The Ryle of Zentule

by Michael Green

  “Not that I could make out; I was quite small, but it looked like they were trying to get across the city in a hurry.”

  “What happened to Xyth’s tower?” Chimerax asked, pointing to a stump that was once the Hyadoth.

  “I cannot say. I remember a flash of light, the false light, my Master. Then the tower crumbled, and the city was like this ever since. All that happened after was more flashing and the fleet of ravagers retreating. One of them, a cobalt, went down nearby, though it is all soup by now,” the ychoron concluded, and pointed to what was once an intersection. A few ravager limbs, all different sizes, still twitched in the air.

  “Not what I expected, but not useless either,” Chimerax said, floating off the tower. “If you can use your newfound mind to navigate across this—waste, you deserve to live.”

  The ychoron beamed. “Thank you, Master! I’ll never forget!”

  Chimerax flew to the bank of waving ravager limbs.

  In life it was cobalt-toned.

  Chimerax slowly descended into the filth.

  He placed a hand on the thick and quivering floor of living liquid. Half formed mantis, lobster, spider, and ryle limbs rose from the muck and descended on Chimerax.

  The heavy legs of the ravager also twitched and moved his way.

  Chimerax inhaled and yelled, “Down!”

  Every limb smashed into the ground, many with sickening cracks. The ravager legs bent at odd angles in their rush to meet the floor.

  Not so dangerous after all.

  Chimerax cast his mind through the muck, which was akin to listening to a few thousand outraged conversations while trying to find one voice.

  Cobalt, ravager. Cobalt, ravager.

  Chimerax called for a long time, before finally finding a primitive voice.

  “Master… Master, fallen.”

  Are you the cobalt ravager?

  “I, Juvan, cobalt…”

  What happened?

  “Pulled down… Master!”

  Chimerax peered into the creature’s disassociated mind and saw an image of a stout, muscular ryle. This ryle was with several others; they had a boy prisoner, and another.

  Thrag.

  Images of the wild man flashed through his mind. He pushed them aside and focused on the ryle.

  Where is this ryle, your Master?

  A million voices sounded out at once, “There.”

  Chimerax’s head nearly burst at the noise.

  An image of something like the ryle in question appeared. Through the thousand perspectives he watched the ryle use Counter to shield his body. He clambered over wreckage, and escaped the city. Though not unscathed, he slipped into the jungle beyond.

  Chimerax opened his eyes in sudden shock. He was enveloped by the soup.

  He gestured widely with his hands. “Break!”

  The mountain of flesh trying to incorporate him exploded outward, leaving him standing in a crater. He wiped the still undulating filth off his fur and floated up and away, a part of his body shivering, as if horrified.

  So, a ryle rich enough to own a ravager escaped the city in that direction. Yet, this was a while ago, there is no need to rush. There might be more to learn.

  He flew towards the severed stump of the Hyadoth.

  I feel the Dead God here.

  A gurgle alerted Chimerax to sudden danger, and he surged upwards.

  A tremendous, muscled red arm exploded from the pool in the crater of the Hyacap.

  Xyth!

  The abort-ascend ryle pulled its colossal bulk out of the soup. Its red face hung with tentacles that were as tall as some of the local towers. The beast’s insane eyes flashed with maddened hate.

  He’s far too large. Ten times what he should be. All that precursor—

  The creature was bombarding his mind. Pain shot through his limbs, and he fell from the sky.

  Change!

  His body morphed back into the three-headed beast.

  The wings flapped, but too late.

  Xyth’s clawed fist tightened around Chimerax’s body.

  Chimerax pointed and articulated his right claw. He focused through the crushing pain and found Xyth’s shattered mind.

  Down!

  Xyth lost control of his body and shot to the ground, ripping apart more of Hyadoth as he went. Chimerax flapped his wings and climbed higher, hoping to get out of reach.

  He felt Xyth’s uncontrolled, etherium-addled mind, struggling to get out from under his control.

  No!

  Xyth’s body cracked against the ground. It groaned at such a bass level that many of the half-collapsed buildings in the city crumbled the rest of the way to the ground.

  “Did Caspian do this to you? I sense the false-Argument.”

  There was a sudden silence.

  Chimerax tensed.

  Xyth pulled its body up and leveled its gaze on him.

  “Did Caspian destroy your city?”

  Xyth yelled, expelling a cloud of raw etherium. The force of it nearly buffeted Chimerax from the sky. The ground churned; even the trees in the jungle splintered and collapsed.

  Chimerax felt his armored flesh being rent by the uncontrolled etherium, roiling into the air. He tucked his wings and dived towards Xyth. If this fails, I will be consumed! He extended a claw, and screamed, “Die!”

  As if every muscle buckled at once, Xyth twitched and crumbled.

  The pure Counter flowed through Chimerax’s body. He let it fill his wounds and regrow the damaged flesh. He sighed, staring down at his foe’s carcass.

  It won’t stay dead.

  Chapter 16

  The Last Leg

  “Ahmet called the place a karwansaray,” Letty said.

  She, the surfacers, and the Caspians were standing guard over the caravan as hundreds of Elazene traders and locals milled about the impromptu bazaar. A false wall, made of tall, uprooted hedge rows had been set up to camouflage and surround the large meeting point.

  “It’s a secret place on the plains, rife with bustle and commerce for a week or so, and then it will dissolve back into nothing,” Staza said.

  “That’s mostly right; the only thing that’s permanent is a large house or inn. The meeting will only gather around a place that can play host for large trades. The Elazene need to drink tea and smoke together before they can close a serious deal,” Quill replied.

  “Well, I read that they can substitute a large tent for the inn, if need be,” Staza said.

  “It took four days, Letty. How long until Degoskirke?” Dean asked.

  Letty ignored him, as Ahmet was approaching.

  “Ah, there’s my brave escort. We’ve arrived safely,” Ahmet said, as he produced a small bag, jingling with the sound of coins. “Go to the fold house and have some tea. They might also have ices in the cold larder.” Ahmet handed the bag to Letty, but before he let go, he added, “be polite, and do not embarrass me.”

  Letty nodded. “Of course.”

  He released the bag.

  “Ice cream? Did he mean they have ice cream here?” Emma asked, suddenly excited.

  “Maybe,” Letty replied, leading the way into the mess of carts and traders.

  Before a dozen paces, a flurry of hawkers descended on them. Rugs, pottery, bolts of cloth and silk, tall brass decanters and samovars, weapons, robes, brutox armor, juvenile ravager spawn, and even hewn mushrooms, that must have stood ten feet tall, were all in evidence.

  “Mushroom trees.” Dean muttered, eying the stockpile.

  Emma shrieked as a pack of dog-sized lizards scampered over the pile, avidly sniffing at the logs.

  Two traders stood by and watched until the lizards stopped their search and stood on one log. The lizards looked up, as if signaling.

  “I suppose they are interested in that log,” Dean whispered sarcastically.

  “Yes, bloody hart-root from the border,” the dealer said. “It will help them grow. Though rare, I have more in stock.”

  The man with the li
zards frowned.

  “Come now! It isn’t even your money; you raise mounts for lord Zllyj. Having fine monitors like these, so far from the border, is going to be expensive. Tell that to your lord!”

  Letty led her friends away as the haggling began.

  “So, how many types of monsters can we expect to run into while we’re down here?” Dean asked, in his least sarcastic voice.

  Staza laughed. “You thought that was a monster? They were spawnlings, and even fully grown, the monitors are nothing compared to what crawls out of the sea.”

  “Now that’s true,” Quill chimed in.

  “Is that the fold house?” Letty asked, pointing at a pair of stone doors cut into a large boulder.

  One door swiveled silently open and a trader exited with his children. The children were greedily eating from small brass cups filled with amber ice cream.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Emma said leading the way.

  They entered through the large, though surprisingly light, stone doors and saw a stairwell leading down. They descended, finding themselves in a wide room full of low tables and cushioned seats. Despite being underground, the place was cool and breezy. People sat together, eating, drinking, and smoking. Letty watched the columns of smoke bend and flow towards slats in the wall.

  “Vents,” Dean muttered.

  The mix of conversations washed over them as a round-faced young woman approached, smiled, and motioned towards a table for five.

  “Friends, I greatly admire your armor. I haven’t seen a green wasp since I was a child, and that one hid in a cache. What do you desire today?”

  “What do you serve here?” Dean asked, right as Emma said, “Ice cream please.”

  The woman smiled. “Sweets after proper food, young spider. As for the meal, I will arrange the dishes. You just recline, and I’ll have the boy come by with tea.”

  Though she had spoken, the woman stood there, expectantly.

  “Oh!” Letty stammered, getting the coin bag out. “How much?” she asked, fishing through the various coins, they all looked heavily worn.

  “Dear girl, you are quite foreign. Please, forgive my thoughtlessness,” she said, looking through the coins and selecting a few of the smaller ones. “These shall do. Also, your eyes are showing.”

  Letty gasped, realizing they hadn’t had their carrots today.

  “It’s fine, girl. You are among friends, just be more careful, and remember, not everyone is so loving of visitors. You should employ a guide.”

  “We’re with Ahmet,” Dean said, speculatively.

  “Ah, that rascal,” she said. “We mourn his son. Don’t let him know I said so; he is very proud.”

  Everyone shared an inquisitive glance.

  His son? What happened to his son?

  “I see I’ve said too much. Please, keep my secret and I’ll find you something especially rare and sweet.” The hostess left them in silence.

  “That might explain Ahmet’s odd behavior. Remember when he told us about the ryle cult that hunts down the Elazene?” Quill asked.

  Letty and Staza nodded.

  “It sounds like they might have killed his son,” Dean said.

  “That’s awful, and here we are, about to stuff ourselves with ice cream,” Letty whispered.

  A young boy in ant’s armor served them hot tea with a bowl of freshly cut fruit.

  “Should we buy Ahmet something from the traders?” Emma asked.

  “No. I don’t think we should mention it. If he wanted to talk, he would have,” Letty said cautiously, picking up her teacup.

  “I agree. It’s too sensitive, but I’m surprised Petri didn’t say anything,” Quill added.

  “I see the logic. He wanted us around as a lesson for his daughter. He said that she might be more cautious after seeing us,” Staza recounted.

  Letty nodded. “He repeated as much to me when I was in the wagon.”

  They drank their tea in silence, ignoring the stares from other groups. At one point, a trader approached them and bowed ingratiatingly.

  “Hello friends,” he said in a syrupy voice, “please excuse my forwardness, but I wonder if you might have any trinkets or wares from the surface? They would be most welcome, and I would—”

  The hostess approached and slapped the man on his outstretched hand. “Not in here, Yehemal! Leave them be! Start business outdoors, end it in here.”

  Yehemal flushed slightly, but he retained his composure. He bowed and stepped back. “Of course, please forgive me.”

  The woman stared sternly, unmoved by his handsome face.

  He raised a brow and clapped twice. “Please, clear a place for us to dance; my girls would like to help me apologize.”

  The hostess let a small smile slip before ordering her children to clear away several carpets.

  “What’s this?” Emma asked.

  “I don’t know,” Letty replied, looking around as the mood in the room changed. Everyone shuffled around the floor, getting their pillows into place to watch.

  Three smiling women stood from Yehemal’s group. Their faces were heavy with makeup, and their hands and bare feet were painted with intricate designs.

  “Is that henna?” Emma asked.

  Staza nodded that it was.

  A few younger boys quickly built a stage from thick wooden mats, lying rolled in a corner. The dancers all drew daggers and strutted to the stage. The first leaped head over heels and stabbed the stage with her dagger, balancing her whole weight on the thick handle, while holding her second dagger out. Her baggy pants draped down and she pointed her feet deftly. She remained still as her partners tumbled in unison to join her.

  “Amazing!” Emma said.

  Dean’s mouth was slack, and even the Caspians were impressed.

  The dancing girls pushed off the ground and stabbed their other blades into the mat, while making wide circles with their legs and twisting their bodies around the handles of their daggers.

  They leaped to their feet and suddenly struck at one another with lightning speed. Their daggers flashed as they attacked and deflected in time with their dance. Their feet made gentle wide steps, in contrast to the vicious speed of their attacks, while their faces met the glances of several audience members. Dean even blushed when one blew him a kiss.

  “W—we are a little too close to the stage,” Dean yammered when Letty looked over.

  A sudden gasp rang out when a blade met its target, followed by a burst of red. Those gasps gave way to laughter when that red was only a silk scarf, pulled from a slit in one’s tunic. They smiled as the scarves were flung violently into the audience, only to waft gently to the floor.

  The performance ended with the lead girl being blind-folded before balancing on a dagger and fighting off her fellows, upside down, with only one hand.

  “I wouldn’t want to slip,” Staza said, as the dancers bowed for their audience.

  “You only slip once,” Quill said, clapping loudly.

  Yehemal stepped forward and took the lead dancer’s hand before gracefully walking them off the stage.

  “Do you see, Quill? This is what I was saying the other day. We don’t do anything like this in Caspia,” Staza said, smiling.

  “Because it’s pointlessly dangerous,” Quill retorted.

  “Let’s get back to Ahmet and Petri,” Letty said, before the Caspians could start arguing.

  As they got up to leave, Staza approached the performers and thanked them. Yehemal rounded on her and said, “You are quite lovely, and I can see that you are fit for performing. Perhaps you would like to join our—”

  “Staza!” Letty snapped, interrupting.

  Staza rolled her eyes and made a quick apology before joining her friends.

  “Can’t you tell that he’s a creep?” Emma asked.

  “Someday I’d want to join a group like theirs,” Staza said, ignoring the others.

  They left the inn and weaved through the disorganized rows of dealers and merchants. Through
the crowd, Letty saw something strange. It looked like Ahmet was clasping arms with a ryle. Letty and the Caspians gasped at the sight.

  “What’s going on?” Dean whispered.

  They stood in silence as the ryle ordered his brutox to take charge of Ahmet’s wagons.

  “What are you guys upset about? So what if he sells his carts?” Emma asked.

  Letty realized that Emma and Dean couldn’t see the ryle for what he was.

  “That person who was just clasping arms with Ahmet,” Quill started, “he is a ryle.”

  Emma and Dean balked.

  “He’s just a man,” Emma whispered.

  Letty shook her head. “We forgot our carrots in the excitement today, and we can see it.”

  “Do we attack?” Dean asked. “Has it tricked Ahmet into giving away his caravan?”

  Letty saw that the other traders thought little of their deal. A few gave the creature disgusted looks, but only when he wasn’t looking.

  “I don’t know,” Letty said, still shocked.

  Once the ryle was gone, Ahmet turned to his escort. His face was somber and didn’t match the enthusiasm in his voice, “Very good, we’ve lost all that dead weight, but you’ll need to carry your packs now. We’ve only got the cutter left.”

  Petri was rubbing her eyes, as if to keep from crying.

  “What the hell was that?” Letty snapped at him.

  Several other merchants stopped what they were doing and watched.

  “Careful, girl. A man may trade his possessions.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Why were you dealing with one of them?”

  “A man may deal with who he chooses.”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him,” Dean whispered in her ear. “He might be selling us out.”

  “No. There’s something else. The ryle didn’t give him any money,” Quill pointed out.

  He’s right, we saw no money change hands.

  Ahmet came closer and spoke softly, “Please, you are causing a scene.”

  Letty and her friends refused to budge, and finally Petri broke down. “He didn’t want to sell our caravan; he had no choice—”

  “Petri!” Ahmet yelled, cutting her off. He took his daughter by her hand and walked her to their one remaining cart.

  “Maybe we’re wrong about this,” Emma said, watching Petri go.