by Greg Chapman
Malik laughed nervously. “Father, you’re not going to entertain that thought? She wronged the laws of the Phagus—she tried to assassinate you!”
“It was her plan, yes, but it was not she who made the attempt.”
“She instigated it father!”
“And I said it was not her who raised the sword against me! The Phagun who did was punished and in turn so was she!”
Malik couldn’t read his father’s face, his mannerisms closed off. All he could determine was that he was hiding something vital.
“You killed the man she loved, yes, but an example needs to be made of her—the laws need to be upheld.”
“She is your sister Malik!”
Malik frowned. “Yes and you are her father, yet she paid no heed to your blood bond when she tried to murder you!”
“I feel she has changed—”
Malik approached the throne. “What did she say to you? I demand to know! Her claims about Thomas are lies you know that, so tell me what she actually told you!”
Gavenko grimaced. “Don’t make demands of me!”
“The Phagus demand the truth father and they will certainly want to know why you have decided not to execute Calea!”
“All they need to understand is that I am King, and my orders will be obeyed!”
“So you’re not going to have her executed?”
“I have not decided—”
Malik laughed and threw his hands in the air. “I suppose she convinced you to go to war with the Stygma?” he said.
“I have no such intention, but I feel we need to discuss this exile Thomas further. Perhaps Calea is right about him.”
Malik stood dumbfounded. “You are insane! Here you were moments ago ready to spill her blood in this sacred court and now you want to listen to her lies? What did she say to you father!”
Gavenko waved his son away. “I was wrong to ask you to come here,” he said. “You are a disobedient little whelp.”
Malik gritted his teeth. “Then why did you call me here—to gloat about how you’ve decided to let her live—to let me see how merciful you can be? You are anything but!”
“Get out of my court!”
“What did she tell you?”
“Leave me!”
Malik stormed out of the Sederunt, his voice trailing behind him:
“It’s not your court father and it will never be hers either!”
The dungeon was a foul place, devoid of light and thick with freezing cold. It was not a prison, at least not for the long term, it was where prisoners waited for death. There were no last meals here, only rats, insects, guilt and helplessness to feed a ravaged soul.
Malik walked through the dungeon labyrinth, torch in hand, golden on grey stone. He passed cell after cell, dark holes sealed off by heavy, rusted bars. There was only one cell occupied, only one Phagun set for death.
He found his sister, curled tight in the corner of her cell, fear shrouding her whole body. The sight of her surprised Malik, for he knew how determined she’d been the first time she’d faced death. Perhaps it was the delay this time that vexed her? When she saw him in the half-light, she almost screamed.
“What did you tell him, sister?” Malik said.
“And here I was thinking you were concerned for my welfare,” she said, forcing a smile.
Malik peered at her between the bars and Stephanie could see his power came from being on the other side.
“He told me that he is considering sparing your life?”
Stephanie looked at her broken nails and sighed. “Does that upset you brother?”
“You deserve to die—the law calls for it.”
“The law—what do you know of it?”
Malik set his torch down in a nearby sconce and the flame wavered, trickling light across his dark eyes.
“More than father,” he said. “If I were King, you’d already be dead—”
“I guess that’s the point—you’re not King.”
Malik sneered, turning his eyes dark again. “Not yet.”
Stephanie flashed him a pouting smile. “Ooh, you are becoming as bad as me, Malik, with all your scheming and aspirations. Wait until father finds out.”
Malik gripped one of the bars, his knuckles turning whiter on white skin.
“I no longer care what he thinks—I want to know what you said to convince him to let you live.”
His sister got to her feet and walked over to the bars. Her cheeks were wet with her tears and this only intrigued Malik further.
“What if I don’t want to tell you?” she said.
Malik studied her. His sister’s resolve was wavering. “Maybe you don’t have to—I can see it painted all over your pretty little face.”
“What is?” Stephanie said, averting her gaze.
“Sadness.”
Stephanie recoiled and Malik bared his teeth.
“The last time you were this sad—this overwrought—was when he died.”
She wiped her face and retreated away from the torchlight.
“Shut up!”
“But he’s been dead a long time, now, so why would you be so sad now unless–”
“What?” Stephanie said, her voice shaking with grief.
“Is it this Thomas—do you feel love for the intruder?”
Stephanie paused, her lips trembling, fresh tears falling. She ventured back to the bars and gripped her brother’s hands, a strange, human sign of affection.
“Yes, please Malik you have to let me out of here! I need to see him one last time!”
Malik cocked his head. “But you stood in the court and told father—told everyone—that Thomas should die. Why would you want someone you love dead? Don’t you remember how much it hurt you last time?”
“Of course I remember…I want to see him so…we can die together.”
Malik laughed, the sound a howl in the confines of the dungeon.
“You lying little bitch! Do you think me that stupid? You want him dead because he’s a potential rival like me! Isn’t that right sister?”
Stephanie shook her head, dropping threads of dark hair across her eyes. “No—”
“You don’t love him?”
“I do!”
“Stop lying to me and tell me what you told father!”
Stephanie shook her head even more vigorously. Malik spat on the ground and contemplated opening the cell doors and beating the answer out of her, but he wasn’t like his father—patience was his virtue. He retrieved the torch and held it closer so he could see that fear in her eyes again.
“What did you do for all those years Calea—in the human city—after you escaped?”
“What do you mean? I hid and I fed. I survived—like any other exile.”
“Did you cross paths with this Thomas?”
“Yes,”
“And which circumstances of your meeting are true—his or yours?”
Stephanie hesitated and Malik saw it. He turned to leave.
“Goodbye sister—may Okin hold you in his tender hands.”
Stephanie thrust herself against the bars. “Wait brother—please!”
He turned and he saw such anguish in her eyes. “Then tell me the truth and I might help you,” he said.
“His,” she said. “Thomas’ tale is the truth!”
Malik grimaced. “You bit him—ate his flesh—why?”
She fell to her knees and began to sob, and Malik leaned down to gaze at the display.
“Why did you blaspheme in such a way?” he said. “You can’t have been starving in such a bountiful city, so why do it? Did he make you do it?”
Stephanie looked up at him, her grief so strong that her beautiful face was coming apart at the seams, tears mixing with her lustrous blood:
“Because I was pregnant with his child!”
23
Re-Kul stood beneath the roots of the Great Tree, the colour of his scaly flesh like a smear of blood on the dark. His heart too was bleeding, bleeding wi
th rage.
Stephanie had deceived him. She had promised him glory and now, where was she? It was almost as if she knew the moment of her escape would come, that she’d planned it all along. Why this Phagun Thomas was so important to her, he did not know. He was only a Phagun, an enemy that had to be destroyed, like all the rest. Yet, the way Stephanie fought to keep him alive was disturbing, given her hatred of her father and feelings of disconnectedness from the rest of her kind. So Stephanie, by the act of helping Thomas escape, had become an enemy of the Skiift, no longer an ally. Killing Mek-toh, the Panthorpion, had sealed her fate and Thomas’ as well.
Re-Kul reached out to caress one of the roots and the Great Tree hummed in response. Through the roots, the Skiift could see into the tree and all the trees beyond, hear the wind pass through the forest, taste the rain on their leaves and see every creature that called them home.
What the Great Tree could not reveal was what lay in the soul. Only the Stygma could see Okin and hear his word, as if the Skiift were not fit to behold his grace. Had Okin intended it to be that way—that the Phagus only know the way of eating flesh, while the Stygma could see into it, leaving the Skiift to wander his world with no true flesh at all?
Was it Okin’s intention that they all suffer through misery and war?
Between the roots, through the cascade of tunnels, the Skiift were preparing for another battle. Above Re-Kul, the forest wept, he could hear the rain and rivulets ran down the mud walls like snaking tears. The beauty of the forest was about to torn asunder. His people knew it too, their whispers of fear like the scuttling of insects, they were worms, eager to dig deeper away from the madness.
War. The prospect of it was arising now undeniable. Mek-toh’s death would have to be avenged, Stephanie would have to die for her treachery. Gavenko would undoubtedly respond in kind and the Stygma? Well they would already know the outcome and simply follow Okin’s word to their deaths. That was the only shocking outcome Re-Kul could foresee.
Re-Kul harked back to the day Stephanie first appeared at the mouth of his Lair. Distraught with some grief, she pleaded for sanctuary, and in a moment of weakness, Re-Kul granted it. Oh, how he wished he could reset that day so he could have granted her a swift death instead. Her story had been so convincing and fed into Re-Kul’s own hatred of the King—how could a father treat his daughter in such a way? True, she tried to overthrow his kingdom, but wasn’t it for the good of her people and potentially all Fleshers?
The Skiift King wanted an end to the war once and he’d hoped that Gavenko would have come to him to seek the safe release of his daughter in exchange for a peace deal—how wrong he was. Gavenko was too righteous to admit defeat so the war would be allowed to rage on.
During Stephanie’s stay, she had provided much counsel to the Skiift—about the Phagus way of life, their customs, laws and military tactics, but now, looking back, Re-Kul couldn’t help but wonder how much Stephanie had told them was actually true. She came and went to the forest as she pleased and although she never told him where she had been, Re-Kul knew she had come from the city of the humans because she was always rife with their stink.
The recall of the scent she carried was even more familiar when the one Stephanie called Thomas arrived in the Lair. Yet there was something strange about his scent—of course there was the scent of humanity, but beneath it was Phagus and perhaps even a trace of Stygma. The scent went beyond the simple exchange of touch and taste, it was as if all the parts were one whole, an amalgam. Re-Kul had never smelt such a scent before and in a way, he was glad to see the back of the stranger and he hoped to never encounter him again.
Re-Kul watched the water pooling along the floor of the tunnel. The pitter-patter of water keeping time with his fearful heart. The roots would soak up every last drop of the rain and the great Skiift leader feared the same roots would soon be drinking the blood of its people, Skiift, Stygma and Phagun alike.
Re-Kul left the grace of the tree, pondering his next move as he walked through the catacombs. The earth was comforting and cold, chilling his blood and giving him a chance to think.
The last report he’d received, following the death of Mek-toh, was that Stephanie had been seen with her brother Malik; he had her by the sword it seemed. If she was his prisoner, then they would return to their stinking stone city beneath the earth. If Gavenko was brave, he would either interrogate her or kill her outright. Re-Kul prayed to Okin for the latter, otherwise she could reveal all there was to know about the Skiift and their Lair, including any potential weaknesses.
The question remained for Re-Kul—should he declare war? Should he launch a pre-emptive attack? There was no doubt a full-scale assault by an army of Skiift could breach the walls of the Flaeschama, but how many Phagus would they face once inside? The tribe had halted a rebellion by the King’s daughter after all.
As Re-Kul walked and thought, a party of Skiift strode towards him. The members of the council were huddled together, exchanging words and furtive glances. Their thin robes whipping the air as they walked, and their voices were almost as sharp. Re-Kul thought they might burst their shells once they reached him and rend him asunder. Coming closer, Re-Kul saw the uncertainty in their faces. They would want to seek his advice on how to proceed in the wake of the attack, but Re-Kul was unsure whether he could provide the guidance they needed.
“Re-Kul,” one of the councillors, Glik-Noh said. “We have been searching for you.”
“I was visiting the Great Tree,” Re-Kul said, trying not to meet their gazes.
“We must discuss battle strategies, Re-Kul. We must seek retribution for Mek-toh’s death and the deaths of the other men.”
The hall they were standing in seemed to close in on Re-Kul.
“I understand your desire to retaliate my brothers, but we must proceed with caution. The Phagus are ruthless.”
Glik-Noh slammed his fist into his palm. “But we must strike at their heart Re-Kul!” he said. “If we show weakness the Phagus could see it as an opportunity to attack! I feel we must increase our scouts.”
“They might see that as a pre-emptive move, Glik-Noh—provocative even!”
One of the other councilmen beat his chest. “We should be provocative—they attacked us and killed several of our brothers!”
Re-Kul tried to calm his brethren. “You know how Gavenko would react—he would retaliate for certain and war would be upon us.”
“Then let it come—we are ready!” Glik-Noh said, and the other councillors hissed in agreement.
“We should not rush into war!” Re-Kul urged them. “We should meet with Gavenko and demand an explanation as to why he saw fit to breach the boundaries of our forest!”
“There is no point for diplomacy Re-Kul—we must seek justice. They were in our territory—”
“We could be accused of the same act Glik-Noh! We were the ones who kidnapped the Phagun Thomas—and let me say without my authority!”
The councillors hissed and muttered between themselves at Re-Kul’s accusations, nictitating eye slits blinking in denial.
“The Phagus need to be examined for weaknesses, Re-Kul and for information—is that not why you agreed to allow the one named Calea to reside here?”
“That was different, she was an exile.”
“Nonetheless she is one of the Phagus, and now where is she? Gone with the other prisoner you let escape!”
“I never!” Re-Kul said.
The councillors pointed at him accusatorily, their faces shifting from scale to feather or fur and back again.
“You started this Re-Kul!” Glik-Noh said. “You let her in, and we followed your lead—blindly—and now look what it has brought us! You should have killed them both!”
“And let war become a certainty? You are mad!”
Glik-Noh shook his head violently. “No, we are survivors and we must act to save ourselves! We will do it without you if need be!”
“You would not dare!”
The o
ther councillors spoke as one: “Oust him, Glik-Noh—he is unfit to lead us!”
Re-Kul flinched, rage bristling beneath his scales. “You are being unreasonable! The council needs to remain united—”
Glik-Noh leant forward, his face contorting and cracking, mandibles surfacing where his lips should have been. His compound eyes bulged to gaze at his leader hatefully.
“We are united—against you!”
“No!”
“Stand aside Re-Kul or you will face a revolt!”
The other councillors’ bodies drifted away, revealing feather and carapace, multi-limbed creatures, all thirsting to rend their leader apart, scales and all.
“Stand aside!” they intoned.
“You must stop this! If we go to war blindly, we may fall—”
“We are mighty, Re-Kul! You know it, yet you fear it. We will be victorious! Now join us or stand aside!”
Re-Kul closed his eyes and like the roots of the Great Tree, felt the entanglement of fate close in around him.
The disc of fire still burned inside Nero’s head, like an after image on a television screen. Nothing had ever terrified him as much as that disc and he thought if he ever saw it again it might just kill him.
So when Gerhard Vorn re-entered the basement with the disc in his palm, naturally the exiled Phagun was ready to talk and talk fast.
“What…what do you want now?” Nero stammered, his eyes fixated on the medallion, which gleamed softly in the unnatural light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs.
Vorn smiled wickedly and sat down opposite him. He tossed the disc into the air and Nero watched it twirl and tumble up and down to land in Vorn’s hand once more. The occultist then slipped it back into his vest.
“Oh, you’ll have your instructions soon enough, Nero. Once Mr Colton awakes, we’ll be asking you to take us to this “Flesh-Hama” of yours. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about this place while we wait?”
Nero swallowed. “Like what?”
Vorn cupped his hands together and Nero looked at them, petrified of what might appear when Vorn opened them. Fortunately, they were empty when he finally did. Nero hated himself for being so…weak.
