by Sam Sykes
‘Or real.’
The sudden appearance of what appeared to be a pale, talking stick drew both men’s attentions up to the stream bank. Dreadaeleon stood there with skinny arms folded over skinny chest, nose up in the air in an attempt at superiority that was made unsurprisingly difficult given his distinct lack of clothing, muscle and dignity.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ Denaos cut him off with a direct swiftness. ‘It’s weird enough to be wearing a loincloth, talking to another man in a loincloth, without a third boy sitting and staring … in a loincloth.’
‘I had come by to talk to you. Fortunately, I arrived just as the delusional talk of gods came up.’ Dreadaeleon waved a hand as he sauntered toward them. ‘It’s irrelevant as pertains to the subject of hallucinations.’
‘It is?’ Lenk asked, quirking a brow.
‘Wait,’ Denaos interjected, ‘don’t tell me you’re going to listen to him.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Dreadaeleon replied smugly. ‘Insight based on reason and knowledge is far superior to conjecture based on ignorant superstition and … well, I suppose you would probably cite something like your “gut” as credible source, no?’
‘That and the fact that, between the two of us, I’m the only one who’s managed to talk to a woman without breathing hard,’ the rogue snapped. ‘You’re aware we’re talking about women, right? Nothing even remotely logical.’
‘Everything is logical in nature, especially hallucinations, which you were also discussing.’ The boy turned to Lenk. ‘To credit one hallucination to one delusion is preposterous.’
Lenk frowned at the boy. ‘You … do know I’m a follower of Khetashe, don’t you?’
‘And yet, gods’ – Dreadaeleon paused to look disparagingly at Denaos – ‘and their followers don’t seem to be doing much for you. I once believed in them, too, when I was young and stupid.’
‘You’re still—’
‘The point I’m trying to make,’ he said with fierce insistence, ‘is that hallucinations are matters of mind, not divinity. And who is more knowledgeable in the ways of the mind than a wizard? You know it was the Venarium that discovered the brain as the centre of thought.’
‘Being that this is also a matter of attraction,’ Denaos muttered, ‘brains have shockingly little to do with it.’
‘Then we should introduce a little more to the situation.’ Dreadaeleon folded his hands with a businesslike air of importance as he regarded Lenk thoughtfully. ‘Now, the hallucination you experienced, the … ah …’
‘Eel tits,’ the young man replied.
‘Yes, the eel … that. It was a sign, make no mistake.’ He tapped his temple. ‘But it came from up here. Wait no …’ He reached out a hand and prodded Lenk’s forehead sharply. ‘In there.’
The young man growled, slapping Dreadaeleon’s hand away. ‘So … what, you think it’s madness?’
‘Madness is the result of the rational coming to terms with the irrational, like rel—’
‘Sweet Khetashe, I get it!’ Lenk said exasperatedly. ‘You’re incredibly enlightened and your brain is big enough to make your neck buckle under it.’
‘That may just be the fat in his head,’ Denaos offered.
‘Regardless, can we please remember to focus on my problem here?’
‘Of course,’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘Your hallucination is just that: your rational mind, what you know to be true and real, is struggling with your irrational mind, what you desire and hope. The hallucination was simply an image manifestation of that. That she was not there was rational; that she was there was irrational; the eels represent—’
‘There are precious few ways one can interpret eel tits, my friend,’ Denaos interjected.
‘Can we please stop saying that?’ Dreadaeleon growled. ‘The eels are simply the bridge between, the sole obstacle to what you hope to accomplish, hence their characterisation as something horrifically ugly.’
‘Couldn’t that also suggest an aversion or fear to what lay under her shirt? Or sexuality in general?’ Denaos mused.
The boy whirled on him with teeth bared. ‘Oh, was it a group of smelly thieves and rapists who uncovered the innermost machinations of the organ driving human consciousness? Because here I thought it was the most enlightened body of scholarly inquiry in the world that figured it out. But if Denaos said it, it must be the other way, because he’s so great and he’s right about everything!’
Lenk had never thought he would actually see a man will himself to explode, much less a boy, but as Dreadaeleon stared fiery holes into the rogue’s forehead, chest expanding with each fevered breath like a bladder filling with water, he absently felt the urge to take cover from the impending splatter.
‘Right,’ Dreadaeleon said, body shrinking with one expulsion of hot air as he returned to Lenk. ‘The correct thing to do, then, would be to embrace the urge and simply … you know … have at it.’
Lenk regarded the boy curiously for a moment. There was something different in him, to be sure. The burning crimson that heralded his power seemed to be present, if only in brief, faint flickers behind his dark eyes. And yet, all his being seemed to have sunk into those eyes, the rest of him looking far skinnier than usual, his hair far greasier than it should be, his cheeks hollow and his jaw clenched.
‘Well, ah … okay, then.’ Lenk blinked. ‘Thanks?’
‘My pleasure,’ Dreadaeleon said, leaning against a tree. ‘I’m a little curious as to where you managed to find a girl on this island to hallucinate over, though. Or was this someone prior to our departure?’
‘What?’ Lenk asked. ‘Didn’t you hear?’
‘Bits and pieces. I didn’t catch the identity.’ Dreadaeleon’s eyes flared wide, the fire behind them bursting to faint embers. ‘It’s not Asper, is it?’ Before the young man could answer, he leaned forward violently. ‘Is it?’
‘No, no,’ Denaos spoke up from behind. ‘Our boy here has decided that romancing within his own breed is a bit too dull.’
‘Oh … one of the lizards, then? Tell me, how can you tell the difference between the males and—’
‘It’s Kat, you spindly little freak!’ Lenk snarled suddenly.
‘Oh … what, really?’ Dreadaeleon blanched. ‘I mean … ah. No, I don’t think that’ll work at all.’
‘See?’ Denaos said.
‘What?’ Lenk frowned. ‘A moment ago you were telling me to follow my hallucination!’
‘Hallucination and delusion are two different things,’ Denaos replied. ‘This isn’t a matter of heart or mind, but of instinct. I mean, she’ll kill you.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Denaos muttered.
‘She hasn’t yet,’ Lenk replied, ‘and I’m sure I won’t be the first one she does.’
‘Who can say when or why an animal attacks? Perhaps she’s just waiting to show you her true colours, like a cat stalking. Or maybe she’s waiting until she’s hungry enough?’
‘Now wait just a—’
Denaos interrupted. ‘See, I hadn’t considered that. Here, I thought it was right until she got bored.’
‘She’s not going to—’
‘That’s a good point, but I think it may be biologically spurred,’ Dreadaeleon offered. ‘Like her instincts will only come to light when he spots her demiphallus.’
‘I’m not going to …’ This time, Lenk cut himself off as he stared at the boy with wide eyes. ‘Wait. Her what?’
‘All female shicts have them, it’s theorised. Granted, our necropsies haven’t catalogued enough to—’
‘No, shut up. What’s a demiphallus?’
‘Pretty much what it sounds like,’ the boy replied. ‘Used to show dominance over males, it’s … well … it’s …’ He appeared thoughtful for a moment. ‘All right, remember when we saw those exotic pets being unloaded in Muraska’s harbour?’
‘Right.’
‘Right, and remember the hyenas?’
‘Some noble in Cier’Djaal
had shipped them up, I remember.’
‘Remember the female one?’
‘Yes, I—’ His eyes suddenly wide at the memory. ‘Oh … no.’
‘Really?’ Denaos asked, gaping. ‘She has one, you think? That would make perfect sense.’
‘I know!’ Dreadaeleon replied, grinning. ‘Wouldn’t it?’
‘How would that make perfect sense?’ Lenk demanded, eyes narrowing. ‘How?’ He glowered at the boy. ‘And how are you in any position to be commenting on any part of a female south of her neck?’
‘I’ve … read books.’
‘Books?’ Denaos asked, chuckling.
‘Books, yes,’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘I’m … familiar with the basic process, anyway. It’s not like it’s particularly difficult to perform, let along conceptualise.’
The two men stared at him, challenging. He cleared his throat.
‘See, uh.’ The boy scratched the back of his neck. ‘See, a lot of it has to do with the maidenhead. The, er, hymen, if you will, per se.’
‘Oh, I certainly will,’ Denaos said.
‘This isn’t helping me with my—’ Lenk muttered and was promptly ignored.
‘Right, well, this provides a form of … tightness … a sort of barrier that provides difficulty to the expeditious party. That … that makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘Entirely, yes,’ Denaos confirmed through a grin.
‘All right, then … so, the only thing really necessary is some manner of … of …’
‘Penetration?’
‘No, see, because it’s a barrier. It … uh … needs a sort of crushing.’ He made a fist and thrust it forward demonstratively. ‘A punching motion.’
‘Punching?’
‘Yes. Punching.’ He turned to Lenk. ‘See? It’s a matter of nature, physical and mental. There’s no way you can possibly—’
‘Shut up,’ the young man said.
‘You did ask—’ Denaos began.
‘I said shut up!’ Lenk roared, fists trembling at his side as he impaled the two men with his stare. ‘I can’t believe I asked either of you. You’ – he levelled a finger at Denaos – ‘who would leap at the chance to rut a sow so long as you were drunk enough or you’ – he thrust it at Dreadaeleon – ‘who divides his time between alienating every woman in sight with his pretentious sputter and staring holes in Asper’s robe and trying desperately to hide the chicken-bone swelling in his trousers.’
‘Asper?’ Denaos asked, glancing at the boy. ‘Really?’
‘Did I speak too softly or did you hear me when I told you to shut up?’ Lenk demanded, his scowl growing more intense, his voice harsher. ‘I don’t care what you, you or any voice says. I’m the leader, and even if what I decide to do is at all mad, it’s still a damn sight better than any of you cowardly piss-slurpers could think of. Rest assured that no matter who I walk away from this with, their presence will be a small blessing against the fact that I am leaving both of you to rot in filth, get sodomised in an alley and otherwise die alone.’
He turned away from them, forcing his eyes on the stream, forcing himself to control his breathing. It tasted warm in his mouth, cold on his lips. He could feel their stares upon him, feel their shock. As though there were something wrong with him.
‘We are going to turn around,’ he uttered. ‘Do not be there.’
They left. He did not turn around. He didn’t have to. He could feel their fear seeping out of their feet and into the earth. They hadn’t even waited until they were out of earshot to start running.
Scared little animals. The very kind of animal they accused her of being. The very kind of beast they saw when they had looked at him.
They were the animals. Fearful, weak, squeaking rodents. Useless. Pointless.
He was strong. He saw it in his reflection in the stream. His face was hard. His eyes were hard. No apology, no weakness.
No pupils. He blinked. That can’t be right.
Falling to his knees seemed a bit too easy; his head pulled the rest of him to the earth. He rested on his hands and knees, staring at himself in the river. His breath poured out of him in great, unrestrained puffs that stirred the water, blurred his face in it.
The legged eels below the surface released their grips on the rocks, went drifting down the stream. Lenk ignored them; his image was no more clearer with them gone. He could make out flashes of grey, blue, each one a stark and solid colour that he had rarely seen in his hair or eyes before. Slowly, he leaned down farther, breath pouring out of his mouth to kiss the water.
And freeze it into tiny, drifting chunks of ice that were lost down the stream.
‘That … that definitely is not right.’
‘One would suspect,’ a deep voice spoke, ‘that you are a poor judge of that.’
He looked up immediately and saw no one to match the bass, alien voice. He was alone in the forest, even the birds and chattering beasts of the trees having fled to leave him bathed in silence. Just him, the stream, and …
‘Jhombi?’ he asked.
The squat reptile made no immediate answer, did not even look up from his lure bobbing in the water. Then, slowly, his massive head began to twist towards Lenk, staring at him with two immense eyes.
Lenk stared back, mouth gaping open; of all the words he could have used to describe the Owauku’s gourdlike eyes, ‘gleeful’ and ‘malicious’ had rarely come to mind. And ‘terrifying’, not at all.
‘Hello, Lenk.’ His … or its voice was like sap: thick and bitter in the air. ‘I see you’re experiencing some difficulty with your current plan? Perhaps I could be of help.’
Lenk shook his head, dispelling his befuddlement. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you spoke the tongue.’ He cast a glare into the forest. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked. Denaos has lied to me before.’
‘He has,’ the lizardman said, ‘but he didn’t this time.’
‘He said Jhombi didn’t speak the human tongue.’
‘Jhombi does not.’
Lenk stared as the lizardman’s green smile grew a bit larger and eyes shrank a bit narrower.
‘So,’ the young man said breathlessly, ‘you would be …’
‘I’d say that my name was unimportant, but that would be a lie. You’ve had far too many of those lately, haven’t you?’
‘I’d agree with you, but any bond of trust we might have would probably be shattered by the fact that I am speaking to someone wearing Jhombi’s skin like a costume.’
The creature laughed, not joylessly. Rather, there was plenty of mirth in his deep, booming chuckle, and all of it made Lenk’s skin crawl.
‘You are clever, sir. A bit macabre, but clever.’ He held up a hand. ‘Jhombi is fine, my friend. Not present, but certainly still alive and possessing all his skin. He was lured away long ago by a gourd of his people’s wicked brew. Not half as clever as you were, that one, not half as determined.’ He quirked a scaly eye ridge. ‘Or perhaps now that you’re giving up, you’re roughly on par?’
Lenk could but stare, tongue dry in his gaping mouth. ‘Are … you another one?’
‘A hallucination?’ The creature shook his bulbous head. ‘Would a hallucination admit to being such? After all, they only linger as long as you consider them real. I must linger, Lenk; not long, only enough to speak with you, but I must. After that, you can imagine me away.’
‘All my hallucinations want to speak with me, lately. My mind must have a lot to say … Or is it the Gods that are trying to tell me something?’ Lenk dared a smile at the creature. It could hardly hurt, he reasoned. He would hate to gain a reputation for rudeness amongst his growing collection of mental problems.
‘Good to see you’ve kept a sense of humour about it. I can hardly blame you. Lunatics have a reputation for laughing uncontrollably for a reason.’
‘So you are a hallucination.’
‘No, but you are going mad.’ The creature sighed. ‘Mad and clever, I suppose you could answer me this question: do you sup
pose it will stop?’
The young man blinked. ‘Will what stop?’
‘All of it. All the madness, the suffering.’ The creature looked at him intently. ‘The voices.’ It nodded slowly, all mirth gone from its face. ‘I know. I can’t hear them, but I know. I know how they torment you, running endlessly: hot, cold, soothing, frightening, day in, day out, screaming, shrieking, demanding, whispering, whining, talking all the time.’
Lenk, having nothing else to respond with, leaned forward, unblinking, unbreathing, unmoving.
‘Will they?’
The creature stared back at him and shook his head. ‘One will.’
‘One? There are …’ Should have realised that, should have known that. He stopped cursing himself long enough to breathe. ‘Which?’
‘Scarcely matters. One whispers lies, the other whispers what you don’t want to hear. You think either of them will stop?’ It sighed deeply. ‘Or is it that you think the one with the sweet lies will be correct? The one that tells you that everything will be fine, that you’ll go back to the mainland and leave all this behind you, grow fat on a field with your slender shict bride and watch the sunset until your lids grow too heavy to keep up and you die feeding the horseflies.
‘And yet, everything isn’t fine, is it? You are still here. Your companions fear you to the point that they have difficulty following you even back to their precious civilisation. You feel sick without your sword, angry in the company of those who smile at you, experience silence from one voice only when the other speaks …’
The creature shook its head.
‘No, not fine, at all, I’d say. One could scarcely be blamed for fleeing, especially when the alternative is to stay here, amidst the intolerable sun and rivers that turn to ice.’
‘There is nothing here,’ Lenk replied, ‘nothing but lizardmen and bugs. What purpose is there in staying here?’
‘When was the last time you found a purpose by looking behind you? What awaits you there? Burned ruins of your old home? The graves of your family?’
‘What would you know of it?’ Lenk snarled, feeling his hands tense, restrained from strangling the creature only by curiosity and dread for the answer.
