by Clayton Wood
“Trust me,” she replied. “If you think that whore screwed with your head, spend a night in my house.”
Hunter considered that for a moment, then sighed.
“Do I at least get a blanket or a pillow or something?”
“You got one in your pack?” she asked. He shook his head. “Then nope.”
With that, she walked in the door, and shut it behind her. He heard the click as the lock was engaged.
Well then, he thought, turning around. He walked up to a relatively flat part of the island, sitting down. It was hard grey stone, hardly the type of surface he’d want to sleep on.
He heard the door open behind him, and Vi’s head popped out.
“Get off my property kid,” she ordered, pointing at the bridge. “You sleep on the shore.”
Hunter sighed, rising to his feet and crossing the bridge until he was at the shore again. He looked around, managing to find a spot where some leaves had fallen, along with some dirt from the forest floor far above. He swept these into a pile with his hands, then took off his backpack, removing everything hard from it. Then he laid down on his back, using his backpack as a pillow. He stared up at the night sky, countless stars twinkling against the infinite blackness. Three crescent moons hung there, the smallest of which still appeared larger than the moon back home. It was a poignant reminder of where he was. On a world far from home…a world he had no hope of ever leaving.
Where was this place? And how had the Gate – whatever it was – gotten him here? Who made the Gate in the first place, and why? No one on Earth had such technology, after all. Not humans, at least. Was it alien technology? An advanced species from another galaxy?
Hunter sighed, rolled onto his side. He hadn’t even considered any of this…hadn’t had time to, with Trixie dominating his nights. Now that he was away from her, it was obvious that she’d become an obsession for him. Like a drug…better than a drug. With her around, there hadn’t been time for reflection, for any thoughts other than sex.
He felt a sudden chill, staring off at the house in the distance.
Maybe that had been Ekrin’s plan for him all along. Like Vi had said, he’d been turned into an addict, with Trixie as his drug. No wonder why Thorius had wanted him to ditch her.
He sighed again, curling into the fetal position, a cool breeze ruffling his hair. Whoever had made that Gate, and wherever this world was, he was stuck in it for good. There was no going home, that much was clear…and his mother was almost certainly dead. He thought of Sukri, Gammon, and Kris then, an image of Kris’s body lying lifelessly on the ground flashing in his mind’s eye. Of that horrible sound as the Ironclad had snapped Sukri’s leg in two. His felt a crushing sadness come over him, knowing that there was a very real possibility that she was dead too…and Gammon. It’d been close to sundown by the time they’d managed to escape. If there were more Ironclad patrolling the area…
He forced the thought out of his mind, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out.
He had nothing to live for but himself now. And if today had taught him anything, it was that if he didn’t start figuring out how to make it in this world, he clearly wasn’t going to last for very long.
Chapter 17
Dominus sat on the edge of his bed in his spacious suite in the Acropolis, facing the doctor he’d called upon only a half-hour ago. The doctor knelt before him, pulling the boot off of his right foot. Dominus barely felt the boot slip off; his foot was numb, but that gnawing pain was ever-present, as if he’d plunged his foot into ice-cold water.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” the doctor said, pulling off Dominus’s sock. He stared at Dominus’s foot, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grimace.
The rot had spread, his pinky toe now completely black, as were most of the other toes. The instep of his foot was pale and mottled, a beefy redness spreading from the deep ulcer on the side of his ankle.
He didn’t need a doctor to know that it was dying.
The doctor put two fingers on Dominus’s instep, then on his inner ankle, just behind the bone. He shook his head, then tapped Dominus’s instep with one finger.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
“No.”
The doctor reached behind Dominus’s knee, digging his fingers in the pocket there. Then he apologized, putting two fingers near Dominus’s groin. That done, he stood, sighing heavily.
“The foot is dying,” he declared apologetically. “You’ve no pulse in either vessel there, and a faint pulse behind the knee. You’ve still got blood flowing through the groin, which is promising.”
“You want to amputate,” Dominus stated flatly. The doctor nodded reluctantly.
“The foot will have to come off,” he admitted. “Your ulcer is infected, and I’m afraid the pus will go to the bone. Once it’s there, it will not leave.”
“Not just the toes?” Dominus pressed. The doctor shook his head.
“It’s only a matter of time before your whole foot rots,” he explained. “If there is any blood flowing to it, it isn’t much…and it won’t last.”
Dominus stared at his foot in disgust, at the gangrene slowly consuming his flesh. He had no doubt that the doctor was correct, that his foot would not last much longer. But it would impair him significantly to undergo major surgery now, to endure a painful recovery, potentially complicated by an infection from the procedure itself. Not to mention learning to walk without a foot, or with some ghastly prosthesis. This was too momentous a time to be distracted by such things; his son’s transition must be ensured, as well as Axio’s.
“Remove the toes,” he declared, looking up at the doctor. “The gangrene only.”
“But your Grace…” the doctor began.
“Cut off the rot when it comes,” Dominus interrupted. “Preserve that which remains for as long as possible.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded.
“I’ll assemble the team,” he declared, bowing and leaving the suite. The door closed behind him.
Dominus sighed, staring at his foot, remembering how it used to look. Pink, warm, full of life and vigor. It had been with him, a part of him, for his entire life, since he was pushed out into this world. And now it was dying, and if he didn’t remove it, it would kill him too. The infection had to be contained, or it would spread.
As with the kingdom, he thought darkly. He’d spent his first years as Duke removed the infected limb that had been the uprising peasants, the immigrants who’d been welcomed into the city generations earlier, then sought to claim the kingdom for their own. Breeding like rabbits, then demanding they be considered equals without ever earning such a distinction.
They had been the infection, the foreign invader that had burrowed into the kingdom’s flesh, making it rot. And Dominus had cut off that great limb from the city, destroying almost half of Tykus to rid the kingdom of them.
There was a knock on the door.
Dominus sighed again, slipping on his sock, then his boot.
“Come in,” Dominus called out. The door opened, and Axio stepped through, bowing before him.
“Your Grace,” he greeted. “You called for me?”
“Yes,” Dominus confirmed. “I wanted to know what you thought of the meeting in the Hall of Tykus earlier. Speak your mind freely…do not fear that your words will reach the other dukes.”
“Yes your Grace,” Axio replied. He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I felt that it was overly long.”
“Go on.”
“The other dukes do not speak as you do,” Axio continued. “They take many words to say very little…particularly Duke Ratheburg.”
Dominus smiled, pleased at this.
“Those who speak volumes often have the least to say,” he stated. “But be careful not to think better of those who speak little. Being spartan of speech is often a sign of having nothing to say rather than being possessed of great wisdom.”
“Yes your Grace.”
“Words a
re like gems,” Dominus explained. “The rarer they are, the more valuable they are perceived to be.”
“I agree your Grace.”
“Judge a man by the content of what he says,” Dominus continued. “If he says nothing, you must reserve judgement until he does speak. As for you, listen carefully, speak little. Formulate your plans within your mind first, then consider how much to reveal to others.”
“Yes your Grace.”
“If you speak everything you think,” Dominus continued, “…you’ll have no secrets, and therefore no power.” He shifted his weight on the bed, grimacing at the continued pain in his right foot. “What is your opinion of the substance of the meeting?”
“I fail to see how killing the leader of the Ironclad would significantly impact them,” Axio admitted. “Won’t another just appear in its place?”
“Can you imagine what would happen if the Ossae of Tykus were destroyed?” Dominus replied. Axio’s eyes widened. “Tykus would never again return through the body of the king…his wisdom would be lost. The kingdom would never recover.”
“Such a thing is impossible,” Axio protested, clearly disturbed by the idea.
“Nothing is impossible,” Dominus retorted. “Don’t be blinded by the things you cherish. Consider the worst and plan to prevent it. That is your role as Duke of Wexford,” he added. “You are the last defense of the kingdom, the preserver of our way of life, our culture, our great race.”
“Yes your Grace.”
“I am the beekeeper of our people,” Dominus stated. “And my hive is the city of Tykus. That is why I tend to my bees, Axio. It is a constant reminder of my role.”
“Now I understand, your Grace,” Axio murmured. “That is why you live outside of the kingdom.” Dominus nodded, smiling at the boy.
“Indeed.”
“I have another question,” Axio stated.
“Go on.”
“The Original,” Axio began. “Why not just kill him?”
“Ah yes,” Dominus murmured. “He is clearly dangerous, isn’t he? Strong willed, with distasteful qualities that could spread to the populace.”
“He is dark, like the bitch Neesha,” Axio agreed. “And the Ironclad want him.”
“He is,” Dominus replied. “And they do.”
“Why not kill him then?” Axio pressed.
“That is one possible solution,” Dominus admitted. “Tell me…what did I tell you about people?”
“That they are tools, your Grace.”
“Correct,” Dominus replied. “Is a knife not a tool for a butcher?”
“It is.”
“Would a butcher destroy a knife merely because it was very sharp?” Dominus pressed. “Even though he may cut himself?” Axio shook his head.
“No your Grace.”
“We do not destroy a tool merely because the tool is dangerous,” Dominus explained. “But like the butcher, we must wield it with great care. The Original is a tool like any other man,” he continued. “And we must be prepared to use him as such.”
“For what purpose, your Grace?”
“That is yet to be determined,” Dominus confessed. “Suffice it to say that if the Original survives the mission I set him on, then he will have proven himself a useful addition to the Seekers.” Dominus had made excellent use of another protégé of the guild, after all…and a far more dangerous one at that.
“I see.”
“It was King Tykus who asked me to develop the immigration system for the Originals,” Dominus declared, “…after the Civil War. The other dukes wanted to destroy any new Originals. I convinced them to manage the Originals. Place them in the Outskirts where they cannot infect the aristocracy. Convert them to loyal citizens through the use of Temple Stones. Attach them to a prostitute. Sleep-deprive them.”
“For what purpose?” Axio inquired.
“An addict lives for his drug,” Dominus explained. “The drug consumes his thoughts, allowing nothing else.” He smiled. “Sex, like any other pleasure, can be a drug.”
“Most ingenious, your Grace.”
“Which is why you must never engage in such things,” Dominus continued. “As Duke, you must never allow yourself to become addicted to any pleasure. Your role is too vital to allow for such distractions.”
“Yes your Grace.”
“Very well then,” Dominus stated, suddenly tired of their conversation. “Leave me now. I will call for you again soon.”
Axio bowed, then left. Dominus watched the boy go, noting a slight limp as the boy walked…in his right leg, of course. He smiled, relieved at Axio’s progress. The boy was changing, however slowly. His will was strong, and the metamorphosis would take some time…but that was preferable. It would be useless if the boy were too malleable.
He lowered his gaze then, looking at his right foot, hidden within his boot. One would never suspect the rot that existed below the surface, beneath that fine clothing. As with the kingdom, unfortunately; there was rot there, hidden within the fine walls of the city, and of the Acropolis itself.
Cut off the rot when it comes, he thought, recalling the lame queen bee he’d crushed the life out of, so that the hive might produce another. Preserve that which remains for as long as possible.
* * *
“Hey.”
Hunter groaned, rolling onto his back and opening his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. He blinked, seeing a shadow looming over him, silhouetted by the sun.
“Get up,” a voice said. It took Hunter a moment to recognize the voice.
“Oh, hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He saw Vi standing above him, dressed as usual in her brown leather uniform, her sword and mace at her hips…and a bow in her hand. He stood up, grimacing at how sore and stiff his back was. He was surprised he’d even managed to fall asleep, given how uncomfortable the bed of leaves and dirt had been. He’d never have imagined that he’d pine for his stiff cot back in the Outskirts. “Morning,” he grumbled.
“Hungry?” she asked. Hunter nodded, his stomach growling in agreement. “Go get some food then,” she said, handing him the bow. He stared at it, then at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Kill something,” she clarified, “…then eat it.”
“I don’t know how to use a bow,” he protested. Sure, he’d shot a few arrows with his parents in an indoor archery class once or twice, but that’d been years ago…back when his mother had been around.
“What do you know?” she shot back. Hunter glared at her.
“Physics,” he replied. “Chemistry.”
“Huh?”
“It’s complicated.” he grumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Hunger is simple,” Vi retorted. “Learn to hunt or starve.”
Hunter sighed, and Vi handed him a quiver filled with arrows. He slung it over his shoulder.
“Come on,” she prompted, pointing to a small tree standing near the canyon wall. “Hit that from here.”
Hunter hesitated, then nocked the arrow on the bowstring, trying to remember what he’d learned as a kid. Vi immediately grabbed the arrow from his hands, showing him how to do it properly. She made him put his index and middle fingers on the string above the shaft of the arrow, his ring finger below.
“Draw it back,” she ordered. “Keep your other arm straight. No,” she added, lifting his elbow up until it was at 90 degrees to his flank. “Elbow up. Keep your legs planted,” she ordered. “Toes pointing to the side. Good.”
Hunter aimed, then glanced at Vi.
“Eyes on the target,” she scolded. “Now let go with your fingers only. Don’t move your arm.”
He complied, and the arrow whizzed through the air, hitting the canyon wall to the left of the tree trunk.
“Try again,” she ordered.
He did so, removing another arrow from the quiver awkwardly. She showed him how do to it right, then watched as he nocked the arrow. Again she corrected him. He drew it back,
then aimed, letting the string go. The arrow struck the tree near the base of the trunk.
“Too low,” she stated. “Hit it at your chest level. Raise your straight arm.”
He tried again, with more corrections as he went. He shot the arrow, and it went higher, but to the right of the trunk.
“Your feet aim,” Vi instructed. “Keep them parallel. Your hips aim next, keep them lined up with your target. Your straight arm aims last, keep your shoulders lined up with the target.”
“Got it,” he muttered.
“Then prove it.”
He sighed, lining his feet up, then his hips, then his shoulders as instructed. He drew back, then fired the arrow…and it struck dead center, right at chest level. He turned to Vi and smirked.
“Boom,” he declared. Vi rolled her eyes, grabbing the bow from his hands and three arrows from his quiver. She strode up to the long bridge, walking all the way across it until she was standing next to the house…and a few hundred feet away from the tree.
“What are you…” he began.
She strung and shot an arrow in one fluid motion, then shot the other two before the first had even finished flying over the lake. There were three thumps, and Hunter turned to look at the tree. His eyes widened, his jaw going slack.
All three arrows were embedded in the tree…each having split the one before it…and his own arrow.
“Holy shit,” he blurted out, staring at the arrows, then turning back to her. She walked back across the bridge, handing him the bow again.
“Boom,” she quipped, smirking at him.
“How the hell?” he began, then stopped, shaking his head. “Damn.”
“Come on buttercup,” she said, slapping him on the butt, hard enough to make him stumble. “Impress me.”
He sighed, turning to face the tree again, then shooting another arrow, then another. Some hit the trunk, some didn’t. Each time, Vi made some corrections. To his relief, she kept the trash-talking to a minimum, and when he had depleted his quiver, she had him retrieve the arrows and start over again. After what seemed like hours, she had him stop…which was just as well. His fingertips were on fire, the bowstring having given him painful blisters.
