by Luca Tarenzi
"That was just a little taste of what is in store for you," she whispered when he stopped moving. "I can go on for quite a while, using your eyes and elsewhere. If I put more poison in, then your eyeballs will dissolve like mud in the rain."
The second sentence wasn't true; she didn't possess such toxins. The first was, though.
She had to use her poison on him twice more, both times in the eyes, before the Goblin gestured with his head that he was ready to speak. With his cheeks covered in acid tears, he spat out the instructions on how to reach the remote corner of the Cells where Thaw was. Needleye never took her hatchet from his throat.
Needleye listened carefully, then suddenly grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head against the ground until he stopped moving.
"Help me," she whispered to Verdigris, who had been behind her the whole time.
Together, they dragged him behind the door and tied him and his companion up with bits of leather cut from their clothes. Verdigris never once looked at Needleye, but her cloud had a sour smell of confusion, disbelief and growing panic.
Needleye picked up the torch the guards had dropped. "Follow me," she hissed, pretending to be far more certain than she really felt.
They ran through the corridors and tunnels, hiding behind corners when they thought they heard guards nearby, but they didn't come across any.
The room the Goblin had told them about was at the end of a blind corridor, behind a thick, round metal door. There were other doors along the way, some of which were open allowing Needleye to glimpse storerooms filled with building materials.
"Why did they put him in this underground maze?" asked Verdigris. "Are the proper cells full?"
"Maybe." Needleye handed her the torch. "Stay at the corner and make sure nobody comes."
She moved closer to the door. "Thaw," she whispered.
Nothing.
Needleye placed her ear against the metal, allowing her Glamour to flow along the sides of the door, into the gaps so she could listen. Someone was breathing, with a shallow, slightly irregular rhythm.
Thaw was probably still unconscious or had no strength to reply.
The door was closed with a chain and a hook, but it opened when Needleye forced it. Nobody in the tribe knew how to create human locks and padlocks and, even if they did, it would have required a forge and plenty of fire, a risk that was far too great in the Landfill. So, to hold someone prisoner, they kept them tied up and behind a watched door. Alternatively, they were kept underground in an area filled with patrols.
Needleye opened the door, careful not to make any noise, and pointed her torch inside. "Thaw..."
The room was bigger than she had expected and empty except for a body wrapped in a cloth, lying motionless in a corner.
"Thaw!"
What had they done to him?
Needleye moved into the room and was embraced by a thin Glamour cloud. The cloud had a tinge of ammonia and nothing to do with that of her friend.
Something fell from above her, but Needleye jumped to the side just in time. She rolled across the floor, dropping the torch, and then got up, holding her hatchet.
A lean, pale figure stood between her and the door, dressed in strips of elastic. In both hands he was holding a nylon rope with a hook attached and he was looking at her, with overly large eyes filled with shadows by the glimmering torchlight.
Needleye felt every hair on her body stand on end.
Livid.
She glanced at the cloth on the floor, but now she could see nobody was there. It was just a heap of cloth.
A trap. Thaw was elsewhere and Livid had hidden inside, waiting to capture anyone who tried to free Thaw.
No. Not anyone. He was waiting to capture her.
She stared at him, feeling the panic rising in her throat.
Livid wasn't much older than her and Albedo, but since he was a boy, he'd been one of her father's trusted men, before Albedo inherited the crown. He was one of the tribe's innumerable orphans, but of unknown parentage. Doubtless he'd been abandoned because he'd been born with skin that seemed so much like the color of the seagulls it could only be an omen of misfortune.
As a child, he'd been grim, silent and frightening, somebody everyone avoided like the plague. Now, as a man, he was the king's shadow. Messenger. Informer. Hangman. Assassin. All rolled into one. He possessed a special talent for making and transmuting toxins, a talent that everyone had heard of but that Needleye had no desire to test first hand.
She moved to the side a bit, clutching her hatchet tightly, and those large eyes followed her. "Let me through."
He titled his head sharply, a movement Needleye had seen many times before. "You know I can't do that."
"I know my brother will throw you alive to the Sirens if you touch a hair on my head."
"Your brother wants you kept safe."
"You mean like a prisoner."
In response, Livid let the rope dangle.
Needleye tensed and moved sharply, attacking first. Livid lent backwards to avoid the hatchet blow, but simultaneously whipped the rope forward. Needleye was too close to get out the way and tried to block it with the handle of her axe. It was too late when she realised her mistake.
The rope wrapped around the handle and then her arm, and the hook - clearly once a fishhook - scratched her skin. Her arm instantly went numb.
Livid then jerked the hatchet free of her hand, her fingers no longer able to close properly.
Needleye staggered backwards, trying to put as much space as possible between her and the pale Goblin. At the same time, she unsheathed her bone dagger with her left hand. The numbness was climbing up her arm, having already reached her shoulders and neck. What the hell was on that hook?
Livid whipped the rope again. Needleye managed to avoid it this time, but she lost her balance and fell to her knees. She tried to concentrate all her Glamour to fight this unknown toxin, but in an instant her vision became blurry and the room in front of her misshapen.
No, dammit. No!
She needed time to fight the poison, only a bit of time...
Livid moved towards her, rope taut between his hands. Needleye pointed her trembling dagger at him, preparing a futile attempt to defend herself.
Then a sword wielded by a light blue hand flashed behind the pale Goblin, who turned just in time to avoid it and, with a lightning fast kick, knocked it out of Verdigris' hands, but she jumped on him, scratching and biting him.
Livid was caught by surprise and fell to the ground under the onslaught.
"Run!" shouted Verdigris. "Get out of here!"
A few seconds later, Livid had recovered and opened his mouth filled that was with bristling teeth and plunged them into his opponent, who screamed as if she'd been set on fire.
The cry struck Needleye, but she was already in the corridor and forced herself to look forward.
It was the only way she could make sure that what Verdigris had just done didn't amount to nothing.
6
"Father?"
"Albedo. Come in."
"What are all those armed people doing outside?"
"What people...? Oh yes. The warriors. They're your escort."
"What? Why?"
"You have a mission."
"A mission?"
"Don't sit down. You're leaving straight away. A diplomatic mission. To Waspider."
"No. Really? Not again."
"Absolutely. The negotiations must keep going."
"I don't... I don't believe it...What are we negotiating now?"
"Ceding the Last Mountain to the South."
"No."
"Watch your tone, my son. I'm not asking your opinion. I am sending you to do something. It only requires talking. Something that comes naturally to you. That's why I'm sending you."
"You want to give the Last Mountain to the Boggarts? The one closest to where rubbish is dumped."
"I didn't choose it. It is the price they sought."
"In ex
change for what?"
"Food. Supplies for the winter. Twenty sleds full of goods, Waspider said. You need to check that there are twenty, and that they really are full."
"There's no way..."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Father... the Boggarts sell us food in exchange for the land we get food from. Are you aware it's madness?"
"I'm aware that, without food, this winter will be catastrophic for us. Our hunting expeditions have not gone well in recent months."
"Because the Boggarts have already taken more land than possible! How many square feets in just the last year?"
"All the areas we've been forced to cede."
"Forced to?"
"The alternative is war, you realize that, don't you."
"Well, then let's fight!"
"Don't be a fool, Albedo. They outnumber us two to one and have double the land."
"Land we gave them. Father...do you realise that, at this rate, we'll end up selling ourselves as slaves next year, just to survive?"
"Father..."
"Go. We've already wasted enough time. Waspider will be waiting for you at the Lake at dusk."
"Father, I don't...."
"I told you to go. Don't keep them waiting."
"Make sure you count the number of sleighs."
"Yes. I'll go now. To count sleighs."
A rustle outside the tent shook Albedo from his memory-filled dreams. He placed his hand on the sword next to his bed - a metal cigar box that still amazingly smelled like its original contents - but immediately realized it was Livid, who was moving in the half-light and then crouched beside his bed.
Albedo lay back down and rubbed his eyes. Light was coming into the tent. "What's the time?"
"Not long after sunrise."
The king looked at the Goblin through his half-closed eyes. "What's wrong?"
"It happened."
Albedo sat bolt upright. "Where is she now?"
"She escaped."
Albedo stared at him. Another Goblin might have bowed his head or looked away because he'd failed, but not Livid.
Livid merely recounted what happened in a simple, factual tone, without looking away.
"Is she okay?"
"Wounded and poisoned, but not seriously."
"Was she alone?"
"Her friend was with her. That was how she got away."
"Verdigris." The king nodded slowly. "Did you capture her? Unharmed?"
Livid nodded.
"Where is she?"
"Still in the Cells."
"Well, Needleye will return then. If not to save him, then to get her."
Livid's large eyes flashed in the shadows of the tent. "I'll be waiting."
Needleye saw dawn break in black and white stripes, lying in the bottom of a CD holder she'd found shelter in after dragging herself out of the Cells.
The holder was upside down, about halfway along the ridge, a few feet above ground. It was the first shelter she could find before she ran out of strength. It was too close to the fortress to allow her to get any real rest, the guards shouting out madly to each other as they searched the rubbish for her, not far enough from the tops of the mounds where the cries of the Pale Deaths filled the air since the first signs of dawn, each cry sending a shudder through Needleye.
She looked at the ray of light slowing filling up the striped wall of the CD holder, but then closed her eyes again. She was so tired she could hardly fathom how she was till awake. For twenty- four hours she hadn't slept, for eight hours she hadn't eaten and she was wounded, in pain and trying to fight off Livid's poison, which had drained her final reserves of strength.
After dragging herself to the CD holder, she'd lain down on the hard plastic surface and focused everything she had on the interior of her body where the Glamour was manically working in her bloodstream to find some defense against this new poison.
She'd tried to analyze it and compare it to other poisons she'd come across, but it had all been futile. She'd only been able to work out that it caused numbness and paralysis, only able to conclude it might have been some mutation of the botulinum toxin that Livid had probably found in tins of contaminated meat. It was a rare toxin and one that Needleye's body had struggled to neutralize. Moryan bodies were designed to adapt to poisons, having long been the first line of defense in the dangerous ecosystem of the Landfill, but it took time and energy, and it was always dangerous to be exposed to an unknown one. It was also why the creation of new toxins was the most widespread art, at least among those who had the talent to do it. Some even specialized in it, like Livid.
Needleye cautiously tensed each muscle, one by one, starting in one leg and working up to her neck. Everything was back in working order, although every muscle movement still meant pain.
She opened her eyes again, dragged herself onto all fours and peered through an opening in the CD holder. Her Glamour had an unusual smell, a combination of sickly-sweet mixed with the remnants of contamination. Needleye fought off a sudden need to wretch and felt a sharp pang in her stomach.
She needed food, and fast. Glamour required a lot of energy, meaning creatures who had it needed proportionally far more food than animals like rats and seagulls. Needleye had even heard they needed even more than humans, who produced an unending mass of food, much of which was thrown away. This was something Needleye just couldn't get her head around, no matter how hard she tried - and she had tried many times, especially when she was young - but it was also something she thanked the Goddesses for daily, since much of the excess human food ended up in the Landfill. One merely had to look for it.
Of course, one did also have to battle fiercely for it with the insects, rats, Pale Deaths, Boggarts and any of the other tribes that happened to be in the area.
Outside her shelter, the area at the base of the mound was still in shadow, but above the sky was a clear blue and the plastic bags seemed to be waving to it, flapping in the early morning breeze. It was another clear, cold autumn day, with a clear sense that winter was not far away. Goblin life was filled with repressed fear at this time of the year, as they prepared to face the hardest season, when insects and other edible prey diminished and fire became a survival necessity - but no less risky. The cold wiped out many of the young and elderly, and the seagulls seemed possessed by insatiable hunger.
Raids became fiercer and more desperate while pacts and truces might end as easily as the winds changed.
It was the time when war often broke out.
Needleye waited until she was sure nobody was around, then she pulled herself up with her arms over the edge of the CD holder and rolled down the outside. There was little point in rummaging for food in this area because it was too far from where the most recent rubbish was dumped. Hunting insects was her best option, but she didn't have the time, the strength or the weapons needed. She would have to return to the proximity of her tribe, but not only to find supplies.
As she had lain on the bottom of the CD holder, unable to move, she replayed that night's events in her mind countless times. Her thoughts had been desperate, frightened, repentant, angry, furious and finally calm. Now she had a plan. But one she did not like in the slightest.
She breathed new Glamour into her cloud, inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply, before getting to her feet and commencing to move down the ridge as fast as her unwilling legs would take her. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the path, avoiding looking up at the seagulls that sometimes hovered in that area, close, too close. Too hungry.
Now, she was alone. Her only companion was her dagger in her belt, with the soldiers on her heels and, if word had got ’round, the entire tribe ready to capture her and hand her over to her brother. Verdigris had sacrificed herself to allow her to escape and she was undoubtedly now a prisoner somewhere. She'd become another victim of Needleye's inability to make the right decision.
Like Thaw.
Needleye gritted her death and sped up. She had no idea where they'd taken him
, it could have been anywhere and there was no time to find him. That night, he would be taken to the Lake, to the beach of the walking dead. From then on, his life would be in the hands of the Sirens.
She would have to turn to them before the others got there if she wanted even the slightest chance of saving Thaw.
To do this, she needed the help of but one person - Two-horns.
As Thaw lay on his side on the cold earth in complete darkness, he smiled at the darkness.
Outside, day had already broken, he had no doubt, even if the hole he was in showed absolutely no signs of the advancing day. He'd always been able to keep track the passing of time, another part of the inheritance from his mother's side.
But, he wasn't sure where he was being held. Livid had covered his head with a bag while he was being moved, only removing it once he'd been dropped into this hole. It was clear he was underground. He had enough space to stretch his legs, but no more, so the hole must have been roughly the size of a tomb. When he lifted his head, he felt a hard, rough surface, perhaps wood. He was probably in a hole under Livid's own tent, or somewhere nearby so the pale Goblin could watch over him.
He'd been there most of the night, but it was only in the last hour he'd regained control of his limbs. The paralytic effects of the poison had lasted for a long time, much longer than he'd have thought. Of course, it was partly because he'd done nothing to fight it. Instead, right from the beginning, he'd used his Glamour outside of his body to work, patiently and stubbornly, on the ropes around his wrists.
Livid had tied his hands behind his back so he couldn't bite through the cords with his teeth, and he'd done a good job because there was no way to undo those knots without help. So Thaw had focused on the rope.
At first, it had felt like trying to cook soup by breathing on it. It had been strange to use his Glamour on something other than his own body. He'd hardly ever tried before and he'd certainly not had much previous success. But this time the stakes couldn't have been higher, and Thaw had kept at it, hour after hour, with maniacal determination. Losing focus was not part of who he was. Frightening him had never been a good way to get him to back down. It was more akin to throwing petrol onto flames, driving him forward.
