Della hung in Absence in the place where Griglis was being taken apart, still reeling from his scour and the pain of his death. And as the feeding frenzy continued she became aware of the shadow’s voyeuristic satisfaction. It was only then that her fragmented mind coalesced and she was able to take charge of herself once more. She pushed the shadow back down inside her and flew back to her body, animating it with a twitch and a gasp. Then as the torucks faced off with the pack she took her chance. She removed her leash, climbed out of the nook and edged around the tree with her back against it. And when she got to the other side she sprinted into the gloom as quick as her wobbly legs could carry her.
Karkus saw her escape out of the corner of his eye, but he remained in place; not even turning to see her go. Drawing attention to the witch would be a big mistake. If the pack got wind of her flight she would be in pieces in a matter of seconds. All he could do now was face off with the dogapes until they moved on and hope he could catch her before the mist arrived. He ground his teeth at her audacity and felt the urge to step forward and stamp the life out of a twitching dogape – the one he head-butted. But he stayed rooted, knowing such a move was likely to provoke another assault. Not that he minded them coming again. He was pumped with a boiling aggression and there was one dogape in particular he wanted to vent on. It had bitten him on the shoulder and was looking at him now with a glint of satisfaction in its green eyes. A look he wanted to wipe off its stupid face with his knuckle spikes. But another round with the beasts would waste valuable time and put the witch out of reach for the night.
When the rightful recipient of his knuckle spikes looked away he took time to examine his wounds. Toruck blood clotted well and he was pleased to see most of them had stopped bleeding already. He snatched a sideways look at Argol and saw that his countryman had fared even better. The two of them had come out far worse from some of their rougher courtship wrestles. He grinned and rolled his shoulders. When the pack moved on they would hunt the witch and when they caught up he would take her ears and her nose.
Leecher
Della was panting hard with her hands braced on her knees. A deep stitch was woven into her side and her legs were howling with unaccustomed use. She looked back for signs of pursuit; but the gloom was empty and quiet. As her breathing slowed she felt the shadow boiling inside her. Karkus was taking her to Izle where it could be reunited with its greater consciousness, and it was furious with her for running away. She had felt its dismay the moment she bolted from the tree, but it made no effort to stop her. Unexpected as this was, she soon understood why. Before she took a dozen steps it rose into her eyes; superimposing images over her view of the jungle and revealing in shocking detail what the vegetation could do to her. There were spitting ferns and poison spike vines, puddles of mist water and blistering deadwood - dangers she hadn’t seen or understood. And whenever she put a foot wrong, its fear rose in warning - a mental nudge that steered her to safer ground. More evidence it wanted her alive; that their fates were inseparable.
Now as she recovered in a place of relative safety she felt the full heat of the shadow’s anger and hers flashed in response. Izle! she said, addressing it with an internal voice. It was the first time she had spoken to it that way and it came to attention like the tightening of clothes worn on the inside.
I know who you are and what you want… You want to be whole again… But you’re a bad man and I swear on my uncle’s memory I’ll do everything I can to stop you. Do you hear me? It’s your fault my uncle is dead and I hate you! She was shouting inside her head now and her hands were trembling. But her flash of temper was just that, and once the words were out she realised it was a mistake to provoke it. The shadow boiled and she braced for a punitive response; expecting to be forced to bash her head on a rock or poke her eye out with a stick. But after a long stand-off it simmered down and faded away.
The shadow was infuriated by the girl’s oath and wanted to teach her a lesson. She was expecting to get her eye poked out and it didn’t want to disappoint her. But the girl would fight and it couldn’t win. It had entered her body weak and disorientated; an enfeebled fragment of a greater consciousness. After gathering its faculties, it resolved to reunite with its better part and began influencing her to that end. It scored some minor victories, but the girl’s mind was improbably strong and it was soon forced to accept it was the lesser part of their unfortunate union. The way she suppressed and partitioned her thoughts in preparation for Absence was magnificent; a skill strikingly similar to the discipline of containment. It feared that if it was subjected to a sustained application of her talents, it would take hours to resurface; a death sentence for both of them given the dangers all around. So as much as it wanted to teach her a lesson, it resisted the urge. It had to pick its fights and this wasn’t one of them. For all the girl’s power she lacked the discipline of vigilance and it would continue to exploit this – rising to positions of influence while she was sleeping or overwhelmed with emotion.
Della looked around, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she had been in the last few minutes. The jungle was still quiet, but it was poised; like a trap waiting to be sprung. With her oath to the shadow fresh in her mind she knew she had to find her rescue party.
Her best chance was to seek them in Absence, but she needed to find somewhere safe to leave her body first. She crossed to the nearest tree, hoping to find a suitable hiding place in its low branches. But one of the thick vines that spiralled around its trunk began to creak, turning its flowers towards her. In a matter of seconds dozens of black eyes were staring out from within hoods of orange petals. And dozens more appeared, craning their stems around from the other side of the tree. Come sit with us little girl, their collective consciousness seemed to say. Sit with us and rest for a while. But they looked like muggers and Della needed no help from the shadow to decline their invitation. She backed away, imagining the vine throttling her - its orange flowers crowding her face as it tightened on her neck.
She spotted another tree with low branches and was half way there when a familiar glow heralded a fresh tide of mist. She planted her feet as it approached, fighting the urge to run. The faces on its leading edge contorted in glee as they broke around her, like school bullies happening on their favourite prey. She thought Ismara would look at home amongst them; her cruel eyes glittering like emeralds and her hooked nose riding the flow like a shark’s fin. The mist streamed around her legs, passing through her untreated britches. It dissolved into her skin and her left leg began to throb as it was reunited with its old poison. She studied the mist between herself and the tree, looking for signs of leeching. There weren’t any, but the lessons of the Wilderness were hard to forget and she crossed the distance with caution, testing the ground before shifting her weight.
The tree grew at a slight angle and was covered with a deeply fissured bark that was easy to grip. She climbed out of the mist, pulling up tendrils that coiled around her legs, releasing her only when she pulled herself onto the first branch. There was a good hiding place further around the tree and a little higher up - a thick bough with two large knots between which she could wedge her body. She climbed onto it and settled in, relieved to be safe from Karkus for a while. Even if he was foolish enough to walk the mist her tracks would be hidden from him until dawn.
She looked up through the branches and was pleased to see there was hardly any foliage screening her view of the darkening sky. The stars would soon be out and at some point the Wagon Wheel Constellation would pass over. But then she frowned, realising the foliage belonged to a network of vines. The tree itself had no leaves of its own and looked dead.
She sat up, seeing it was one of several leafless trees that ringed a small clearing. Her interest piqued, she crawled along the branch to get a better look. The trees were leaning over a huge spiral of funnelling mist, holding loops of vines up as if in homage to it. She stared into the vast swirl in fearful fascination, trying to see what was leeching it. But all she
saw was a circular patch of bare earth. There had to be something down there though; and not knowing what it was made her nervous. It was unwise to rest so close to such a powerful leecher and she was stuck there until dawn.
She crawled back, settled into the knot and started her preparations for Absence. She separated from her body the very instant she began thinking about it – just like she had done at the tower. The cause of such rapid transitions was still beyond her, but she was beginning to suspect it had something to do with the shadow - some consequence of having another consciousness floating inside her.
She soared through the dead branches and saw the tower poking through the forest canopy a few miles to the west. If Kye and Ormis survived last night, they would have tracked her there. She looked around, hoping to find a landmark to lead her back and realising the dead trees were perfect – a huge leafless circle in a sea of green. She sped away, but in her haste failed to notice the gaping hole at the top of the tree. If she had, she might have paused to consider whether the hollowness of the tree was in any way connected to the powerful leecher it seemed to worship.
Wormeye
Kye twisted his hands against his bindings for the third time, but the rope held and his chaffed wrists began to sting. He gave up, slumping against the thick pole he was tied to and looking over at Ormis. They were in a mud hut without windows and its only entrance was a screen of hanging leaves that admitted little light. He heard voices outside; speaking in an ugly language he didn’t recognise, but spoken in a tone he did: excitement. And he could hear distant voices beyond them, blended together in an ominous chant.
Ormis was slumped against another support, his head hanging and his legs spread in a wide V. Wet hair obscured his face and his left hand rested in a puddle of river water; his mist stone feeding it regular pulses of sickly green light. His right shirt sleeve was ripped and in the dim light Kye could see a series of scars that ran from his wrist to his elbow. He stared at them for some time before deciding they were old burns; similar to those his mother got from the stove. He wiggled forward and kicked him. The exorcist twitched, but his eyes remained closed and his head continued to hang. He opened his mouth to call his name, but thought better of it. A noise might bring their captors running and he was in no rush to meet them. He shifted back against his support instead, deciding to let the exorcist wake up in his own time.
He tipped his head back to rest against the support and was surprised to see two ghosts watching him from the roof. He flinched down, jarring his neck and setting off a glassy headache.
‘Who are you?’ he asked when they continued to stare.
‘I’m Najo,’ said the boy on the left, ‘and this is my sister Allie. What’s your name?’
‘Kye.’
‘And you’re Twum,’ said Allie.
‘Twum?’
‘It means you’ve got the sight,’ said Najo. ‘That you can see us… Is your friend a soul burner? His ring marks him as one.’
Kye had never heard an exorcist being referred to as a soul burner before, but after witnessing two of Ormis’s exorcisms he thought it was a fitting description. ‘Yes, I guess he is.’
‘Why do you keep his company? Are you learning his craft?’
‘No,’ he replied, appalled by the idea. ‘We’re looking for a girl.’
‘We haven’t seen a girl in the jungle for a long time,’ said Allie.
‘She’s been kidnapped by torucks and they’re taking her to a man called Izle.’
The little ghosts exchanged a knowing look.
‘If you mean the soul burner that lives under old Joebel,’ said Najo, ‘then she’s lost to you. For he’s involved in things much worse than soul burning. He tortures and torments those he takes into the glass tunnels and we can feel their suffering from many miles away.’
Kye thought about the spider creature, wondering what else Izle Rohn had created. ‘What do you want with us?’
The ghosts giggled. ‘We didn’t bring you here,’ said Najo. ‘We saw them carrying you from the river and came for a closer look… It’s been a long time since we saw anyone your age.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Quaggar,’ said Najo.
‘Cannibals,’ said Allie. ‘But they only eat their own… You’ll be given to Fyool.’
‘Fyool?’ He recognised the name, as it was part of the ugly mantra they were still chanting outside.
Ormis moaned and began to stir.
‘The soul burner’s waking!’ Najo whispered, retreating into the roof.
‘Wait… Can’t you help us?’
But they were already gone.
Ormis opened his eyes and flicked wet hair from his face. ‘You alright boy?’
‘My head hurts.’
‘That’ll be the poison from their darts.’ He looked over at the hanging leaves and started tugging on his bindings. ‘Who were you talking to just now?’
‘Ghosts.’
The exorcist studied him. ‘How many?’
‘Two. A boy and a girl.’
‘And they were talking to you? They weren’t contesting their haunt?’ Kye gave him a puzzled look. ‘They didn’t fight?’
‘No.’
Ormis looked at the roof incredulously. ‘Then there must be some black art keeping them apart. Spirits are solitary entities and whenever they cross paths, one will consume the other.’ He paused, his expression as black and brittle as charcoal. ‘You didn’t call them did you?’
‘No,’ he said with a hint of irritation. He was getting fed up with the exorcist’s continuing mistrust of him. ‘They were in the roof when I woke up.’
‘I expect Izle Rohn sent them.’
‘They said they were afraid of him.’
‘What else did they say?’
‘They saw the quaggar carrying us here from the river and wanted a better look. They said we’re to be given to Fyool… Who’s Fyool?’
Ormis shrugged and was about to say something when the leaves parted and three chestnut skinned quaggar pushed through. They were squat, with thick sinewy arms and barrel chests. Their bodies were covered with prominent veins that pulsed with mist light, giving the impression they were being struck by green lightning every few seconds. Instead of hair they had grass; mostly long and green with streaks of lacklustre yellow that looked in need of a good watering. The stink of their unwashed bodies was like a physical presence and it raged around the hut.
The one in the middle was the ugliest of the three; snaggletoothed with a missing eye. He motioned for them to stand and after they struggled up their posts he looked them over in turn. Up close Kye saw a worm in his empty eye socket. And as he appraised them with his good eye it flexed and twisted - flicking its tail out and running it along his scarred forehead. But he didn’t seem to mind. ‘Vistack ik grub,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘Vishtack ik Fyool.’
Wormeye stepped back and gestured widely. ‘Quiprik unt gruuuub,’ he said, the last word an extended croak of pleasure. His escort stamped their feet in approval, filling the hut with depraved laughter. He gave a signal and they stepped forward, cutting them from the posts and rebinding their wrists in front of them. Then they stepped away, forcing them from the hut with jabbing spears.
Fyool
They emerged to find themselves in a narrow clearing with a thick curtain of jungle leaning in from either side. They had slept for most of the afternoon and the sun had dropped out of sight - its dying rays now gilding only the very tops of the trees. Crude huts of various sizes scattered the clearing and several low fires burned in between. The area was littered with gnawed bones and teeth, clumps of fur and plucked feathers. Several dead animals were hanging by their feet from a length of vine. One looked like a bird, but the others were so strange Kye had no idea what they were. He couldn’t see any more quaggar, but their endless mantra rolled over the crest of a small hill: ‘Fyool! … Fyool! … Fyool!’
The leaves of another hut parted and Rauul and Kail stumbled out with
their own trio of spear jabbing quaggar behind them. The soldiers were damp and dishevelled and Rauul was walking with a heavy limp. His thick britches were ripped down one side and the material was soaked in a big oval of blood that ran from hip to knee. ‘They could have tidied up a bit,’ he said after looking around the clearing. He was trying to make light of the situation, but Kye took no humour from it. Something bad was waiting for them at the end of their walk and his hands were beginning to tremble.
They crested the hill and saw hundreds of jerking quaggar; pulling their grass hair and shaking their faces at the sky. A frenzy of movement through which they maintained their ominous mantra. They were gathered around a semi-circular stockade, built tight to a rocky bank. And at the centre of the bank was a gaping fissure – a craggy eye that horded shadow.
The spearmen forced them down the hill and tied Kye, Ormis and Kail to separate trees. Rauul was taken closer to the stockade and lashed between two more - his arms and legs spread wide apart. He didn’t struggle and only gritted his teeth when they yanked his shredded leg out to the side. When all knots were secured Wormeye produced an animal tooth dagger and waved it in the air.
‘Look away boy,’ said Ormis and he did, just as Wormeye drew the dagger across Rauul’s chest. The Captain of the Elite Guard made no sound, but his head jerked back and his facial muscles worked hard over his clamped jaw. Another quaggar stepped up to him, bearing a large yellow leaf. He pressed it to his bleeding chest, grinning greedily as he collected his flowing blood in its deep folds. Rauul spat in his face, but the leaf bearer hardly noticed; his expression changing little as he licked the offence from his cheek. When he was satisfied he turned toward the stockade and lifted the leaf above his head. It sagged in the middle, dripping trickles of blood from its glossy surface. There was a roar of approval and when it died down he stepped away, allowing a much larger quaggar to move in and swing a heavy cudgel. It shattered Rauul’s knee cap with a dull thwock and his legs gave way, transferring his full weight to his bound wrists. This time he was unable to keep his pain to himself and he screamed it across the clearing – a sound that was quickly drowned by a depraved cheer. Kye was still looking away, but his blood ran cold and for the first time he began to consider the possibility he was going to die here.
Absence_Mist and Shadow Page 8
