A Thousand Eyes

by Christian Leese

  Thorne scowled. “I think letting you walk out of here with all your limbs is generous enough. Don’t you think, girls?” The women barked in unison, hands holding fast on the weapons. “Ew! What’s that?” she exclaimed.

  “What’s what?” Canis replied.

  “The thing crawling in your hair!”

  “Oh, it’s Agrim. I found him. I couldn’t resist those eyes.”

  “There really is no hope left in Blackrose.”

  Canis stared into her eyes. “There never was.”

  Thorne leaned in close so nobody else heard. “So, are you going to help me or not? I may need an outsider in the near future. You scratch my back and, well, you know.”

  Canis nodded.

  Thorne took a step back. “If I see you back here without a Company leader’s head, I might not be so caring. Vada Rose, get this pig out of my sight and escort him out of the Company.”

  The girl who had been questioning Canis earlier bowed and then circled behind. A quick snap and the chains fell away. He stood and rotated his shoulder. Not nearly as bad as Mortalo’s restraints. Vada pointed to the corner; Canis’ bags and sword.

  “Get to work, big’un,” Thorne said. “We’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. Cross me and I’ll have your throat slit while you sleep. Even animals need to sleep.”

  A little wisp of a woman gave Canis a shove after he gathered his things. He stumbled through the door and avoided falling onto his face on the cold stones outside. Vada followed about five feet behind.

  “Did you really take on a Warden? Everyone’s talking about it,” said Vada from behind.

  Canis didn’t turn around and carried on walking. “I did. Which way do I go to get to the nearest Company?”

  “I reckon she’d have slit your throat if not for your battle with the Warden. Go on, straight ahead,” she said, laughing.

  How helpful, Canis thought, confronted by a left and a right turn.

  “Mortalo must die,” the Scourge hissed within.

  Mortalo, yes, maybe…but not the people who’ve never done me or my brother any harm. Your lack of compassion and respect for human life is suffocating.

  He pushed through the Dusk Raider’s Company, right down the high street. A few rough-trade women eyed him, but he had already met Thorne and lived and, with Vada behind him, strode through without interruption. He pictured Thorne in his mind, her red hair, her body as natural and fierce as her leadership.

  Other Dusk Raiders whispered and stroked the handles of their weapons. Still, more carried on with their business of plastering over cracked buildings, trading spoiled food, or tossing dyed rocks against the wall; some form of gambling he couldn’t comprehend but had seen Vann win at many times.

  Blackrose was a grey city, tinted with the green glow of souls gathered high above, as if trapped between night and day, death and life, everyone stuck between a past they wished they could go back to and a future they knew wouldn’t arrive. But will the other leaders be so understanding? Thorne nearly took my head off and I was telling the truth. So long as he saw the women with their shaved heads and pierced faces, he knew where he was.

  Cycles ago, Canis had caught a glimpse of Mortalo’s map of Blackrose while the fiend put something in his precious journal. The city was circular in shape, with tenuously defined Companies that formed wedges, like the spokes of a wheel. Girding the city on the outside, the impenetrable walls—forty feet thick and ten times that in height—or so they said. At the center of the spokes, was the central hub, a clock tower; the souls’ final resting place. As little as Canis knew about the layout or ownership of the Companies, he knew nothing about what was at the center of it all; Mortalo’s citadel was too far north and out of the way.

  Canis trudged through the dimly lit streets with only the eyes of the damned for companionship.

  Chapter 10

  The Dusk Raider’s patrols became less frequent as Canis Rayne continued his march. An empty soul line interrupted the cobbled street, and he stepped over it. Once the soul lines had fed the power sourced from the dead to the different Companies, but not now. That city was forgotten. He neared the edge of the territory, about to be a complete stranger again.

  On the edge of his vision, off to the side of the broken path, a drainage ditch flowed from a tunnel big enough for a human to fit through. He stepped into it, straddling the sides to avoid walking through the thick, brown-black liquid gurgling into the underground cesspit. He had to crouch over, forgetting how much he had been forced to grow, forgetting he was no longer one of Mortalo’s whipping boys. Rats, cockroaches, and other bottom-feeders scurried through the tunnel, brushing against his legs but Agrim stayed hidden.

  Canis inched himself along, one step at a time, the stench becoming more concentrated and the rats growing more aggressive as they nipped him with every pitiful shuffle. There were no diversions he could take. The only other channels were the angled sluices feeding the main waste river, barely large enough for the critters. Clusters of phosphorescent mushrooms sprouted from the ceiling, casting meagre but much-needed light to illuminate Canis’ way. The sludge fumes became visible in the dark, purples and blues swirling together in a miasma of stench.

  It’s no wonder these tunnels aren’t crowded with warring Companies. The smell alone is worse than the stab of a sword! Canis stopped, waiting for the Scourge parasite inside him to speak but it remained silent.

  He looked for an alternate route, and the first natural specks of light came from around the next bend. Canis moved faster. His right foot slipped and dipped into the foul-smelling sludge. It soaked through the leather onto his bare foot and, as he tried to shake the slime off, his other slipped too. He fell into the channel. Another twenty feet and he was free of the ditch and into new territory. Canis cursed his clumsy movements. Mortalo’s experiments had given him a new body, but not the time to get used to it.

  This Company was different from the Dusk Raider’s territory. Whenever he had skulked through Blackrose, everything had looked the same, but he saw differences now. The buildings were unprotected and unguarded, quaint in their nature with small porches at the front doors. They weren’t boarded, and the cobbled street remained intact. Canis pressed himself against the nearest wall.

  The Company was still, dead quiet. Canis tensed and his thoughts drifted back to the forest; to the crude reproduction of a human village outside the walls, the waxy, mannequin-like Scourge posing as authentic human beings.

  The clock tower rang and Canis’ heart thudded against his chest. Is this your doing? he asked. Are your kind here already? Did they escape the Wardens? His mind merged with the creature. His brethren weren’t nearby. While the houses were uninhabited, they looked as if they were built by real humans, not the rough imitations. He believed what he felt.

  Canis pried a chunk of stone from the walkway and hurled it into the maze of houses. Nothing but dust. He sucked in a deep breath and stepped out of the side streets. He stopped, trying to gauge the parasite’s reaction. Nothing.

  He looked to the roofs of the buildings. Soil was piled high, some overflowing to the sides of the structures, staining the stone black. Mushrooms glowed in clusters dotted around. It was then he noticed the figures staring at him and he choked before flinging himself backward to the nearest wall. He waited. Nothing again.

  Are they playing with me?

  The figures remained still, and then he remembered Mortalo’s use of scarecrows. Although they weren’t real people, he still felt as if they watched him.

  Built into the walls and buildings were man-sized alcoves, like the cells of a beehive. They were a recurring feature of the Imperium, no matter where he went. Canis stepped into one and felt the archaic resonance seeping out. On the edge of one of the cells, rows of rusty iron bars blocked his access to another.

  Like the dungeons in Mortalo’s citadel but far older.

  “They are,” the Scourge inside hissed.

  Sto
p doing that. You speak when spoken to. Stay out of my mind.

  “You asked question. From Blackrose’s past. Prison.”

  The blunt statement sunk into Canis’ skull and he accepted it without question. The Wardens’ motivation for keeping people in or why the Companies were so hostile made no difference in the greater scheme of things, not when someone was ready to skin you alive for crossing an arbitrary boundary.

  A static tingle gripped Canis’ neck. Hand at his chipped sword, he edged to one of the houses, and pushed the door open, his gaze never leaving the rooftops until he was out of sight. Dust floated from the frame; decay having eaten away at the building. Pressure mounted against the back of his head, the distinct feeling of eyes pressing on him. From near or far, he couldn’t tell.

  The room was dark but authentic. The shelves, cupboards, and furniture definitely human in design. Something rustled in the adjoining room. Canis stopped breathing and tiptoed through.

  A figure caught his eye, lying in wait. It didn’t move. I’m not being caught like before. Canis stiffened his arm, reeled back, and sent it tumbling over a chest and onto the floor.

  “Stay where you are,” he whispered, sword drawn.

  The figure remained motionless. Canis brushed his hand against it. A piece of cloth stuffed with straw and mounted onto a piece of wood. A decoy.

  Something banged. He whipped around, a dart fizzing past him and into the wall. In the faint light, he saw a segment of the wooden floor lower into place, the dust settling after being disturbed. Canis took three steps forward. On the fourth, his foot struck something hollow; the barest edges of a square cut into the planks. He stuck the end of his blade in and pried it open.

  He heard footsteps beneath. Quick ones; the dart-wielding assassin running away.

  He dropped into the hole in the floor and then started after his attacker. The tunnel walls narrowed, and the ceiling dropped. Still, the footsteps ahead of him didn’t slow. He rounded the corner and saw a shadow, heard it panting. Decoys don’t pant, he thought as he gripped his sword.

  “Show yourself,” Canis growled.

  The figure flicked something, and a torch sprang to life, unnatural light teasing his eyes. A little boy, no more than twelve years old, looked at him, an inactive bionic eye drooping to one side.

  “A child?” Canis asked. He lowered his sword. He had looked like this, underdeveloped and weak. He saw himself looking back, brown eyes full of fear. “What are you doing here by yourself?”

  The child didn’t answer, but instead jerked forward and jammed a small shank into Canis’ shin. Canis howled and tried to grab him, but the child ran into the next tunnel.

  “You little scat-bastard!” he yelled as he ran through the passage, hunched over.

  The tunnel opened, and he found himself staring at ten spears aimed for his throat, held by children and adults alike, all dressed in black mesh armor, standing in the dug-out cavern. He raised his arms, scraping his fingers against the top of the tunnel.

  “Don’t move,” the little boy said. “What you doin’ in our Company?”

  “I need help.”

  “You what?” The boy spat in Canis’ face. “Aurora Heart sent you, didn’t she? I can smell the Dusk Raiders on you.”

  “I’ve nothing to do with them. They nearly killed me.”

  “Sounds like she was right, for once.”

  “Your leader,” Canis said. “I need to talk to him. The whole of Blackrose is in danger. Mortalo is going to kill us all.”

  “Get out of the way, Thaddeus. Who’s going to kill us?” said an older man, pushing the boy out of the way. His beard was black with streaks of grey. “Well?”

  “The King of Demons,” Canis said, his voice booming in the cavern. “If we don’t unite, we’re all going to die. He’s going to let the Scourge in.”

  “You have any proof?” the man asked, his arms outstretched as if talking to the gathering crowd.

  “You know about the Scourge that got into the city, don’t you? Well, it was Mortalo’s doing. I need to see your leader.”

  “A trick. Nothing more. You can’t see Kruger right now.”

  “When can I see him?”

  “We don’t come running to the aid of strangers!” the man yelled, much louder than Canis would’ve thought him capable of. “Bone Singers,” he said to the others in the cave, “toss this troublemaker into the pit and let’s be done with him.”

  Canis grabbed his sword and moved forward to strike. As he pulled back his arm, he misjudged the tunnel where he stood. The old blade could no longer take the strain. It bent back and shattered against the stone, clanging to the floor in three pieces.

  The Bone Singers took advantage and jammed a spear into Canis’ left shoulder where it met the neck, missing his lung by inches. The others moved in and grabbed him as he reeled from the injury. Agrim, kill him! Kill! He didn’t know why he asked it for help, but when the spider launched itself at the man with the spear, Canis couldn’t help but feel relieved. The man screamed as the spider dug its fangs into his face. Someone whacked it with the back of their hand, and it retreated.

  “My eyes! I’m blind!” the injured man screamed.

  Canis thrashed in their grip but the shard of barbed metal dug in deeper, shredding his muscle fibers with every movement.

  The little boy, Thaddeus, walked toward him with a metal bar. The Bone Singers held Canis in place, and the child smashed his leg. His muscle deflected the bar at first, but as the metal pounded the flesh into pulp, his shin bowed under each blow. Help me, parasite, help me! The boy’s strikes lacked the power of a man, each one splintering bone instead of snapping it. Agrim shot out again. The boy dodged the spider and took a swing. It crawled back to Canis, and Thaddeus refocused on his leg.

  Canis’ eyes bulged as he tried to hold in his scream, and the Scourge within moved for the first time since escaping the Wardens. He felt the creature inside trying to help, but it was too late as his shin continued to splinter. He screamed, unable to hold it in any more.

  He heard the final snap through the buzz of burning. They forced him up and pushed him forward, but his leg was in two pieces—only the skin held it together—and he fell back to the floor. Even with the Scourge’s ability to numb some of the pain, Canis still cried into the dirt floor.

  His tears dried, and his inbred rage bubbled to the surface. His vision wavered between black and red. He craved mooncap, more than he craved for the pain in his leg to disappear.

  They dragged him to the corner of the chamber. The pain from his leg burned through his whole body. Canis turned his head and saw the pit; a large hole cut into the floor, plunging into darkness. With one motion, the Bone Singers tossed him in, and he tumbled into the unknown depths.

  He expected a long descent, but he couldn’t wait for the bottom. I will get back on my feet, broken leg or not, and I’ll claw my way out! His teeth ached and pulsated as the red haze ate away at him. He screamed, more frustration than pain.

  After emptying the air from his lungs in one last powerful scream, Canis’ descent stopped. He was still alive, thanks to the mostly solid, yet squishy mass he landed on top of. His heart beat hard, the pain from his leg all-consuming.

  The light from above recoiled as the darkness threatened to drown him. Faint laughter of the Bone Singers came from far above. His stomach contracted and emptied onto his lap as the pain surged through his lower half. The smell of rotting made it worse and he curled into a ball, retching.

  He opened his eyes and his pupils adjusted to the soft light thrown off from the phosphorescent mushrooms clinging to the walls. His rage evaporated.

  Rubbish, sludge, bodies, scat. The pit lived up to its name.

  Canis sat and looked around through tear-filled eyes. At first, he thought there was only one way out, but he noticed seven smaller holes in the side of his new prison. In the relative darkness, Canis’ twitching foot knocked against something met
al. A piece of armor, attached to a familiar sight; the unmistakable frame of one of Mortalo’s slaves, his deformed mass of muscle rotting in the dark, its belly swollen.

  “We’re nothing but meat-shields to him,” he said as the pain eased.

  The parasite filled his veins with something numbing, something glorious. His entire body shuddered. He leaned forward and lifted a dead slave, dragging it to his side. He stared at holes in a man’s side, organs taken. There were others, scores, all in varying states of decay. Canis recognized a few near the top, but there were one or two deep in the pile where the rats and cockroaches had made them strangers to him. Maggots created a living blanket, and a swarm of flies threatened to choke him. Others were indistinguishable masses of mismatched parts, butchered and mangled before arriving in the mass grave. There were more bodies of people he didn’t know. He could handle that, but one in five corpses looked at him with sad faces, their lips mouthing the words, You’re too late. Canis shook his head.

  “They’re all here,” his voice echoed. Spit dribbled down his chin. “He tossed them all away. And for what? How many had to die by your hand, Mortalo? You made your armor, your candles, and your powder. You fed us their organs.”

  “Kill him,” said the Scourge parasite.

  Everything Vann told me is true, and I laughed in his face. But at the same time, Mortalo is right about the Scourge. What do I do, Vann? I need you. Canis lifted his head. He gave in, stopped resisting. “I need your help,” he whispered.

  “I will help. Kill him,” it repeated.

  He lifted his head higher, his gaze rising to the sides of the pit and holes nearer to him.

  Seven passages, he thought. One of them is Mortalo’s citadel. When I look him in the eyes, I’ll know what to do. I know there’s a good man beneath his evil. There has to be.

  Chapter 11

  Vann Xan ducked under another one of his master’s wild blows, his gaze fixed on Mortalo’s hand in case he decided to strike again. I’ll find him on my own. All of Mortalo’s Iron Hands were out looking for Canis; demons at the heels of their master. If only someone could take Mortalo out with a well-aimed slingshot…