The Verdant Passage

by Denning, Troy

  “No blades or points,” Boaz interjected, eyeing Rikus. “The gaj is a special surprise for the ziggurat games. Tithian will sell you into the brickyards if you kill it.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the gaj. The strange beast’s mandibles stopped clacking and remained open. After studying his opponent for several moments, the mul turned back to his trainer. “Are you a betting man, Boaz?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Rikus gave the trainer his most provoking smile and pointed at the gaj. “I’ll fight with nothing but my singing sticks. If I win, you flog me instead of someone else. If I lose, you lash us all.”

  “Those pincers will clip your sticks like straw!” Neeva objected.

  Rikus ignored her and kept his attention fixed on Boaz. “Do we have a bet?” When the cruel trainer smiled and nodded, the mul looked to his fighting partner. “Get my sticks.”

  Neeva refused to move. “They’re too light for that thing,” she said. “I’m not helping you get yourself killed.”

  “I’m sure Rikus knows what he’s doing,” Sadira said, moving away from the edge of the pit. “I’ll get the singing sticks.”

  Neeva started to follow, but Boaz signaled to his guards and they stopped her with the tips of their spears. A few moments later, Sadira returned with a pair of vermilion sticks about an inch in diameter and two-and-a-half feet long. Made from a fibrous wood that contracted instead of breaking, the sticks were extremely light and relied upon speed rather than mass to generate striking power. They had been carefully carved so that the ends were slightly larger around than the centers, and a special oil made them easy to grip.

  Sadira dropped the weapons, and Rikus caught one in each hand. The gladiator turned to face the gaj, simultaneously twirling the sticks in a figure-eight pattern. As the weapons sliced through the air, they emitted the distinctive whistle that gave them their name. Although Rikus seldom used singing sticks in contests to the death, they were his favorite sparring weapon, for their effectiveness depended upon skill and timing rather than strength and brute force.

  Deciding that his best attack was against the beast’s head, Rikus started forward, his sticks trilling as he absent-mindedly traced a variety of defensive patterns in the air.

  The gaj waited, motionless, its eyes blank and unresponsive.

  “Can that thing see me?” Rikus asked.

  The only response was an amused chuckle from Boaz.

  The gladiator stopped his advance a few yards from the gaj’s head. A sweet, musky odor hung in the air, masking the stench of the entrails that still dangled from the barbs of the creature’s mandibles.

  Rikus took another step forward, waving his sticks in front of the gaj’s eyes. It did not react, so he feinted a strike to its head. When there was still no response, he slipped to one side of its wicked mandibles. Holding one stick ready to parry an attack, he flicked the end of the other at one of the red, multi-faceted eyes, striking it with a light tap.

  The gaj jerked its head to one side, smashing the outer edge of its mandible into Rikus’s hip and sending him staggering backward. The mul paused and frowned at the beast, trying to figure out what made it so special in Tithian’s eyes. There was no doubt that the creature was powerful, but he was far from impressed so far. Had he been carrying a bladed or pointed weapon, the gaj would have been dead when he made his first feint.

  “Something’s wrong with it,” Rikus called over his shoulder. “The hunters must have blinded it when they captured it.”

  Boaz erupted into a fit of high-pitched laughter.

  Neeva called, “Just hit the damn thing and see what happens.”

  Gnashing his teeth at his partner’s sharp tone, Rikus turned back to the gaj. Pointedly ignoring the beast’s vacant red eyes, he strolled to one side of its head. He gave the white sphere a sharp rap, and the stick landed with a dull throb that felt as though he had struck a mattress filled with straw.

  One of the hairy antennae lashed out and wrapped itself around the stick, then wrenched the weapon free of Rikus’s hand with an effortless flick. The astonished mul leaped away and somersaulted backward to put more distance between himself and the gaj. As he sprang back to his feet, the guards and Boaz roared with glee. The mul frowned, as angry with himself for allowing the gaj to surprise him as he was with the guards for laughing at his carelessness.

  The gaj did not move, although it was using its bristly antenna to swing Rikus’s stick through the air. After a moment of watching the creature, Rikus realized that it was performing an awkward imitation of a defensive figure-eight pattern—the same pattern he had traced through the air after Sadira tossed him the weapons.

  Immediately the mul realized two important things about his opponent. First, it seemed the antennae atop its head were more akin to tentacles, for he had never before seen an animal use an antenna as a grasping organ. Second, the gaj was a lot smarter and more observant than it appeared at first glance. The beast was mimicking a formal fighting pattern, and he doubted that it was mere chance.

  Rikus turned, growling, “So, you want to do a little stick fighting?”

  He began whirling his remaining stick in a series of randomly changing patterns, then advanced on the gaj behind the blurred, whistling shield he was creating with his weapon.

  As the gladiator stepped within striking range, the front side of the gaj’s shell rose two feet off the ground. Rikus glimpsed a pulpy white body and a tangle of knobby-jointed legs. Suddenly the beast withdrew its head beneath the shell, taking the singing stick along with it. The shell dropped back to the ground. The gaj’s barbed mandibles, all that remained visible of the head, clacked once and reopened menacingly.

  “Now what, Rikus?” cried a guard.

  “Crawl under there and fight it!” suggested another.

  His face reddening with embarrassment, Rikus looked over his shoulder. Only Neeva’s face remained serious. Even Sadira was grinning at his predicament.

  “This thing doesn’t want to fight,” he called. “Why don’t three or four of you come down here instead?”

  His challenge brought a fresh round of chuckles from the spectators, but none of them volunteered.

  Rikus placed his stick between his teeth and circled around to the gaj’s side, where its pincers would not be able to seize him. He squatted down next to the shell and grabbed the underside of the lip, then heaved with all his might.

  The carapace rose from the ground, and something clattered inside. Rikus heaved harder, pushing it higher. Six canelike legs shot out and planted themselves firmly in the sand, three to a side. The shiny black limbs were about as thick as Rikus’s forearm, divided into five segments by a series of knotted joints. Each limb ended in two-pronged claws that now clutched at the sand in a futile effort to hold the shell down.

  With the singing stick still clenched in his teeth, Rikus shifted his grip and lowered his body again so that he could push the shell the rest of the way over. This time, it required more effort to raise the beast. On the opposite side of its body, the gaj had extended its legs well beyond its shell and was using them to counter its attacker’s efforts. Nonetheless, Rikus was slowly lifting one side. Even a creature like the gaj was no match for the dense muscles of a mul.

  The carapace rose higher, and the legs closest to Rikus left the ground. The mul saw that, beneath the shell, the gaj’s body was divided into three white sections: the head, a narrow midsection from which sprang all six legs, and a bloated, heart-shaped abdomen. At the end of the abdomen was a ring of red-tinged muscle.

  As Rikus pushed the shell perilously close to tipping, the gaj curled its abdomen forward so that the ring of muscle pointed toward its attacker. The muscles tightened and opened a hole the size of the mul’s thumb. There was a loud hiss, and a puff of gas brushed the gladiator’s face.

  Rikus immediately spat the fighting stick from between his clenched teeth, letting it fall to the sand as he dropped the gaj. He spun away and ran several steps before he dro
pped to his knees and retched. His throat was filled with such a burning stench that he could hardly stand to breathe, and his skin tingled beneath a moist, foul-smelling substance.

  “Think the creature is helpless, Rikus?” asked Boaz, smirking at the stricken gladiator.

  Rikus tried to respond, but all he could manage was to gasp a few breaths of fresh air. He grabbed a handful of sand and rubbed it over his face, trying to scour the stinking mist from his cheeks.

  “Rikus, you’re sick!” called Yarig. “You need help!”

  “No!” Rikus yelled, managing to bellow the strained reply. If the mul was to win his bet with Boaz and save his friends a lashing, he could not have the dwarf coming to his rescue.

  Hoping to stop Yarig from rushing to his aid, the mul rose to his feet. To his surprise, he stumbled and nearly fell again. He still felt nauseous, and his head was spinning as though he had just downed a gallon of wine. The thing had poisoned him!

  Through his blurred vision, Rikus saw that his efforts had only added to the dwarf’s determination. Yarig stepped toward the rope that dangled into the fighting pit. “I’m coming, Rikus!”

  “Stay where you are, Yarig!” ordered Boaz. “I’ll decide when Rikus leaves the ring.”

  Of course, Yarig showed no sign of obeying, but through the haze, Rikus saw Neeva intercept him. Though she was no match for the dwarf’s strength, the woman managed to detain him long enough for a pair of guards to present their speartips to his throat. The dwarf reluctantly stopped moving.

  Rikus’s vision was just clearing when both of his fighting sticks sailed over his head and clattered against the rock wall. The mul spun around to face the gaj, his head reeling from the quick motion.

  The creature had climbed out of its shallow burrow. Now, standing on all six legs, the crest of its shell was slightly higher than Rikus’s head. It was clacking its mandibles and flourishing the hairy tentacles atop its head, and three of its red eyes seemed fixed on the gladiator.

  Without taking his eyes off the gaj, Rikus stumbled back toward the waIl to retrieve his sticks. On the deck above, the guards and Boaz were talking quietly, but Neeva and the other slaves remained silent.

  The gaj scuttled forward, its great pincers opened wide. Not wishing to be trapped against the wall, Rikus moved out to meet his opponent, his sticks whistling through the air as if they were whips. The gaj mirrored his approach, whirling its head stalks in small circles as if they were ropes.

  Rikus gave a battle yell and ran forward at the best pace his shaky legs would carry him. He lifted a stick to strike, shifting the other into a middle defense. In the same instant, the gaj’s body sank nearly a foot as it gathered its legs beneath itself.

  Realizing that it was about to surprise him again, Rikus immediately kicked his feet out from beneath himself. He landed flat on his back with a hard thump. In the same instant, the gaj sprang. The thing’s huge body descended on him, its barbed mandibles clasping where he had stood just a moment before.

  Holding his sticks like daggers, he jabbed at the underside of the creature’s soft thorax. The ends of the sticks sank several inches into the soft tissue. Rikus had no way of telling whether he had injured the gaj, or even whether it had felt the blows.

  The gaj lifted the back of its shell, and the gladiator saw the tip of its abdomen curling toward him. Rikus kicked at it with all his might and held his breath. A hiss sounded near his feet. The mul withdrew his sticks and jabbed at the gaj’s thorax three more times, then rolled, beating his way through a tangle of slashing legs to pass from beneath the carapace.

  As the crimson rays of the sun touched his face and he dared to breathe again, Rikus glimpsed Sadira and the other slaves standing at the edge of the wall, just above the rope that dangled into the pit. The guards who surrounded them seemed more interested in what was happening in the arena than watching the slaves.

  The mul scrambled to his feet. “I’m fine!” he called, stumbling backward as he used his sticks to parry a series of wild slashes from a pair of black, jointed legs.

  The gaj spun around to face the gladiator with its mandibles. As Rikus feigned a charge, its pincers again closed on empty air. The mul leaped past. He brought his sticks down on the pulpy mass of its head in a rapid cadence of lightning-quick strokes. As he struck, he snapped his wrists, adding velocity to the blows.

  The gaj struck him with its hairy tentacles. Bands of searing agony shot through the gladiator’s arms and chest. His entire body seemed to be burning from the inside out, and Rikus feared that he was about to burst into a ball of flame. The mul screamed.

  He tried to leap away. His sluggish legs wobbled. Blazing pain seized his shoulders and torso. Rikus ignored the torment, forcing his body to perform his will. It half obeyed, and the mul felt himself toppling over backward. Letting out a great bellow, Rikus called upon his legs to catch him. They felt as though they were made of stone, but they obeyed and caught him before he fell.

  The gaj retracted its head, opening its pincers. Rikus stepped backward and lifted his lethargic arms. The gaj’s head shot out from beneath its shell and the mandibles closed around the mul’s midsection. He felt four sharp blows as its barbs sank into his abdomen.

  Rikus did not attempt to twist free. Even in the terrible pain he was suffering, he realized the futility of struggling against the pincers. Instead, gripping his weapons as if they were a pair of dirks, Rikus jabbed at the closest pair of eyes. As the sticks struck home, the red facets of the compound eyes collapsed inward. A shudder ran the length of the gaj’s body.

  It gripped Rikus more tightly.

  Neeva appeared at the mul’s side, a guard’s spear in her hands. She jabbed the point at the gaj’s head. Rikus dimly heard Boaz screaming at her. As Neeva’s weapon descended, the creature intercepted the shaft with a bristly tentacle, then jerked the spear from her hands and flung it across the sand pit.

  Yarig appeared on the other side, followed closely by Anezka, who Rikus suspected had entered the fray only to support her partner. The dwarf swung the heft of his weapon at the beast’s head as if it were a cudgel. The halfling thrust her spear’s point beneath the gaj’s mandibles, striking for the underside of the head.

  When their attacks landed, Anezka’s spear sank well past the obsidian point. The gaj countered by using Rikus like a mace, whipping him from side-to-side and battering the would-be rescuers with the mul’s massive body. The other three gladiators went sprawling.

  Rikus glimpsed Sadira sneaking up on the beast’s flank, armed with nothing more than a handful of sand.

  “Get out of here!” he cried, astonished that the slave-girl would risk her life to save him.

  He was being shaken so violently that his words were garbled beyond all recognition. Rikus stabbed once more at the gaj’s injured eyes. This time, two of the beast’s antennae intercepted his blows. The hairy stems wrapped themselves around his wrists. Waves of pain shot up both arms, and the gladiator’s muscles contracted so tightly that he feared his bones would be crushed. He screamed and tried to yank the tentacles from their roots, but found his arms could no longer obey him.

  The third tentacle slapped him in the side of the head, encircling his brow. His mind exploded in sheer white agony. Rikus could see nothing, hear nothing. He felt his chest contracting and expanding as he screamed, but that was all.

  Inside his head, a swarm of thumb-sized beetles appeared out of the chalk-colored emptiness that now isolated him. All of the beetles looked like the gaj. Slowly they scuttled through the air to the surface of his mind and began to eat away at it, leaving behind wispy tendrils of pain as they crawled over its rippled terrain. Gradually they created a net of blistering torment that enveloped Rikus’s mind completely.

  The net began to draw inexorably tighter, and the mul’s panic, his memory, and even his will to fight began to fade. Soon he could feel nothing but the horrid fire of his agony, smell nothing but the bitter odor of his own fear, and taste nothing but the dr
y ash of his thoughts slipping away.

  Finally, even those bitter sensations faded. The mul was left with nothing but the long fall to oblivion.

  TWO

  THE SORCERESS

  RIKUS STOPPED SCREAMING.

  The mul’s fighting sticks tumbled from his thick-fingered hands. His shoulders slumped, his knotted knees buckled, and his dark eyes rolled back in their sockets until only the whites showed. The gaj raised its black pincers, displaying the gladiator’s limp body as if it were a trophy. One hairy tentacle remained wrapped around Rikus’s brow, holding his head upright, and the others still clasped his wrists.

  Sadira stopped a dozen yards from the gaj’s side. She had to fight to keep from gagging as she smelled the last whiffs of a fetid vapor. The mul’s body hung limply in the beast’s black pincers, with blood from the barb punctures streaming down his legs and dripping from his toes.

  To the left of the gaj, Neeva returned to her feet, clearing her head with a violent shake. On the other side of the beast, Yarig had already stood and was lifting his spear in preparation for a charge. Anezka, whose spear remained lodged in the beast’s head, was standing farther away than Sadira, studying the creature with a look of confused anger.

  On the wall surrounding the pit, Boaz screamed, “Let the spineless die!”

  Though it would mean a severe punishment later, none of the slaves obeyed the trainer. When the gaj had lashed the mul with its bristly tentacles, the unfamiliar sound of Rikus screaming and the sight of his retreat had left no doubt that he was in trouble. Yarig had slapped aside the spears pointed at his throat, then slid down the rope to help his friend. Out of loyalty to her dwarven partner, Anezka had followed almost immediately. In the same instant, Neeva had plucked the spears from the hands of a trio of guards and dropped down into the sand, not even bothering with the rope.

  To everyone’s astonishment except her own, Sadira had slipped past the confused guards and followed the gladiators into the pit. No doubt Boaz and all the others believed she had lost her coquettish head and rushed into the pit out of panic, but that was not the case. Sadira had entered the arena so she would be close enough to cast a spell if there appeared to be no other way to save Rikus.