by David Logan
‘Mestrowe,’ said another man, this one with a trident in place of his left lower arm. Junk had a full name for his quarry now: Jacid Mestrowe. ‘Rumanow’s right. We can’t just stay here all night. She’s not said a word.’
Junk formulated a quick plan in his head. He needed to distract the Pallatans, set Lasel free and get them both back to the hole under the outer wall before anyone realized. The first thing he noticed was that the rope around Lasel’s ankles was secured to the base of the metal stand with a type of hitch knot: easy to tie and, more importantly, easy to untie.
A few metres to his left was a barrel-shaped brazier burning brightly. It was one of many dotted around the exercise yard. Staying low and out of sight, Junk crept close to the brazier until he was able to get his hand underneath. Slowly he pulled it towards one of the shacks and carefully he tipped it back so it was resting precariously against the front of the shack, rocking gently from side to side. The coals inside shifted with each movement so that the rocking gradually increased. Junk crept back into the shadows and moved away as fast as he dared.
*
Lasel felt ill. She had been hanging upside down for too long and the constant spinning and swinging wasn’t helping. She felt sure she was about to throw up and was determined to direct it at one of her captors. Rumanow was closest.
Mestrowe stopped her swinging. It was a relief. ‘For the last time, tell me who you are, girl. I’m growing impatient.’
Lasel was raised high enough off the ground so that she was face to face with him. ‘You were seen with the woman. Where is she?’ Lasel said nothing. ‘Who else are you with?’ Lasel said nothing. ‘What is it you want with us?’ Lasel said nothing. ‘Speak or I will leave you to their mercy.’ He gestured over his shoulder at the grinning hordes of the League of Sharks. ‘And they have none,’ he added, a little redundantly.
Lasel opened her mouth to speak, but as she did so something caught her attention and she looked up to see one of the shacks was ablaze. Half of the Pallatans rushed to put out the fire, but it spread quickly and more and more of the League went to help until Lasel was left alone.
Junk moved fast. He sprinted out into the open, across the exercise yard, coming up behind Lasel. He ducked his face in front of hers so she knew it was him. Instinctively she started to speak but he put a hand over her mouth to stop her. She quickly got the message.
Junk grabbed the end of rope trailing from the knot and pulled. It should have unravelled easily, but it didn’t. It seemed that although it looked like a type of hitch knot, it wasn’t. It was a type Junk had not seen before. Pulling the rope only tightened the knot. Junk cursed under his breath and set about trying to undo the knot. He kept one eye on the Pallatans, who were all still occupied with the fire.
Junk’s heart was pounding and his fingers felt fat and clumsy. The sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. Everything he did to the knot only made it stronger and more secure. So he stopped. He realized he needed to think clearly. He took a breath, wiped the sweat off his face and studied the knot. It took him a few seconds to see how it had been tied and therefore how to untie it. He looked up at Lasel and smiled. Then he noticed that scarface had turned away from the burning shack and was staring straight at him. For a moment it was as if scarface couldn’t believe what his one good eye was seeing. He barked to his comrades in H’rtu and started striding back towards Junk and Lasel. Junk felt the panic rising in him again and he tried to focus on undoing the knot. Two fingers under the bight, pull back and out and the rope unravelled. Scarface and some of the other Pallatans were halfway across the exercise yard as Junk lowered Lasel to the ground.
A throb of elation ran through Junk for a split second until he realized that the rope was still tied securely around her ankles and she was unable to move. Junk had no choice but to scramble to his feet and throw Lasel over his shoulder. He started running.
They didn’t get very far before they were surrounded by the League.
*
After all this time, Junk finally found himself face to face with the man who killed his sister. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite how Junk would have liked this meeting to take place. He and Lasel were both now strung up by their ankles back to back. Junk was looking into Jacid Mestrowe’s one good eye upside down.
‘I don’t know you,’ said Mestrowe in Jansian. ‘Who are you, boy?’ Junk didn’t answer. He was scared, very scared, and he didn’t want to sound weak in front of Mestrowe. He managed to hide his fear by clenching his jaw tight shut. It gave him a resolute look.
Rumanow pitched forward and backhanded Junk, sending him spinning wildly. ‘He asked you a question, you scust. You better answer. I saw you both with her.’ Mestrowe reached out to stop Junk’s unfettered spinning.
‘What do you want with us?’ said Mestrowe, calmly and quietly. Junk still didn’t answer. Suddenly Mestrowe’s hand shot out and clamped around Lasel’s throat. He started to squeeze. He could crush her windpipe like a dry leaf if he chose.
‘No,’ shouted Junk.
‘Who are you?’ Mestrowe asked again. Lasel’s face was starting to turn purple.
‘Murroughtoohy,’ said Junk.
Mestrowe stared at Junk. He didn’t relax his grip on Lasel, who looked as if she was about to lose consciousness. Her tongue was ballooning out from between her teeth. Her eyes were all white.
‘Please stop,’ said Junk. Mestrowe carried on for another few seconds and then pulled his hand away. Instantly, Lasel gulped down as much oxygen as she could take in at one go. She started coughing violently, every angry exhalation shaking her whole body.
Mestrowe pushed her aside, ignoring the sound, and looked blankly at Junk. ‘What is Murroughtoohy? Is that supposed to mean something?’
‘You went through the Room of Doors …’ Junk noticed Mestrowe react to the mention of the Room. ‘You went three million years back to a place on the west coast of Ireland. You took a little girl from her bed.’ Mestrowe frowned as he thought back. ‘That was my sister. I chased you but you went over the cliff.’ Mestrowe shrugged. It meant nothing. Junk forgot about his predicament briefly. Anger mushroomed inside him. How dare Mestrowe not remember something that had changed Junk’s life so completely. ‘How can you not remember it?’
Mestrowe grabbed Junk’s face and brought it close to his. ‘Watch your tone with me, boy,’ he said. ‘I’ve killed lots of sisters and brothers and mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. Why would I remember one out of so many? And I don’t remember you.’ Mestrowe pushed Junk away and he swung back and forth, rotating first one way and then the other.
‘Fatoocha mammacoola charla,’ said Junk to Mestrowe’s back as he started to walk away. Mestrowe stopped and turned. He caught Junk and stopped him swinging. Now there was a look of dawning recognition on his face.
‘That’s what you said to me that night,’ said Junk. ‘I’ve never forgotten those words. Do you remember me now?’
Mestrowe didn’t answer straight away. When he did he said, ‘No.’ Junk felt crestfallen. ‘But I remember the girl.’
‘Fatoocha mammacoola charla,’ said Junk again. ‘The Nine Emperors send their regards. Tell me who the Nine Emperors are.’
‘This has haunted you, hasn’t it, boy?’ said Mestrowe.
Junk tried not to respond but despite himself he nodded.
Mestrowe grinned. ‘Good.’ He laughed. ‘Let it stay that way.’
Junk thrashed, straining at the ropes binding him. ‘Why did you kill my sister?’ he shouted.
Mestrowe laughed heartily to see his distress. ‘You’ll never know, boy. Though let me tell you, she died screaming.’
‘NO! NO! NO!’ Mestrowe’s words had the desired effect, turning Junk apoplectic with rage. He whipped back and forth, struggling to get free. Laughing, Mestrowe pushed him away and Junk swung towards Rumanow who, laughing too, swung him towards Orrant, who swung him to Fish-Head. All the Pallatans were laughing now
and stamping their feet.
‘Stop it,’ shouted Lasel. ‘Stop!’
Mestrowe stopped laughing. He grabbed hold of Junk and stopped him swinging. The atmosphere ran cold.
‘Cut their throats. Let them bleed out,’ said Mestrowe to Rumanow. ‘Then dump their bodies in the desert. The scavengers can have them.’
Junk and Lasel looked on with wild, staring eyes as Rumanow drew out a long blade and started advancing on them as Mestrowe strode away.
Junk and Lasel swung next to each other, powerless. Junk raced through the distant corners of his mind for something, a way out.
‘This is your last chance,’ he shouted. ‘Free us or die.’
Mestrowe stopped and turned, looking furious but only for a moment. Then his face exploded into a huge grin and he started choking with laughter. All the Pallatans joined in. Tears were streaming down Mestrowe’s face as he held his arms wide. ‘How?’ he said. ‘How do you intend to kill us?’
‘Free us or die,’ he said again.
‘Maybe I should keep you around for the entertainment value,’ said Mestrowe through his laughter. He stopped laughing abruptly. ‘But no,’ he said. ‘Kill them.’ Once again he turned to leave, but as he did so the dazzling glow of a doorway of green light appeared on the far side of the exercise yard. Everyone turned. Junk breathed a sigh of relief: the cavalry was here.
There was movement and someone stepped out of the doorway. Junk frowned. It was not what he had been expecting. Standing in the green glow was a short, stocky creature, not quite half a metre high and about as wide as he was tall. He looked like a moving boulder with stubby little legs. His skin was a milky pale colour and he was dressed in rags. His head was small, his face smaller still. His eyes and mouth (no nose) were squished into the middle of his face, framed by an expanse of featureless white skin.
‘What’s that?’ said one of the Pallatans with an amused sneer.
More movement now and more of the little creatures stepped through the portal. About two dozen or so.
Orrant got to his feet. He was breathing heavily and had a worried look on his face. ‘We need to go,’ he said mostly to himself and turned, breaking into a run. The other Pallatans looked after Orrant and laughed. They exchanged puzzled looks. Who would be afraid of such creatures?
The tiny men who had come through the doorway were hard to tell apart. All were pretty much the same height, build and colouring, and all dressed alike. They fanned out, each moving towards one of the Pallatans, with a docile mouth and twinkling eyes. They looked and moved in a dreamlike fashion. Like they were sleepwalking through bubblegum.
‘What do you want, titch?’ said one of the Pallatans.
In response, the little man standing in front of him smiled serenely and held out his hand. The Pallatan was about to take it when, in the blink of an eye, the little man pounced into the air and latched on to him. In that instant, they all attacked. They were like people who have been in the desert for too long and have spotted an oasis. Despite the vast difference in size and strength, the Pallatans instinctively backed away as the little men kept coming.
One of them ran at Rumanow, who kicked out at him, catching him square in the chest. The Pallatan’s foot embedded itself in the small man’s torso as if it was hollow and he hopped around comically, trying to shake off the tiny body attached to him. Finally he sat on the ground and pulled it off. Only then did he notice that its face was gone. There was a gap in the middle of its head where the face had been. Rumanow paused for a moment, trying to work out what had happened. Then he felt something on his back and twisted, trying to see what was there.
What was there was a milk-white snake-like creature, about four inches long, bearing the face of the little man who had attacked him at the front of its slimy, fat little tuberous body. It slithered swiftly up Rumanow’s torso towards his head. Panicking now, the Pallatan was trying to grab it or brush it off, but the creature moved too rapidly. It reached his ear and dived in, burrowing inside. Rumanow grabbed his head and started screaming.
Junk had been watching, transfixed by what was happening to Rumanow, who was directly in front of him. He looked on with horror now. Then he became aware of more screams. Screams from all around the compound. All the Pallatans were being attacked. Some were fighting back; most had already lost. Some were on the ground, wrestling with their small round assailants. Others were thrashing about, trying to shake off the fat white worms. Others, like Rumanow, were just sitting there, silent and dazed, staring blankly in front of them.
Jacid Mestrowe was sitting on top of one of the little men, pummelling him with his big fists. Suddenly the little man’s body collapsed in on itself and Mestrowe’s fists went straight through his calcified chest cavity. Mestrowe looked down at the creature, looked into his eyes, and for a moment the Pallatan thought he had won.
Then he watched in horror and disbelief as the creature strained and twisted its face and ripped it back, separating it from the middle of its own head. The face vanished from view for a moment and then reappeared, gliding up Mestrowe’s arm on a larval body.
Mestrowe hurled himself backwards and started flailing about on the ground, trying to shake the creature off. He paused for a moment, having lost track of its progress. He looked down at his sleeve. A trail of pus was leading up his arm and he followed it over his back to the opposite shoulder. He twisted his head to look and there was the creature. It winked at him before launching itself at the side of his head. Mestrowe felt it penetrate his ear. He tried to grab it but it slipped between his fingers.
Mestrowe froze. He could feel it moving about inside his head. The creature followed the Pallatan’s ear canal until, burrowing deeper, it drilled into his brain. Mestrowe grabbed his head in both hands and rolled around the floor, screaming in agony, bucking and jerking. Inside him, the creature reached his brain stem and wound itself around it, fixing his position with tiny barbs that grew out of his underbelly.
Junk and Lasel stared, taking in the astonishing sight. All the Pallatans were calming down now. One by one they developed the same sleepy expression on their faces. The screaming around the compound gradually petered out until a hush descended over the area. All was still.
A new shadow appeared in the door of green light. Garvan stepped into the compound and moved through the detritus of the little people’s discarded bodies. He made his way to Junk and Lasel.
‘What happened?’ asked Junk. ‘What are they?’
‘These are Twrisks,’ said Garvan.
‘What have they done to the Pallatans?’ asked Lasel. ‘Have they killed them?’
Garvan shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite. Twrisks are “gelda”. I’m not sure what the translation is in English. They live inside the host. Attach themselves to their brain stem, and then it’s like the host has a pilot. Their problem was that the only species they’re compatible with are Pallatans, but there aren’t any Pallatans on Tremmelleer so they build these funny little bodies …’ he glanced around at all the discarded desiccated carcasses scattered over the floor, ‘… but it’s only half a life. They jumped at the chance to come here.’
*
The battle was over now and the Pallatans had lost. The Twrisks had each found a host body. Some chose to share a host with a mate. Garvan helped Lasel and Junk down.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk. ‘How come they live somewhere with no Pallatans if they need Pallatans?’
‘They were exiled there a long time ago and they can’t travel very easily or very far. These bodies they build for themselves are functional but basic.’ Garvan picked up a discarded leg and handed it to Junk. On examination, Junk saw that it was hollow. It appeared to be made out of animal hair, mud and some sort of shiny discharge.
‘So the Twrisks are just the little wormy things?’
‘That’s right,’ said Garvan. ‘The rest is like a shell to a crab.’
‘Wow,’ said Lasel. ‘Who exiled them?’
‘P
allatans, of course,’ said Garvan. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
*
Junk sought out Jacid Mestrowe and stood over him. Mestrowe sat on the floor, shivering and cupping his right ear.
‘K-k-kill me,’ he pleaded to Junk, and a flash of pain inflicted by the Twrisk inside him shot through his body. ‘Don’t be like that,’ said Mestrowe, but the inflection in his voice was different. It was the Twrisk inside him speaking through him, using Mestrowe’s own vocal cords, tongue and mouth. Mestrowe rose to his feet clumsily and looked at Garvan.
‘You were as good as your word,’ said the Twrisk, using Mestrowe’s mouth.
‘Is that you, Payo?’ asked Garvan.
‘It is,’ said Mestrowe’s mouth.
Garvan turned to Junk and Lasel. ‘Payo was one of the first Twrisks I met when I got to Tremmelleer. Payo, these are the friends I told you about – Junk and Lasel.’
‘I’m happy to meet you,’ said Payo–Mestrowe. ‘Garvan told us about your journey. Sounds epic. So I picked the bad guy, huh? What do you want to do with him?’
‘Well, my plan had always been to kill him, but he seems to want that to happen now so I think leaving him how he is would be a worse punishment.’
‘No,’ barked Mestrowe, but Payo inflicted pain on him somehow and he pulsed and then was quiet.
‘But I’d like to ask a favour of you, Payo. I want you to come with me to take him back home. I need to show my mother I wasn’t lying, that I didn’t kill my sister; he did. Would you mind? After that, I’ll take you to Tremmelleer or wherever you want to go.’
‘No problem,’ said Payo–Mestrowe.
‘No,’ said Mestrowe, and then he flinched in pain again.
‘It takes a while to break them in,’ said Payo–Mestrowe. ‘I’ll happily come with you. I’ve been stuck on Tremmelleer for such a long time it’d be good to see somewhere else.’
*
The Pallatan–Twrisks explored the compound. Garvan had promised to return them to Tremmelleer if that was where they wanted to go, but only about half a dozen took him up on the offer. The rest decided to stay put and explore the world in their new bodies.
