Shining his light about, Thackery studied the fatty pods hanging in the boughs. Some of the pods moved and he shivered: any wind that might have stirred them had long since died to a hiss. These larger bulks resembled the crafts of silkworms or weaver ants. They were made of a knitted substance formed of verdure mixed with a secretion of some kind; perhaps a mucus borne of the chlorophyll extracted from the plants of this land. Even without his scholar friend present, Thackery was able to develop some hypotheses about this ecosystem. He realized that he missed Talwyn as he said, “I cannot conclude with certainty that these creatures are carnivorous or harmful. It is possible they are benign. There are no dead animals to be seen, and we have not been attacked thus far. Perhaps the dead tree-dwellers we encountered earlier had done something to upset the balance that these creatures maintain. Nothing involving territorial encroachment, though—we’ve been tramping about in the territory of these creatures and met with no retaliation. Perhaps the entities in these woods consider us too great or obscure a threat with which to engage. For the moment, I believe we are safe.”
“I have the same sense,” said Morigan, her head buzzing with accord. “We are, for the moment, safe.” Still, she gripped her promise dagger, which she’d unsheathed some time ago.
Thackery continued. “We should watch our steps and try not to do anything rash. But I think we can make it through these woods unscathed.”
“Hmm…” grumbled the Wolf.
Woof! The bark came from Adam, who’d run ahead while the three chatted. Down a moonlit road, they found the brown wolf. Here, the space was brighter, a piece of the green mesh having recently fallen from overhead. The Wolf growled and warned his changeling companion away from the quivering green-and-black mass. It glistened in the moonlight like a giant placenta, a sac of jelly as large as a small pool. It juddered and bled. An unfathomable birth was occurring. The Wolf pulled them all back from the mound just as it deflated with a flatulent whoosh and poured a silky stream of mucus and swimming worms out into the soil.
Aghast and amazed, the four stared at the abortions that flopped in the slime. They reminded Thackery of smelt, but fish did not have legs like centipedes—or were those little prehensile tendrils? Fish didn’t waver between being seen and unseen in rolling flashes of silver, either. However, the monsters did give off a sharp fishy smell that also suggested semen, blood, a woman’s fluids. Despite the terrible sight and smell, and no matter the comparisons that came to mind, the writhing pile still made the changelings’ mouths water.
The company watched the last of the life spill out. They stayed until the flickering children had stopped their awful squealing. At their feet, there now lay only a great lumpy puddle. Within moments, even the membrane that had once protected the creatures began to break down into slop. The Wolf grunted. “The woods end not far from here,” he said. “I believe Thackery is right. We shall be safe. Let us hurry to Eatoth.”
The companions set out, but after taking only a few steps, they realized Adam was no longer with them. Turning, they saw the changeling sniffing and pawing at the green pool. As he’d worn his furry skin for many days, the beast now almost completely controlled his mind. Adam’s wolfish appetites and desires had blocked the instincts of a man. He had the hunger of an animal, and the great soup of fishy matter was enticing to him. Although he could see only the broth and not the morsels themselves, that didn’t keep Adam from searching through it with his paws and snout, and then lapping at the slime, which was apparently harmless: changelings had a nose for poison. Adam ignored the Wolf’s summons, for he’d now found what he sought: a lump in the slime, an invisible slug. He ate it, then found another and ate it as well.
TCH-TCH-TCH-TCH-TCH-TCH.
An alarm bell rang in Thackery’s mind, and he formulated a deduction of which Talwyn would be proud: animals were free to scavenge here, as long as they didn’t eat the tentacled slugs. Perhaps the tree-dwellers had made the mistake of feeding on them. Alive or dead, these creatures were off limits, and Adam was now consuming, defiling, the dead.
“Oh no, no, no,” blathered Thackery. “No, no, no! I think they’re peaceful unless threatened—interested only in eating plants, breeding, and whatever else such odd creatures might do.” Thackery shook his stick of light at Adam, who continued to gorge himself on slugs and slop. “Tell him to stop, Caenith. Make Adam stop!”
The Wolf roared. Adam leaped back from the pool, crawled to join his companions, then pressed his belly to the dirt and whined his subjugation to the lord of Fang and Claw. The Wolf’s action, though, came too late and was not fearsome enough to quell the chattering in the trees. The great brood had been defiled; their precious young dead had been consumed. In one grand chattering storm, like a flurry of bats woken from a dark sleep, the creatures roared back to the Wolf, to the eaters of their young. In the cloudy green eaves of the wood, shadows madly slithered and arranged themselves.
The creatures’ fury reduced their camouflaging abilities, and finally Morigan could see them—an impossible army of them. Slithering masses had been silent and placid this whole time while hanging over their heads. They were similar to crayfish, but grotesquely large and possessed of a sinewy fatness that reminded her of caterpillars or snakes. In their adult forms, the cray-squid bristled with tentacles. These appendages must have been what she and the others had heard clacking together, for they were armored and hardened to points. At once, the bees filled Morigan’s spinning head with flashes of starving tree-dwellers, driven to desperation by hunger, raiding tree-bound wombs, only to find themselves entwined and gored by swarms of wriggling cephalopods. The damned things could leap, she realized. As she turned in circles with her companions, she caught only intermittent glimpses of the cray-squid. With each blink, though, the preposterously large size of the army was more fully revealed. Soon they would drop, leap, wheedle their way down on threads. “We cannot fight them all,” she realized. “There are too many; it’s an infestation.”
“Can you run us out of here?” asked Thackery, and grabbed the Wolf’s arm. “We need to escape.”
“I can run,” he replied. “But the forest is alive. I can smell the rage of the things we have disturbed. I cannot guarantee our safety. I cannot guarantee that nothing will drop down upon us. I sense the weight of them as if it were a net. We shall have to tear a hole through it.”
“We have no option but to defend ourselves,” declared Morigan. She shivered as the men looked at her. She was ready to dart in and out of Dream, and the glimmer of steel in her hand was as ruthless as her expression. The blood of the Wolf pumped as fiercely as fire and liquor in her veins. “Protect each other, and do not worry about me. Here is our final gauntlet before Brutus—” Morigan stopped speaking as the bees shrieked in her head, ordering her to look up, and then she vanished into a crackling silver wrinkle. Materializing in a silver flash a stride away, she screamed, “They are upon us!”
A shivering weight of air landed where Morigan had just been. It clacked and thrashed. While neither sorcerer nor changeling could see what was there, Thackery brought his blazing staff down upon the spot, and the Wolf crushed it with a heel. Their actions produced a small explosion of fire, warm plasma, and steaming pieces of shell. More invisible weights of air began to descend like phantom bombs. Clouds of dust—screeching, clacking dust—scuttled toward the panicking company.
Thackery spun, drove his staff into the soil, and Willed the creatures away, making no effort to restrain his magik. He was hoping to trigger a surge from Pandemonia’s channels of ether, and he received one. A shimmering light erupted from the spot and threw whirlwinds of soil around the site. The Wolf staggered. Adam yelped and rolled like a teddy bear in a hurricane. Sensing Adam’s peril, Morigan shivered her body into Dream, again, and caught the tumbling changeling by his scruff. She clung to a tree and held the frantic wolf, a feat made possible by her bloodmate’s sympathetic strength. The wind howled. Trees rocked and groaned, raining splattering cargo ont
o the bare floor of the forest. A dusty Thackery scrambled out of the small scorched pit his sorcery had dug. He coughed out some dirt and shouted, “Everyone all right?”
They were, for the moment, although the forest creaked and croaked like an ancient shipyard in a storm as the nests dislodged by Thackery’s telekinetic blast continued to drop. Morigan released Adam and ran with him to the others. By then, her bloodmate was helping the sorcerer dust himself off. They looked around at the windblown carnage: branches snapped, green placentas everywhere, gooey spurts bleeding from piles of shattered cray-squids, whose purple blood was visible, though their shells were not. Evaluating the carnage, she sensed they had killed dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Whatever the number, it hadn’t significantly dented the remaining horde, which was even angrier now and rapidly drawing closer. She kissed her bloodmate, and seemed wilder even than he when she pulled away. The Wolf’s heart did a dance as she asked him a question, a version of one he’d once posed to her in Eod. “Will you run with me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
The Wolf and his Fawn ran ahead, a blur of speed and a flickering woman. Thackery and Adam ran to catch them.
V
Free of the woods and slathered in sweat and gore, the bloodmates made straight for the first glint of water that the Wolf spotted on the dry, grassy plain. Their companions were close behind; Morigan and the Wolf had gone ahead only to clear a path, keeping them always within range of their senses. All would be safe for their companions’ passage. Knowing this, the bloodmates raced in a wind of passion toward the pool. They desired to occupy it for some time alone before the others reached them.
Almost casually, Thackery and Adam walked through the final stretch of the forest, encountering little in the way of further threats. A few lingering cray-squid (the term had stuck in Thackery’s mind; he must share it with Talwyn) had survived on the path after its trampling by the Wolf and Morigan. With his glowing, smiting staff, Thackery put the beasts down as they lashed out weakly, their rage now feeble. He did so from kindness, knowing they would only have died more slowly otherwise. Most of the creatures had been split and damaged so badly that their own blood acted as a paint, enabling the sage to see the glistening corpses.
While administering death, he examined them: their hard shells, their many twisting limbs. It was unfortunate that he and his companions had been forced to disrupt one of the more peaceful habitats he’d encountered in Pandemonia. However, it had been either them or the cray-squid. If the creatures had been smarter, they would have clashed neither with the woman who unwove and rewove Fates, nor with the son of both a mad Immortal and an Ancient. Here and there, Thackery had seen the bloodmates’ copper and silver shadows dancing a waltz of death while clearing the road ahead. It humbled him how much Morigan had transformed since their time together in Eod. She was no longer the doting, clever girl he’d known then. Now, she was a force of nature, a great warrior.
Morigan and the Wolf didn’t abandon them until the plains came into sight. At that point, she and the Wolf vanished, moving so fast that Thackery and Adam couldn’t keep up. The bloodmates wouldn’t have fled if they hadn’t determined the land was safe, so Thackery relaxed. He counted strange stars and enjoyed the refreshing kisses of the wind on his face. In the distance lay a small blue lens of water. It shimmered in the night’s glow, and rocks stood around it like soldiers. Thackery believed this was where his companions must have gone. A crestfallen Adam, his head and tail down, seemed to be leading him there, too.
“Cheer up, boy,” said Thackery. “You were only hungry. Could have gone much worse.”
Adam whined; apparently, he did not agree. After a great many steps across the pleasantly windy expanse, Adam stopped, and his whines turned to grunts; within moments, Thackery was joined by the two-legged form of his friend. Thackery paused to pass the man his clothing, sandals, and the ebon speaking stone from Elemech that had been stowed in his pack. Once Adam was dressed, they continued on. Thackery sensed the weight of the young man’s contrition, though he did not broach the topic. In time, Adam gave voice to his regrets. “I have been foolish,” he said. “I have been an animal too long, and it’s made me selfish and hasty.”
“Sounds like a general affliction of the young,” said Thackery with a smile. “Lately, I’ve been afflicted in much the same way myself. I understand your frustration and why you’ve chosen to hide in a wolf’s skin. I know the feelings that you have for my great-niece.”
Adam shrugged, surprisingly indifferent. “I know seasons: summer and winter, spring, and fall. She does not feel the summer for me; I doubt she ever will. I have come to accept that, element-breaker. I shall therefore dedicate myself to honoring the season she has chosen: autumn. I will foster an autumnal bliss, full of companionship, friendship, fellowship. Fionna has never had those things. I haven’t, either. I lost all that was dear to me when I was young, as she did. I can be her brother-wolf without bringing any great pain to my heart. Sometimes the love we seek is not the one we need. I do miss her, though. And the chatty man, too. Even the Menosian was starting to grow on me.”
“Like fungus,” said Thackery, and the fellows laughed. Thackery’s mirth faded, and he placed his hand upon the changeling’s back. “I misjudged you, my friend. You have great and stoic wisdom for one your age. I believe you will be exactly the brother and friend my great-niece needs in these times. Ahead are our leaders. We should hurry: I know not how much time we—or Eatoth—have left.”
After picking up their pace, the two soon came to the watering hole. An oval of silver with a shore of swaying flowers and feathery bushes resembling fanned, exotic plumage welcomed the men with an embrace of steam and mineral freshness that blew off the water’s skin. They finally spotted the bloodmates hidden in the deep shadows thrown by the great rock-soldiers standing guard around the water. Thackery and Adam jogged toward them, but soon realized that their haste was unwarranted. The lovers made no secret of what they had been doing during their sands apart from the others. Morigan rested against Caenith, who had his back against one of the stones. Lust and passion filled the air like a musky fog, thicker than the breath of the pool, and the pair appeared relaxed and wet. Most of their clothing lay scattered around them. Morigan’s hair tumbled in shining ruby ringlets that the Wolf combed his fingers through and smelled. Her naked body was wrapped in her cloak, but one alabaster shoulder was exposed, and the Wolf kissed it hungrily. He, too, was naked, but he was tastefully covered by his lover’s body.
“Eatoth?” asked Thackery. Their carnality no longer discomfited him.
“We were only waiting for you to arrive,” replied Morigan, running her hand up and down the hairy ripple of one of the Wolf’s tented legs. She started to stand, but the circle of warm iron love that was her bloodmate constricted and held her.
“You must rest, my Fawn,” said the Wolf. “If only for a few sands. Shut your eyes and let your body heal.” Although his blood and their lovemaking had energized her, she did not have his powerful constitution. He could sense, even if she could not, that she was leaden with exhaustion from their journey and battle. As she considered his suggestion, the aches in her arms and the weight of her eyelids became apparent.
“How odd,” she remarked. “I didn’t feel tired at all until you mentioned it.”
We blur and flow into one being, one body with two halves, whispered the Wolf, pressing his hardness against her. For a moment, she felt a pressure, a throbbing rod rising from her own pelvis. Yet we are still ourselves, despite this marvelous gift. The closer we grow, the easier it becomes for me to know your every desire and weakness. I see the chinks in your armor that need repair, just as you more clearly see my faults.
“What about the city?” asked Thackery curtly. The bloodmates were gazing blankly at each other, clearly chatting, albeit inaudibly.
The seer’s eyes flashed with silver, and she pondered, hunting fates, weighing probabilities. “The smoke is not yet on the
horizon,” she said dreamily. “Thanks to our haste, I think we have managed to outrun Eatoth’s doom. For the moment, at least. We can rest.” Morigan sighed as the visions left her, and she nuzzled into her bloodmate.
“Adam, why don’t you see what you can hunt for supper?” asked Thackery. “I shall start a fire. You two—”
But they’d already fallen asleep, tangled, calm, and beautiful like lovers cast in bronze and pearl by a master artisan. Had he ever seen anything so harmonious as the shades and contrasts of their beauty? He had not, and probably never would again. Thackery watched them, proud to be their caregiver. Eventually, he made a fire and waited for Adam to return. He occupied himself by naming strange stars, relishing this rare instant of peace.
VI
Adam was distracted tonight, and the hunt was going poorly. He couldn’t place a finger or claw upon the reason why, but since reverting to his two-legged self, he’d felt different. Distracted. As if being his two-legged self once more after having been a wolf for so long had reminded him of all the pleasures one could savor only as a man. He was supposed to be hunting—already a difficult enough task in Pandemonia when one was attentive—but instead he wandered the heathlands.
Sometimes he fell to all fours and sniffed or rolled on the earth. Sometimes he brushed the long, silky grasses against his cheeks. Often, he thought of all the beautiful and magikal things his mother had wished he could know beyond Briongrahd. Pride at his accomplishments and at the journey he’d taken filled him. I am about to see one of the greatest two-leg civilizations of our world, Mother. I can be every dream you ever dreamed. I carry your spirit, your season of change, with me wherever I go in this world. One day, when the storm of Kings has passed and the forests of Alabion are safe, I shall return for your bones, now drowning beneath the Weeping Falls. I shall return for them and bring them on my next adventure.
Feast of Chaos (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 3) Page 34
