Behemoth (The Jharro Grove Saga Book 6)

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Djeri took advantage of this time spent walking with Murtha. Despite his headaches he went out of his way to speak kindly to her and did his best to get to know her. It seemed to work. Murtha was flattered by his attention and smiled whenever he approached her.

  At first those smiles made him feel terribly guilty since he was only doing this because Mellinda prodded him about it constantly. But the more time he spent with Murtha, he found that he enjoyed her company.

  Gray enjoyed these outings too. The part-dog trollkin with the mostly kobald body ran circles around the group of newborns looking to be scratched or patted on the head. It also gave him opportunity to hunt because the newly uncovered section of KhanzaRoo was infested with vermin.

  One evening after dropping off the newest batch of newborns, Murtha reached out and grabbed his hand. Djeri tensed up in surprise and once again he felt a surge of guilt inside him. Though he didn’t pull away, Murtha sensed his discomfort and let go, her cheeks coloring.

  There was silence as Djeri tried to think of something to say.

  Gray interrupted the moment as he pushed between them, sniffing at the ground. His back stiffened as he caught the trail of something that interested him. He scampered off, following the trail that his sensitive nose had shown him.

  “Jerry,” Murtha said hesitantly. “I’ve been think-king about something.”

  “Yes?” he said. It irritated him when others wouldn’t say his name correctly, but he wasn’t so bothered when she did it. The shape of her mouth made it hard for her to say it right.

  “It’s about you and me,” she said, giving him a sideways glance. “Out of all the trollk-kin we’re the only part-dwarves. Why do you think-k that is?”

  He shrugged, watching as Gray let out a low growl and dove into the water, chasing after a swamp rat. “I think it’s just because there aren’t many dwarves that live in Malaroo.”

  “There ain’t,” she agreed. “It’s one of those things that I know even though I don’t know why I know it.”

  “Me too,” he said, giving her a smile.

  There was another splash as Gray climbed out of the water and shook his body, the squirming swamp rat clenched in his teeth. The part-dog grabbed it with his hands and tore it apart, then began to eat.

  “Do you think, maybe we . . . knew each other?” Murtha asked.

  This was one of the things Mellinda had wanted him to suggest to her. Feeling guilty once again he said, “Maybe. I mean it makes sense that we would.”

  She gave him a slanted grin, exposing her rows of sharpened teeth. “I thought of a way we c-can tell.”

  “Really?” he asked, fearing what she would come up with.

  “It’s a game!” Murtha said with enthusiasm. “Our heads are full of all kinds of stuff from our old lives. All we do is see what things we both know. Maybe if we know the same stuff we were togeth- . . . I mean, knew each other.”

  “A good game,” he said. Actually it sounded like a fine idea. Perhaps he would discover that they really did have a prior connection. That way he wouldn’t feel like he was deceiving her and that guilt would go away.

  Murtha nodded. “Ok-kay. I will start. I already have weird things I know about that’ve been bothering me.” She licked her lips. “Do you know of pepperbean stew?”

  Djeri’s mouth watered instantly. He swallowed. “I do! You just said it and I can almost taste it. It is . . . really hot.”

  “Yes!” Murtha clapped her hands together in excitement. “Do you know what’s in it?”

  “Um, pepperbeans . . . salt. Meat,” he said and the list of facts petered out. “Wine?”

  “What about onions? Maters? Garlic?” she said.

  He frowned. “It sounds right. But I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you ate it before in your old life, but you never made it yourself,” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Djeri replied and from the look in her eyes he thought she might be thinking that she was the one who had made it for him. “What else do we know? Maybe there are some things that could give us clues.”

  “You ask-k me this time,” Murtha suggested.

  Gray skittered over to Djeri and happily dropped the rear leg of another swamp rat he had caught. The part-dog’s long tongue lolled from his mouth, a proud smile curling his lips.

  “Good boy,” Djeri said, patting Gray’s head.

  He bent to scoop up the rat leg which was bloodied and wet from Gray’s saliva. Maybe it was his headache, but for some reason the hunger didn’t stir within him. On a whim, he tossed the leg towards Murtha instead. She caught it in her mouth and crunched it with her many teeth.

  “Um . . . Okay, Murtha. What do you know about dwarves?”

  Murtha chewed a moment thoughtfully, then swallowed. “They are tough. They are good with tilling the earth. Growing c-crops. Mak-king things.”

  He nodded. That all sounded true, though there was no frame of reference for that knowledge in his mind. “What do you know about crops?”

  Murtha began rattling off a long list of vegetables and tubers and fruits. Her eyes widened and her excitement grew as she went, discovering this new area of expertise in her mind. Most of these vegetables were types that Djeri recognized immediately, an image of each one appearing in his mind along with a flavor. But there were some that meant nothing to him.

  “ . . . Bananas, oranges, kumquats, uh, bananas.” She cocked her head. “I sure know a lot about bananas.”

  “You know more about a lot of crops than I do,” Djeri admitted. “What is a kumquat?”

  She looked slightly disappointed that he didn’t know. “It’s like a really small orange. Sweet but bitter. Grows on shrubs.”

  “Well that doesn’t mean we didn’t know each other,” Djeri assured her, though he didn’t know how they could have been all that close and not eat the same food. “Maybe you farmed things, but I had a different job.”

  “Maybe you were good at mak-king things instead.” Murtha suggested. “Some Dwarfs make weapons, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” he said, his back straightening.

  “Do you know how to make weapons?” she asked.

  “Uh, a bit.” A smile spread on his lips. “But I think what I know most is how to use them.”

  “Oh! Do you think you were a fighter?” Murtha said. “Did you have a favorite weapon?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. He had no frame of reference for the information that was filling his mind. His head gave a sudden throb and he winced. “But I know so much about them.”

  “Tell me,” she said encouragingly.

  For the rest of the walk back to the Axis Palace Djeri told her of different weapon types and how best to wield them. The facts came to his mind more quickly than he could repeat them. He knew about the tactics of weapons and which ones were best for what situation. He knew how to care for them and knew how each one felt in his hand.

  The discovery of this new information was both exhilarating and painful. The more he talked the more his head hurt. By the time they arrived at the entrance to the palace, white specks were floating in his vision again and he felt a tingling in his hands.

  “This was all very exciting. You know what I thi-.” She took a look at him and her voice cut off. “Jerry, are you ok-kay?”

  “It’s my headache,” he said with a wan smile. “I don’t know why, but thinking so much made it worse.”

  Her brow knit with concern and she stepped closer to him. She reached up with both hands and rubbed at his temples with her strong fingers, careful not to pierce him with her claws. “Does this help?”

  “Yes,” he said in surprise. The results were almost immediate. The pain eased. The specks of light faded. The tingling in his hands was gone. “How did you do that?”

  She shrugged. “I just knew how.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think maybe I did this for you . . . before?”

  All he knew at that moment was that her hands sure felt nice. “Maybe.”

  Murtha fin
gers moved around to the back of his head and she leaned in closer, bringing her fleshy lips towards his. A face flashed through Djeri’s mind. It was the woman from his dreams. The one with the bent nose.

  “Wait!” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I . . . don’t know.”

  Murtha released him and pulled back, her expression hurt. “You don’t want to kiss me? Just to see if we remember?”

  “I-I . . .” He knew that was what Mellinda wanted him to do. “Maybe another time?”

  “Ok-kay,” she said, her voice thick. Her face started to twitch and she turned away. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you for helping my headache,” he said.

  She nodded quietly, her arms hanging at her sides. He reached out towards her and almost grasped her shoulder, but for some reason he didn’t understand he let his arm drop. He walked away instead, feeling terribly low.

  Gray licked at her hand and ran around her a couple times, then rushed back to Djeri. The part-dog trotted at his side, looking up at him. Djeri kept walking.

  “I don’t know, Gray,” he said. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t kiss her but . . . I really didn’t want to. It felt mean. But what if she’s right? She knew how to take my headache away. What if we were together before the Mother took us?”

  Gray stopped in his tracks and let out a soft grunt.

  “Do you think I should go back and talk to her about it?” Djeri asked. He looked back at the part-dog, thinking it was trying to tell him something. Then he realized that Gray was just pooping. Sighing, he continued on his way, guilt churning in his gut.

  He stopped at the feeding area and had to fight off two other trollkin to grab a green fish off of the slab. He walked a short distance away, his arms covered in deep scratches and let the hunger take over. It was a fleshy fish with sweet meat. He was almost finished with it by the time he realized that the fish’s head was elongated and filled with sharp teeth.

  He tossed the rest of it to Gray and continued on. The darkness was complete by the time he neared the Old Hospital. Once again, he was surprised by the figure of a trollkin in the alleyway between two wooden buildings.

  “Hey! Part-dwarf!”

  Djeri looked back at the person. “Oh it’s you.”

  The mysterious trollkin with the odd clothes and spectacles seemed to call out to him at least every other night. This time the other strange trollkin wasn’t with him. Instead, Djeri noticed another oddity. There was a shadow standing on the part-human’s shoulders. A large shadow with eyes that glowed the dull red of troll sight. He was partly hunched over with the weight of it.

  “Yes. Me, again,” said Stolz.

  Djeri hazarded switching to troll sight himself and winced as his headache flared back up. Through the hues of pinks and reds he made out a part-troll cat perched on Stolz shoulder. It was almost as large as Gray. Gray let out a growl as if just noticing that fact.

  “Now-now. That’s just Yowler,” Stolz told the dog. “You be nice.”

  Gray whimpered.

  “Are you going to ask me about my dreams again?” Djeri asked.

  “Indeed I am,” Stolz replied. “I wouldn’t be doing my duty otherwise.”

  Djeri let go of the troll sight and was relieved when the pounding in his head retreated to a low thumping. “Your duty?”

  “Dreams are the repository for memories,” Stolz declared. “Especially for us trollkin I have found. You in particular are overdue I think.”

  Djeri had no idea what he was talking about and had little patience for the person. All he wanted to do was climb up to his room and fall asleep. “Why me in particular?”

  “Because of that,” Stolz said, pointing at his chest.

  Djeri looked down. “What?”

  The part-human reached out and touched the center of Djeri’s forehead. There was a pulse in that space behind his eyes where his talent rested. Sparks flared in his vision and for a brief moment Djeri thought he saw a white line sticking out of the center of his chest like a cloudy arrow.

  He stumbled backward, grimacing even though no pain had accompanied the sparks. “What was that? What did you do?”

  Gray growled again and the big cat on the trollkin’s shoulder hissed back.

  “Calm yourself, Yowler,” Stolz chided, reaching up to pet the slimy thing before returning his attention to Djeri. “I hope that did not hurt. I was simply helping you see your bond. It is curiously faint but it is there. That bond means that your memories will return.”

  “Just . . . leave me alone,” Djeri said and turned away.

  “Find me when it happens,” Stolz said. “We will have much to discuss.”

  Murtha saw Djeri walk away from the spectacled trollkin and continue on to the Old Hospital. She waited outside for over an hour, her heart pounding as she paced in indecision.

  Once she was certain Djeri would be fast asleep, she entered the Old Hospital and climbed the stairs to the upper floors. Murtha had never been to Mellinda’s section of the building before. The glowing orbs that lit the hallways let off a light that she found eerie.

  The part-elf Recks stood blocking the stairwell. Murtha hadn’t seen him for some time. If possible, the arrogant trollkin was even prettier than before. She almost turned around and left right then.

  “Murtha? Are you here for Jerry?” he asked with a knowing grin. “Do you plan to sneak into his room?”

  She scowled at him. “I’m wanting to see the snake woman.”

  His lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing a perfect set of fangs. “Do not call her that!”

  Though he was much taller than her, he was slender. Murtha was confident that she was much stronger. She opened her arms wide and flexed her clawed fingers. “Are you going to let me pass, Reck-ks? Or do I need to tear off your scrawny head?”

  He chuckled and for a moment she thought that he would take her up on her offer. He stepped aside to let her pass. “Mellinda is at the top of the stairs. I hope you’re more respectful in her presence. With everything she does for us you should be ashamed.”

  “I see her every day, idiot,” Murtha snapped as she climbed past him.

  At the top of the stairs was a leather-draped doorway. The part-dwarf pulled it aside and stepped in. Her eyes widened at the plush surroundings of the wizardess’ top floor room with its expansive balcony. This room was larger and finer than that of the king’s. There was something about that fact that Murtha found disrespectful.

  Mellinda was standing on the balcony overlooking the city, the moonlight highlighting her voluptuous form. She turned at the sound of her visitor and a sly smile appeared on her face when she saw who it was. “Well good evening, Murtha. How nice of you to visit me.”

  “Your place look-ks very . . . c-comfortable,” Murtha replied. Now that she was here she was unsure what to say.

  “Ah, well, the people do their best to make me feel welcome,” Mellinda purred, walking towards the part-dwarf with regal steps. “They are so kind to me. What can I do for you?”

  Murtha frowned hesitantly. “I wish to ask-k something of you.”

  “Of course,” Mellinda said. “Anything to help you, my dear.”

  Murtha winced at hearing the woman call her that. “I came to accept your offer to help me with-.” She gestured at her deformed face. “With this.”

  Mellinda let out a throaty chuckle. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jhonate bin Leeths, Deathclaw called, reaching his thoughts through the Jharro ring. Reply to me.

  Once again, there was no answer.

  Deathclaw let out a hiss of derision. His was a simple mission with a simple purpose. He had a message to deliver and then he could return to Justan’s side. The human was all alone in an enemy camp. Every moment that Deathclaw was gone was a moment that Justan had only Gwyrtha as protection.

  With this troubling thought in mind, Deathclaw had attempted to reach Jhonate many times during his journey and even more fr
equently the closer he drew to Roo-Tan’lan. Now, even with the white walls of the city in sight, she did not respond.

  Justan had told him it would be this way; that the range of Jhonate’s ring was a few miles only. But this made no sense to Deathclaw.

  As far as the raptoid was concerned, simple thought wasn’t all that difficult to transmit. The bond he held with Justan and that Justan held with his other bonded had an immense range. Even though its usefulness was diminished at certain distances, basic mental communication was a simple matter of focus.

  He knew that the bond a Jharro weapon had with its wielder was perhaps more limited than that of a bonding wizard but, when Beth had given Deathclaw a whistle made from her Jharro dagger, she had been able to speak with him with a full day’s travel between them. They had even shared complete memories back and forth. In Deathclaw’s mind, the fact that Jhonate could not do the same meant one of two possibilities.

  “Sstill not close enough for the woman, Deathclaw?” Talon asked from the shadows next to him. Her derision matched his own, but not for the same reasons. Talon’s understanding of long distance mental communication was limited to the torturous time she had spent with a moonrat eye embedded in her body. Her experience with the Moonrat Mother had left her an instinctive distrust for such magic.

  “Jhonate knows that I have been drawing near,” Deathclaw reasoned. After all, he had been able to feel the distance between them shorten. Since the ring was from her own staff, Jhonate should have been more sensitive to that fact than he was. “And yet she has not attempted to come out of the city to meet me.”

  “Perhapss sshe doess not know that you are the one wearing her ring,” Talon suggested. “Sshe may sstill think that your master wearss it.”

  “He is my pack leader. Not my master,” Deathclaw clarified. But her suggestion was something that had not occurred to him. If Jhonate thought Justan was the one approaching wouldn’t she be more eager to come out and meet him? Unless she was upset at Justan and just chose not to listen . . .