by Sam Sykes
He didn’t turn around to look at her. But he could feel the silence in her, as keenly as he felt it in the air around him. He could feel her mouth open, searching for the words. He could feel her look over her shoulder, trying to see how long it would take her to go back. He could feel the tension in her body, the frown on her face, the downcast of her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said softly, “I could have.”
And when she spoke, he could feel his heart clench.
His thoughts turned to her, her hesitation, her fears that he could feel like a knife in his back. And for a moment, they turned to fleeing; taking her, hopping on the back of that beast and fleeing for as far as they could, and leaving this city to the demons.
But just as quickly, they turned to the day he had awoken and found her gone. And soon, they turned to the day he feared would come. The day she would be gone and, this time, she wouldn’t be coming back.
And so he kept his eyes forward, his lips shut, and tried to ignore how much it hurt to drink in the silence and become part of it.
“Ancaa …”
But only for another moment.
“Ancaa …”
Over the rooftops, a windless gale that came wending through the streets.
“Ancaa …”
In great unison, voices raising a formless moan like a banner.
“Ancaa …”
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Loud. Growing louder.
Right around the corner.
He hurried forward, Kataria close behind. His sword came out into his hand. Her bowstring groaned as she nocked an arrow. Together, they pressed through the alley and onto the massive road.
And beheld the tide of flesh before them.
On their hands and knees. On their bellies. Heads bowed, empty eyes upon the cobblestones beneath them. They crawled—weary and tired. They crawled—filthy and torn and ragged. They crawled—sweating and hungry and bleeding and weeping.
They had found the people of Cier’Djaal.
Men and women and elders and children, thousands of them crawling through the road toward a distant destination. Silent, but for the long, low moan that ebbed through them like a river.
“Ancaa … Ancaa … Ancaa …”
Crying out. Sobbing. Screaming. But always moaning. Occasionally, one of their heads would rise long enough to scream to heaven.
“Save us!”
“I am sorry I didn’t believe!”
“I swear, whatever you ask of me, I will—”
Always, their heads would bow again. Always, they would return to the river of humanity. Always, their faces would fade and their voices would fade and they would become part of the great, thousand-legged creature that oozed its way through the streets.
“Fuck,” Kataria whispered, staring wild-eyed at them. “They were doing this when we first got here. But there weren’t this many, were there?” She shook her head. “Gods get a lot more popular when everything’s shitty, I guess.”
Lenk remembered that, of course: the faithful of Ancaa pulling themselves through the streets on the day they had first set foot into Cier’Djaal. But upon looking at them, he was reminded of something else.
A great, misshapen mass of flesh and cloth. Voices screaming for salvation, becoming a formless moan sent out to nothing. Desperate and broken beasts, begging for someone to help them, anyone to save them. He had seen this before. But their eyes hadn’t been on the ground.
Back then, in Rhuul Khaas, they had been on Khoth-Kapira.
“Where are they going?” he whispered to himself.
They watched from the alley, daring to lean out and glance up the road toward their destination. The endless stream of humanity babbled its way in a shrieking, moaning bend through the roads, over the bridges and around the buildings of Cier’Djaal until they finally disappeared, far away.
Behind tall, white walls, pristine and glorious against the red sky.
Silktown had never looked exactly welcoming to begin with—he had been there only the one time, and that had ended with him clubbed, drugged, and kidnapped. But compared to the gates that loomed before him today, that was downright hospitable.
The tide of people crawled their way through the great gates, their iron bars thrown open to welcome the moaning, wailing masses. One might have called the sight of the wealthiest town of Cier’Djaal, its doors wide and welcoming to the unwashed and desperate, a little heartening.
If one hadn’t seen the dragonmen, anyway.
Two great, gray giants loomed on either side of the gates. Their rhinoceros-like horns swayed back and forth as they watched the crawling people enter with active disinterest. They yawned and talked to each other in booming voices, occasionally pausing to drink wine from massive barrels that they drained in great gulps.
One of them glanced up in his direction. He slid back into the alley, out of sight. Soon enough, the giant returned to drinking.
“Well, all right,” Kataria muttered. “That’s a little less vague, I’ll give you that.”
“People crawling toward Teneir’s home,” Lenk replied, “guarded by giant dragonmen. Whatever she’s planning, she’s about to do it.”
“And what do you plan to do about it?” Kataria frowned at the two massive guards. “There’s more dragonmen past the walls.” Her ears twitched against her head. “I can hear them stomping around back there. You can’t charge in.”
“No,” he said. “But they don’t look all that invested in their job.” He gestured with his chin toward the tide. “What do you wager I could just put my nose to the ground and crawl in with the rest of them?”
“Nobody ever got rich betting on you to succeed,” Kataria muttered. “There’s got to be another way we can use.”
“We don’t have the time it would take to find it.”
“Then at least let me come with you,” she said. “We stand a better chance at this together.”
“Look at those people,” Lenk said, gesturing to the crowd. “There’s not a sword, a shict, or a scar among them. The dragonmen aren’t watching closely, but they’ll pick out an adventurer no problem.” He shrugged the sword off his shoulder and handed it to her. “The fashas keep regular guards in there, too. I can find another weapon once I’m in, no problem.”
He drew a breath and took a step forward. “This will work.”
He was stopped suddenly. Usually, he was able to take at least three steps before his plans fell apart. But this time, he saw Kataria’s hand wrapped around his wrist. He looked back at her. Her face was hard set in a scowl.
“What the fuck did I say back there?” she snarled. “Were you even listening to me?”
“I was, it’s just—”
“Just what? Just I wasn’t loud enough or you were too stupid to get what I was saying?” She pulled hard on his wrist, jerking him forward. Her canines were in his face, her breath hot and angry. “Every fucking moron around me seems to think that getting killed is the best way to do things, and everyone seems to think they can just leave me behind while they go and do it.”
Her lips peeled back, baring her teeth.
“No more.”
Something glistened in the corners of her eyes.
“Not again.”
Her fingers were locked into a claw upon his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. Her ears were rigid and flattened against her skull.
And somehow, for all that, there was something weak and tender in her eyes. Something he hadn’t seen often, so rarely that he sometimes forgot she had it.
He stepped closer to her. The muscles of her body went taut as he did. He laid a hand on hers but did not try to pry it off. He swallowed through a dry mouth and nodded.
“I know,” he said. “I know. I’ve felt that way, too. For the past few weeks, I don’t think I’ve felt anything else.” He smiled sadly. “And because of that, I made a mistake. And I need to make it right.”
“Everyone fucking says that,” she snarled. “Every fucking moron th
inks there’s some reason they know better than I do and that’s reason enough to try something dumb like this.”
“This time is different.”
“How?”
He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes. “This time,” he said, “I’m coming back.”
Her ears drooped. Her hand fell from his wrist, leaving dark red welts behind. He reached out without realizing he had, his hand rubbing the back of her neck.
“Take my sword,” he said. “Cover me. I’m going to get in and find out what’s happening, then I’ll be back and we’ll figure out what to do. Together.” He smiled. “Okay?”
She met his eyes for a moment and snorted, hiking his sword up around her shoulder. “You’re still a fucking moron.”
“I know.”
He crept to the mouth of the alley and peered out. The dragonmen were barely paying attention, taking turns hefting the massive wine barrels to their mouths and taking great gulps.
He glanced back at Kataria. She drew an arrow and nodded at him. He nodded back and, before he could think about how stupid this was, slid into line.
He fell to his knees and pushed his way into the crowd of crawling people. No one seemed to notice the inclusion of one more soul. Head bowed like the rest of them, he kept his eyes on the road and the people around him.
He saw only weary faces, aged prematurely by terror and agony—even the children looked one hundred. Some of their clothes were nicer than the others’. Some of them were filthier than the rest. But their faces were the same uniform ancient weariness, so alike in fear and exhaustion that he couldn’t tell the difference between them as he crawled alongside them.
Over the stones and toward the gates.
“Bet the others are out of the desert by now,” a voice boomed overhead.
“Not this shit again,” another replied.
The dragonmen made no effort to disguise their conversation; the humans didn’t seem that attentive, anyway. They spoke, loudly and contemptibly, to each other over the tide they guarded.
“The tulwar killed three of us,” the first said. “Dran, Geth … Kharga’s been missing for ages. The fashas didn’t give a shit.”
“They knew what they were getting into,” the second said. “Seemed happy enough to take the gold when there wasn’t fighting to be done.”
“There’s more on the way, they say. More tulwar.”
“We’ll kill them like last time. Easy.”
“There are fewer of us now. And only one fasha left.” He snorted. “Shit, we’re not supposed to call her that anymore, are we? What’s she want to be called?”
“The True Prophet.” The second one spit a glob of phlegm that landed near Lenk’s hand. “Humans have got so many of them that they need to differentiate. But this one pays me. And if Kharga and the others want to leave, that’s more gold for me.” He paused to drink out of a barrel. “Good wine, too. There’s even more of this shit in the square.”
“For the humans, though. We aren’t supposed to touch it.”
“A human can’t drink that much. There’ll be plenty left for us to—”
He paused. There was the sound of a great snout sniffing. Lenk felt his blood go cold.
“What?” the first one asked.
“Smell that?” the second said. “Something stinks.”
“They all fucking stink.”
“No, this one smells like … metal. And blood. And …”
A long silence passed. Lenk dared to look up.
Bad idea.
A great pair of black eyes glared down a long, horn-tipped snout at him. The dragonman’s lips peeled back to reveal vicious teeth.
“There.”
The giant took his man-sized ax in two hands. He took a shuddering step forward, sending the earth quaking. Lenk instinctively reached for a sword that wasn’t there.
Worse idea.
The giant hefted his weapon overhead. He let out an angry snarl as he took another step forward, kicking a crawling person out of the way and sending them flying. Lenk glanced around the press of bodies, searching for a way out that didn’t exist.
He heard the earth shudder. He heard the dragonman roar. He heard the wind whistling, growing into a shriek.
He heard the punch of metal through flesh.
“FUCK!”
The dragonman’s weapon dropped, crushing another person. The others moaned louder and tried to scramble out of the way. The dragonman didn’t notice; his attentions were for the arrow lodged in his eye.
“MY EYE!” he roared. “THEY FUCKING GOT MY EYE!”
“Who did?” the other dragonman asked. He searched the crowd, taking his weapon in hand.
He was roughly the size of a house. An arrow was only as long as half a human’s arm. He could be forgiven for not noticing it until it was lodged in his nostril.
Lenk looked over his shoulder. Kataria stood on a nearby pillar, drawing another arrow. She caught his glance and growled just loud enough for him to hear.
“I told you!” she spit. “Didn’t I fucking tell you?”
She had told him, it was true. And she would doubtless have told him more if she hadn’t needed to turn and go bolting down the street at that moment.
Weapons in hand, earth shaking beneath them, the two dragonmen took off after her, roaring angrily. Lenk threw himself to the ground, forgotten in the wailing scramble of humanity as they tried to get out of the way of the two giants. He felt a great shadow pass over him. He bounced on the stones as a heavy foot came down just beside him. He waited until the thunder of their stride grew faint before he got up and hastily scrambled past the gates.
She’ll be fine, he told himself. She’s small and quick. They’re big and slow. And big. So big that with just one finger, they could …
He shook his head, clenched his teeth.
She’ll be fine.
Just like you’ll be fine.
He put his head down, kept crawling, and tried not to worry about which of those two statements was less believable.
The decadent manors and lawns of Silktown were as the streets of Cier’Djaal proper: as silent, as cold, simply in better condition. The tall houses were quiet, their windows dark and shuttered. The lawns were overgrown, bereft of the furniture and exotic animals that had been present before. Gates were closed shut and locked tight.
Some of the houses looked like they had become fortresses: bars installed over windows, chains secured over the gates, archer barricades set up on rooftops. Others looked like they, and all their fineries, had also been abandoned as easily as the shops and homes in Cier’Djaal.
No spiders walking the street with shepherds. No exotic courtesans and entourages following wealthy men and women. No palanquins borne by burly slaves. Not so much as a servant walked the street.
Just as its people had abandoned Cier’Djaal, so too had the fashas that had built it.
“Your long journey is at an end!”
All but one of them, anyway.
“Through warfare, through bloodshed, beneath the empty promises of false prophets and under the dark eyes of deaf gods have you crawled to reach here.”
He hadn’t heard her voice much. Only a few words in a life that felt long ago and far away. Yet he knew her voice, her words.
And when he rounded the corner, he knew who it was he was staring at.
“Ancaa asks only that you crawl a little farther.”
A massive square opened up in the center of Silktown, dominated by an impressively large fountain. An elegant thing, sculpted to resemble nude women, carrying broad smiles and massive jugs from which they emptied water into a circular basin, it had once been an elegant place for nobles to sit and chat, for merchants to arrange quiet, shady deals.
Today, it was simply a very fancy trough.
The crawling people assembled on their knees around it, fighting and pushing to drink from it. Men shoved women aside, who pushed squealing children away, in their thirst. The laughing stone women seemed
to take immense joy in this, the fountain continuously pouring water as if to encourage the ravenous mauling.
“There is no need to fight, my people.”
Atop the fountain, perched upon the tallest of the stone women, she stood like a beacon. Dressed in emerald silks, her arms spread wide open and voluminous sleeves cascading like waterfalls, Teneir looked down over her veil and laughed.
“I have brought plenty to all. And Ancaa has brought me to you.”
Lenk caught a glimpse of a large hedgerow out the corner of his eye. He quickly rolled into it, disappearing in the underbrush; if the other crawlers noticed, they didn’t care. Their eyes were on the square. And as soon as they reached it, they all but broke into a sprint.
Gathered in immense clusters on the road and lawns and any space they could find, they clustered together in tight knots around their feasts. From porcelain plates, they seized grapes, chicken, cheeses, breads and shoveled them into their mouths, pausing only to breathe or laugh in hysteric disbelief at their good fortune.
“Let this gift be the first of many!” Teneir cried out. “Let my wealth be yours! Let my feast be yours! For under Ancaa’s eyes, we are one! One people! One hunger! One salvation!”
The people, as their hungers were sated, began to take notice. They looked up and laughed, echoing her words through mouths painted by the juice of fruit and grease of meat. They held their food, mashed together in their hands, up to her and cheered wildly.
“Trust not the false prophets who would bring war to your doorsteps! Who collude with the heathens and the brutes who shed the blood of your family in the streets! Their gods have brought you only death and disease! Ancaa has brought your life!”
“Life!” the crowd wailed, holding up their hands. “Life! Ancaa!”
No greed in their voices. Theirs were the shrieking, wild cries of men and women who had forgotten anything else. Theirs was the point where joy and desperation were the same thing.
Lenk watched as Teneir’s guards, dressed in fineries and wearing swords at their hips, waded through the crowds, dispensing more plates of food with disdain plain on their faces. But the bulk of her force was on the outskirts of the crowd, guarding immense casks of wine lined up around the road, the same as the dragonmen had been drinking from.
