Dark Rot

by Simon McHardy

  Goron flushed in anger. “I saw you were struggling, so I was going to offer to help carry something for you.” He looked to Szat.

  “Oh.” Morwen lowered her eyes, embarrassed.

  “I could carry Szat for you.”

  “Him? He won’t…” Szat jumped off Morwen’s shoulder. His tiny, blowfly-like wings buzzed to slow his fall. Goron bent down and lifted the demon onto his broad shoulder.

  “Much more roomy.” Szat sighed and stretched out.”

  “Fine, but don’t come whingeing to me when he craps on your shoulder.”

  Szat scowled down at her. “That’s because you feed me too much fibre.” Then turning to Goron, he said, “What’s your favourite sauce for beef?”

  “Bread sauce, no question.”

  Morwen shrugged her shoulders. Greedy pigs, they deserved each other.

  Less burdened, she caught up to Caroc walking nimbly by the water’s edge. The ranger had been quieter than usual obviously dealing with his latest internal struggle. The light suddenly passed from the golden radiance of an afternoon to gloom. Morwen realised with a start that they had entered Tadblack Forest. The willow trees were replaced by giant ruinwoods, their bark grey, their boughs nearly as thick as their trunks. The root systems must be enormous, Morwen thought. There were no more birds floating on the river; instead, there were rocks so thick with moss they could be used as pillows. A cacophony of insect song shrilled insistently overhead. Morwen shuddered at the sound, reminded of their recent run-in with the chomites.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” Morwen said trying to sound cheerful.

  Caroc drew his eyes from the trees and looked at Morwen. He shook his head in astonishment. “The place is evil. It killed all my brothers and sisters. You have no idea what horrors live amongst these trees.”

  Caroc’s voice was harsh, and a steely glint flashed in his eyes. Something had happened here that got his blood up.

  “Where will the river take us?” Morwen asked.

  “The toadoks’ village.” He spat out the word, toadok, as if it were poison on his tongue.

  Morwen smiled to herself. That was it then; Caroc had a vendetta against the toadoks! She was okay with that. Yeston said he wanted the toadok problem sorted out once and for all.

  The three camped for the night by a fallen ruinwood tree. Its huge trunk stretched across the river. The bones of a deer lay nearby, given flesh again by the soft moss as if the forest itself were trying to resurrect the fallen beast.

  Morwen’s back ached, and she couldn’t stand for another moment if she tried. She let her pack slide down her shoulders and off her arms onto the ground and flopped down beside it.

  The others didn’t seem nearly so weary. Caroc started collecting wood for a fire. Szat prowled around in search of food. Goron walked down to the river to try to spear some of the ‘delicious looking fish’ with a sharpened, wooden stick. Morwen was content to do nothing. She didn’t care if the others thought she was shirking off. If it weren’t for her, they’d all still be running around in circles in the catacombs.

  Morwen woke with a stream of drool running down her cheek. It was evening. Light drained from the forest and the aromatic smell of fish stew was heavy on the air. Szat’s was trying to squeeze himself into the cooking pot. Caroc and Goron lay with their belts loosened and contented looks on their faces. Morwen’s face flushed with anger. The selfish gluttons. She was wondering whether the offence warranted a curse when she noticed a steaming bowl of stew beside her. She hungrily scooped up a mouthful with her hands not caring if she burnt her fingers. It was delicious. The bitterness of the fish was balanced by the zesty herbs. Not realising how hungry she was, she gobbled down the lot.

  Licking the bowl, she noticed Goron staring at her.

  He smiled, “Not a bad brew for a solider.”

  “You cooked that?”

  “You have to do all your own cooking on guard duty.”

  The warrior was full of surprises. Szat finished licking the pot clean, belched and waddled off to urinate against a tree. The fluorescent green stream glowed in the dark. Another surprise.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Goron said standing up and stretching.

  Goron knew that after an exhausting day, the worst thing you can do on guard duty is to find somewhere warm and comfy to sit down. Instead of a soft mossy rock, he chose a ruinwood tree and angled himself so he could see both the river and the campsite. The tree’s coarse bark dug into his back and kept the sleep from his eyes. The beauty of the forest at night did the rest. It was just what he needed.

  The moonlight turned the forest purple, transforming the dull, grey waters of the river to violet and washing the trees with shades of lilac. He always enjoyed being in nature and envied the rangers. A guard’s duty was to patrol the surrounding farmlands. The rangers watched over the Forest of Tadblack. Both groups had been remiss in recent years due to the overwhelming number of Wichsault’s enemies.

  He looked back to the camp still lit by the dying embers of the fire. He could see Caroc lying near the fire, his pale face upturned to the heavens. Goron didn’t understand the ranger. Rangers were meant to be a hardy, intrepid breed, amongst the best men and women in Wichsault, unlike the guards. Yet Caroc was a coward, the man hid in the shadows every time they were involved in a fight. He’d heard the man was part of some ill-fated patrol and was the sole survivor. But it was just blood and death, how could such a thing affect a man so deeply? Goron had lost men and women before. There was no point dwelling on it. You just pushed all the pain down deep and got on with life.

  Goron’s attention turned to Morwen curled up on the edge of the firelight. She’d been right when she’d caught him watching her. Why wouldn’t he look? She was a good-looking woman if you overlooked her megalomania, vengeful nature, and all her scars and mutilations. He didn’t like his chances, though, but then again it was going to be a long journey.

  A splash in the river caught Goron’s attention. Ripples formed across the purple water. A big fish perhaps, it would make a nice breakfast. Goron walked to the river and waded out up to his thighs. He didn’t have a fishing line with him but if the fish was big or slow enough, he might be able to whack it with his axe.

  He glimpsed a pale shape swimming just below the surface to the right and turned to it.

  The shape moved at a blinding speed and darted between his legs. Was it his imagination? Did whatever it was reach up and stroke his loins as it passed? Goron’s eyes narrowed at the possible violation.

  The violator approached from the left, and Goron adjusted his stance ready to cleave the fish in two. His axe was ready to strike when the fish flashed behind him. This time he definitely felt the affront. The marine creature pinched his backside. Hot anger rumbled from his gut, he clenched his axe, and bellowed a challenge.

  The sound of tinkling laughter behind him was like the clinking of crystal. Goron whirled around. The snarl dropped from his face as his eyes widened. There was a woman in the river. Her hair, unusually long and fluorescent green, floated around her like waterweed. The pale skin, aglow in the moonlight, illuminated the delicate facial features, sculpted from the finest china. She was naked. A patch of pubic hair, the same glorious colour as her tresses, was visible beneath the water’s surface.

  The sight brought a flood of heat to Goron’s face and nethers. “By Murdus,” he gasped.

  There was a coy smile on the woman’s lips as if she knew his desire. “Greetings,” she called. Her voice resonated like the cascading sound wave from the note of a harp.

  “Hello there,” Goron said. It seemed impolite to keep his clothes on, and he hurriedly undressed under the gaze of the large, moss-green eyes. He flung his discarded garments on an overhanging tree branch and splashed out to meet her with all the grace of a drowning donkey. The woman swam to him. Her long hair and arms ensnared him as her h
ard nipples pressed against his chest. His penis swelled and pushed against her belly.

  “What is your name?” Goron asked.

  “Blodwen.” She bit at his lip. Her breath smelled rich and earthy like the forest after an autumn rain. He responded hungrily and pushed his tongue between her teeth and explored her mouth. His tongue found hers and the two organs tussled as she forced Goron down into the shallows of the water. Reaching for him, she guided him inside her and thrust down upon him. Her thighs slapped the water and created waves that rippled to the river’s banks. Faster and faster she moved until they both cried out, and Blodwen collapsed panting upon Goron. They lay there quietly bodies entwined, listening to each other’s breath until a pale sun rose above the forest turning the violet waters cream. “I must go,” Blodwen said.

  “Stay awhile, meet the others.”

  “No, I must return to my tree. I’ve been here too long.” Blodwen rose, a vision of beauty fashioned from ivory.

  He reached up and pulled her back onto him. He couldn’t let something so beautiful escape, not when Morwen had told him he was cursed, and love and lust would always escape him.

  Blodwen squirmed out of his embrace.

  “You could come with me,” she told him. She ran a pointed toe from his belly to his crotch. “I’ll make you happy, always.”

  Goron looked back at the camp, but he couldn’t see it above the riverbank. He’d accepted his mission on which the fate of Wichsault depended. If he eloped with Blodwen, he’d undoubtedly put the mission at risk and condemn the people of Wichsault to death. On the other hand, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was offering to make him happy forever. The choice was simple.

  Goron rose and took Blodwen’s hand. It seemed to float as fragile and light as a butterfly inside his. Without glancing back to his deserted companions, he walked into the forest.

  Morwen woke with a start. “Cut it out,” she yelped pushing the demon and the smouldering blanket off her.

  “What?” Szat said rubbing the sleep from his eyes with chubby, red hands that spluttered flames.

  “You’re dreaming again.” Her hand went to her belly where an angry red welt had appeared. Another scar to add to her many.

  Szat grinned displaying yellow, needled teeth. “It was a wonderful dream too. I was slow-roasting the plump cook on a spit for refusing me fourth helpings.” Szat had long-running problems with Wichsault’s cook, Margot, who found him a greedy pest and chased him from the kitchens with a meat cleaver. “She was smeared in honey mustard and was roasting over an open fire. The smell...” Szat’s eyes glazed over and a string of drool hung like a jungle vine from his chin.

  “He’s gone,” Caroc said. The ranger stirred a simmering pot by the fire. Szat grunted in delight and ran over to peer inside.

  “Who?” Morwen said pulling on her robe and wincing as the fabric brushed against her burnt flesh.

  “Goron, I found his clothes and armour down by the river. The stupid fool must have taken a night swim.”

  The not unpleasant image of Goron naked and frolicking in the river flashed in Morwen’s head.

  “Something got him for sure. You don’t take midnight dips in that river,” Caroc said.

  Szat, seemingly unimpressed with the broth Caroc had made, squealed with joy. He scampered over to Goron’s pack and pulled out all the food supplies.

  Morwen shrugged. “We’ll be fine without him. We’ve got the staff now.” She hid the drunken butterflies that lurched around in her stomach. Goron was very handy with his axe and not to mention pleasing on the eye if she admitted it. Now with just the three of them, and Caroc being as useful in a fight as a toothpick against a sword, their quest had become a whole lot harder.

  By mid-morning Morwen’s back ached, and she was exhausted. Szat weighed twice as much as normal after eating a week’s worth of Goron’s food supplies. She didn’t begrudge the demon as they couldn’t hope to carry all the rations between them. She had a nagging feeling, despite her show of bravado, that they wouldn’t need food for much longer anyway.

  Morwen distracted herself from the growing sense of doom and the aches and pains by pretending she cared about nature. The trees’ misshapen trunks and branches, at first surreal and sinister, began to lose their novelty. The meandering river with its haunting shadows and mountain melts was no longer a welcome companion but a dreary, depressing flow of stone-grey water in the stark light of day. Not a single flower, edible mushroom or colourful toadstool grew under the trees. The forest floor was a battlefield littered with dead, decaying leaves.

  Morwen joined Szat’s game of searching for Goron’s corpse in the river, but Caroc ruined it by pointing out the body would drift downstream not up. As a last resort, she turned her attention to the ranger. He’d definitely changed. She could see it in his features which were set in stone, grim and determined. “What did the toadoks do to you?” she blurted out.

  Caroc stopped and leant against a tree. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, they swam with tears. His mask was made of fine porcelain.

  Intrigued, Morwen rubbed his shoulder. “I heard a Sister of Murdus say it helps to talk about it.”

  “It’s not just what they did to me but to someone I love, I…I can’t stop thinking about.” He let out an anguished cry. “I should have listened to her and all would have been well.”

  Morwen increased the tempo of her comforting rubs and made soothing, shushing sounds.

  “We were the last two rangers, Nessa and me…”

  “Why are we doing this?” Nessa said turning to look at Caroc. A sliver of sunlight caught her auburn hair, leafing it with gold and making her sea-green eyes glint like emeralds.

  Caroc inhaled the vision. Of all the men left in Wichsault, she’d chosen him. “If we don’t keep the toadoks in check, they’ll raid the farmland.”

  Nessa’s eyes narrowed, and she sighed in exasperation. “You know what I mean, Wichsault doesn’t care about us. The justiciar wants to save his skin, so he can enjoy his wine cellar for as long as he can.” She moved closer. Featherlight fingers ran down the tanned skin of his forearm. “We’re the last two rangers, Caroc. It ends with us.”

  Nessa was right. All his brothers and sisters were dead. His packmaster and mentor, Logres, fell on a patrol like this, too. They all died searching the forests and sniffing out the toadok warbands before they swooped on Wichsault’s few remaining farms.

  Nessa’s arms encircled Caroc’s waist and pulled him in. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against him and smell her odour of sweat and oiled leather. She tried to disguise it by smearing lemongrass over her skin, but to Caroc, the scent was better than any castle woman’s fancy perfume.

  “Why don’t we keep moving, find somewhere to settle down?” She glanced over Caroc’s shoulder at the distant mountains. “We could see what’s on the other side of those ranges as we’ve always talked about and start a family.” At the suggestion he began to stiffen against her, and she laughed and bit at his earlobe. “Lots of little rangers, a pack of our own.”

  Escape, and he could have a lifetime of happiness with this beautiful woman and a family, or he could stay and die. He’d been so proud to take the oath, his dream since childhood. How could he betray that dream and his oath? How could he renege on his duty to protect Wichsault to save his own skin? “Wichsault won’t last much longer and when the grand old lady does fall, we can slip away and start work on that family.” He smiled to soften the rejection.

  Nessa wasn’t having it and pushed him away. “You’re going to get us both killed, you and your stupid oath. Logres doesn’t care if you keep it. He’s worm food. They all are.”

  She walked in silence, obviously seething with resentment that Caroc could not understand her point of view. He was a ranger until death. He hoped she would forgive him before nightfall. Nights in the forest were cold a
nd long.

  A slight movement caught Caroc’s attention, a subtle shift in shadow. Nessa had seen it too and went into a low crouch while she pulled back her bow string.

  Caroc picked up a scent on the breeze, fishy and familiar. A cold chill ran down his back. They’d walked into an ambush.

  The air buzzed as if alive with insects.

  Caroc and Nessa flattened themselves on the leafy ground.

  Blow darts peppered the ground around them. Some hit their targets.

  An army crashed through the undergrowth. Caroc strained to rise, but it felt as if he’d been pinned by an avalanche of rock. He was hauled to his feet and found himself looking into the reptilian faces of several toadoks. Upended, he was crammed into a giant rubbery mouth and swallowed in a single gulp. Still paralysed, he sloshed around in a stomach full of fish puree and stomach acid as the toadok dragged his distended belly back to his village.

  Caroc was regurgitated in a puddle of goo at the feet of the fattest toadok he’d ever seen. He was the size of a cow with runny, watery eyes like half-poached eggs. Perched on his head was a headdress made from unimpressive mottled, grey feathers. Caroc was in a tent with a dozen other toadoks crammed into its confines. Nessa had endured the same treatment as he and was lying beside him.

  The chief, as Caroc supposed him to be, regarded his two captives with his runny-egg eyes. Pleased, he smacked his lips and dragged his purple, bloated tongue over his rubbery lips. “Boil the female and serve her with a parsley sauce, save the male for the feast.”

  “You’re on a diet, Thok,” a gigantic female, with two large, lactating breasts that hung past her waist and looked like leaking waterskins, screeched.

  Thok sagged at the reminder. “Skin her first and no crocodile butter in the sauce.” The gigantic female nodded approvingly.