A Thousand Eyes

by Christian Leese

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Canis.

  The ground shook. Canis lost his balance, his arms flailing. Mortalo kept him upright and placed a hand over his mouth. The light disappeared, and he heard hushed voices.

  In the limited moonlight, blurred by patchy rain, Canis saw a hulking figure at least four times his height emerging. The Warden creaked and strained, its gears whining in the night, made all the more loathsome as the sounds bounced off the boarded-up homes on either side. The rain streamed down its time-worn, metal exoskeleton. Huge panels decorated its body. Its forearms and lower legs were silver, radiant in the gloom. Green steam rose from vents on the back of its head and its neon-green eyes violated the night.

  Mortalo kept his hand over Canis’ mouth.

  The lumbering guard searched the area before thudding off, leaving the streets just as quiet, just as empty, as they were before.

  “Why are we hiding?” whispered Canis.

  Mortalo moved his hand, starting for Canis’ mouth once again, but placed it around his throat instead. Canis’ windpipe cracked under the pressure.

  What did I say!

  Mortalo kept his grip tight and leaned in close. “I thought it necessary at first, but your questions are beginning to bore me. Step out of line again and I’ll find someone else to serve me and use your corpse to guard my crops.”

  Mortalo released his grip, and Canis gasped for air. “I just wanted to know for the journey back.”

  “A bold assertion,” said Mortalo who paused for a moment, his expression unchanged. “If they notice you, even if you’re not doing anything wrong, it can lead to them being suspicious, and we don’t want that if we’re going near the city walls.”

  He dropped his head. “Thank you.”

  “In future, I will tell you what you need to know. Don’t try to lure me into conversation. Let’s go.”

  Canis gulped and followed Mortalo.

  The old man weaved through the narrow alleyways and streets without pausing. Canis struggled to keep up and would’ve been lost if not for the axe’s faint glow. And, the more Canis kept his mouth shut, the more he noticed the world around him. Where the streets had looked empty and deserted, he now spotted people, the glint of steel in the moonlight, the ever-watchful eyes of the damned, a thousand eyes of every size and color, women and children, old and young, every possible expression of fear, contempt, paranoia, and distrust glanced out of the dark, but not hope.

  Not everyone lurked, though. Some cleaned their armor, scavenging materials from inactive terminals, or even emptying buckets of sludge into the streets. He fixed his gaze on his dirty feet.

  He scanned the gutters and windows, the alleyways and streets. Something moved low to his right. Canis stopped as he spotted a giant spider on its back. It had long hair and was curled up in a ball, soaked by the rain.

  “Stop!” said Canis as he kneeled to help it.

  “Stop?” Mortalo spun around.

  Canis hesitated. “The spider.”

  “What damn spider?”

  Canis pulled the spider toward him, using its long hair. As he flipped it onto its front, two round eyes the size of keyholes looked at him. Two more glinted on either side of the bigger ones, but he couldn’t see his reflection in those. Mortalo’s icy shadow caused him to shiver.

  “You stopped me for this? Kill it,” said Mortalo.

  Canis shook his head. “No, I can’t!”

  “Kill it. They’re poisonous, you fool.”

  Canis shook his head again and flinched as Mortalo stepped over him. Mortalo laughed and moved to step on the spider, but Canis put his body in the way and grabbed it. Its fangs twitched, and it tried jumping away. Its wet hair weighed it down and it bounced off the stone wall next to them. Canis scooped it up and placed it in one of his bags.

  “We don’t have time for this!” Mortalo boomed as he booted Canis in the ribs.

  Canis dared not move until Mortalo marched on, leaving him to follow once again. He eyed the bulge in his satchel.

  The sound of Blackrose’s heart vibrated in the air, but the closer they came to the city walls, the fainter it became, and the louder the sound of the Scourge from outside. Intermittent groans echoed in the night as if breathing on his neck, chittering in waves of jealous hate. He imagined thousands piled against the walls, each one salivating at the thought of being so close to new hosts. Alongside the Imperium’s experiments with soul energy and its extraction were the Scourge. Mortalo had never spoken about it in detail, but the Scourge were meant to replace humans. When everything went wrong, though the Imperium evacuated, leaving the planet in chaos, only the autonomous machines were any clue they had ever been there. Mortalo had many theories and stacks of conflicting information. All Canis knew to be true was the sting of whips, and a life devoid of love.

  Rain needled at an open space as Mortalo slowed to scout the way ahead. Across from them stood a building not unlike the clock tower and, although this one stood half the height of the city walls, it was still a fraction of the size.

  Mortalo dived into the open and ran for it. Canis scrambled behind. Two men guarded the outside, standing to attention the moment they saw their master.

  They entered the watchtower some twenty feet from the city wall. Unlike the streets, nobody lingered. He thought he saw two green eyes in the darkness as he looked back. His heart stopped for a moment.

  Titus Warp, another slave dressed in the same freckled armor as Canis, greeted Mortalo with a bow on the inside. He stared at Canis for a heartbeat longer than was polite. His eye twitched as he looked to the ground.

  “Is everything ready?” asked Mortalo.

  “It is,” replied Titus, still fidgeting.

  Mortalo pulled Canis toward the staircase and led him to the top. Dust layered the steps like skin—their clumsy footfalls a blunt knife cutting the surface. He stood on the tip of his toes and peered over the city. Shadows moved on the edges of the clearing, people shuffling around, trying to get by. The rain eased off, and he saw the rooftops; gardens full of dying plants, which fed the populace of a dying race.

  Canis looked at Mortalo, holding back his questions.

  “We weren’t followed,” said Mortalo, leading him back to ground level. “If a Warden had become suspicious, we wouldn’t be alive. And the people here know better than to tangle with the King of Demons.”

  “Why do they call us demons?”

  “I breed and collect people for their animalistic qualities. If I need something, I take it. It’s people like you who keep the populace awake at night. We are the Iron Hands, Canis; we take what we want.”

  Canis frowned. “We’re going to save everyone in Blackrose, aren’t we?”

  “Of course, but they don’t understand. Not yet.”

  Canis tried to make eye contact with Mortalo, but his master was busy keeping them hidden and alive. Until now, the thought of leaving the city, returning to Mortalo, was all he had ever wanted, but inhuman groans the wind carried over the high walls made his hairs stand on end. There’s a parasite of the Scourge waiting to infect every one of us, his brother, Vann, had told him. Ready to turn you into one of them.

  A creaking sound sent a cold sweat over his body before he realized it was Titus opening a trapdoor.

  “Down here,” started Mortalo, “is the only safe way in and out of the city. We’ve dug many holes and searched in so many places. Below is the only gap in the wall other than The Herald’s Ravine. Keep going and you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

  Canis nodded. “I will kill many.”

  “Bring me back one of the Scourge. Your body should be able to resist them. Do not give in to their control—do not let them infect you. I need this, Canis. Do you understand? I need this!”

  Mortalo shoved Canis into the narrow hole and then closed the trapdoor. Canis couldn’t see and the air was hot. His shoulders struggled to fit, and his sword kept getting stuck, but he ma
naged to make his way using natural crevices. Already the darkness and lack of room caused his teeth to chatter, his face to swell as if his rage was going to surface. Mooncap danced through his veins, slivers he had saved and mushed into the gaps of his teeth enough to hold off his inbred trait until needed.

  Stones and dirt broke away. He remembered being trapped like this before, long before Mortalo took him, confined in a chest after failing to pickpocket a local thug at the age of five. Vann had tried lying for him but was found out and beaten.

  Some way in, his breath became shorter, sharper, and his lungs screamed at him for air. His arms felt restricted, and the inability to turn frustrated him to violence. He head-butted the dirt wall in front of him. The pain brought about a sense of reality, and the thought of doing it again calmed him.

  Get through and out. Out and back. Make Mortalo and Vann proud.

  Canis’ blood thumped against his eardrums, blocking the echoes of his staggered breath in the narrowing culvert.

  Cold air circulated downward. He maneuvered from side to side and wriggled toward what could only be the exit. One last push and he found himself slumped on the forest floor, leaves soft on his back. He scrambled to his feet ready to fight his enemies. Only silence greeted him. His arms were covered with scrapes and cuts, coagulating blood cold in the night air.

  Natural greens and browns merged into a chaotic wall in front of him. Everything appeared to be moving, and yet nothing made sense. He picked out the trees, rocks, and plants, remembered looking at the gardens from the watchtower, and realized how they should look.

  The night air. Something about it was different outside the walls that towered over him—metal and stone like a distant memory. The smell of dirt instead of scat and mortar choked him at first, but he accepted it, embraced it. Where are you Scourge-freaks?

  He looked back on Blackrose’s walls and saw the remains of wooden buildings piled against it. They swayed in the wind, creaking and cracking. Toward the top of the thorns, the forest’s arms had grown through the wood. A bleached white skull, penetrated by vines, stared at him in the limited light, ancient and alone. He turned full circle, still unsure of what stalked him.

  Gnarled roots shot out of the ground and intertwined with other trees, strangling the life out of them. The soil was dark and heavy, full of former life, feeding what remained. A burst of wind rattled the dry branches into hateful naysayers.

  He glanced to his bag with the spider and looked inside. The creature stared at him, its fangs rubbing together. I’ll find you a new home as soon I figure out what I’m doing, little one. He re-tied the bag. A noise caused him to spin around. Nothing. Canis’ pupils dilated farther to soak in what little light they could scrounge from the canopy of branches.

  Canis heard nothing apart from the occasional rustle of leaves. No flow of water. No footsteps or breathing other than his own. Not even the tiny movements of insects or rats. A drop of sweat hit a leaf below him, rustling as if it were the only one. The forest had a near aversion to harboring life of any kind. Where are the noises I heard from the city?

  He marched through the forest, clutching the sword’s hilt. With no landmarks to guide him other than Blackrose, he had no sense of where he was going or how long he had been doing it.

  The second wind of the mooncap’s effects tapered off, leaving Canis drained; the eventual low that came with every high. He sat on a tree root, his joints swelling. Every fiber ached and burned, catching up to him after the hike through the dense undergrowth.

  His eyes had adjusted, and he rummaged through the supply bags for something to eat. The med kit might have something to keep me awake. He ignored the thoughts of stimulants and turned his attention to a small pouch of thick gruel. He scooped the dull, flavourless paste with his fingers and choked down what he could. The goo sat in his stomach as though he had been eating rocks, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  He untied the bag with the long-haired spider and tipped it upside down. It fell out and looked at him with its big eyes. He had never seen anything so human-like, and yet so obviously a beastie. At least you’re not human, he thought, there aren’t many people I would’ve suffered Mortalo’s wrath for. He nudged it, but the spider didn’t move. It stared. Canis ignored it and hugged himself inside his cloak.

  He looked at the spider a moment later, and it had gone. Canis smiled, but the chittering of Scourge in the distance stole it from him. He felt something on his shoulder and slid his hand to his sword’s hilt. The long hair of the spider blew into his face with the wind, and he released his grip on the weapon.

  “You,” Canis said to the spider. “Go find yourself a new home and get something to eat!”

  It ignored Canis and continued to climb onto his head. It tried to wriggle into his hair. He had to pick it up and place it back onto the ground. A strand of web attached the spider and it climbed back onto his head.

  Canis laughed. “There are only lice in there, beastie. Maybe you can get rid of some of the fat ones for me.”

  The spider burrowed in. The thick clumps of unwashed dreadlocks flopped, and he had to resist the urge to scratch the itch. Canis repositioned his cloak and accepted his place as the spider’s new home. I shall call you Agrim.

  Chapter 3

  Canis hid behind a mossy rock. He breathed heavily as the Scourge bore down on him. He tried to stay calm, to think of what Vann might do, but the sound of heavy footsteps jolted him to action. No closer than thirty feet. Canis fumbled for his bags. He looked up to put image with sound, but all he saw were the dark shapes of trees.

  He rummaged through his bag and found the mooncap. He stopped himself as the drug touched his lips, the thought of taking it not something he wanted to do but had to. He remembered Mortalo forcing it down his throat in the citadel, feeding it to him for days until he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

  He shivered as he chewed the mushroom and pressed the scraps underneath his tongue and into his teeth. Canis crept forward and pressed himself against the trunk of another tree. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking, his teeth from chattering.

  A rodent scurried along the side of the tree. From atop his head, Agrim the spider sprang at the furry creature and impaled it on its fangs.

  Plodding steps grew louder. There was no rhythm to them. A squat shape lumbered toward Canis’ hiding spot, scratching against the exposed roots where the bag and empty bowl of gruel remained. It let out a low, rumbling growl.

  He moved his trembling hand to the sword’s hilt when the intruder came close enough for Canis’ eyes to focus. A hairy creature on four legs emerged, no visible neck. Its large head tapered off at the snout, round ears and a long jaw lined with jagged teeth.

  “Dessert, Agrim?” Canis mumbled.

  The unwelcome beast stuck its nose into the pouch and sniffed, lapping up the few blobs left over. Canis stepped from the shadows, sword raised, and sneaked behind his foe. He got within three feet, but the beast turned around with calm curiosity as if it had known he was there and reared back onto its hind legs. It took a lazy swipe at him. He jumped back and tripped over a root. Its claws grazed the top layer of skin on his thigh, and he cried out, matching the animal’s hot growl as he toppled over.

  The mooncap started working even as the rage built at the base of his neck. It would help him be fearless in battle, but he needed the drug to keep his mind from being lost forever. Fuzzy distortions moved into the periphery of his vision and manic buzzing filled his ears. His face swelled with blood. He inched the sword’s hilt to his shoulder; the blade’s tip pointing toward his attacker’s jugular. Still lying on his back, and on the edge of sound thought, Canis waited.

  The beast stalked, ready to finish off its prey. Canis kept still.

  Almost.

  He felt its clammy breath against his skin. Right on top.

  Now!

  He plunged the sword through its chin. The chipped
blade caught resistance in the animal’s tongue as it lashed its head from side to side. Canis rammed it through. Warm blood poured from the wound and onto Canis’ face as the animal collapsed on top of him. The weight crushed him against the forest floor, but he managed to lift his knees to lever it aside. He spat blood as he got up and sheathed his sword.

  He felt the warmth from the corpse at his feet. Its fur was matted in parts, chewed away in others. When he looked closer, he noticed black spots, as if it had been dead and rotting for days. Large portions of skin and muscle were gone; exposed bone in its place.

  He nudged the body with his foot. It didn’t stir. Is this really the Scourge? We could survive this…

  Canis picked up the bag and blood rushed to his head as he stooped over.

  Something flickered in the distance. He squinted. A naked flame danced in the wind. He shoved his way through the brush, branches scraping exposed skin, tugging at his armor. The thick growth slowed his pace, making each step take three times as long as it should’ve.

  No longer were the branches twisted claws, aiming to disorient and frighten him. A sense not quite of life, but at least of the possibility of it, dulled his anger. The choking stink of soil, long since accepted, took on a sweet, heady aroma. The chill of the air lessened, and the mooncap tingled in his mouth.

  He hacked through the last bit of dried vines and saw the source of the flame. A torch glowed, its flickering light blinding after time spent in the dark. There was a signpost with a string of bizarre characters etched into the wood. Mortalo had taught him rudimentary words, but it was gibberish. Canis walked along a well-trodden path. Twenty paces into the walk he saw the first structure. It was little more than four wooden walls and a thatched roof. No windows, no chimney.

  We aren’t supposed to be outside the walls. How did they survive the Scourge?

  On the other side of the building he saw a door. He knocked and waited. Nothing. He grabbed the handle, pushed and pulled. It didn’t budge. When he leaned in close, he couldn’t find any hinges. The “door” was nothing more than a decorative handle set into a seam. Canis backed away, taking one more look at it for hinges.