Black Halo (40 page)

‘Ashamed?’ Denaos muttered in reply.

‘Secretive,’ she growled. ‘You know the difference.’

‘I don’t know why it matters so much.’

‘No, you don’t.’

By the time he heard her break away from him, listened to hear feet tramping down the sandy hill, the blood boiled in his ears with enough fury to render him deaf to all else, save the thunder in his own head.

You fool! You FOOL! What was she doing while
you
were scenting out the tome? What was
he
doing while
you
were preparing to save them all? Of course, why wouldn’t they? Filthy, god-fearing animals acting in decidedly filthy mannerisms …

‘She’s gone now,’ Denaos said, glancing down the hill. ‘How’s the progress over there?’

Maybe it’s not like that … Maybe she’s talking about something else. Let’s remain calm here. It’s the fumes that are making me like this … burning urine can’t be good for the sinuses
.

‘Really, though,’ the rogue continued without his reply, ‘I’m not sure why it needed to be a secret. Chances are she’d be impressed that you could pull off something like this.’

She doesn’t need to know anything
, he muttered inwardly.
She doesn’t need to know that you can’t even control yourself while he …
He felt his teeth threaten to crack under the strain of their clenching.
She knows all about
his
bodily functions, doesn’t she? No … no, stop thinking like that, old man. He’s a cad … a liar … a rat
.

He probably seduced her, tricked her … I’m still the better man
.

The stream sputtered and died out, leaving a fire that gave no heat that Dreadaeleon could feel. His head throbbed, but he didn’t mind. His fingers ached, but he didn’t feel them. All feeling poured into his stare as he felt the crimson light flicker behind his eyes.

The better man with all the power
.

Too late, Kataria realised that not everything could be learned from the wisdom of the elders. For years, she had been content to accept their categorisation of the human menace as a disease. It had made sense when she had only four notches in her ears.

Humans contaminated, infected, multiplied, spread. It was how they had bred to the point where they threatened land and people, where they began to require a cure. Still, she was forced to admit, certain aspects of the elders’ wisdom left out key information.

Such as onset time
.

Perhaps one year was enough, she thought as she stared down at the strain that sat against the reed hut. Perhaps one year and six days was enough to be infected beyond the point of a cure. That made sense now that she had six notches in her ears.

After all
, she thought resentfully,
how long has it been since you felt the urge to kill him?

‘Six days.’

‘What?’ Her eyes went wide, as though fearing he could hear her thoughts with those puny little ears.

‘Six days since we landed,’ Lenk elaborated.

‘Shipwrecked,’ Kataria corrected.

‘I was trying to be optimistic.’

‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘
Six days
since we were shipwrecked on an island forgotten by man and abandoned for dead by the very people we so foolishly trusted to come and rescue us from a slow, lingering death surrounded by an impenetrable wall of salt and wind.’ He turned a glare upon her. ‘Happy?’

‘Well, now you’re just being negative,’ she replied. ‘What’s your point, anyway?’

‘My point is that I’ve had enough of it,’ he said. ‘Enough loincloths, enough lizardmen, and enough forbidden islands.’

‘Better than berserker purple women, giant fish demons and gaping, diseased wounds, surely.’

‘I haven’t forgotten those.’ He rubbed the bandages upon his leg thoughtfully. ‘And I’ve had enough of that, too.’

‘Enough adventuring?’ Her tone was as sly as her smile. ‘I thought it was all you wanted.’

‘No one
wants
to be an adventurer. They just do it when they can’t get any other work.’

‘Your grandfather was an adventurer,’ she offered. ‘He wanted to be one.’ She frowned at his puzzled expression. ‘Or so you said.’

His face twitched, an expression of doubt flashing across his features like sparks off flint. She held her breath at the sight, waiting for the question that would inevitably follow. He didn’t ask it, didn’t have to. The doubt upon his face twisted to an all-telling despair in an instant as he undoubtedly realised he couldn’t remember his grandfather ever having been such a thing.

His memory was improving. He had said that, but he was human. Humans lied. He had little to offer in regard to his past, save for brief flashes of memory in a deep and smothering darkness: a name of a girl he once knew, an image of a tree struck by lightning, the sound of cocks crowing. Even those days he spoke of slid by swiftly, into memory and out, back into darkness.

To look at him struggling to recall brought her own memories to the surface. When she looked upon him out of the corner of her eyes, his silver hair was a pelt, his eyes were faded and cloud-covered, his breath slow and stagnant. In those brief glimpses, he was no longer Lenk; he was a beast, and he was sick.

When she looked at Lenk, it was difficult to see him as a man anymore. More and more, he resembled something dying, struggling with the symptom of his own memories.

And you know what happens to sick beasts
.

She closed her eyes, trying to forget the sound of shrill whimpers fading under the crunch of pitiless boots.

‘Yeah,’ Lenk suddenly whispered, ‘he was, wasn’t he?’

She opened her eyes and he was smiling at her, and caring not if it was for her sake or his own, she returned it.

‘So,’ she said, ‘no more adventure?’

‘No more near-death experiences,’ he grunted.

‘No more sharp pieces of metal aimed at your vitals.’

‘No more fervent pleading to gods.’

‘No more waiting to be eaten in your sleep.’

‘Or stabbed or crushed or otherwise maimed,’ he said, nodding. ‘No more adventure.’

‘No more,’ the words spilled from her mouth unconsciously, ‘companions.’

It was a slow and heavy dawn that rose on their faces, a long and jagged frown that was shared between them. Neither could find any words of the same weight. None were exchanged. They turned away from each other; she fought back both her sigh of relief at the knowledge that passed between them and the urge to turn and look at him.

No
, she told herself,
don’t look. The solution is easy … Now you don’t even have to worry about anything else. No one has to die. You’re still a shict. He’s still a human. All you need to do is not turn around and stay—

‘So …’ she muttered.

Silent. Damn it
.

‘If not adventure, what?’

‘Back to my roots, maybe,’ Lenk replied, rolling his shoulders against the reed wall. ‘Find some land, build a farm, hack dirt, sell dirt. Honourable work.’

‘Alone?’

Damn it
, she immediately scolded herself,
don’t ask him that! Why do you keep doing that? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

She turned to look, couldn’t help it, and saw him staring at her thoughtfully. Whatever she screamed at herself next, she couldn’t hear. Whatever he was about to say next, he didn’t say.

‘Cousin!’

Another sigh of relief was bitten back before they both looked up to see the massive yellow stare above a massive yellow grin set in a massive green head. A three-fingered hand went up, tipping a round black hat upon Bagagame’s scaly crown as he sauntered toward them.

‘Y’farin’ well, guests of Teji?’ He kept one eye upon them, the other circling in its socket to look at the bandage upon Lenk’s leg. ‘Sun feelin’ mighty fine on your meat, no? No cure better.’ He drew in a long breath through his nostrils and twisted his other eye up at the sun. ‘Too bad it never actually makes things stop hurting.’

‘Medicine does,’ Lenk replied, rubbing his leg. He glanced up at the Owauku’s rotating eyes and shuddered. ‘Do … do you always do that?’

‘’S’yeah, cousin,’ he said, bobbing his great head. ‘M’always extendin’ the warmest of welcomes all the damn time.’ He tipped his hat again. ‘King Togu’s always pleased to have humans on Teji, always pleased to share his medicine and hospitality.’ His scaly lips split in a broad, banana-coloured grin. ‘All for the smiling faces.’

‘That wasn’t what I was talking about, but—’

‘Oh.’ If such a thing were possible, the creature’s eyes seemed to grow even larger, threatening to erupt from their sockets with despair. ‘Oh no … you ain’t happy.’ His hands, trembling, reached up to clutch his face. ‘Oh, sweet spirits, I knew ’s’would happen. Was it me?’ He jabbed at his shallow green chest. ‘W’did I ever do to you
?
’

‘It’s … it’s nothing, it’s just—’

‘You’re hungry.’ His head nearly came toppling off with the force of his nod. ‘That’s it. Sunshine and happy thoughts can’t heal. M’get you a nice gohmn, cousin. A fine, fat one.’

Before anyone could protest, Bagagame had spun on his heel and scampered toward a nearby pool ringed by several rainbow-coloured carapaces. Another Owauku wearing a leather hood and wielding a crooked stick looked up as Bagagame began hooting something in their high-pitched babble. A dozen feathery antennae twitched, a dozen compound eyes looked up from their drinking pools, and even from such a distance, Kataria could see her distaste reflected back at her over a hundred times.

‘Gohmns,’ she muttered disdainfully.

‘You don’t like them?’ Lenk’s lip twisted in a crooked grin.

‘We have a history.’ She tried not to remember, but a sudden itch on her face prevented her from doing so. No matter how many times she washed it, she doubted she’d ever get her face clean again. ‘Stupid insects.’

‘It doesn’t seem a little odd to hold a grudge against an insect?’ he asked.

‘I’m entitled.’ She growled. ‘Anything that sprays anything from its anus I dislike on principle. Anything that sprays anything from its anus on
my face
I’m obligated to hate.’

‘Really,’ he mused, ‘I would have thought you’d admire them.’

‘For what?’

‘Well, you’re always boasting about how shicts ate every part of their kill, right? I thought you’d appreciate them for versatility alone. The Owauku use them for everything: food, milk …’

‘Clothes,’ she added, scratching her loincloth. ‘It’s one thing for a deer or a bear to fulfil those needs. If it comes off a giant rainbow roach …’ She moved her hand up, scratching an errant itch on her belly. ‘They don’t even taste good. What I need is venison stewed in its own blood … maybe a nice, hairy flank right off a pig.
Something
made of meat.’

‘Insects are made of meat.’

‘It doesn’t seem a little odd to defend an insect so vehemently?’

‘A little.’ His smile was broad, if no less crooked. ‘Maybe I’m not so averse to the various oddities that surround me anymore.’

His lips twitched, something tremulous scratching his mouth, straining to find a place where it could break out. She recalled how many times she had seen his gaze before, bereft of the softness it bore now. His gaze had been something hard and endlessly blue before, something to be avoided.

Quietly, she longed to see those eyes again. They would at least be easier to turn away from. Instead, she was bound by his stare, forced to look at him as he stared back at her with an expression that was terribly human.

‘Maybe,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t want to leave all of them behind.’

Why do you keep doing this?
Her voice was growing ever more faint in her mind, but still returned to gnaw at her heart with sharp teeth.
Why do you encourage him like this? Even if you wanted this, even if you
wanted
to be infected, this can’t last. It can’t even last as long as you think it can
.

Lenk didn’t see the fear on her face as he looked up. His smile diminished only slightly as he stared at the three half-naked figures approaching them. His wave was weak, his eyes lost their softness; it only reminded her painfully of how he had just looked at her.

‘Other oddities, I’ll be glad to be rid of.’

‘The same could be said of you,’ Denaos muttered as he slunk forward. ‘At the very least, don’t expect me to leave flowers on your grave.’

‘And don’t expect me not to leave something brown and steaming on yours,’ Lenk replied sharply. ‘But I didn’t call you out here to just insult you.’

‘
Just
insult me? Were you going to kick me, as well?’

‘Not today.’ Lenk patted his leg. ‘I had something to—’

‘You should kick him.’

Dreadaeleon’s voice was as sullen as his frown was long. His eyes shifted irately toward Denaos, who merely sneered in reply.

‘Some gratitude,’ the rogue muttered. ‘This is the thanks I get from you?’