by Greg Chapman
“Stop!” she said, wheezing.
“No!”
Stephanie’s eyes rolled to white, yet pleas still passed her lips.
“Stop…”
“Why? Tell me why I should!” Thomas said. “Why did you choose me and leave me behind! You could have stayed—showed me what I was!”
Thomas’ fury became anguish and he began to loosen his grip, utter desolation taking hold of him. In that instant that his guard was down Stephanie took her chance.
Thomas was thrown through the air, his body colliding with the earth wall and half-tangled in the roots of the great tree. A great cloud of dust fell, landing in his eyes and mouth, mixing with his blood. Before he hit the ground, he felt Stephanie’s hot breath in his ear.
“You’re pathetic! That’s why I left you—why I killed the kid. You needed to learn the hard way what you are, but you’re still only half the Phagun you could be.”
Thomas was half-dazed, but he still managed a laugh.
“And here I was…thinking you could teach me anything.”
Stephanie smiled, blood on her glossy white teeth.
“Maybe I already am.”
There was a scuttling in the hall and Stephanie turned to find Re-Kul, eyes wide with distress, but not at the scene of Thomas and Stephanie before him.
“Phagus are attacking!”
The stink of Skiift had led Malik and his minions to the forest north of the human city.
The trail in the sky, the scent of the Skiift’s unholy union could virtually be seen, like a smear of slime on the clouds. The trail became a beacon as Malik’s band of Phagus traversed the shadowed woods. With great stealth they stalked in huddled silence, drawing closer and closer to the Lair.
Why his father saw the intruder Thomas as something more than an annoyance was beyond Malik. The freak should have been put to death the very day he entered the Flaeschama. Then this march to certain death could have been avoided. They had no idea how many Skiift the Lair might contain, but even one was dangerous enough.
Malik’s minions kept their swords close at hand and their eyes sharp. The Skiift could be anywhere or anything, but a quick death all the same. Malik wondered if six minion warriors were enough—he hoped he wouldn’t have to find out the hard way.
Then, ahead, through the thick forest trees, he saw them, figures sprinting out of the mouth of a cave. Sunlight and shadow vied for domination on their features and Malik’s curiosity peaked when he saw neither of them wore red skin.
Had they stumbled across a prison break?
“There!” Malik said, his men standing to attention. The six of them broke formation, sprinting after the newcomers. Low to the ground, growling, they closed the gap with immense strides. The King’s son joined the pursuit, the urge sparking inside his veins.
The pack ground to a sudden halt and stared at their supposed prey:
Thomas and Stephanie.
“Calea?” Malik said, horror on his face.
She turned and their eyes met, but before she could answer the cave behind them cracked apart to reveal a rampaging beast—half panther, half scorpion, eager to devour them.
14
The Skiift beast crushed a pair of Phagus in its jaws before any of them had time to breathe.
Malik tore his gaze away from his sister and the monster and ordered his four remaining minions to defend.
The impossible Panthorpion let out a blood curdling roar and the forest trembled. It swallowed the Phagus males and thrashed in triumph, bringing whole branches down like shattered stalactites. Then, fur bristling in the midday sun, it turned its attention back to the rest of its banquet.
“You have to run!” Stephanie told Malik.
“Since when have I ever taken your advice, sister?”
The Panthorpion stomped its great paw and flicked its venomous tail, daring them to move.
“It’s going to charge,” Thomas said. “I’m not sticking around!”
Thomas broke away from them, launching himself high to land on the branch of a tree. The rush of air past his ears hindered him from hearing Stephanie’s warning.
Immediately, the Panthorpion went for the first moving target. It soared, powerful legs driving it forward in Thomas’ wake.
“It’s going to kill him!” Stephanie said.
“Good!” Malik replied.
“You moron—don’t you realise what he is?”
Stephanie left the words with Malik and pursued the Panthorpion.
Malik stood dumbfounded, he hadn’t seen his ill-begotten sister in years and now here she was, trying to protect the intruder. He found his minions looking to him for commands.
“Get after them,” he sighed. “I’ll keep watch over the cave.”
The minions disappeared into the forest, dust and leaves shaking and falling like ash as the Panthorpion tore through. Malik turned back to the cave and drew his sword.
He could smell the Skiift within, a foulness that made him want to spit.
Then he heard a hiss, or a growl and steeled himself.
Thomas jumped from tree to tree as the Panthorpion charged after him.
All he could think to do, through the blood pulsing in his head, was to get high. The creature might have been enormous, but it couldn’t climb trees—or so he hoped.
The ground shook with each gallop the beast made, the heat of its breath on his back. It must have been so close to him now, but he dared not look, he had to just keep running and jumping.
Thomas swung from one branch to another and then leapt about ten metres through the air to another higher tree. His hands latched onto the rough bark, splinters digging deep into his fingers. He bit back the pain and hauled himself up. Breathless, he stopped to look down at his pursuer.
The Panthorpion slammed its body into the base of the tree and Thomas had to find a handhold quickly to stop from falling. The Skiift form howled at him and scraped at the outer layer of the tree with its claws in a desperate bid to reach him, but at last it seemed Thomas had put a good distance between them.
As he clung to the tree, Thomas wondered how many creatures a Skiift could turn into—could they become any creature—or were they only limited to one dual beast of their choosing? If it was the former, then there was nothing stopping the beast from sprouting wings and picking its prey out of the sky.
Something whipped past Thomas’ face, cracking the air like a bullwhip. He looked down to see the Panthorpion’s tail arching back, ready to strike at him again. The pincer missed him by mere inches. The Skiift were dangerously adaptive. Thomas realized he had no choice but to keep climbing, yet the nearest higher tree was more than fifty metres away.
The Panthorpion circled the tree, snarling, calculating, searching for a gap in the branches to catapult its tail. It was about to launch a new wave of strikes when a wolf-whistle made it turn.
Stephanie stood behind a tree, daring the beast with her own snarl.
“Hey! Come and get me, you ugly bastard!” she said.
The Panthorpion arched its great neck to Thomas and then back to Stephanie.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she said. “I’m easier game than him! Come on!”
The Panthorpion accepted the challenge and bounded towards her. Thomas watched as Stephanie bided her time, waiting for the precise moment where the beast was just a few feet away to leave the safety of the tree. Astonishingly, she ran straight for the creature—she was an easy kill.
Stephanie slid along the ground like a snake, well out of the reach of the Panthorpion’s jaws, beneath its belly. Sunlight glinted off steel and Thomas saw, to his amazement, Stephanie had been holding a concealed dagger all along. She drove it deep into the Panthorpion’s guts and emerged from under its back legs in one swift motion. Gravely wounded, the Skiift beast laboured and collapsed in a heap, blood splashing onto the forest floor.
From his vantage point, Thomas had an incredible view of the Skiift’s transformation—from Panthorpion, to red-skinned Fl
esher. The gleaming fur receding, the exoskeleton cracking, crumbling, each strand of fur and each casing drawing down to become one scale on a thousand. In seconds, the great beast was one small Skiift male again, but dead.
Stephanie stood covered in bright red Skiift blood and sheathed her knife.
“You can come down now,” she said.
Thomas didn’t move. “Why did you do that?” he said.
“Save your life?”
“Yes—why did you do that?”
Stephanie sighed and wiped her face. “Look, we need to stick together now.”
“What do you want with me, Stephanie?”
“Just come down where we can talk.”
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “You left me and now you want me back? Why—when all I want to do is kill you?”
The arrival of Malik’s minions from the forest cut their conversation off. The four powerful Phagun males circled Stephanie, uncertain whether to ensure her safety or imprison her. They seemed indifferent to Thomas, until he jumped to the ground. He however, paid them no regard.
“Answer me!” he said to Stephanie.
“I don’t want to do this here in front of them. We should go before more Skiift come.”
“You can’t,” one of the minions said, hesitance in his words.
Thomas, exasperated, turned away from them and began to walk into the woods.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere with her.”
“Thomas—don’t!” Stephanie called, but the minions closed in around her, swords drawn. Thomas ducked beneath a low branch and faded into the sea of green. Yet, curiosity got the better of him and he stayed to watch. He wanted to see what sort of punishment the minions would inflict upon her.
Stephanie spat on the ground in disgust.
“Get away from me, you assholes!”
“The prince instructed us to hold you!”
“The prince can go to hell!”
Stephanie unsheathed her dagger and spun on her feet, slashing down on the arm of one of the minions. Dark blood tainted the soil. The others began to reciprocate the attack, but Stephanie already had them, ducking and weaving out of the way of their arching swords. She stabbed one in the chest and clawed open the throat of another. One remained.
“What’s your move, sweetie?” Stephanie said with a smile smeared in blood.
Thomas listened to the striking of steel as he ran. He couldn’t believe how easily Stephanie—or Calea—resorted to killing, how bestial she was willing to become and how she brought out the animal in him.
He had to get away from her, he knew now that vengeance would destroy him. It was only after he had come to the verge that he realized it. He had to forget about her, the rest of the Phagus, the Skiift and the war and go back to the human city. It was the only way he could save what was left of himself.
What he thought he wanted was to belong, but not to a war that he had no part in. He’d only wanted to understand what he was and to find a way to control—or even separate his animal nature—but he knew now that there was no changing that. Being around his kind had only exacerbated the urge and left him even more conflicted. He may have been a monster, but if they couldn’t help him—if they weren’t willing to help him—then he would go back to being alone. Alone was better than being controlled. He could find a way to survive without their war.
The way out of the forest seemed impossibly far away, green shadows everywhere he looked, wet soil between his toes. The sun was warm on his back and his skin was healing, thickening. All he had to do was continue walking and he would eventually reach home.
Yet Stephanie’s words walked with him, like a shadow that he couldn’t shake. What did she mean when she said he was important—that they needed to stay together? Was she speaking the truth when she said she’d murdered their child? Had she even been pregnant at all?
So many questions, so many lies.
A branch snapped and Thomas stopped to listen. He dug his feet in, ready to escape if need be and scanned the maze of the forest.
Out of the shadows emerged a figure, embraced in a long, black tattered robe, the personification of death. A face shone from within the robe’s hood like a maggot emerging from a wound, a face of stretched grey leather, embossed in fading black tattoos.
The creature came upon Thomas and gasped in genuine surprise.
“Phagus…” it said with rasping breath.
Thomas snarled defensively and extended his claws. The hooded thing cocked its head and then gasped anew.
“I…know you!” it said.
“Well, I don’t know you, whatever you are.”
The thing rested a hand on its chest, a movement as slow as time.
“I am Stygma,” it said.
Thomas flinched—his first encounter with one of the third tribe, another enemy.
“I am Shal-Ekh,” it said.
“I don’t care who you are, just get out of my way.”
Shal-Ekh sighed and Thomas saw tears rolling down its waxen cheeks.
“You should come with me,” Shal-Ekh said.
“What?”
Shal-Ekh offered Thomas its outstretched hands.
“Please, let me atone.”
The thing was crazed or stupid, perhaps both. It stood there crying for him, another enemy. A Flesher he’d never met before. He had to get away from it, from Stephanie, Malik the Skiift—all of them. Thomas roared at the Stygma as a warning and Shal-Ekh shuddered, the robe slipping open to reveal more greasy-grey white skin. The flesh was mummified, or frozen and overwhelmed by a great red incision running upwards, from withered crotch to wrinkled throat.
“Please, there is no need to fear me,” Shal-Ekh said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Not you too,” Thomas said.
Shal-Ekh offered Thomas a slow nod. “Yes, I’ve seen you—Okin revealed you to me.”
Thomas ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never met you before! Why does everyone think I’m special? I’m just…a monster!”
Shal-Ekh stepped—or floated—towards him. The Stygma smelled ancient, of mould and damp, of dust and graveyard mud.
“But you are special, Thomas,” Shal-Ekh said.
Thomas took a step back. “How do you know my name?”
“The Flesher Lord told me.”
“No! No!” Thomas raged, trying to rush past Shal-Ekh. “Just…leave me alone!”
“Please Thomas, you must come.”
Shal-Ekh reached for him, cold bone fingers stretching. The long torso scar began to weep, in readiness to receive him. Instinct told Thomas to fight or flee.
“Come,” Shal-Ekh said again.
Thomas could hear Shal-Ekh in his head, begging, chanting to him. The tattoos on his skin seemed to shift and overlap and for a moment, Thomas thought he could understand them, as if they were words he needed to read.
A thrashing in the bushes broke the spell and Thomas and Shal-Ekh turned to find Stephanie bursting through. As soon as she saw the Stygma, terror gripped her.
“Oh, shit!” she said, drawing her bloodied sword on the creature a second later.
Shal-Ekh exhaled a long, wet gurgle.
“Calea!” he said, such hatred in his voice.
“Thomas—get away from that freak!”
“He must come with me!” Shal-Ekh said.
Stephanie slashed at Shal-Ekh and he backed away, his face a contortion, his mouth opening wide to let a light stir from within his throat.
“You’re insane!” Thomas told Stephanie.
“I know—just fucking run!”
“He is destined to follow me!” Shal-Ekh argued.
“Like hell!” Stephanie said, swinging her sword at the Stygma again. “Thomas—run!”
Thomas obeyed, leaping through the bushes. Let Stephanie die at the hands of a Stygma. At least I won’t have to do it.
He hadn’t gotten more
than twenty feet when the forest exploded with white light, so bright it overwhelmed everything. Trees and shadows engulfed, burned to nothing in the cold fire of death.
And Thomas was lost.
15
The world smelled dank, a rotting begotten stench of neglect and despair. It filled Thomas’ nostrils, and he awoke retching.
With the scent came an intolerable darkness as thick as blood. When he moved, his skin flushed with a cold wetness and for a moment, he thought the darkness was drowning him.
He remembered the light in the woods, the all-encompassing glare. Its touch was everything and nothing. Had the Flesher he’d encountered—Shal-Ekh—indeed killed him? Was he now swimming in a pool of his own sin?
Craning his head, Thomas scanned the air above and found a dull grey glow, like clouds swirling. He called out to it, strangely hopeful that it was a living entity capable of hearing him.
“Hello—is anyone there?”
At first, there was nothing and Thomas was ready to condemn himself to the murk, until a shape appeared in his vision.
“Welcome Thomas,” the shape said with a voice he thought familiar. A voice he’d heard back in the city.
“Where am I?” Thomas said. “There was a light.”
The shape gestured so slowly, so tenderly.
“Oh, that was me I’m afraid,” the figure said. “I needed to speak with you alone.”
Thomas was becoming tired from all the dog-paddling, he struggled to focus on the figure.
“You were in the woods with me?” he said. “You’re the Stygma?”
“Yes, I am one of the Stygma—in fact I am their leader—Shal-Ekh.”
“Did you put me down here?”
“The light was a bit too much for you, so I placed you in the pit. For safe-keeping.”
Thomas stretched his toes downward, simultaneously dreading and curious about the pit’s depth.
“Well, Shal-Ekh, I think I’d like to get out of here now.”
“Of course, my brothers will attend to you.”
Shal-Ekh’s silhouette slipped away like smoke, but in his wake more figures emerged, at least half-a-dozen. They loomed into view, their greedy hands reaching for him.
