by Andy Remic
They slept in late, dangerous with no sentry, but gone from the world and its realities with the lingering dregs of the honey-leaf. It did that to you. It fucked you over in many different ways. Dek made coffee in silence after they awoke, and they drank it strong and bitter, for they had run out of sugar – a crime Dek found hard to forgive. He blamed Narnok. “That old cut-up axeman bastard,” he muttered, as he forced down the bitter brew, choking.
They packed and mounted up, and within an hour could see the Crystal Sea to the north. It had earned its name well, and glittered both with immense beauty, and yet sepulchrally. Despite the crystal clear waters leading to stunning beaches of polished rocks, the Crystal Sea was possibly the most treacherous stretch of water outside the Plague Ocean. The seemingly gentle waters, with their crystal qualities and gentle, shallow shores, were a dangerous siren to the uninitiated; for the sands of the sea bed sucked people down to their deaths, and powerful and random undercurrents meant once you were a few feet into the waters, you weren’t ever getting out again.
“Some sailors call them the Death Waters,” said Zastarte, conversationally. They had paused atop a high hill, where a track wound along the coastline. “Apparently, they have taken the lives of a thousand lovers, ten thousand exuberant children, a hundred thousand fishermen.”
Dek threw him a sideways glance. “You’re a fucking good man to enliven a party,” he said, somewhat sourly. His head was thumping. So were his balls. His new partner was a demanding lover.
“I am merely imparting the rumours,” said Zastarte.
“Get you hard, does it?”
“Not as much as watching you humping your bitch,” smiled Zastarte.
Dek growled, but Kiki placed a hand on his arm. “Not here. Not now. We have bigger fish to fry.” She glanced at Zastarte. “I hope you cleaned your blankets in the morning.”
“With the skill of a practised voyeur,” smiled the dandy, and kicked his horse into a canter.
They rode for another couple of hours, well past noon, until they spied the distant, vast canopy of Skell Forest stretching across distant hills like a green-black death-veil on a mourning widow.
“Look at that,” said Dek, awed.
“Shit,” said Kiki.
“Reminds me of The Drakka,” said Zastarte, voice soft, manner wary. The Drakka was also known as the Suicide Forest; a place where people in their thousands chose to die. His eyes flickered to Kiki. “You OK with this, Captain?”
“Yes.”
“Even after Dalgoran…” He left the sentence, and image, unfinished. He could not bring himself to say, “killed himself,” although that was exactly what had happened. Noble General Dalgoran. The man who created the Iron Wolves. The man who helped conquer Morkagoth the Sorcerer. And, after their subsequent disbanding and status as heroes of the War of Zakora, the man who brought them together again.
“Let’s go,” said Kiki, kicking her horse forward, hard.
Dek glanced at Zastarte. “Well done, horse cock.”
Zastarte stared at him with cool malevolence. “Yes. You are correct. My cock is the size of a horse’s. I gave you the option to experience it yesterday, but you were too cowardly to sample the experience.”
“I warn you, Zast, you will push me too far.”
“Then we’ll see how it ends.”
“I know how it’ll fucking end.”
“Big words from the Big Man. Just name the time. The tip of my blade will make you scream in ecstasy, and agony. And we both know I’m not talking about the steel in the sheath at my hip.”
Dek growled a stream of curses, almost unrecognisable, and kicked his horse after Kiki. Zastarte sat his mount awhile, head lifted, smelling the cold air drifting up from this new and different forest. He could smell pine, and fire, and ice. He gave a sour grin.
Why do you taunt him so?
I do not know.
Yes. You do.
Maybe…
Yeah?
Maybe, sometimes, even I crave death.
There are easier ways to die.
Yes. I know. I have killed many.
And yet you would choose this?
Zastarte considered this internal monologue. Then he smiled, a warm and generous smile, and allowed a sudden warm breeze to ruffle his shirt, pleasuring his skin.
I believe your death should be as hard, and as painful, as possible. Only then will you achieve some form of salvation: a redemption. Only then, will you achieve some recognition in Heaven.
Dek will kill you hard.
That’s what I’m hoping for, thought Zastarte, and kicked his horse into a canter after the others.
Skell Forest grew large and dark real fast. They stopped at the tree line, where the narrow road cut a swathe through the trees. Despite grey light spilling from the sky, inside, beneath that canopy, it was night dark and deeply claustrophobic.
“Don’t like this one bit,” said Dek, warily. “I remember the last fucking forest we had to travel through.”
“There’s no other way,” said Zastarte.
“Who’s asking you, cunt?”
Zastarte subsided, and Kiki placed her hand on Dek’s. Calm, that gentle touch said. Calm.
“I’ll go first. Dek, to the rear?”
“Why do I go in the fucking rear?” moaned Dek.
“Just do it,” snapped Kiki, eyes wide, a sudden anger taking her face in contortion. Dek subsided, and allowed the others to fall into position. The clopping of hooves was immediately muffled as they headed under the canopy, and all three riders felt themselves duck involuntarily; as if the sky might fall down and crush them.
“It’s as if the sky is pressing down,” observed Zastarte.
“Maybe it is,” said Kiki, voice barely above a whisper.
Thousand year-old pine trees towered all around, the lower limbs brown and dead, the higher limbs thick and covered in snow. Despite the gloom, their eyes soon adjusted and they found they could see just fine. What was more unnerving was the desolate silence that tumbled like a fresh fall of snow.
The horses moved in near silence on a carpet of dead pine needles. What modestly open sections of forest they came across were mud, now frozen solid by plummeting temperatures. And yet the close compact of pines kept the wind away, and after the harshness of the open, savage land, here it felt much, much warmer.
Within a few hours the sun eased from the sky, darkness rolling in much faster in the depths of Skell Forest.
They made camp, and for once finding fuel was not a struggle. They built a small fire, and Kiki cooked this time. Dek said his heart wasn’t in it, but in reality, he was throwing Zastarte some evil looks and Kiki knew a foul mood had fallen on her lover. A dangerous mood. A killing mood.
Zastarte, however, seemed oblivious, and collected firewood and snow-melt for the pan. Within a half hour Kiki had made a fine stew, and they shared out the remains of their black bread. Rations were running low and now they’d run out of coffee and salt, as well as sugar. Dek cursed long and low and hard.
Still, Kiki fashioned a fine meal and Dek dragged some heavy logs around the fire to make a cosy circle. They reclined, with blankets around their shoulders and covering laps. With full bellies, weariness overcame them within minutes. As usual, Zastarte took the first watch. He was a man who needed little sleep. He said, all too often, in sleep he heard the screams of the women he’d murdered. Kiki suspected he did.
She came awake with a start. The fire was near-out. She blinked, feeling groggy, and then realised Zastarte had gone. She cut off the yawn that had taken over her mouth without permission, and eased herself upright enough to see further out from their small circle of created cosiness.
She moved her head with finger-breadth precision. And then saw him, edged in a sliver of silver moonlight. He had his narrow blade out. Was poised, totally motionless. Amazingly, he caught her movement and slowly, agonisingly, lifted his finger to his lips; then gestured with two fingers to the north.
; Kiki gave a single nod, and pressed her boot into Dek’s belly.
Dek gave a grunt, but Kiki leaned over and placed her hand over his mouth.
“What is it?” he mumbled.
She placed her lips against his ear. The words tickled Dek. “Zastarte has seen something,” she mouthed, then silenced his dismissive snort with her finger. Slowly, moving with an infinity of care, Kiki rose from the ground and, keeping low, drew both her swords in smooth arcs. She crossed to Zastarte, but before she even reached him something leapt in a blur from the gloomy depths of the forest, smacking into him. They both disappeared in a flurry of limbs in the tangled undergrowth.
Kiki ran forward, boot on a log, flying through the air to land in a crouch. Zastarte rolled to his knees, found his sword, and glanced to Kiki. Blood was on his mouth. He looked severely pissed off.
“It’s an elf rat,” he spat. “It’s been watching us.”
Even as that last word came out, it leapt again from the darkness. It was tall, powerful, still distorted like the others, but elegant with it. It carried two swords of black iron, and Kiki found herself in a sudden, whirling swordfight. The sounds of clashing steel echoed through the trees. Dek leapt at the creature’s back, but a reverse blade thrust checked him, and the second blade hammered for his head. He ducked, stepping back, as the Tree Stalker turned on him, focused on him with small black eyes like deep bore holes. A shiver melted through Dek. Kiki attacked, but the creature defended with ease, taking each blade against its own as Zastarte came at it around the other side. Suddenly, the creature doubled over and let out a high-pitched shriek, deafening them, and leapt over their heads. It landed next to a massive oak tree, stepped sideways… and melted into the wood.
Dek gasped.
Kiki ran at the tree, hacked at the back with her sword. Her blade bounced clear. The elf rat was gone.
“Did I just see what I think I saw?” said Dek, panting, licking his dry lips, rubbing at his eyes. “Or is it the dregs of the honey-leaf still burning in my veins?”
“I think we all saw the same thing,” said Kiki. “It moved inside the tree.”
“But that’s impossible,” growled Dek.
“It was testing us.” Zastarte sat on a fallen log and rubbed at his jaw. He spat out more blood. “Either that, or it ran away; and with skill like that, I don’t think any creature would be running.”
“It caught us by surprise,” said Kiki, eyes narrowed, contemplating what she’d witnessed.
Dek rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, and with some serious withdrawal! I’m shaking like a lost and smacked-down virgin in a sailor’s drinking pit. Let it come at us when we’re on top form!”
“That means no more honey-leaf,” said Zastarte.
Kiki nodded, face pale. “No more honey-leaf,” she agreed. “Let’s get our shit together. This place isn’t safe any longer.”
They rode through the gloom, and the roadway widened allowing generous access. It had been several hours since the encounter with what Sameska had called a “Tree Stalker”. Kiki racked her brains. What was it he’d said? Then comes Aeoxir, a thief of shadows, covert in every word and action and deed. His intelligence is legendary. He plays life and death as if it is a board game; and he is always the winner. His special skill is that he can merge with the trees. Become completely invisible. Become a part of the woodland.
So this was Aeoxir? And the bastards weren’t just hunting the Iron Wolves; they’d found them.
Kiki remembered her dreams. And she felt suddenly very, very sick.
So, I always die, do I? Well, I’ll fucking show them.
Suza laughed, a hollow mocking laugh from somewhere deep down a drug-tunnel full of honey-leaf smoke.
Dawn broke, icy grey tendrils fluttering through the high boughs of Skell Forest. It seemed to take an age to get light, and the three Iron Wolves cursed silently at this cold, grey world stinking of rotting pine needles, mud and ice.
Something moved on the road ahead; the flicker of a shadow.
Kiki reined in her mount.
From the trees stepped the Tree Stalker that had attacked them earlier. So. It had managed to get ahead of them.
It walked smoothly to the centre of the forest road, and drew both swords, twirling them with easy fluidity. It was tall, well over six feet, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip. The eyes were like black glass. And when it smiled, there were white needles for teeth.
“You are Aeoxir?”
“Yes.” The words were low, and sibilant, but carried easily to the Iron Wolves. Then the creature gestured with one sword, smiling all the time with those unnerving teeth. “Get down from your horse, Kiki, Captain of the Iron Wolves.”
“This is a challenge?”
“Yes.” Aeoxir nodded. “Your friend, Zastarte, was correct. Earlier, that was simply a test. I could have killed all three of you in your sleep with some considerable ease. But… sometimes I am intrigued. We – us Tree Stalkers – are only ever sent out individually on a quest. And yet here, the five of us were sent after such a pathetic and weak little shambles. I am actually quite offended.”
“I’ll show you a pathetic, weak fucking shambles,” snarled Dek, drawing his black long sword.
“You drink, and take the leaf, and rut by the fire, without thought of consequence. You are slaves to your base desires. You are a fucking disgrace to the name of soldiering, and the name of killing.”
“Like that, is it? Right, you piece of elf rat shit…”
“No.” Kiki’s word hung in the air, then she kicked free of a stirrup and slid from her mount. She handed the reins to Zastarte. Glanced up at Dek. “It’s all right. This is my fight.”
“How do you work that one out?”
“Trust me.”
“No, Keeks. We fight as a unit. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“And yet this is a direct challenge; is that not so, Aeoxir?”
“It is.”
“If I lose? Do the others go free?”
“Yes. I guarantee it. For without you at their core, the mission will fall apart.”
“And if I win?”
Aeoxir seemed to consider this. Then his glassy, gleaming eyes fell on Kiki and she shivered to the bottom of her soul. “The others will come,” he whispered.
Kiki moved forward, and faced Aeoxir on the pine-needle carpeted road. She dropped her pack, kicked it to one side, and drew on a pair of thin leather gloves. She drew both swords and felt her twin hearts increase in rapid acceleration. She felt power surge through her; and welcomed it, from the swaying trees all around…
“You are ready to begin?” said Aeoxir, politely.
“Let’s do it,” she said, and leapt forward with blinding speed.
WHITE LIONS
“So why do you take it, Kiki? The honey-leaf, I mean?”
The doctor sat in a high back leather chair in an airy office. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and outside cultured lawns drifted away to the fabulous white buildings of Drakerath University. Students walked by carrying armfuls of books, their faces animated in conversation and laughter. To the left there was a boating lake and beyond, sports fields where yet more students trained.
Kiki stared at the man. Professor Kaivertes, formerly Iron Wolves military and good friend of General Dalgoran – the man himself who had referred Kiki to the hallowed halls deep within the Ancient Quarter of Vagandrak’s capital city.
“I don’t know,” she said, with a tight-lipped smile. “You tell me.”
“It could be all manner of reasons.” Professor Kaivertes fixed her with his own iron stare, and ran a hand through his bushy white hair.
“I agree.”
“So which is it? Or do you not even know? Is it a topic that you have forcefully shut down inside yourself? Is it something repressed?”
Darkness. Lightning flickering on a hillside. Thunder, like the gods going to war.
“I do the honey-leaf because when my mind is flying, I fuck like an experien
ced whore.”
“I watched my own wife murdered by brigands,” said Professor Kaivertes, eyes shining. “They stabbed her in the throat, and attempted to rape her whilst her blood leaked out onto the forest lane.”
Kiki sat, stunned for a moment.
“It takes more than a common, foul mouth to shock me.”
“You stopped them?” she blurted out, almost forgetting where she was.
Kaivertes smiled kindly. “There were four of them. I executed them where they knelt, their hands up before them pleading, their eyes full of tears and fear. I chopped down, cutting off their fingers and hands. Then I left them howling in the mud whilst I tended to my dying wife. When she had finally passed beyond the Infinite, and we had exchanged our vows of love, I returned to my work with much vigour, I can assure you. It took those gutter motherfuckers two days to die. But then, that hardly matters, because it didn’t bring back sweet Arolia, and I did not feel any sense of gratitude at having committed the deed. Everybody lost. Such it is with events and bad choices, sometimes. Such it is with the honey-leaf.”
“Neat.”
“So, will you talk to me?”
“I will try.”
“Explain.”
“I do the honey-leaf because I cannot stop.”
“Why not?”
Kiki considered this. Then she closed her eyes, and she spoke slowly. “I have tried to stop. Many, many times, by Grak’s Balls! I tried cutting it off. I tried other substances. I tried alcohol. I tried hard friends and locked rooms. But I think there is something wrong in my mind; something is badly wired. It does not work right. It does not connect. It does not respond. It does not listen.”
“What started you using it?”
“The… mana. The Shamathe.”
“It goes back that far?”
Kiki’s eyes flickered open. “Did General Dalgoran tell you he took me in as a child?”
“No. I did not realise your relationship went back that far.”
