tree.
With little room to swing, all Wish could do was bring the handle of the machete into the creature’s face, smashing its black nose over and over again as it gnashed out with its fangs. It tore one of its claws free of the okapi. The mount screamed and stumbled, nearly taking them all to the ground, but Wish pulled up on its reins, keeping it level as it staggered through the forest. The streaked one tore into Wish’s leg, all five claws finding the flesh of his thigh.
He growled, twirled the machete in his hand for an overhand grip, and thrust backwards. The tip entered the creature’s neck, forcing its great pink tongue out of its teeth. It went strangely cross-eyed before his claws loosened and it fell away from the okapi.
He glanced down at the open wounds on his leg, saw the fresh blood pooling there, but quickly turned his attention back to the two remaining streaked ones still in pursuit.
They were only yards away, leaping over the bramble and broken logs, their brilliant eyes never leaving Wish’s own, as if they could read his thoughts by looking down his pupils. The okapi was snorting, struggling to go on. Another attack like that and they’d surely be brought to the ground. He had to keep them away.
He swung his head in desperation, hoping for some salvation in the forest. But all that surrounded him were the trees and vines and bushes...
He realized then that his salvation was everywhere.
With his grip still backwards on the machete, he slashed the nearby trees and creepers, the totem roaring as the blade hit the wood, severing the trunks where they stood.
The trees groaned as they fell, but the streaked ones roared louder. The trunks shifted, sliding out in front of the creatures, creating obstacles of such size that even things as graceful as they were unable to navigate them. They were falling behind.
Finally, Wish slashed the trunk of a knot-long, a tree with bark like tied rope, and it fell into three other trees behind him already on the brink of collapsing. The great tree took the others with it in a deafening swoosh. The two streaked ones’ eyes finally fell away from Wish’s as the tangle of branches came crashing down on their heads. They disappeared amongst a tangle of wood and leaves, and a rent in the canopy tore open, letting a flood of light into the shadowy bosom of the forest floor as if to wash away the dark intent of the creatures that pursued him.
Wish tucked his machete into his side, swallowing, staring at the path of destruction he’d created in his wake. It was one jagged wound along the forest, the place he loved so much, to save his own skin. The forest would have its revenge, eventually. He was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure how or when.
He bit his lip, the nagging scream of his injuries superseding his thoughts. He looked down at his leg. His pants were shredded. A dark stain crept out over the cloth like spilled ink, but it looked paltry compared to the wounds of his mount.
Blood fluttered out of the creature as it sprinted nosily through the jungle, strings of it falling to the ground as if it were some strange new function to mark its territory. The spear still lay lodged in its fur, broken now from the wild rampage through the forest.
“Just a little longer,” he whispered to the okapi. If he were to atone for the violence he caused within the forest, forcing one of its creatures past its limits was only another minor transgression. The streaked ones were still back there. So were the botamancers. Rive too. And though he could no longer hear the Red One’s voice in his head, his last words lingered in it as freshly as if the creature was whispering in his ear.
I will find you.
Chapter 10
Wish and the okapi limped towards the walls of Fangmora. He could no longer ride the beast. Its leg had begun to shake. Its breath became watery. They had been going for hours, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. If he forced it any further he had no doubt it would drop. So he had dismounted with bare feet, and with no sign of the streaked ones for so
me time, took the risk of walking the rest of the way back, the gods, if they existed, kind enough to keep the other creatures of the forest from investigating the blood they leaked upon its floor.
Now they stood before the northern cut in the wall, a path that led out from the city and into the Knotted Mountains. The broken stone stared back at him, crooked and maligned, an incomplete smile with teeth missing and poor green moss hanging like replacements to make up for them. He stayed in the shadows of the cut in the wall, catching his breath, thinking, turning over every possible outcome of what would come with the deliverance of the fourth box, trying to work up the courage to face the city and the great fire pouring down over its intimidating peaks like acid to burn away the impurities that hid in the shadow underneath. Impurities like him.
He reeked. He bled. He hurt. The taste of the milk still on his lips threatened to bring the bile lingering in his throat up for good. His bare feet were blistered.
He rested his head against the stone, and thought, Fool, this is what you get for putting your trust in something as slippery as people.
Rive had saved his life. He had spoken with such certainty and belief, yet now Wish knew his words were nothing more than lies. Baits used by a predator to lure prey into the dark cavern of his intent.
And what of Moso? Where had he gone off to? Was what Rive said true, or was it only more lies to throw him off balance and keep him off his own trail so Wish couldn’t read his intentions?
But what if he was telling the truth? What then?
Then who is left to trust besides my father? he thought. He gazed back into the forest, and despite the violence he had just escaped, found it to be a welcoming alternative to what lay on the other side of the broken wall they huddled within.
He shook his head as thoughts of his father returned to it. He wondered if Risa and her people were taking care of him like they promised they would, or if they were treating him as nothing more than nuisance, a piece of a trash left by a wandering jungle-diver who annoyingly kept showing up at their doorstep. He wondered if he and Marli had met. Why did he still care? All he needed to do was enter the forest for good and he’d never have to deal with lies or deceits. He chewed his lip, staring down the pathway he had just come, but turned away, unable to explain why he couldn’t just leave.
Instead, he grabbed at his wounds. They were deep, but not deep enough that they would be mortal. Some of the gouges had already stopped bleeding. He wished he could say the same for the okapi. The beast would be dead soon if he didn’t bring it to a stable, but getting to a stable was risky. He’d have to cross too many streets to get there, stay in too much of the light to find one. There were too many eyes in the brightness of the city looking for him. He’d have to stick to the shadows, make it back to the inner city, and hope that Dargu and the Eclectun would be able to repair the creature.
He patted the okapi’s neck, and it gave a watery snort in return. “Hang in there a little longer.”
He pulled the creature’s reins, and together they reentered the city.
An alley that outlined the Crone Stones and the square nearby took them by the busy streets filled with people coming to pay their respects to the singing monuments or bath in the stones. A few times people stole glances into the darkness as they sauntered past. He hoped all they saw was just another merchant walking his wares to a stall somewhere further in the city, using the alleyways to avoid the thieves that picked their wares from their beasts’ backs or the crowds that slowed everything down, and not the paltry silhouette of a jungle-diver wanted by too many for the damn box he had tucked beneath his arm and the other ones he had found across the city. At least the reek of the pond still upon his skin would keep them at bay.
Slowly he meandered his way towards the colorful streets of the inner city. He kept glancing up to the sky, hoping that Wings would see him and save him the need to try and find Dargu’s hideout again. But the only things above were the blue whistle-tails trilling in the air as they migrated east to pick the shores of Dust Break of the devil crabs that washed up there, and the drum-bellies slapping their tummies as they hopped from building to building, having their own ridiculous mating party up there in the sky. Nothing to prevent him from taking that next step forward and putting his painful feet down on the hard ground.
Soon he arrived at the northern archway of Sagwa, an underpass whose curve had been carved to look like the fanged overbite of a Kodo and whose stones were made to look like the scales of the same, the lizard responsible for defeating the argalash that tormented the mountains many Moon Sheds ago, another construct meant to separate the inner city from the rest of Fangmora.
There was no avoiding it. The Striped Streets had barely any alleys. The buildings were built atop of each other, one long cluster of stones without cracks in between. Another form of protection. Another way to prevent pests from climbing inside.
He passed through, leading the limping okapi behind him. The street sprawling before him had stones painted blue to make it look like a river. A trio of regally dressed women turned their heads at his approach, scrunching their noses as he passed, commenting on his stench and his appearance. He glanced at them, their eyes more painful than the open wounds on his skin. He turned down the street that held Dargu’s hideout and froze.
Only a few yards away stood Rive and a half dozen men behind him, all gruff looking and scarred just like him. Ruffians and thugs, people pulled out of the muck of alleys and the places attached to them. Blood glinted in trails along Rive’s right arm as if his veins were on the wrong side of his fur. He had been wounded in his escape from the botamancers and the streaked ones, same as Wish, yet he had still arrived much faster.
“Hello!” shouted the jungle-diver, smiling, raising his uninjured arm to wave. The looks on those who surrounded him told Wish he didn’t intend to ask for some truce. “Look at you, Djinn. I couldn’t have caused all that blood on you, could I?” He pointed to Wish’s trousers. “It seems like it’s a race to see who can nip away the other the fastest. At the end of this I think we’ll both be nothing but nubs, still alive carcasses cursing each other like deer done over by dogs.” His smile left. “I must say how infuriating I find it that the jungle keeps finding a way for you to escape my grasp. That’s why my employer has given me more hands.”
Some of the thugs took out their weapons. A machete, a dagger, an axe... The wooden and plant-based blades shone back at him like glistening, saliva-ridden teeth.
“Who is your employer?” said Wish calmly, trying to downplay the fear coursing through his bones.
Rive ignored his question and nodded to the box in Wish’s hand. “That’s mine. I would like it back.”
Wish eyed the thugs. Seven against one. He’d never be able to defeat them all in his condition. Even if he was healthy, he’d still have to find a way to single them out. One of the thugs nocked a bow with an arrow with a head shaped like the jaw of a crocodile. Wish swallowed, almost disbelieving the words that came out of his own mouth. “It’s yours if you can get it.”
He shoved the box into one of the packs on his hip.
Rive smiled wider. “As the jungle would prefer.”
The thug with the bow let loose. He dove, and the arrow shot past his head. The okapi screamed. Wish looked up to see the arrow wedged in the creature’s chest, its fur falling away from the wound as the skin beneath it dissolved, unveiling its sinewy muscle and further. The arrows were totemic. He looked back and the archer was nocking another arrow while Rive and the others were stampeding towards him.
“Gazon!” he swore as he scrambled to his feet and hurried down the street.
“Finally, a proper hunt!” Rive cried at his back. He heard the twang of a bow being shot and lowered his head. The arrow struck a building beside him, dissolving the stone. He frantically turned down the closest street and came face-to-face with a small crowd watching a street performer do tricks with a trained fiend ape, a mounted primate captured from the Knot
ted Mountains and tamed. Wish plunged into the people as the performer balanced atop the creature’s palm, releasing, catching, and swinging hundreds of colorful butterflies in a giant net.
Wish emerged into the center of the ring, hesitated, and saw no other option.
“Hoatzin mada!” shouted the performer. “You’re ruining it!”
Wish charged the fiend ape. The creature’s great green eyes widened, and it gave a small, confused hoot before Wish lowered his shoulder into the thing’s stomach. It crumpled. The performer fell. The crowd yelled. A thousand butterflies burst into the air, creating a colorful distraction as the thugs rounded the street behind him.
Another twang of the bow. An onlooker held her face, an arrow sticking out of it. Wish saw the outline of her teeth as her skin pulled back, just as he ran to the other side of the crowd.
He came to another intersection, turned left and passed a dozen people coming to investigate the commotion he’d created on the other street. He limped on, glancing behind him to see Rive and the others coming around the bend. Up ahead there was a man making junk totems out of wood scraps, shouting promises for his wares that would never be fulfilled. Wish grabbed hold of his table and turned it over, hoping that some of the totems were just close enough to the real thing to activate and end disastrously. The man swore at him, but Wish could barely hear him over the crackle of the junk totems flaring, bursting into sharp shrapnel thanks to the poor craftsmanship. The closest thug crumpled, yelling about his eye, but the others still hurried after him.
“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you!” cried Rive, laughing a crazed laugh over the yells of everyone else. “Do you think you can hide? The reek of the mother’s milk has stained you.”
The street went uphill as they broached the Knotted Mountains. The incline put hell into his legs. He fought on, turning over barrels of food that lined the buildings, ignoring the curses tossed at him by passersby in hopes that the contents would trip up Rive and the thugs, but they were nothing but minor obstacles. A few slips, but they kept after him.