Tome of the Undergates (37 page)

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Authors: Sam Sykes

BOOK: Tome of the Undergates
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His sarcasm caught in his throat, overtaken by a stampede of half-digested meat. In one vile swoop, he tilted overboard.
‘If you’re feeling a bit fragile, I could ask Dreadaeleon to slow down,’ Kataria offered, none too gently.
‘I doubt he’ll listen.’
Their eyes slid towards the stern, narrowing upon the scrawny, coat-clad figure seated upon the sole bench. Legs folded, hands knitted in a gesture that looked painful to even consider attempting, Dreadaeleon’s eyes were shut tightly, lips quivering in a series of incomprehensible murmurs.
Above his head, the air shimmered and waxed, the sails billowing with every rapid twitch of his mouth. Behind him, the combined strength of Denaos and Gariath fought to control the rudder against the fury of the artificial wind. The rogue looked not at all pleased with the task; perhaps due to the proximity of the dragonman, perhaps due to the boy’s coat-tails whipping him about the face.
‘Fortunate that the companion vessel is small enough for him to move, isn’t it?’ Kataria spared a smile for the wizard. ‘I’d wager even the Abysmyth can’t swim so fast.’
‘Yeah . . . fortunate,’ Lenk grumbled, narrowly avoiding a rogue wave. ‘We’ll be food for it that much quicker.’ His cheeks bulged momentarily. ‘And here I am, courteously marinating in my own juices.’
‘If it bothers you that much, wake him up.’
‘You don’t know much about wizards, do you?’ Lenk cast a baleful glare at the youth. ‘He’s focusing at the moment. If he’s disturbed, something could go wrong.’
‘Such as?’
‘I woke him up one time while he was trying to keep a fire lit without wood.’ A sour frown creased Lenk’s face. ‘He got startled and I walked away with no hair anywhere, save on my head.’
Kataria blinked for a moment before her eyes widened.
‘You mean even—’
‘
Yes.
’
‘Sounds painful.’
‘It was,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, if you feel like being blasted by whatever he’s messing with, go right ahead. Maybe then I can be sick in peace.’
Kataria chose to hold her tongue as his head bowed back beneath the railing. An expression that lingered uncertainly between lamentful and resentful played upon her face as she stared at him. There was a quiet comfort in his lurching, she thought, not without a modicum of distaste for the idea. She could see him now, vulnerable, as she had not seen him for ages. She could stare at him now without agitating him.
Without him screaming at me.
His head snapped up suddenly, his gaze fixing on her with a cold intensity. She resisted the urge to jump, even as he narrowed his eyes at her, as though he had heard her thoughts. In an instant, whatever malice lurked behind his glare dissipated, replaced by something hovering between meekness and resentment.
‘So,’ he whispered softly, ‘this will sound rather odd to hear.’
She quirked a brow.
‘And, rest assured, it’s not that easy to say, but . . .’ His eyes flitted to the side, indicating a lock of silver that had been coated in a thick brown substance. ‘Would you mind terribly?’
The other brow went up, eyes widening as she realised his request.
‘Mind?’ she asked. ‘Yes, of course I mind, and more than a little of it is quite terrible.’
He blinked at her. ‘But can you do it anyway?’
‘Yeah.’ She sighed, doffing her gloves. ‘Just don’t get any on me.’
With a roll of her eyes, she slid behind him just as his head went back over the railing. Gingerly, she knitted her fingers into his hair and pulled it back gently, holding it out of his face as he sent a wave of brown cascading from his maw.
It occurred to her, with no small amount of grimacing, that she shouldn’t be looking so intently, much less smiling so broadly, at the sight of his liquid corkscrews. His sickness was a comfort to her, however; perhaps it was simply morbid amusement at his suffering, perhaps it was simply pleasant to feel needed once more. Either way, she could not turn away nor banish the smile from her face as he let out a gurgling sound, choking on pleas for mercy to his own innards.
She resolved to be disgusted with herself later.
‘This is nice, isn’t it?’
‘Nice,’ he repeated, gasping. His head tilted upwards slightly. ‘I’m vomiting up my intended last meal so that I’ll be nice and lean before something out there in the wide, blue sea of death decides to devour me.’ He shuddered. ‘Yes, this is very nice.’
‘What I mean is,’ she continued, ‘this is like how things used to be.’
‘That’s odd, I don’t remember this part.’
‘Just shut up and listen for a moment.’ Her ears twitched for emphasis. ‘What do you hear?’
‘I really don’t think—’
‘Wind and water,’ she speared his sentence with a smile, ‘nothing more.’ From behind her, a shrill voice rose to an alien crescendo. ‘Well, wind, water and Dread, anyway.’ She leaned closer, skewering him a little further on her grin. ‘But that’s all there is. There’s no screaming, no dying. It’s just the sound of the world. Do you even remember when we were last able to hear this?’
He raised his head from the sea, casting a glimpse over his shoulder. Despite the sopping strings of hair clinging to his face and the brown streak creeping from the corner of his mouth, some hint of a smile shone through, like the merest sliver of sunlight through a boarded-up window. With a sigh, the first sigh, she noted, not to brim with resentment, he turned away.
‘I’m not sure I’d put it in those words,’ he said, ‘but I do remember a time less red . . . and brown.’ He made a choking sound as he bit back a meaty uprising. ‘I suppose if we could have such things all the time, though, they wouldn’t mean anything.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Hm?’
‘Well, given the circumstances, you think we might . . .’ She let the thought dangle off her tongue, hanging ominously in the air over his head.
‘Run away?’
‘Yeah.’
‘The thought had occurred to me.’ His second sigh bore not even a hint of contentment. ‘What of you? You seemed eager enough to go chasing the Abysmyth last night.’
‘Well, I wasn’t about to be shown up by
you
,’ she retorted, less hotly than she thought she ought to. ‘But I’ve had time to think on it.’
‘And now you want to run?’
‘Not really,’ she spoke evenly. ‘I’m merely putting it forth as a possibility. It doesn’t matter much to me.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Lenk repeated. She could hear his brow furrowing. ‘How does it not matter? Have you
not
figured out that we’re all going to die?’
‘Well, if you’re so certain about our fate, it would seem a bit pointless to worry about it. But that isn’t what I’ve been thinking about.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘It just occurs to me,’ her voice grew hesitant, as though she were attempting to soothe an irate beast rather than pose a question, ‘I don’t know why you’re out here.’
Lenk’s response was a wet gurgle as he nearly toppled overboard with the fury of his heaving. The sea giggled a mocking, salt-laden tune as it reached up to slap him with a frothy palm. He pulled back a scowl dripping with resentment.
‘I ask myself that same question,’ he muttered, ‘every Gods-damned day.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’ She spoke more harshly. ‘Why are
we
out here? Why did
you
decide to go after the demon if death is so certain?’
‘I believe we covered this last night,’ he replied, ‘with one thousand golden responses.’
‘Don’t you dare pretend to think that I’m an idiot by pretending
you’re
an idiot, Lenk.’ All traces of sensitivity had given way to ire, anger spurred by his evasion. ‘All the gold in the world won’t do you any good if you’re dead. There’s another reason you’re out here, one you’re not telling me.’
He drew in a deep breath suddenly and, as though he had inhaled the sun, the air seemed to go cold around her. Before her, he went stiff and rigid, his fingers threatening to dig deep furrows in the railings, so white did they become. His voice was low and soft, though not at all gentle, as he hissed through his teeth.
‘Then why would I tell you now?’
Kataria found herself shivering at his response. For an instant, something else spoke from his mouth, another voice that lurked between his words. An echo of an echo resonated in her ears, lingering in the air around his lips and sucking the warmth from the sky with each reverberation.
‘Lenk, that’s not—’
No, no, NO!
Her instincts thundered in her brain, drowning out all other sounds.
Don’t you apologise to him, don’t you try to make peace. If he wants to be difficult, let him be difficult.
And yet, the voice that seeped out of her mouth was not that of her instinct.
‘Lenk,’ she whispered, ‘does it have to be this way?’
‘What way?’
Let him be difficult . . . and let him remember what it means to be difficult.
Whether it was instinct or simple, vengeful pride that forced her to tighten her grip on his hair, she could not say. Whether it was instinct or the last layer before a shell of quiet resentment gave way to a boiling core of anger that caused her arms to tense, she could not say.
‘This way.’
If it was anything other than a perverse pleasure that caused her to slam his head down against the railing, bringing a smile at the cracking sound that followed, she did not care.
‘Khetashe!’ he screamed, fingering the red blossom under his nose. ‘What was that for?’
When his fist lashed out to catch her jaw, he found nothing but air. A quick glance over his shoulder saw her crawling across the vessel’s meagre deck. Had he energy for anything besides heaving, he might have scrambled for his sword and pursued. As it stood, he merely vomited again.
Asper glanced up as Kataria sprang forwards over the shifting deck. Her eyes went wide at the chorus of curses from Lenk’s lips and she turned a befuddled stare to her companion as she sat down beside her.
‘What was that all about?’
‘Nothing to worry about yet,’ Kataria replied swiftly. With unnerving speed, she forced a smile onto her lips. ‘All’s well here?’
‘I suppose,’ the priestess replied. She noticed the bright red spot upon the railing and frowned. ‘Should I—’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Kataria snapped. ‘He’s fine. How are you?’
‘Decent enough,’ Asper replied with a weak shrug. She furrowed her brow at the shict. ‘Why do you care, anyway? ’
‘I can’t care about my companions?’ She gave Asper a playful slug on the arm, her grin growing broader as the priestess let out a pained squeak. ‘What’s the matter with you, anyway? You haven’t spoken for hours.’
‘I’m fine.’ Asper’s voice was as distant as her gaze, her eyes staring out over the endless blue. ‘I’m just . . . distracted.’
‘By?’
‘Well . . . nothing.’ The priestess shook herself angrily, as if incensed by her own lie. ‘Nothing that I can help, anyway. It’s just . . . I
hear
something. My ears are ringing, I have a headache,’ she fingered the phoenix medallion in her palm, ‘but I don’t know why.’
‘Seasickness, perhaps.’ Kataria sneered in Lenk’s direction as the young man let out a saliva-laden groan. ‘It could be worse.’
‘It’s not that.’ Asper shook her head. ‘It . . . well, it sounds strange to say, but it feels . . . like something’s calling to me.’ Seeing her companion’s baffled expression, she continued hastily. ‘It-it’s not a sound, not a normal one, anyway. It’s not like the ringing of bells or the crying of children. It’s ... an ache, a dull pain that I hear.’
‘You hear . . .’ Kataria’s face screwed up, ‘pain?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well.’ The shict clicked her tongue thoughtfully. ‘If there were something out there that you could hear, I think chances are that I would hear it first.’ Her ears twitched. ‘And if it were something I couldn’t hear, I think Dreadaeleon would sense it.’ She glanced back at the entranced boy and frowned. ‘Then again—’
‘I know.’ Asper sighed. ‘It’s just nerves, I suppose.’ Her hand tightened around the pendant, squeezing it as she might a lover’s hand. ‘I don’t think I can be blamed for it, knowing what we’re going after.’
‘The Abysmyth can be hurt.’ Kataria spoke as much for her own assurance as for Asper’s; the quaver in her voice, however, seemed to convince neither of them. ‘We’ve seen it, right?’
‘We saw the Lord Emissary chase it away with prayers.’
‘Well, I suppose we’re in luck, since you seem to do a lot of that.’
‘It’s not the same and you know it.’ Asper glowered at her companion. ‘Further, we
also
saw it take a harpoon through the belly and . . .’ Her face twisted slightly. ‘Mossud, bless him—’
‘I remember.’

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