He shook me and grabbed my chin with his free hand, thumb-claw pressing into my cheek. I felt something warm trickle down my face.
Oh yeah. He’d asked me a question. I tried shrugging but found my body too weary to oblige. “Who?” I asked, voice breaking.
“Sick Nasty Dog,” Jenen, or whoever, repeated.
I offered a sheepish grin. “I...don't know who—” Wait. If he was looking for someone—besides me—then this couldn't be Jenen. Which meant he might be looking for Jenen, which would put Jenen off my trail if she—er, he was still chasing me. Except, what if this guy wanted to kill Jenen? I owed Jenen for helping me, even if he wouldn't repeat the same kindness again. (But hadn't he already assured me he wouldn't, even before I insulted him?) And, to save my own hide, wasn't it worth risking Jenen's? This was a dream, after all.
The man shifted his weight from one leg to the other. His grip on my chin tightened. My eyes trailed to his mouth where—my spine popped as I stiffened—pointy teeth glittered in a faint trickle of daylight. His grin stretched inhumanly wide.
Evidently, I’d landed myself in a worse circumstance than I'd been in with Jenen. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“S-Sick Nasty Dog's by the fire i-in the clearing,” I said, allowing myself to stammer for effect. I had no way of knowing if Jenen was still at the fire, or if he’d chased me into the trees, but if this maniac believed me, maybe he'd let me go.
“Quiet Sneaky Thing,” the man barked, making me jump. “Go check fire.”
Rustling sounds came from the brushes behind me, then silence. Well, shoot. This guy had minions. My shoulders slumped. Why bother trying to escape?
This isn't real.
“Strange Coward Boy sit.” He pushed me to the forest floor. Several twigs snapped beneath me as I hit the ground. Dirt and mold assaulted my nose, along with that faint scent of peppermint.
—Wait, what did he call me?
I was strange, no question there. And considering I'd run from an effeminate man for my life, I could understand coward. But I wasn't a boy, no way. I’d outgrown boyhood before I was a teenager. Opening my mouth to snap a retort, I reconsidered as he stepped into a large sliver of light. Shadows from dancing leaves overhead cast patterns across his face, but I still got a good look. My breath got lost somewhere between my lungs and my nasal passages.
He wasn't Jenen, but he looked similar; just less...girly. He had the same narrow mismatched eyes, angular face, and black hair—except this guy's was pulled up into a messy, lopsided ponytail. He was about the same height as Jenen; probably approaching six feet. His outfit was black beneath a tattered red cloak that covered one shoulder and wrapped under the other. His feet were bare (with claws), but for tattered gray wrappings that ended just before his toes. Similar wrappings ran along the uncovered arm, and I guessed the other arm was the same. But what caught my breath was his presence.
Despite his tatters, he stood like he owned the world, and I could somehow believe it. He wasn't built like a wrestler, or even a football player. He wasn't scrawny, either; just slim and lithe. The way he stood—shoulders erect, towering above his prisoner (aka me), wicked grin stretching the muscles of his face—evoked a sort of power that had nothing to do with muscle-mass. His mind was his weapon, and it could do more damage than an atom bomb.
I’d encountered bullies in school who all thought themselves superior, but they couldn't hold a candle to this guy. He knew the difference between intimidation and tyranny.
Maybe defending my manhood wasn’t such a big deal.
For the next few minutes, I just sat on the damp earth and focused on coaxing my lungs to work again. I also concluded my reluctant breathing wasn't caused by fear alone, but probably by my fever returning.
A form stepped from the shadows to my left. This man was older, and his pale face boasted distinctive scars. He wore similar apparel as my captor, minus the red cloak. Black, with strips of cloth wrapped around his arms and legs, up to the knees and elbows. Also wrapped around his limbs were leather cords and several pouches. His hair was black with hints of silver. Like both Jenen and my captor, he sported inch-long claws on hands and feet.
He stepped up to the man towering over me and leaned in to whisper something in one long pointed ear. My captor's ear twitched and his disturbing grin faltered, then widened. As the warrior stepped back and disappeared in the gloom, the Jenen-look-alike's metallic eyes speared my gaze for several eternal seconds. He snapped his fingers and I was hauled to my feet by two more towering shadows who slipped from the forest to heed their master’s whims.
“Sick Nasty Dog not at fire, Strange Coward Boy,” the obvious leader of the ninja people said. Glee chimed like a note in his voice. I shivered. For the first time in my life, I didn't think lying would help me, but if not that, what could I say?
“Tell us, Strange Coward Boy, where is Sick Nasty Dog, yeah?” the man said, voice downright affable now. Terror bled into my limbs, numbing my extremities. Yes, I admit, I was scared. I knew the consequences for being ignorant would not be pretty, but what could I say? Honestly, if Jenen wasn’t at the fire, how could I know his location any better than them?
Taking a faltering breath, I decided innocence was the best approach. Which, in this case, was sincere. “I don’t know where he is now. I left him at the fire. If he moved how could I possibly know? I've been with you.” Perspiration gathered on my forehead like ducks on a pond.
The ninja-leader observed me for a moment. “Very well.”
I released a sigh of relief. Too early.
“Strange Coward Boy’s use has run dry as village well. Kill.” He turned away.
Eyes widening, I found my strength and jerked out of the grasp of the two men. “W-wait a minute!”
He turned his head and raised his brow. “Yes, Strange Coward Boy?”
“Why kill me?”
“You heard. Use is dry like empty cloud.”
“Yeah, I heard that part,” I whispered, biting back a retort about his mix-up in phrases. Now was not a good time for sarcasm.
The leader considered me, then stepped nearer. “Tell us, Strange Coward Boy, why you run from Sick Nasty Dog?” He leaned close to my face and looked into my eyes.
“Well, I,” my cheeks flushed, “I called him a girl.”
Silence reigned over the small clearing and then he tossed his head back and laughed. I managed a weak smile, unable to find my situation humorous in the slightest.
“Sick Nasty Girl, yeah?” He barked out another string of laughter.
No one else moved.
The man’s laughter faded. “You amusing, Strange Coward Boy. Too bad must die.” He clapped my back like I was a comrade. “Kill.”
A clawed hand rested on my right shoulder; another took my left. Heart faltering, I hunched forward, hands over my head to try and block the killing blow.
I'm going to die!
“Do not kill him.” The voice came from the trees.
The hands that held me disappeared, then cold fingers grabbed my throat, digging nails in enough to draw blood.
“Show yourself, Sick Nasty Dog!” called my captor. “Or we kill. You know we will.”
For the first time in my life I prayed. I mean really prayed. Something had to save me. Anything. I needed divine protection from both the ninja order and Sick Nasty Dog—er, Jenen. It seemed both parties wanted the privilege of sealing my fate.
Jenen jumped from the trees, landing on his bare feet without a sound, metallic eyes narrowed, glittering like his silver shawl. “Release him, Crenen,” he said, stepping forward. Even though a handful of my captor's minions circled the area where we stood, no one stood in Jenen's path.
“Ah, not so easy, Sick Nasty Dog. You have him on one condition, yeah?” the man named Crenen said with a widening grin.
I scowled. I did not appreciate being a bargaining tool.
“What is the condition?” Jenen asked, pallid face a mask of calm.
“You know,” Cren
en answered. “Become leader of Yenen Clan, Sick Nasty Dog.”
Huh? He was threatening Jenen in order to make him a leader of some kind?
“I told you before, I will not,” Jenen said with a sigh. “Now, release the boy.”
I scowled some more. Boy? Were they blind? So I was short, so what? It hardly made me a boy. (I was starting to suspect that my fever-induced temper was returning.)
Crenen laughed again. Then he stopped. “No. Strange Coward Boy belong to us, yeah?”
Jenen's mouth twitched upward, probably in amusement at my new nickname. I wanted to slug him. (My temper was definitely back.) After kicking down my violent urge, I tried to look up at Crenen's face to read his sincerity. It was like reading Greek.
I was hardly his. Never mind I was captive. Never mind clawed hands were wrapped around my throat. Never mind his men surrounded me on every side. Never mind that if he did release me, I’d be at the mercy of Jenen and his wrath. I was still my own property, thank you.
“He belongs to no one,” Jenen replied, echoing my thoughts. Could he read my mind?
“We think he does.” I could sense Crenen's presence darkening like a tremor in my blood. I decided if Jenen was psychic, Crenen was psychotic.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this but release him now.” Jenen took another step forward; nails pressed harder against my throat. I gasped as I felt blood trickle down my neck.
“We’ll kill. Don’t think we won’t,” Crenen hissed. His long, pointed ear twitched.
Jenen sighed and shrugged. “What makes you think I care if you do?”
“Would Sick Nasty Dog demand Strange Coward Boy’s release, unless cared?”
“His survival might be beneficial, but I don’t necessarily need him.”
Beneficial? I nearly screamed out that I was not a tool, not some useful device at their disposal, but the claws were too freaking close as it was, and I doubted Crenen would hesitate to “kill” if I so much as squeaked.
The ninja-leader growled. “Buying time, yeah? Won’t save Strange Coward Boy.”
I licked my lips. I didn’t want to die.
“All right. Kill him.” Jenen folded his arms, his expression one of mild interest.
Wha—? I wanted to wring his throat.
Crenen laughed. “Very well, we spare.”
I gawked. Why in the—?
Jenen raised an eyebrow. “Why change your mind?”
“Because servant recently die of Paradisaical Disease. Need new one,” Crenen replied. The claws released my throat and I was flung to the ground before him.
I scrambled to my feet and decided to speak my mind. (I blame my stupidity on the venom running through my veins. Don’t judge me.) “Now, wait just a freaking second—”
Crenen raised his clawed hand for silence and I faltered until he lowered his hand. “Okay, has been second. Now, Strange Coward Boy, Tall Strong Jerk take you to camp. You make comfort for our re-arrival.”
Another figure—this one taller than the others—stepped from his place among the minions and seized my arm. “Come,” he said in a low whisper, pulling me away from the gathered group. I scowled for the hundredth time. How in the world did I end up in this mess? Would I ever wake up? As I was dragged from the small clearing, I heard Crenen demanding in broken English once again that Jenen assume the role of leader of some clan. Then I was beyond hearing range.
It was not too far to Crenen’s camp, but the undergrowth and overhanging branches slowed us down. I stumbled a few times but received no help from my warden. The ominously tall figure Crenen had ordered to take me to camp was silent the entirety of our walk, which suited me fine since I doubted I had anything to say. Instead my thoughts dwelt on the strange circumstances I found myself in as I picked myself up the several times I tripped.
My hope that this was just a dream began to crumble as the sun climbed high into the sky and the trees began to thin. Such detail, such pain, such length. How could it possibly be a dream? Then again, what other logical explanation was there?
My eyes widened as the thought struck me for the first time. Was I dead? Was it possible when I’d slipped into that puddle, a random car slammed into my body and crushed my every bone? Or perhaps I’d hit my head so hard it caused some kind of complication to the brain, and I died during surgery. Could this strange, mystical, pain-filled, tree-infested, furry-critter-populated, sharp-toothed wonderland possibly be Hell?
After all, I was a very good liar, and my mother always told me where liars went when they died. Now I had reason to believe her—when it was too late to change.
Was God really this cruel?
—Wait. Jenen had called this place Paradise. What was the definition of Paradise, anyway? Did it have to mean something pleasant? I was pretty sure it did.
Swarmed with these dizzying thoughts, I—and my silent companion—left the trees and entered a new clearing. This one was puddle-free. Instead, it had dozens of rawhide tents pitched in a large circle around the outskirts of the large clearing, with more tents inside the protective circle. Weaving around the inner tents were wide paths and campfires. Several black-clad ninja-men tended to the fires or patrolled outside the circle of tents; some with bows and arrows, others with long spears, still others with nothing more than flexing claws—a formidable weapon all their own.
One patrolling ninja-man came toward us wielding a nasty-looking spear. Its jagged, twisting tip suggested it wasn't meant to kill quickly. The man holding this ugly specimen was rather ugly himself. Broad, tall, fat yet muscular, he bore jagged, twisting scars along his unwrapped arms to match his spearhead. A permanent frown plastered his flat face, and his matted black hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a month. His foul scent confirmed it.
He spared me a glance, then turned his orange eyes up to my tall warden. In comparison with Mr. Ugly, my personal guard was slender as a golf club, but he still towered over his friend by a good inch or two.
Mr. Ugly spoke—I’m pretty sure. But I had no idea what he was saying. His voice was like the marriage between a cracking whip and a bubbling bog of slime. I cringed with every syllable. He gestured to me as he babbled.
The one Crenen referred to as Tall Strong Jerk took over their conversation, setting his hand on my shoulder. He babbled, too, but his voice was soft and low—blessedly harmless. I did catch snatches of familiar words—or names, rather. Not English, but still recognizable. I surmised that Tall Strong Jerk was explaining to his frog-faced companion the details of Crenen and Jenen's confrontation.
Mr. Ugly looked (is it possible?) grimmer as Tall Strong Jerk finished his narrative. He shot me a grimace (or was that his normal expression?) and turned to take up position on the encampment's edge once again. Tall Strong Jerk guided us into camp proper, passing Mr. Ugly and his nasty weapon.
We weaved through camp, smoke heavy in our nostrils from the noonday fires. Clan members glanced up from their respective chores—some sharping deadly-looking weapons, others stirring cauldrons—then returned to their work.
“What sort of camp is this?” I asked, doubting I would receive an answer.
“We are at war.”
I glanced up at Tall Strong Jerk, but he kept his head straight, eyeing our route. I’d been afraid war was the answer. The absence of women and children had been my first clue. Though I'd never once walked through an army encampment (have you?) it didn't take experience to tell me this was on the mark. These men, young and old alike, were tired, suspicious, and solemn. One wrong move and I would die.
We reached the center tent soon, for which I was grateful. Keeping up with Tall Strong Jerk's lengthy strides was a chore I didn't want to repeat. The tent was erected before a half-naked tree. Tall Strong Jerk threw the musty flap aside, allowing me a full view of the lavish layout within.
Though lavish isn't the right word, per se.
I’d expected to find exotic foods spread out over several tables, with generous lighting revealing every corne
r. Instead, it was as plain within as the camp was outside. A pile of furs lurked in a dark corner near the entrance, and a low table sat in the center of the tent, on which were piled various rolled scrolls of yellowed parchment, a bottle of what looked like red ink, and a single quill. An unlit candle was the only potential light source I could spot in the gloom.
Tall Strong Jerk set a callused hand on my back and nudged me inside. I stumbled forward. Glancing down, I noted the dirt floor beneath colorful rugs. How quaint.
The imposing man closed the flap, leaving us in thick darkness. I felt him pass me, then listened to his indiscernible noises until a light flashed before my eyes. Blinking, I watched as he lit the candle. The room brightened a little.
He moved to the far side of the room and tossed whatever he had in his hand into a bucket I hadn't noticed before. Curious despite myself, I moved toward him and the bucket.
“Come,” he directed, stepping away from the bucket before I had a chance to investigate. Reluctantly, I halted and waited for him to pass me. He headed for the pile of furs in the corner. I moved to follow him, grimacing at the idea of trying to drag those things around, weak as I felt.
Tall Strong Jerk lifted one fur easily, then nodded at the second. Sighing, I bent down and tried to lift it. It was even heavier than I'd expected. It had to weigh a good fifty pounds or more. Discarding the idea of lifting it, I resorted to dragging the dratted thing to where Tall Strong Jerk indicated—near the table, not far from the mysterious bucket (which didn't carry a foul scent, so I figured it wasn't a chamber pot or its crude equivalent). Tall Strong Jerk left his fur in a pile next to mine and ordered me (in five words or less) to make Crenen's bed.
Smoothing the furs out proved to be difficult, but I tried my hardest because I didn't want to feel claws rip open my flesh. If I truly was dead, it meant I couldn't die again, but my mother had also informed me that in Hell the pain is eternal.
When I finally managed to untangle the various layers of Crenen's furry bedding (why couldn't the man use a hammock instead?) Tall Strong Jerk returned (I hadn't noticed that he’d even left) and made me cut several gooey, sticky, smelly fruits that slightly resembled mangoes into a bowl and mix it with a strange nasty-smelling liquid. (I thought it was fruit.) I was told to dish the fruit into two smaller bowls. (I hoped it was fruit.) Then I was told to eat the fruit from one of the smaller bowls. (I prayed it was fruit.)
A Liar in Paradise Page 3
