by Shawn Mackey
Gorgo seemed wary of his foe’s advisor, a foreigner named Dion. He described him as fat and hideously scarred, wearing a veil to shroud his disfigured face. Muego maimed him a few years ago, intending to kill him for some unknown transgression, and instead they became allies. A few rumors cite his divinations as the prime reason for Muego’s ascent to power. While it was never explicitly stated, most assumed the blood tax was inspired by Dion’s warnings. Cythereans were a superstitious lot, and judging by Gorgo’s explanation, they all believed in the foreigner’s divinations. They knew the warlord’s death was imminent, but unfortunately, Muego was privy as well.
We spied the village over the crags. Unlike the other burned husks, it was entirely intact and full of Cythereans, but we saw no sign of our target, though Gorgo discovered fresh tracks. He scouted the outskirts and heard talk of Muego and his foreign friend. To enter the village without complication, Rufus and I would need disguises. He returned with hooded cloaks at dusk, reporting he had seen Dion wandering alone.
“An easy target,” Gorgo said. “Muego will send a search party. Thin their numbers.”
“How many?” I asked.
“Six. Do not underestimate them. The bearded one, Fidor, is a match for Muego. It would be wise to kill him first.”
“He’s mine.”
We snuck down the crag and hid under the shadow of the vine trees. They were much smaller than the monstrosities from earlier, but to stay on the safe side, I avoided any direct contact. A corpulent robed figure traveled past the village gates, headed for the path leading into the jungle. Dion’s massive gray belly bulged from his black robe, his waist far wider than any man I’d ever seen. As he neared, his bulk seemed less and less human, his face too obscured by darkness to confirm otherwise. We crept closer to the dirt path. Gorgo brazenly crouched behind the closest tree, knife drawn and ready to strike.
The hooded gargantuan obliviously carried on, his arms crossed and head bowed low. I wondered where he was going, and for a split second, realized this was a bit too convenient and something had to be wrong. Before I could even consider a means to protest, Dion stepped onto the shadowy path, and in one swift motion, Gorgo stuck his knife underneath the hood. The robe instantly collapsed into an empty heap.
“What?” Gorgo shouted as the black robe crawled up the tree. It disappeared into the dark foliage, rustling the branches as it climbed. The robe fell at my feet, yet the sound of shivering leaves continued.
Gorgo stomped on the fallen robe while Rufus and I peered at the treetop. The glow of torchlights and murmured shouting snapped us back to reality. Armed Cythereans rushed down the pathway calling out for Dion. Gorgo tossed the robes aside and darted back to his hiding spot. I clung to the tree behind him, the approach of clanging armor obliterating the fear of those carnivorous trees. Rufus huddled behind a large stump, shivering with hands crossed over his face. We didn’t need him.
Gorgo slit the first man’s throat in a single thrust, leapt across the path before the others were alerted to the dying man, and tackled the second nearest, stabbing his vitals as the soldier grumbled, meekly reaching for his weapon. As the third sprang at Gorgo, I slung a large rock, smashing him across the chest. It missed his head by a longshot, but the hard clank dazed him for just enough time for me to stop him from slicing Gorgo, who had finished off the second man. The fourth came to the aid of the third. Gorgo reciprocated my aid by stabbing the fourth through the hand.
We were locked in combat with no sign of Rufus. I planted my dagger into my assailant’s hip, doing little to halt his fist blows. Gorgo’s dagger inched away from his prey’s neck, both men locked in a stalemate, though the edge may have belonged to my partner. Through battered and bloodied eyes, I noticed my legs were free. I kicked Gorgo’s foe in the ankle, dazing him just enough for the knife tip to pierce his throat. My assailant had removed the dagger from his hip and was in the process of stabbing my face. I managed to move my head in time, though he sliced a deep gash through my shoulder. Gorgo seized him by the neck and snapped it.
I could hardly breathe, my nose broken and eyes almost swollen shut. The coppery taste of blood lingered in the back of my throat. I ran my tongue across the top of my mouth, popping out two loose teeth. Gorgo had already seized Rufus by the shirt, his crimson stained knife pressed against the weeping man’s face.
“Are these tears?” Gorgo growled.
“Don’t hurt him,” I said coarsely. Fresh blood trickled from my lips. With a groan, I repeated: “Don’t hurt him. Don’t do it, Gorgo.”
Gorgo slashed Rufus’s belt and pushed him aside. He took the sheathed sword and tossed it at me. “For Fidor,” he said. I tied the severed belt and sheath around my waist and then mustered the strength to stand.
“Could have stuck one of them in the back, Rufus,” I said.
“I will next time. I swear,” he whimpered.
“I believe you. Now quit crying and get up.”
We dashed to the furthest corner of the village, though I pretty much stumbled the whole way. Where the pain had subsided, I was left with overwhelming weariness. Gorgo came to a sudden halt, stepped behind one of the trees, and peered toward the village. Two Cythereans paced around the front of a torch-lit hut. One of them mouthed something to the other. After the exchange, the latter headed for the entrance.
“It is time,” Gorgo said. “Before they close the gate!”
He leapt out of the shadows and sprinted across the grassy expanse. Rufus tried to keep up, while I limped along behind them. Gorgo made it to the wall at the edge of the gate. The Cytherean closed one side, and just as he was about to close the other, Gorgo planted his dagger into the guard’s throat. He gurgled, clutching the bleeding hole while Gorgo dragged him behind the wall. He motioned toward Rufus, then to the Cytherean’s weapon. It was a sword much like the other, perhaps a bit flimsier, but better than charging in unarmed.
“One of Muego’s,” Gorgo said. “That leaves two more.”
We entered the empty village. The inhabitants were either sleeping or feigning it due to Muego’s presence. Their huts provided ample coverage from the Cytherean guarding the lit building. Gorgo shifted from spot to spot at alarming speed. I was more focused on avoiding being seen myself than assisting him. Rufus trailed not far behind me, as sluggish as me from exhaustion. When we reached the last hut, Gorgo was already crawling toward the building’s shadow.
The Cytherean guard gazed mindlessly at the night sky. He turned his head to look at the village gate, his entire body jerking to life when he saw it was only half closed. Gorgo leapt out of the shadows and slit his throat. As he slithered around in his death throes, Gorgo removed the guard’s helmet and, using the torch, set fire to his hair, then proceeded to light the rest of the body. Too weak to extinguish it, the burning Cytherean gurgled as loud as his bloody throat could handle. Gorgo tossed the torch onto the building’s grassy roof. The guard went still, though the fire continued to burn. Even when the roof erupted into a massive blaze, the smell of burning flesh clung to the air.
Two tall Cythereans burst out of the fiery building, followed by a few others who scattered to various huts. Gorgo stood over the burning dead, his piercing glare and bloody knife glowed by the light. The Cythereans stepped forward with weapons drawn. With my target in sight, I stepped out with my sword unsheathed.
“Magnus sent you?” the taller Cytherean asked. I pegged him as Muego. Gorgo shook his head.
“The weapon is his,” he said, lifting the knife. “The killing is mine.”
“Try.”
As Gorgo charged Muego, both Cythereans raised their swords. I aimed for the bearded one’s head, his eyes and weapon fixed on Gorgo. My blade was met with the clank of steel, and with swift kick to the groin, I was sent sprawling backward. Fidor grinned, nearly sticking me with his sword before I rolled to the side. I scrambled back to my feet in time to parry his next strike. Gorgo was too busy dodging Muego’s sword to land a blow from his dagger. Fidor
was slow enough to tempt reprisal, but too strong to go on the offensive. Sparks flew with each parry, their glow revealing the excitement in his flaring eyes.
A sword point jutted from behind me, nearly slicing my waist and plunging into Fidor’s hip. The Cytherean let out a groan and swung to my right, his sword cleaving Rufus through the shoulder. I stuck mine upward, the point piercing under Fidor’s chin. Both fighters went down, the Cythereans choking on his blood and Rufus howling.
“Enough!” a voice boomed. Muego and Gorgo simultaneously paused, the tips of their weapons pointed at their foe’s neck.
“Dion,” Muego roared. “Where were you? Is this treachery?”
The bloated man stepped over the dying Fidor, his hooded countenance focused on Rufus. He lifted it, exposing a tiny bald head, the lower half covered by a thin black veil. His yellow eyes flashed me a sideways glance as he moved by, stopping over the wounded Rufus, who wiggled and screamed in an expanding puddle of blood.
“It was bait,” Dion hissed, pointing to Rufus. “To lure this one. It worked wonders compared to your indulgent purges. Here he is, with just enough life left in him. Now, move away from him and come to me.”
“Yes,” Muego said, carefully stepping back from Gorgo and over to Dion’s side.
“It’s two against two. Those are fair odds,” I said. Muego’s sword hovered over Rufus’s head.
“Do you really want to risk it, old friend? You’ve come such a long way,” Dion said. I recognized that voice.
“You know him?” Gorgo asked, stepping forward. Muego’s sword inched closer to Rufus.
“Looks like it. Doesn’t make us friends, contrary to what he thinks,” I said, sheathing my weapon. “Do what he says. I’m not giving up Rufus to fight on your behalf. I wouldn’t recommend taking a chance on your own either.”
“I chose companions poorly,” Gorgo said, putting away his knife.
The villagers woke to the smell of smoke. Many rushed with buckets of water to extinguish the burning building, but it did little beside prevent the spreading. As Muego bound our hands, we watched it collapse into a smoldering heap. The structure held importance, judging by Dion’s attempts to assuage their fears. “Rebuild it better than before,” he said, probably sneering behind his veil. Some of the younger Cythereans pelted me with stones. Their new leader didn’t even have to waste breath assigning guilt.
“Follow me,” he said to me, then to Muego: “Do not harm the other, unless he tries to escape, in which case, exercise force to your heart’s content. Have the villagers tend to their wounded friend. I need him alive.”
“Yes,” Muego said, bowing his head. I followed Dion, hoping Rufus could hold on long enough for an opportunity to finish off my nemesis for good.
-
Dion and I walked beyond the city gates, past the spot where he was supposedly stabbed, then even deeper into the jungle. Neither of us spoke. I would rather follow the wretch to the ends of the world than initiate a conversation. All the while wandering, a harsh wheeze emitted from his throat every time his bulbous belly rose. If my hands weren’t bound, I would have clamped it shut.
We finally stopped at a clear water pool, similar to the one Rufus and I had seen earlier in every way besides its size. This was like a stagnant lake, reflecting the first twilight of early dawn. I stood over the pool’s stony edge and gazed into the waters. They appeared shallow at a distant glance and bottomless at closer inspection.
“We don’t get to speak often,” he said. When I didn’t reply, he asked: “Have you ever drowned?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re probably worried about our friend. Don’t be,” Dion said. I felt a soft hand brush against my shoulder. I turned and found nothing. “She’s always there, one way or another.”
“How would you know?”
“She’s especially tasty. I think it’s due to her connection with you. Maybe not. I feel an inexplicable fondness for her. It pains me to see her hurt, yet nothing makes me feel more complete. Is it the same for you?”
“Of course not. What the hell do you think I am?”
“A no good thief.”
“That again?”
“I’m merely reminding you. I’ve let go of that grudge. The way I am suits me fine. I’ve never looked so handsome.”
“I wouldn’t call you handsome. The look does suit you.”
“There’s more to my appetite than simple indulgence. Is it so hard to remember? I feel like I’m talking to a shade. What happened to you, old friend?”
“I gave up a long time ago.”
“Your fall is going to be excruciatingly slow. Do you even realize that you’re losing your mind? Not figuratively. For one, you seem to truly believe you’re this Michael character. The moment we adopt a name is the moment we start to die.”
“We were human once. I’m not the only one losing my mind.”
“Not human,” he said, pointing a fat finger to the pool. “Rufus saw the eye reflected in one of these pools. Remember? The one you didn’t want to look at. Well, when I saw it for the first time, I realized—”
“Wait. How do you know all this?”
“I’m sure you’ve figured it out, but you won’t let me go on until I say it. I’ve been inside the girl since swallowing her and have been lying dormant inside ever since. My intentions weren’t malicious. They weren’t exactly pure either. Can I go on with my previous explanation, or do you need to vent?”
“I’m listening.”
“Beatrice’s strange feeling was my presence. Seeing the eye nearly caused me to burst from her. It was like being magnetized to a mere image. And then there was the hand. I separated from Beatrice during our ride here. It threw you all into the ocean and held tight to me. Fortunately I’m too slippery. I was lucky enough to land near this jungle. I’ll elaborate more on that later. For now, we need to reach an understanding. It’s time to put aside our petty differences.”
“If you’re really proposing we become friends—”
“We don’t get to have friends. We don’t get to have names. We don’t get to live and we sure don’t get to die. Most importantly, we don’t get to think. You and I were ruined the moment we became cognizant of our situation.”
“What’s our situation?”
“We are stuck between two points. Remember the spiral from earlier? We’ve strayed from the center. So far from our start, we actually believed there was another side. An eternity of wandering has rotted our minds. Not that it’s any fault of ours. The moment we left our world, we lost our bodies, though we retained ourselves. I thought of nothing other than your death, and you thought of nothing but escape. The reasons for those thoughts are irrelevant for now. Straying from the center obliterated our bodies, perhaps leaving behind a few specks of dust. These particles were enough to contaminate the whole damn thing! The forces behind it were aware of us, most likely from the very beginning.”
“Are you implying we were lured here?”
“Perhaps. I wouldn’t try to comprehend the subtleties of their experiment. It’s a cruelty beyond our ken.”
“And you saw her in the telescope?”
“Yes, and I believe she can be none other than the Muse.”
“You lost me there, pal. I’m not the only one who’s lost their mind.”
“After I finish my explanation, you’ll see that no other name can fit.”
“Quit meandering.”
“There’s a mystical implication attached to the word imagination. It’s no divine gift. I looked my goddess in the eye and I can assure you, man’s romance with the fantastic is his greatest mistake. Minds weren’t meant to be cultivated. Not for their own benefit. Our pleasures and pains are music notes in a grotesque composition. We are the musicians, the world our stage, the impossible our maestro, and the Muse our audience. She relishes our failures and successes with equal measure. All that matters is a genuine performance, and nothing inspires creativity better than mortality at stake. No m
an can conceive a drama greater than the story of mankind. What are his creations in comparison? Dull echoes of reality, the Muse’s masterpiece.”
“I still don’t see it.”
“To put it simply, reality is high-quality entertainment and we’re stuck in the auditions. However, there’s a purpose to these auditions. The lack of finality leaves ample room for fine tuning. If one were to spend enough time in auditioning, the real thing would not matter as much, only by the merit of its realness. What do you think?”
“Are we really going to have this conversation?” I asked. He kept silent. “I suppose if one were to take no part in this so-called ‘real’ that it wouldn’t matter if he existed in the unreal. Of course, this is the product of the imaginary unsatisfied with its imaginariness, concocting an imaginary goddess to make his life seem less imaginary. Maybe I should’ve looked in that telescope.”
“I have my doubts, too.”
“Put them aside and go on. How did we end up the way we are now?”
“As you know, being formed and reformed has taken its toll on our sense of self. We are conscious through every transformation. I believe we were unconsciously aware of the gradual decline of our faculties, which led to our bodily trade. To fully comprehend the gravity of the trade, I must describe my nature in detail. Technically yours as well, but I’ve decided to make the swap permanent.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“My diet and waste consists of this so-called dream stuff. It may seem abhorrent to one such as you, but I assure you, what I eat and what I excrete are all the same. I’m suited for this habitat, even if I’m not a native, if such a thing could truly exist. If it could, then all I’ve said is probably wrong. We are merely two fools passed from dream to dream, as you said.”
“Like a disease.”
