Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: In an alien reality a dying king seeks to outwit death by challenging the Emperor of Shadows to a race to another world. But the king is a cruel and evil man, and if he wins the wager he will become an immortal tyrant. Casta, physician to the king, is drawn into his sovereign's evil scheme. Setting out in a strange conveyance, they reach their goal after many perils. But has the King won immortality? Before this question can be answered they are attacked by fearsome savages and carried off. What happens next, and are you brave enough to find the answer?
Edit history: This story underwent minor editorial changes on the 4 August 2021.
Chapter 1: Strange Visitation
Amanias, king of Thar, lay dying. Casta, physician to the king, hovered anxiously by the sleeping couch upon which the sovereign lay. He noted with growing worry his patient’s labored breathing, his hollow cheeks, and the sallow skin stretched tightly over the man’s skull-like face. Only Amanias’ eyes seemed alive. They stared defiantly at the shadows lurking high in the corners of the vaulted ceiling, shadows that seemed the grim heralds to his dark end.
The king’s thin lips parted, and a hoarse whisper, the ghost of speech, floated out. Casta leaned forward to catch these faltering words:
“I die … physician … You have failed me … so you … shall die as well.”
Casta gasped. He’d half expected this reaction, but even so the words were shocking nonetheless. The king feebly signaled to the waiting guards. One warrior lunged forward and grabbed the physician’s throat in a vicious hold. The bone dagger in his other hand swept down in a brutal arc.
Casta, though, wasn’t going to die without a fight. He tensed the muscles of his neck. He caught the warrior’s dagger hand and slammed the heel of his palm beneath the fellow’s chin.
Another guard leapt at him as the first collapsed upon the floor. Casta evaded his slashing knife and felled him with a savage kick. Then the first staggered up and threw himself upon the loan defender.
Casta and his brutal foe crashed heavily to the floor. They wrestled desperately, each seeking a disabling hold upon the other. The second warrior struggled up, joined the fray and between them both the physician was soon subdued. A knife was pressed against his throat. Its deadly touch unleashed a surge of fear - a dark torrent that swept away all rational thought.
**********
The Emperor of Shadows - a star polyhedron of pulsing darkness - traversed the Universe of Sky, which was an azure void, self-luminous, that reached in all directions towards infinity. Across this illimitable depth of air it moved, passing through clouds of golden mist tinkling with crystal sound and continuing onward towards its distant goal that lay beyond these strangely singing vapors.
The entity’s destination loomed. It impinged upon the being’s senses – a mere mote at first, then a disc with closing distance, which resolved to a tree, one of many floating in the void. But this mighty growth was none like earthly eyes have ever seen before. It was one without roots, without soil - a growth that drew its nutrients from the gases of the Universe of Sky.
Above the world-tree hovered the being, and saw (but not with eyes) its slowly turning disc. Great trunks as wide as continents thrust out from the hub, like spokes from a planet size wagon wheel, and from the mighty trunks branches sprang, branches so vast that a sequoia was as a weed when compared to them.
Vast leaves, as large as islands, clad the titan limbs. They were a wondrous configuration of fractal patterns. Was there barren bark upon these behemoth limbs, these leviathan boles? No, all was clad in rampant verdure – smaller plants, like epiphytes, upon the larger host. It was a riotous jungle growing upon a stupendous tree. Vegetation of opal hues and a million forms grew in dense profusion, their leaves outstretched towards eternal light.
Down into this vibrant world called Chisys descended the Emperor of Shadows. The being passed into smallness, into a lush jungle whose growths were gauzy things of fantastic geometry, a marvel to behold.
The being ignored these wondrous forms, for its attention was focused upon the city it now approached. Baroque was this mighty metropolis – of mahogany spires, towers and domes, all richly ornamented in lacy fretworks of exquisite complexity. The fantastic city rose in staggered tiers, its vast expanse carved over countless generations from a knob-like growth upon a mighty branch from which the jungle had been cleared away.
Towards the city’s highest point moved the being. Its goal was a stupendous structure, a marvel of graceful domes and spires. The palace was glorious to behold. It was an architectural masterpiece in its form and in its execution, for the entire building had been carved not with iron tools, but ones of harder bone, for neither metal nor stone existed upon this living world. The Emperor of Shadows descended towards flamboyant apartments. It hovered above the ornate belvedere encircling them, and then its form began to shift and change like billowing mist …
**********
Amanias’ eyes went wide with sudden fear. “Stop,” he croaked. “The physician … may yet … prove useful.”
The guards released their hold and stepped away. Casta rose shakily, both relieved and puzzled at this unexpected reprieve. He slowly turned. Before him stood the Emperor of Shadows, in human form – a mirror to his own: A body full of youthful life and graced with handsomeness, with skin and hair as dark as lophis* wood.
So human an appearance, true; but deceptive also. For this being presents many different faces to the world – an actor donning masks in accordance with the dictates of its strange whims. And what really lies behind these masks? Only the Emperor truly knows, and he speaks of it not.
The Emperor of Shadows, possessor of a million forms, gravely bowed, and all present recognized this strange visitation for what it was, for who among us knows not Death when he arrives?
“Amanias,” spoke Death in rich and vibrant tones. “Burnt unto ash is the Flame of Life within your mortal frame. Come; take my hand so that I may lead you into the dark bliss of restful eternity.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. Raw defiance and fear in equal measure fanned the embers of his being. “Oh, cruel destroyer,” he cried in quavering breathless tones. “Observe the ancient ritual: I call upon my physician as my shield.”
Death raised an eyebrow at Amanias’ words. Was he crueler than the king? Who was it that brought eternal peace to those pitiful souls within the sovereign’s torture chambers, for when the thread of life is severed does not all suffering end? But knowing such philosophy would be wasted on the man; he turned instead to Casta, and spoke thus:
“Shall you challenge me, physician? Shall you contend for the life of whom you serve?”
Casta breathed deeply and steadied his shaken nerves. The physician realized his life hung in fate’s precarious balance. He nodded, then, spoke softly so that only Death could hear: “For the sake of my honor and my art shall I contend; not for the king whom I despise.”
The Emperor of Shadows nodded approvingly. He replied quietly: “For the sake of honor and art it shall be.”
Death moved with fluid grace as he stepped forward to grapple with his foe. Casta evaded his grasping hands. He caught his enemy about the waist, and with a mighty throw hurled him to the ground. The physician sought to press his advantage, but cunning Death tripped the man. Casta crashed upon the floor. The Emperor hurled himself upon his foe.
Amanias watched the wrestling pair with palpable intensity, bony hands clutching nervously his purple robe. His skull-like visage was drum tight with the tension of the battle.
My moment is upon me, thought the apprehensive king. And how shall fate scribe her unknown lines?
The protagonists struggled to their knees, clinched. Each strove to break the other’s balance. Casta surged against Death. With a mighty effort he pushed him back. The Emperor grinned – this is exactly what he wanted. Using his enemy’s strength he jerked the healer forward, twisted and flung him to the floor.
Death loomed over Casta. The Emperor struck. The physician parried the brutal punch and grabbed the striking limb. He slammed his leg against the Emperor’s thigh, rolled away from him and tossed him to the floor.
Death hit hard. Casta leapt upon his back as he sought to rise. He slipped his arms under the Emperor’s armpits and clasped his hands behind his enemy’s neck. Death grunted. With a mighty effort he rolled in a desperate bid to throw his opponent off. The physician hung on. He wrapped his legs about his foe in a scissors lock.
The Emperor writhed violently. He rolled across the floor in a vain attempt to free himself. Death struggled wildly. He tried every trick he knew. But he could not dislodge the physician who grimly held to him like a limpet to a storm lashed rock. At last Death ceased his efforts and confessed defeat.
“The physician is victorious,” he panted. “The king retains his life. Well fought Casta, you have bested me.”
Gracious in defeat, thought Casta as he released the being, and stepped away. But of course you can afford to be, for in the end you always win.
The Emperor of Shadows rose gracefully and, as if sensing these sober thoughts, turned to Amanias, and spoke these disturbing words: “Lord King, your life is foreclosed by age. When next we meet you will accompany me, for this victory is but a brief respite as you must surely know.”
A cunning smile curved Amanias’ lips as he sat up, stronger now with Death’s defeat. “Accompany you?” The king laughed softly; then spoke again. “The Analects of the Wise states ‘he who outruns Death can gain immortality’. Is this not so?
“It’s true,” said Death, intrigued. “And how shall you outrun me, old man?”
Again, the king smiled a cunning smile, for it was common knowledge that Death‘s custom was to sometimes visit mortal sovereigns when their end drew near. “Ah”, replied Amanias, who had caused much time and labor to be spent in preparation for this moment. “Follow me and you shall see.”
**********
The Emperor of Shadows stood in the mighty plaza of the palace, and gazed with admiration at the graceful lines of the strange craft before him. His dark eyes traced her tapering cylindrical contours. He noted with interest her sails upon deck and keel that would soon unfurl like giant fans to catch the winds of Sky, and also grasped the function of the fish tail rudder and ailerons that would steer her through the azure void.
Death turned to Tyris, chief Artificer of Mechanisms, who stood by Casta and the king. “It is an ingenious device - the first of its kind, if I’m not mistaken.”
“No mistake at all and, with a fair wind, the fastest thing upon the void.” replied Tyris confidently.
The Emperor of Shadows laughed. “So, you think you have the measure of me then? Would you also play the king, and stake your life upon it?”
“Enough idle talk,” interjected Amanias before Tyris could reply. “I have challenged you to a race: From here to Xyla, our satellite world-tree. Do you swear that if I win you’ll grant eternal life to me?”
“My hand, Lord King, shall not fall upon you if you reach Xyla ahead of me. Thus, I do make my solemn pledge.”
Amanias nodded curtly. “Good enough." Then, turning to the assembled nobles: "You heard Death's oath. Now we’ll board the King's Hope, our craft, and when my standard unfurls let the race commence.”
Then, looking meaningfully at Casta and Tyris who were to accompany him: “Your loyalty to me will be assured, for I have a hold upon both of you. Behold my final order if four hoz* pass and I do not return.”
Both men turned and gasped in disbelief and panic. Fear struck them with a chilling blow that left them sick with dread. The king smiled cruelly, then uttered his mocking and hateful laugh as they gazed in horror at what their startled eyes beheld.
*Footnote: A tree prized for the incredible hardness of its umber timber. The only known substance harder than lophis is the chitinous and serrated mouth parts of the xubon, a huge crab-like creature whose long pincer-like mandibles can be used as saws, and its spines as chisels.
The xubon is extremely ferocious, and is killed by firing poison arrows into its eyes, the only vulnerable part of its anatomy. When dead, its super tough exoskeleton is softened using plant extracts applied to those places where it is to be cut.
Chapter 2: Terror in the Void
In the mighty plaza’s center stood the Podium of Death, and upon it knelt both men’s fathers, their heads upon its block of execution. Above them towered the stalwart torturer, axe raised in preparation for the killing blow.
Expressions stony, the physician and his companion turned towards the king and stiffly bowed their heads in ill-graced submission to the dictates of his merciless will.
Amanias nodded. “I’m glad we understand each other,” he quietly said. “For my destiny and the fate those you love are intertwined.”
**********
A hoz later, upon the deep of Sky: Amanias leaned against the taffrail of the narrow observation deck - a kind of superstructure built upon the upper surface of the hull. The king gazed across the waste of air to their stern, his intense stare focused upon a distant, shifting form.
“Death is falling further behind,” he cried exultantly, his face aglow with frightening ecstasy. Then he laughed uproariously and Casta, who stood behind him, was clutched by fear, for now he heard something much like madness in his sovereign's voice.
Suddenly, a frightful vision arose within Casta’s troubled mind - Amanias upon a throne of grinning skulls - an eternal despot whose growing cruelties would have no end.
The king leaned further out to better see his receding nemesis, and Casta gazed upon his back with narrowed eyes. A simple push would avenge his brother's death, and free the realm from this soon to be immortal tyrant.
But what of his father who was a prisoner of the king? Casta shuddered at the thought. Then again had his sire not often said if one man’s death can save a thousand others it was worth the sacrifice? Up until now Casta had served his sovereign out of fear, but there comes a time when fear will no longer hold a man in servitude, and that time was now upon him.
Again, Casta looked upon the king. His conscious was thrust through by a wild tumult of surging feelings - the act now contemplated, and its terrible consequences for his father. Once more, the frightful presage gripped him: Amanias - an immortal monster drunk on the blood of innocents. This presage of utter horror was like a forbidding demon from the blackness of Nephis*.
“No, it must not be“, Casta murmured to himself as his knuckles whitened upon the rail. Then, expression grim, he crept silently towards the king. Closer he came, closer still. The king stirred. The physician tensed; then relaxed as Amanias settled. He cautiously continued his advance. He was very near, mere feet away from his unsuspecting victim.
Forgive me, father, he thought as he raised his hands in preparation for the murderous act.
Then, as Casta was about to commit the fatal deed Tyris’ voice rang out with unexpected suddenness: "To arms, to arms. We are threatened by creatures of the void."
The physician started. He quickly slouched against the rail assuming an air of casual innocence, for he was uncertain of the artificer’s loyalties, and feared the man might interfere with his dark design.
Amanias turned at Tyris' warning cry. The king gazed in the direction of the Artificer's pointing hand. His eyes sprung wide when he saw three creatures hurtling towards them from the depths of air. The beasts were sinuous and translucent in form. Each creature was propelled by eight wings that beat against the void in a blur of frightening speed.
The king looked upon their sinuous smoky forms, which seemed to him the essence of darkest fear. Before, surrounded by all the trappings of unbridled power, there had seemed little danger in the journey. But now grim reality had shattered this illusion, and Amanias found to his shame and horror that he was not the mighty sovereign he believed himself to be.
Tyris quickly took a javelin from his brace of weapons and thrust it into Casta's hand. He presented another to the king. Amanias looked at him, aghast, and then stared in horror at the looming beasts. Possessed by naked terror, he fled to the safety of the forward hatch.
"It's a dangerous game you play – humiliating the king," whispered Casta as he watched Amanias disappear with indecent haste down the ladder, bereft of noble dignity and honor.
Tyris coldly laughed as he kept his eye upon the beasts, now dangerously near. "One must have one's amusements. What's yours, regicide perhaps?"
Casta stifled the hot reply that rose to mind. The strange creatures would be upon them in but a moment and he knew he must focus on the looming danger to save his life.
With rapid casts both men hurled their javelins as the things swept down upon them. One beast crashed against a mast, Tyris' weapon having struck its wing. Casta fiercely cursed – he’d missed the other monster which now arrowed at the pair. Both defenders hurled themselves upon the deck. The beast's narrow jaws swung down, barely missing Tyris as it hurtled passed.
"Beware," cried Casta as he snatched up another javelin. He thrust it at the third monster which dove upon them. With a hiss of rage the thing, more timid than its brothers, veered sharply off, and fled into the depths of Sky to seek less dangerous prey.
Not so the second beast - again it swooped upon the men. Again they cast their weapons and flung themselves upon the deck. Both javelins struck the monster. The thing screamed its hissing cry. It tumbled passed them streaming gore as it died.
Both men slowly stood and watched its shrinking form. They relaxed; then tensed again as they saw the creature Tyris had wounded slithering across the deck towards them. The thing’s wings lay folded, retracted within vulviform structures upon its sides, and now looked more the deadly serpent than before.
The beast reared up. Its jaws, long and narrow like a heron’s bill, gaped wide. Hideous rows of serrated teeth were disclosed to the frightened men. Casta hurled his javelin. The creature weaved. His weapon missed. It lunged.
Tyris knocked the physician aside. He leapt forward, an oath bursting from his lips, weapon thrusting. The Artificer rammed his javelin through the gaping maw and up into the monster’s brain. The creature fell upon him. Both crashed heavily to the narrow deck.
Like a whip lashed the body of the beast as it convulsed in death. One coil struck Casta painfully upon the shin as he dragged Tyris clear of its writhing form. The physician slipped in the purple blood that spewed from the monster’s hissing jaws. He fell. The beast’s barbed tail swung at him. Tyris cried a warning:
“Beware the tail!”
Casta jerked his head aside. The rail shattered under the smashing impact of the barbs. He cursed as pricking splinters struck his face. The whipping tail struck again. The physician heaved Tyris clear with a surge of strength, and the barbs smashed against the deck where he had lain.
For a time both men sat in silence, breathing heavily as they watched the writhing beast slowly die, and all the while Casta wondered if he’d sealed his doom by saving Tyris’ life. As if sensing this unspoken fear, the Artificer turned towards him. A broad grin split his sober countenance as he spoke.
“Have no fear. I have no love for the king. I’ll say nothing of your … ah, amusements.”
“My brother couldn’t save Amanias’ favorite concubine, so the king had him executed,” explained Casta, tiredly, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head upon his knee. “Mendicus was a better physician than I. Oh, what an injustice, what a shameful end.”
“You’d bring him back by murder, then, and endanger my father, and your own?”
Casta slowly shook his head and spoke heavily. “It’s not just vengeance. If the king gains immortality the realm will be forever tormented by his senseless cruelties, which have steadily worsened with the passing nari*. Surely, two deaths are better than countless more.”
“I view the matter differently,” replied Tyris, firmly. “But let us end our conversation, for I see the King’s Hope has fallen off before the ethereal wind. Help me throw the carcass free of our vessel’s attraction field. Then I’ll adjust her course, and you to our brave and noble sovereign will attend.”
**********
Time passed in the way it does. The ship, under her mighty press of sail rode the winds of the void, and clove the Universe of Sky with her graceful lines. Death, strangely unperturbed, fell further behind, and was lost in the azure distance.
A fine voyage, this, thought Casta as his eyes touched Amanias. The king, hunched and brooding like some ancient gargoyle, occupied one corner of the cramped control gondola. His face was a mask of stony and sinister silence. The monarch was in a ferment of sullen rage because his cowardice had been exposed for all to see, and the physician wondered why the Artificer played this game, and how far he could push his luck.
Not much further, thought Casta as he observed with concern the hooded eyes of the king upon Tyris’ back. It was clear Amanias needed the man, for it was his genius that conceived the King’s Hope, and his skill that guided her upon the waste of air. But if the king returned to the safety of his palace, what then? What then for all of them?
“An extensive bank of clouds lies ahead,” informed Tyris, breaking Casta’s train of thought. I must change our course to rise above them.”
“Go through them,” growled Amanias. “Death will gain upon us with this delay.”
“The clouds are a mystery,” warned Tyris. “Our world-tree repels them. We do not know their nature.”
“Maintain your course, you coward,” cried the king, bony knuckles whitening upon his dagger, all caution swept away by simmering anger at his earlier humiliation.
“As your fearless majesty commands,” replied Tyris, dryly.
Amanias’ eyes narrowed further. Was he being mocked with irony? The king let it pass. Have sport with me while you can, little man. He thought savagely. When I return I’ll have no further use for you.
I’m a fool to provoke the king, thought Tyris as he noted Amanias chilly smile. And yet I find I cannot help myself. Oh, how petty is my revenge, and yet how sweet.
The moment passed. The men now tensely watched the looming banks of golden mist through windows of transparent resin. The foaming aureate clouds drew ever nearer with each passing moment. A tinkling sound, like crystal chimes, grew in volume as they entered the fringes of this swirling luminous vapor. The singing of the mists was a strange and unnerving resonance that pricked their uneasy minds.
Into the depths of cloud rode the ship, vanishing into ringing golden light. Suddenly, Amanias cried out. He pointed with a trembling hand at something within the churning mist, and then stiffened as if turned to stone, a look of utter horror frozen upon his bony face.
Casta leapt from his seat. He examined the king. “He’s cataleptic! Tyris, what’s out there, what has he seen?”
Fell silence was the only answer to this pregnant question. Casta turned and gasped. He saw Tyris was also gripped by the weird condition. The man stared out into the glowing mists, oblivious to all, a strange expression upon his face.
What was out there? What nameless horror lurked within the light? Casta felt a strange compulsion come upon him – to stare into the golden radiance, to look upon this thing. He fought against it. He desperately turned his head away, muscles trembling with the effort.
Invisible hands seemed to clamp upon his skull, slowly turning it against his will towards the brightness. He closed his eyes. The clammy sweat of fear was upon him. The ringing of the clouds mounted to a vibrant pitch and thrust him through with pealing chimes before which all resistance fled. With a moan of terror he opened his eyes against his will, and fearfully gazed out into the billowing vapors that hid the unknown thing.
*Footnote: Hoz - the time it takes for Xyla to make one revolution about Chisys (30 hours).
*Footnote: Nephis - the abode of Demons. According to Tharan religion the Creator Gods are locked in unremitting conflict with the Demons of Chaos. This struggle maintains the balance of the divine realm through creative and destructive processes. The Emperor of Shadows is brother to Lysula, Goddess of Life, and between them they maintain the balance of the natural realm. NOTE: Like most people, the Tharans imbue their gods with human qualities. The Divine Forces, however, are very different from what their worshippers imagine.
*Footnote: Nari - a length of time equal to 300 hoz
Chapter 3: A Strange World
At first there was nothing but golden light, then darkness came. Reality became a barren plain upon which Casta stood - a desolation of utter solitude. He looked wildly about and saw flat grayness stretching in all directions. Above, the sky was as black as shadows. The air was cold and still. Nothing moved.
Then a shape drifted across the grey expanse towards him, and Casta cried in horror as it drew near, for it was his brother’s severed head still mounted upon the king’s spike of execution. The thing’s dead eyes turned upon him. Blood dribbled from the pale lips as it spoke.
“Avenge me,” it groaned as it advanced upon him. “Avenge my unjust death.”
Casta fled in utter terror. But though he ran with all his might he moved not at all. It was as if some dark nightmare had become reality. The horror drew nearer and nearer. It seemed to swell until it filled the sky. Casta looked back. He stumbled, fell.
With indescribable terror he gazed upon the bloated head. Relentlessly, it continued moaning appeals for retribution. Blood, drooling in gory streams from flaccid lips, soaked the ground. The plain suddenly became a sea of foulness. Into its crimson and mephitic depths Casta sank. The world grew dark as he screamed an endless scream of measureless fear…
Casta awoke. A wild cry burst from his throat as he thrashed madly about. The sea of blood was gone, and the comforting normality of the control gondola once more surrounded him.
Slowly, his mind calmed as rational thought regained control of his reeling brain. Illusion, he thought as his racing heart began to slow. It was a hallucination. The clouds!
Standing unsteadily, Casta gazed through the forward observation windows. He saw clear sky all about the ship. His relief was short lived though for Tyris lay slumped upon the helm controls. Quickly, the physician approached the man and heard him mumble something. Bending close he heard the words more clearly:
“Neris,” softly cried the Artificer. “Oh, Neris, come back to me.”
Neris, Amanias’ favorite concubine, thought Casta, puzzled. Now, why would Tyris call her name?
Tyris opened his eyes at Casta’s diagnosing touch, and saw the physician was intently staring at him.
“I’m all right,” reassured the Artificer. Then he gasped with the sudden frightening realization he must have said something while delirious. He jerked up and looked worriedly upon the king, alarmed that he, too, had heard. But there was nothing to fear - Amanias lay curled in a fetal position, gibbering inchoately. He was still trapped in the terror of a horrid vision that blotted out all else - dark nightmares spawned by his brutal upbringing.
“Neris and I were very much in love,” explained Tyris, sadly. “Then the king’s lustful eyes fell upon her, and she was taken forcibly to his seraglio.” The Artificer placed his hand on Casta’s shoulder. “Your brother could never have saved her, for her heart was broken and she lost the will to live.”
Casta’s face became hard upon hearing this tragic tale. “I had a vision of my brother,” he quietly said. “He called for vengeance. It was a hallucination of course. But nonetheless the words were ones he would have spoken if he could.”
Tyris’ grip tightened on his shoulder. “I, too, have a reason to kill. But even so I stay my hand, relieving my anger by insulting the king in subtle ways. If you murder Amanias you'll have signed my father’s death warrant. Are you really that ruthless, Casta? Are you?”
The silence stretched in solemn meditation as Casta gazed upon Tyris’ troubled face. The Artificer returned his stare and wondered if he’d have to kill the man to save his father’s life. Then the physician released a gusty sigh and slowly shook his head. “Your words have pricked my conscious. My certainty has ebbed away. Oh, what are we to do?”
“For the moment nothing rash“, replied Tyris, relieved, as he slowly rubbed his brow and then continued in anguished tones: “Nephis swallow the king. I’d never have designed this vessel if I’d foreseen the future and known the use to which it would be put.”
**********
The end of the second hoz approached, and Casta watched Xyla loom before him. The world-tree now filled the entire forward observation windows, and he gazed with growing interest upon its form. Unlike Chisys its geometry was conical, with the forest clad limbs bifurcating outward from its genesis node.
"How different it is from home," murmured Casta. "The colors so strange – black and dark reds; the forests more open, the limbs upon which they grow slender. It is a strange world, this satellite of ours."
"And soon to be mine," spoke Amanias, exultantly. "I'll claim it in the name of my eternal dynasty. I'll be the ruler of two worlds."
The physician glanced sideways at the king, alarmed. Amanias had been upon the brink of madness from the horrid vision of the clouds, and although Casta had administered tincture of marras* to restore his teetering sanity, the physician felt that despite his efforts the sovereign’s mind was still not completely whole.
"Who knows what foul creatures dwell upon this world," commented Tyris. Then he added with seeming innocence: "Each should rule their own kind. Is it fitting that your majesty should be their lord? Surely, this cannot be."
The Artificer was once again his usual self, but Casta now realized there was hidden meaning in his cunning speech. The king, though, was too lost in egomaniac fantasies to notice the sarcasm in his words, or give any thought to hidden danger that might be lurking upon the world below.
"We must land," spoke the king excitedly. "I must leave my mark upon this world least Death dispute my victory. Tyris find a suitable place and bring us down."
**********
Casta gazed at the King's Hope as she floated high upon the air, her gas cells keeping her keel masts well clear of Xyla's loamy soil. Tyris had moored her to a tree in a clearing created by the fall of an ancient forest giant. Thus secured, the party then descended via a long rope ladder to the surface of the world.
The physician shifted his gaze and looked carefully about. Above him soared bizarre trees - the odd and menacing growths of this uncharted realm. Their onyx boles were covered in strange protuberances resembling staring crimson eyes, while the mighty trunks were crowned by growths like aloes whose spiky leaves of angry crimson were laced with ebon veins.
Beneath the alien trees was riotous underbrush. The shrubs, which also resembled giant aloes, were mottled in crimson and black. The weird plants, twice the height of a man, hedged in the explorers oppressively, their tentacle-like leaves twitching in sinister independence of any stirring breeze.
Casta and Tyris stood on either side of the king. The two men uneasily scanned the crowding and unsettling verdure that seemed to stare at them with demonic eyes and to reach for them with ghoulish limbs. The forest was deathly quiet. The sullen silence was broken only by the sounds of chiseling as Amanias carved his vainglorious inscription upon the warty trunk of the fallen tree.
It seems, thought Tyris, nervously, that my jest concerning monsters now mocks me with grim reality.
Then aloud: "My lord," he continued in hushed tones. "Please hurry. I like not at all this quiet. Something lurks…"
But he spoke no further, for six diminutive figures suddenly burst forth from the depths of verdure and raced towards them – half naked warrior women of the fierce Yaqhar tribe.
"To the craft," cried the king in a voice stained with graceless fear.
"They're between us and the vessel," remarked Casta as he thrust a spare javelin into Amanias' sweaty hand. "We'll have to fight."
Strangely silent, charged the savage band. The king searched vainly for his courage as the waiting men tensely watched their looming forms. Then the Yaqharans were upon them, asgus* thrusting with swift and murderous fury.
Casta deflected a stabbing weapon and swung his javelin like a quarterstaff. With brutal force it struck one Yaqharan savage in the stomach and knocked her to the ground. Another leapt at him, face contorted by feral rage. Her asgu narrowly missed him as he jumped aside and slammed his weapon into her. She fell dead upon the first who, though down, was about to knife him in the thigh with a dagger.
Amanias, the cold hands of imprisoning fear upon him, looked on in useless terror as the deadly fray swirled in mad confusion about his crouching form. A primitive lunged. The king screamed. The butt of her swinging asgu knocked him savagely to the soil.
"To me Casta," cried Tyris desperately as he swung his javelin in a spinning arc, barely keeping the wild mob at bay from the prostrate body of the gibbering king.
Casta cleared the fallen in a single bound. A savage war cry burst from his throat as he rushed the foe. Tyris, emboldened by the valiant sight, pressed forward, his javelin a whirling blur. The Yaqharans, caught between these raging giants did the only thing they could - they fled.
"We’ve beaten them off," commented Tyris breathlessly as he and Casta examined the groaning king. “Our vigorous defense seems to have caught them completely by surprise."
"They're still between us and the King's Hope," observed Casta, worriedly, as he watched the girl whose belly he had struck stagger up and stumble towards her companions who had regrouped about thirty yards away.
"The girl may be of value as a hostage“, he continued. “For, judging by her elaborate ornament she‘s their leader. The king’s not badly hurt. Tyris, guard him while I capture her."
At the sound of running steps the savage turned - a creature wild with the desperation of a cornered beast. Frantically, she engaged her foe, her face a mask of utter ferocity, for she knew that leaderless, her companions, shocked by their defeat, were too bewildered to be of any help to her.
The clash of arms rang out and the crack of mighty blows became a savage symphony of violence. For both combatants the world became a mad kaleidoscope of whirling, thrusting death as each strove to strike the other down.
Tyris looked on in indecision - should he guard the king to preserve his father’s life, or aid his newfound friend before disaster struck?
The Yaqharan jabbed high. Casta blocked. But the move was a cunning feint. Her weapon swung low in a blur of speed and the stinging tentacles struck his calf. He tumbled defenseless to the ground, his leg seared by burning agony. With a look of brutal exultation the savage plunged her asgu towards his undefended heart.
*Footnote: The Marris is a tall spreading tree whose branches send forth adventitious roots to the ground. The bark consists of thick hexagonal plates, olive in color which is ground and steeped to extract the drug. It can only be used once, for it induces immune system hypersensitivity, and a second dose, even if given many nari apart, causes anaphylactic shock. Like all drugs, it isn’t a miracle cure, and doesn’t always completely cure the patient.
*Footnote: Asgu - a weapon which consists of a five foot rod affixed with a cylindrical growth (the asgu) from which six stinging tentacles project. The venom causes excruciating pain that disables the foe, but in most cases is not fatal. A strike to the heart, however is inevitably lethal. The various tribes of this region of Xyla engage in warfare solely to capture prisoners, (for purposes that are yet to be revealed) hence the use of largely non-lethal weapons.
Chapter 4: Silent Warriors
Tyris leapt forward, impelled by the fearful sight of the plunging weapon. Amanias grabbed his ankle and tripped the man. “Don’t leave me,” cried the frightened king.
Casta fought through the sea of pain threatening to engulf him. He flung up his arm and knocked aside the plunging weapon, which struck the earth. Lashing out with a vicious kick he felled the girl. She crashed upon him. Her nails clawed at his eyes. Her teeth sought his throat.
Tyris looked up as he struggled with the fear crazed king and saw Casta fling off the Yaqharan with his greater strength. The physician seized the girl with powerful hands. He subdued her with a painful wrestling hold. Pinning the girl’s writhing form to the earth, he then tore the g-string from about her hips, and with it swiftly bound the frantic savage’s hands behind her back.
Casta then hauled her to her feet. It was a foolish thing to do, for the effort lanced him with sickening pain. The physician staggered, then shook his head and threw off the gathering darkness in his vision. He was determined to hide his weakness from the girl and her companions, who he saw were still gripped by indecisiveness.
His captive’s eyes were wide with fear and disbelief as she looked upon him. The girl struggled violently in his grip at first, then quieted, and began to weep strangely silent tears of hopelessness.
"The savages appear to be rallying themselves," observed Tyris as he quickly approached, having at last freed himself from Amanias’ vice like grip. "I fear it won’t be long before they attack again."
"Then we must quickly act before they do,” replied Casta. “Your Majesty, perhaps we can buy our freedom with this hostage. Will you let me try and parley with yon savages? “
Both men gazed expectantly at the king, but he merely stood there; silent, wide eyed and trembling. It was a pathetic sight, but not surprising. Amanias, like most cowards, enjoyed tormenting people weaker than himself, but bereft of his thuggish guards and sycophants, he wasn’t much of a king, and even less of a man.
“Clearly, the blow to his head and other ordeals have left him unfit to command,” observed Tyris. If he ever was, thought the man. Then aloud: “Casta, try your plan, and for our fathers' sake pray that it succeeds.”
Casta nodded, “Follow me, but beware their strange weapons. They have the bite of fire in them. My leg feels as if it’s ablaze. “
Cautiously, the party advanced. The downcast prisoner was before them as their shield. Tyris led the king as if he were a frightened child.
As they drew near the women, Casta observed them picking strange fruit from the surrounding verdure – a peace offering, perhaps? This delusion was swiftly shattered as the savages hurled the spheres upon them. The golden globes popped like bursting bladders. A strange scent filled the air. The men’s senses reeled. For a moment they tottered like drunkards, then reality spiraled into a dark abyss and they knew no more.
**********
The man awoke to the sound of creaking. A bumping motion rocked him and the bitter aftertaste of the fruit’s vapors filled his mouth. Casta opened his eyes. He was imprisoned in a narrow, wheeled cage being drawn by an unknown beast, and so strange in appearance was it to him that his attention was immediately captured by its weird anatomy.
Six columnar legs supported the nazab’s heavy, ovoid body, forty feet in length and fifteen at the highest point of its convex back, which was covered in bony segmented plates mottled in black and crimson. As the creature negotiated a sharp turn in the forest trail, Casta saw it appeared to have no head. He couldn’t imagine how it fed, but the puzzle suddenly resolved itself when long trunk-like members snaked out from between its legs, tore leaves from the surrounding vegetation, and conveyed them to the mouth on its underside.
Interesting, but how long had he lain unconscious? It must have been quite some time, for his leg no longer pained him and the swelling had almost gone. And his companions, where were they? Casta turned, and was shocked. He was alone but for the girl he had captured. She was bound to the bars of the cage. Her hands tied above her head, her legs roped wide, her nubile body trembling with the terror of utter helplessness.
Why had the girl’s own people done this cruel thing? Being a warrior woman was she in disgrace because a man had conquered her? Was she now his slave by right of subjugation? Casta quietly pondered this idea, wondering how he could reassure the frightened girl he had no intention of harming her.
As he thought, Casta observed his fellow prisoner carefully, something he hadn’t had time to do before. He saw that except for black eyebrows and eyelashes there was no hair upon her naked body. Though hairless, the girl’s head was nicely formed and covered with glossy ebon scales. Her ears were pointed, the tips extending upwards forming feathery antenna. The girl’s skin was smooth and russet in color. Her eyes were as dark as onyx, as were the nipples of her pert breasts, the lips of her mouth and prominent vulva.
She was small in stature – her head well below his shoulders. She was the same height as the other members of her savage band and, like them, proportioned as an adult woman should be. He judged her age to be about his own.
The Yaqharan struggled wildly in her bonds as she watched his eyes rove over her. What was this strange creature before whom she was bound in helpless and lewd exposure - a man? She thought so, and felt nauseous fear worm through her bowels at the thought of the fate awaiting her. Tears in piteous streams flowed down her cheeks as she silently writhed, and though the girl had tried to kill him, Casta could not help but be deeply moved by her wretched state.
Suddenly, as if sensing his strong emotions of compassion, she ceased her struggles and gazed upon him in surprise. Then, with a flash of insight he understood – her antennas were receptive to the radiations of thought. No wonder these people were silent - they had no need for spoken words.
Casta moved slowly towards the girl, thinking soothing thoughts as he approached. She smiled tremulously, relaxed further as he freed her from her bonds, and then knelt before him, surprisingly docile, eyes downcast.
“I don’t want a slave,” he softly said, as he gently stroked her head. “But I do need a friend.”
The girl looked at him, amazed. But her expression became grim when her eyes shifted and locked upon something to the fore. Casta spun about and saw another beast up ahead, now visible through a break in the tangled growth surrounding them. It, too, pulled a wheeled cage that imprisoned Tyris and the king.
But it was not the prisoners that held the girl’s attention. Rather, it was her erstwhile companions who now approached to heap derision upon their former leader.
Zilaha, the fearless, defeated by a mere man, was the mocking thought of their new chief. Oh, how the proud are laid low.
You have always envied me, Yari, replied the girl in their psychic speech as she painfully stood. Well, if you want to prove you’re better than I, then step in here and see if you can beat him.
The younger girl shifted uneasily at this rebuke, and sought with crudity to evade the challenge. He’s obviously not much of a man, for I see no blood flowing from your loins. Did the mere sight of your parted legs frighten him?
Zilaha smiled unpleasantly. Her mounting anger spurred her to reply incautiously. If you were twice the warrior you are now, you’d still not be his equal. I noticed how you ran like a coward with the rest of them.
Both girls’ faces were now marred by lines of hate. Tautness filled the air. Casta sensed the looming danger. He tensed expectantly.
In sudden fury Yari thrust her asgu between the bars. Its writhing tip nearly struck Zilaha as Casta jerked her clear of the deadly thing. Then, before the battle could progress, all froze as a monstrous bellow sundered the forest’s quiet.
Instantly, every eye was riveted upon the vanzar’s stocky body as it lumbered into view - a fearsome creature armored in ebon scales. The beast’s crimson eyes locked upon the Yaqharans. Its horrid crocodilian jaws gaped in an impressive display of monstrous teeth. Then, venting another thunderous cry, the beast’s six legs thrust its mighty bovine body forward into rapid charge.
The Yaqharans scattered, for their weapons were useless against its scaly hide. The creature missed them narrowly and collided heavily with the wheeled cage. It bellowed in frustration and rage as it overturned the vehicle.
Zilaha tumbled into Casta’s arms as their prison struck the earth. Both lay stunned from the heavy fall. The vanzar’s thunderous cries beat upon their ears as it made its volcanic rage known to all creation.
Got to get out, thought Casta, fearfully, as he struggled to rise. Trapped like this we’ll surely die.
Suddenly, the cage jerked violently, throwing him back down upon the girl. Their prison, still hitched to the nazab, crashed through vegetation as the furious beast bore down upon the vanzar to protect its fleeing mistresses. Two mighty bodies collided. The cage shuddered. Again, Casta and the girl were flung about.
Looking up, Casta saw the bars had been shattered by the impact of the vanzar’s heavy body. Hope rose within him as he staggered to his feet. He thrust his head through the broken rods of the rocking cage, and gazed with alarm upon the bloody scene.
Both creatures were now locked in a titanic struggle: The vanzar’s powerful jaws were clamped with crushing force upon the nazab’s leg. The nazab’s trunks constricted its foe’s armored throat with relentless force while other trunks sprayed noxious slime upon its scaly body. The titans wrestled and the ground shook with their monstrous tread. Their bellows sounded like the ripping of sheet metal. The reek of blood and slime was overpowering.
Again, the cage rocked violently as the vanzar threw its bulk against the nazab in a desperate attempt to bring it down, and Casta knew they must quickly flee as the Yaqharans had, or be crushed to bloody pulp between these warring giants.
Zilaha sensed his thoughts. She fought to rise and to steady her reeling senses. He wants to save you, fool, she thought, angry at her weakness. Rally your wits and strength in preparation for the effort.
Dropping back into the shaking cage, Casta steadied the frightened girl and helped her to her feet. “Through the bars,” he cried as he clasped Zilaha around the waist and heaved her up.
Zilaha scrambled out. Casta quickly followed. As both jumped down from their erstwhile prison they saw the vanzar rear up and tear free from the nazab’s trunks, its protagonist now weak from loss of blood.
The vanzar staggered free and would no doubt have fled, but its sinister eyes alighted upon the escapees, and in them it saw easier prey. The goad of gnawing hunger spurred it forward, and with a frightful bellow it rushed upon them - a hurtling behemoth of primordial fury.
Casta and Zilaha snatched up asugs the warrior women had dropped in panicked flight, and prepared to face the charging beast. Both realized its speed and nearness ended all hope of swift escape.
So, this is how it ends, thought Zilaha, knowing their weapons were useless against the beast. Nonetheless, she faced the vanzar bravely as it bore down upon them in an avalanche of thundering flesh.
Chapter 5: The Sacred One
The vanzar was but yards away when its charge began to falter. The huge beast stumbled. It crashed to earth mere feet from Casta and the girl. Both leapt clear of its snapping jaws and rolling body. They quickly retreated and from a distance watched its madly writhing, bellowing form.
Casta, a puzzled expression on his face, watched the dying vanzar, not realizing the nazab’s toxic slime had finally slain the beast. It was a near fatal distraction, for the warrior women had regrouped about their wounded nazab, and Yari in her wordless way had issued it commands.
The thing’s trunks swung towards the couple and began squirting deadly poison. Zilaha saw the danger. She threw herself upon the man. Both tumbled to the ground as green foulness shot above their heads. The girl leapt to her feet and, beckoning Casta, sprinted for the sheltering depths of the rampant undergrowth.
Casta staggered upright. He grasped the danger as the nazab’s trunks prepared to spray more stinking death. In a mad dash he followed Zilaha. Cold fear rode him when he saw her stumble. A burst of speed drew him near. With strong arms Casta caught the falling girl and flung her across his shoulder as another jet of noxious filth arched towards them.
A sideways leap carried him clear of the falling spray, and he disappeared within the tangled verdure, carrying the girl to safety. He was oblivious to his enemies’ silent howls of psychic rage.
**********
Tyris dreamed. In his study he sat, the plans of the King’ Hope upon his desk. Suddenly, he sensed a presence and looked up. Death stood before him, this time clothed in the form of a woman whose form was the essence of desire.
“Don’t look so surprised,” said the being, with a slight smile. “I often appear in the oddest places and the strangest ways. I trust I find you well?”
Tyris grinned. “I couldn’t be better. I’m blessed with Amanias’ thrilling company. I suspect we are now the honored guests of the friendliest women you could hope to meet, and if perchance we survive their hospitality, we’ll have an immortal tyrant for a king. I ask you, what more could a man desire?”
The Emperor of Shadows laughed pleasantly. “Sarcasm becomes you, I think. But now to the purpose of my visit: Casta has contemplated killing Amanias, as have you. Be warned, Tyris; I’ll brook no interference in this play, for all of you are the actors, and I the dramatist.”
“Meaning Amanias shall gain his boon,” replied Tyris, somberly. “He must have won, for we left you far behind upon the waste of air.”
Death gave no answer. The Emperor merely smiled an enigmatic smile as the vision faded into swirling mist. Tyris awoke, and for a moment didn’t know if the dream was real, or reality the dream.
The hard floor of the cage quickly confirmed his dire plight was no illusion. Sitting up he looked curiously about. Of Casta there was no sign. Had his friend escaped, or was he dead? The Artificer didn’t know. His only companion was the king. The man lay huddled in one corner of their prison, wide eyes darting here and there like frightened fish as he mumbled:
“I‘m the king …this cannot be happening to me…I‘m the king…”
The lumbering beast that drew their cage caught Tyris’ eye, then the warrior women as they approached. The Amazons walked beside the cart. They stared at him – silent and menacing figures despite their smallness. Amanias they ignored with obvious contempt, for in him they sensed the weakness of the coward.
Tyris grinned at the girls. He began to sing a ribald verse, one of many that he knew in the hope this might establish friendliness. But his rhyme was also aimed at fighting off the dark despair threatening to engulf him, for he was only too aware of the desperate situation he was in.
For a while his captors listened. Then, growing noticeably bored with the strange noises he was making, all but one moved away.
“Well, they’ve obviously no taste when it comes to the finer lyrics,” commented Tyris to the king. Amanias, too immersed in his own torturing fears to be amused by this remark, merely returned the man’s grin with bleak silence, a silence suddenly broken by his cry of agony as the remaining Yaqharan sought diversion by stinging his leg with her asgu.
Tyris, mindful of his father’s fate if the king were slain, leapt forward and kicked aside the prodding weapon. Enraged at this interference, the girl lunged savagely at him. Tyris twisted. He caught her asgu by its haft, and with a mighty heave jerked her against the bars with such force she fell senseless to the ground. Her weapon now firmly in his hands, he turned to confront other warriors who, seeing their fallen companion, were upon him in a wild rush.
Amanias continued madly howling as he clutched his injured leg. Tyris saw he was on his own as he danced away from the deadly weapons thrusting at him. He knew with utter certainty he couldn’t elude his foe’s attack for long in the narrow confines of the cage.
With strength born of desperation he ran at the door and hurled his shoulder against the bars. The rods cracked, for they were not meant to pen a being of his size and might. Asgus grazed thigh and calf. They thrust him through with burning agony. With gritted teeth he ignored the pain and once more threw himself against the weakened bars. They snapped. He burst out and tumbled to the ground.
Take him alive for the Sacred One spoke Yari’s mental cry as Tyris rolled to his feet, and felled a charging Yaqharan with a vicious strike to her heart. The others quickly threw themselves upon him from many sides, and in but seconds he fell beneath their total weight. He fought on, striking his foes with hands and feet. Three Amazons fell beneath his hammering blows. He struggled up, throwing off two others. Then an asgu butt struck his head, and again dark unconsciousness enfolded him….
Time passed in desultory dreariness, the long quiet broken only by the creaking of their conveyance, the swish of foliage against its sides, and the occasional intestinal rumblings of the nazab as it ruminated.
Then, just as Tyris feared he would go mad with boredom, the cart passed beneath a verdant archway. It rolled into an extensive area from which the undergrowth had been cleared away and planted out with crops, the whole being enclosed within a soaring hedge of impenetrable thorns. In the clearing fifty mighty trees had been left standing, but all were strangely afflicted with a number of huge abnormal growths just beneath their crowns, each measuring perhaps thirty feet across.
These galls* had been hollowed out to serve as the dwellings of the tribe. Each one was linked to the other by a series of suspension bridges high above the ground, egress being gained to the structures by rope ladders depending to the earth.
Below, in the gardens, worked the men folk of the tribe – timid looking creatures even shorter than the girls, and Tyris saw immediately why their womenfolk had no choice but to take up arms.
“With men like these as examples,” said Tyris, shaking his head in amazement. “It’s little wonder they attacked us openly, and were then surprised by our prowess in battle.”
Amanias did not reply. The man merely stared vacantly into space, his incoherent thoughts spiraling ever closer to the yawning pit of utter madness; for the king’s already unstable mind was beginning to crumble under adversity’s savage blows.
How odd, thought Tyris as he turned away from this shadow of a man. When he was a cruel tyrant I hated him. But now he is a broken man I feel only pity. Ah, fate: what strange tapestry you weave upon the loom of life.
The wagon rumbled to a halt before the guards, interrupting his philosophizing. The nazab released a cannonade of flatulence that bathed the prisoners in its reeking odor. The king reached, and Tyris rolled his eyes, wondering what else perverse fate would inflict upon them.
What in the Sacred One’s name are those things? came the mental cry of one warrior by the entrance when her eyes alighted upon the captives.
Men, replied Yari, curtly. Our raid on the Kakuquezca tribe was unsuccessful. It’s the best we could find in the way of sacrifices.
Male sacrifices, responded the other, shocked. That’s sacrilege. I’m astounded Zilaha would propose such a thing.
Yari grinned. Zilaha wanted them as slaves. But she is no longer chief - I am. Now, stand aside and let us pass, or would you prefer the Sacred One sate its hunger upon your blood instead?
**********
“I must rescue Tyris and the king. Will you help me?” pleaded Casta to the girl.
Zilaha knelt before him, her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts. Should she betray her people? But what choice was there? She had experienced an ignominious defeat, and had become the victor’s slave in accordance with immutable custom.
Again, the girl wept silent tears of shame, for in her own eyes and that of her people she was now an object, a thing to be used and discarded as her owner pleased. He was kind, this Casta, and Zilaha was grateful. But this did not change the brutal fact she was his slave.
I must serve him wholly thought the girl as her downcast eyes briefly touched his loins. Again, she trembled - a mixture of fear and guilty pleasure at what that might entail, for he fascinated her with alluring manliness.
Casta knelt before her, perceiving something of her inner turmoil, for as time passed each was slowly establishing rapport with the other – a sensing of emotions and ideas, rather than speech.
“I’m sorry I must ask this of you,” said Casta as he placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. Zilaha smiled weakly, and wiped away her tears, her mind disturbed by a mixture of relief and disappointment that he desired nothing more than aid.
**********
At the village’s far end stood Tyris and the king. Both were bound to posts before the Sacred One, and gazed upon it with a mixture of fascination and horror. The thing’s squat barrel shaped body was black as onyx, as were the serpentine members that writhed in a seething mass upon its crown. About its base were splays of dagger-shaped crimson leaves, the heritage of remote and harmless forebears, as were its roots.
Both prisoners struggled against their bonds as the Yaqharans, now completely naked, began to dance before the thing. The women’s supple bodies, like swaying cobras, lithely moved; arms above their heads, entwining. Then, by slow degrees, their hips began to undulate with increasing passion as they sank in kneeling adoration before their monstrous god.
The women stroked their trembling breasts, their loins, hands moving ever faster in complex patterns as the ceremony approached its dark climax: Yari flung herself upon her back, body arching, mind calling avidly to the frightful thing.
Oh, Sacred One, was her pulsing thought. Accept the sacrifice of your humble worshippers, and in exchange immerse us in the glory of your presence.
Others took up the silent cry, their faces bright with frightening ecstasy. The thing responded to the psychic chant. Its vile members slithered down, entwined the women who now lay upon the ground. It became a monstrous lover that caressed their nubile forms. Tyris looked on in horror. He saw its limbs slipping between parted lips. Others wound about spread thighs, gaining entrance via other means to release hallucinogens which gave its worshippers ecstatic visions of beatific paradise.
He looked away, revolted. And indeed it was revolting, for Nature, who has little regard for the sensibilities of men, had wrought this strange symbiosis in accordance with the dictates of her capricious whim.
Nephis, with all its terrors, came his reeling thought, could not contain within its black abyss a more disgusting sight.
Amanias uttered a moan of abject terror. His frightened cries drew Tyris’ eyes once more to the horrid scene. Two serpentine members now slithered towards the men, long needles protruding from their tips, needles that would drain their blood as payment for the dark rapture of this savage debauchery.
“Death,” Amanias shrilly cried. “Stay your hand! I’ll build temples in your honor. Glorify your name. Be your most devoted worshipper…”
The king continued to whine his useless and pathetic pleas, his desperate bribes becoming more extravagant with every passing moment. Tyris ignored the king’s debasing antics. Ever nearer writhed those terrible tentacles. Grim faced, Tyris strove valiantly against his constricting bonds, his sweating muscles writhing with the mighty effort.
His pain wracked thews swelled a final time, but to no avail. Tyris slumped exhausted upon the post, despair striking him fiercely like a blow. Again, the Artificer’s eyes were drawn with morbid fascination to the slowly creeping death, now but feet away. Then, with stoic resignation he fortified himself as best he could in preparation for the grisly end.
* Footnote: Galls are abnormal growths found on plants. They are caused by various agents such as insects, bacteria and viruses. In this case the Yaqharans produce these galls by cutting the tree, and rubbing certain fungal spores into the wound, the process being repeated until the gall has reached the desired size.
Chapter 6: A Horrid End
Casta looked on in horror as the plant’s members slithered towards the helpless men. He and Zilaha had gained entrance to the clearing via an undiscovered burrow beneath the thorny hedge, and were now but yards away from the place of sacrifice. Although both had lost their weapons when fleeing from the nazab, each was now armed with wicked spines that would serve them well as daggers.
There were no men about, for the ceremony was taboo to their profaning eyes, nor the younger girls whose task it was to carefully watch the males of the tribe. Only the warrior women were present, but they were oblivious to all, their quivering bodies in the grip of unnatural bliss.
“Quickly, we must free Tyris and the king,” whispered Casta to the girl as he leapt forward to save both from a horrid end.
Zilaha sprang at him. Her face was a twisted mask of savage fanaticism, for although she must serve him as a slave, the Sacred One was a higher master who was sacrosanct, and she could not allow any sacrilegious interference with its holy ceremony.
Casta sensed the girl’s intent. He twisted just in time to catch her wrist. The plunging dagger grazed his throat as he halted Zilaha’s savage thrust. Both wrestled desperately, the plant’s thirsty limbs now even nearer to the defenseless men.
The physician twisted the girl’s arm. He applied a painful hold upon her limb. She cried silently and dropped her weapon. Casta swore – the younger women, attracted by the fray were rushing at him from the gardens, enflamed with righteous anger at the blasphemy of his disturbing presence.
Tyris cried in fear and pain as one needle plunged within his thigh and began to drain his blood. Amanias echoed his horrid scream. Then the plant went mad, and wild pandemonium erupted.
The thing’s limbs thrashed spastically and inflicting terrible injuries upon those who lay in its embrace. The charging Yaqharans faulted. They looked on in disbelief as their sisters died in torturous agony. They watched in horror as the broken bodies were flung about like sundered dolls. None were able to comprehend their deity had been poisoned by alien blood.
Not so Casta, who quickly guessed the cause of its demise. “It’s dying,” he said sharply to the frightened girl, furious at this second attempt upon his life. “We are mightier than your god, for our blood has slain the cursed thing.
“Now do as I say,” he sternly said as he hauled Zilaha to her feet, and applied a stinging slap to the girl’s buttocks as admonishment. “And no more nonsense out of you, understand?”
Zilaha bit her lip, lowered her eyes. Her world had now been completely turned upon its head - conquered by a man, her god now dying. Little wonder, then, that she bowed in tremulous submission before his commanding presence - as good an answer as any spoken words.
Grabbing her hand, Casta led the girl at a run. Both sprinted passed the younger maidens - too overwhelmed by the sight of their stricken god, and the mangled corpses of their comrades to do other than weep hysterically.
The couple gained the posts to which the men were bound. Casta attacked Tyris’ bonds while Zilaha, at his command, sawed the king’s with her other thorn.
Tyris grinned weakly. “The hero arrives - a dramatic entrance -a scene that is worthy of the playwright, Alasambas.”
“I’m no hero - just a very worried man. Can you walk? Or is it humor that you plan to run upon?”
“The deadly looks of yon maidens, replied Tyris as the last rope parted. “Why, they impart to me the swiftness of our vessel.”
Casta turned, cursed. The girls were indeed gazing at them. And their grief, now transformed to deadly rage, clearly showed upon each face, and spoke more dramatically of malefic intent than shouted words.
Both men raced towards the king and caught the sovereign’s unconscious form as Zilaha severed the final rope that bound the man. The sight of their fleeing enemies roused the girls who, like rabid hounds hot with foaming rage, sprinted in swift pursuit of them.
Frantically, Casta sought an avenue of escape. His darting eyes alighted upon the distant nazab pens and a desperate plan formed in his racing mind.
“Everyone, towards those beasts,” he cried. “They’re our only chance.”
All sprinted for the creatures, the men half carrying, half dragging the swooning king between them. Zilaha looked back. She saw the girls closing in, heard their mental cries of death to all. The girl knew with frightening certainty neither she nor her companions would reach their distant goal alive.
With intense concentration she called to Pron, her favorite nazab. The beast stirred. It lumbered forward ponderously and collided heavily with the rails of the corral. Wood cracked; posts leaned at a drunken angle, the girls gained upon their quarry.
Again, the beast hurled itself against the pen. It broke through in a crash of flying wood and dust. Its many trunks whipped out. They writhed menacingly as it trundled to meet its fleeing mistress.
The pursuing maidens faltered at the sight of the charging behemoth. Tyris staggered. He collapsed, weakened by his wound. The nazab thundered to a halt next to them. It squirted poison at the girls, who scattered like windblown leaves before the deadly spray.
Casta summoned his fair companion. “Can that beast of yours swing all of us upon its back?”
Zilaha nodded. The nazab’s trunks coiled about them in response to her command. It raised them up upon its bony armour and then made for the village’s gateway with surprising speed. Passing beneath its arch, the beast ploughed into the verdure’s tangled depths, rapidly vanishing from the raging Yaqharans sight.
**********
Tyris, looked at the ship’s clepsydra, his face marked by deep concern. “We’ve lost much time. We may arrive too late to stop the execution.”
Casta gazed upon Amanias as he finished applying the healing resin to Tyris’ wound. They had just boarded the King’s Hope, and the sovereign sat huddled in one corner of the control gondola, now quite insane from his tumultuous ordeals.
“Death has stayed his hand,” mumbled the man. “I’m immortal. I’m a god,” he cried; then laughed hysterically, and turned staring eyes upon Zilaha and the men. “I’ll build a fleet of ships, return; burn this world to ash. Yes …burn it, burn it all… Punish them.”
Grim faced, both men looked at each other. “We’ll have to kill him,” whispered Casta. “It will be a mercy to all concerned, for his mind has sunk in darkness, and is beyond my art to heal.”
“Death forbids it,” warned Tyris; then explained his disturbing dream.
Casta shook his head in disbelief. “Are we mere pieces upon a game board? I pray there is some wisdom in the gods, for if there be none we are truly lost.”
The king giggled and his wild gaze shifting to the girl. He stared a Zilaha as if suddenly aware of her provoking presence. Bestial rage surged within him. His eyes narrowed, his lips drew back in a foaming snarl.
“Die, die,” he shrieked, then lurched to his feet and threw himself upon Zilaha. The force of his attack knocked her to the floor with stunning force. Amanias’ claw like hands locked fiercely about her throat.
Instantly both men laid savage holds upon the king. They hauled him off the struggling girl and to his feet. Casta struck Amanias upon the jaw - a brutal blow that sent him crashing unconscious to the deck. The physician gazed upon the prostrate man, infused by immense satisfaction.
“Tyris, bind this madman, and drag him from my sight least I play the part of Death despite his warning.”
The Artificer complied as Casta turned to the girl, sensing her emotions. She was somewhat shaken, but had suffered no serious injury. He looked at her, feeling guilty for having dragged her into this confounded mess, for having cruelly slapped her. He sighed with deep regret.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked perplexedly as he squatted next to her. “You can’t go back to your own people. Another tribe would make you a slave, and the situation may be much worse if you come with us. You’ll have to tell me what you want to do.”
Zilaha returned his stare intently. She sensed his thoughts and knew all he said was true. He didn’t seem to comprehend that by her customs she had no choice – as a slave she must follow unquestioningly. And what better master could one have than a man whose race was mightier than the Sacred One, but how to make it clear?
She smiled, kneeled next him, took his hand and gently eased his fingers between her well spread thighs.
Tyris returned. He grinned to cover his twinge of envy and embarrassment as he observed the erotic scene. “I have thought of a solution to our predicament. Would you like to hear it now, or should I come back at a more convenient time?”
**********
Petrius, Casta’s father, an elderly but spry gentleman, scanned the sky, as did the gathering crowd. But of the King’s Hope there was no sign, and he knew the vessel’s absence meant his end. Bravely, he turned to Helion, who was to share his horrid fate.
“It would seem neither of us shall see our sons again, and I am at a loss as to what words of comfort I can offer you.”
“No words are necessary,” replied the bearded and stocky fellow who, like his companion, once again stood upon the Podium of Death. “I am consoled by the knowledge that if they do not return, then neither shall Amanias. Indeed, I pray my son Tyris has had sense enough to kill our wretched king and, with yours, flee to a more enlightened land.”
“Silence,” cried Marhuon, Supervisor of Executions, a tall and saturnine man. Then, turning to the murmuring throng assembled in the Square of Justice, announced the death sentence in sonorous tones: “The forth hoz has ended, and our king has not returned. Therefore, in accordance with his command these prisoners shall be put to death. Just is our Lord the king.”
Petrius couldn’t’t help but laugh bitterly at the unintentional irony of these words as the guards forced him and Helion to their knees and pressed their heads to the block. The hulking executioner stepped forward – a dark and menacing figure swathed in sable who was armed with an axe of sopis wood as hard as bronze.
Helion looked at his companion whose hands, like his own, had been bound cruelly behind his back, and wondered if the calmness of the man’s demeanor hid a rising fear similar to his own. Then, the axe swung up in preparation for the killing blow, and Helion closed his eyes against the frightful knowledge of what would come.
Chapter 7: Beginnings and Endings
Petrius uttered a final prayer. Then, as the axe began its terrible descent, strange spheres fell from the heavens and burst about the kneeling men. The executioner reeled and fell. His tumbling axe missed Petrius, but only just. Marhuon staggered back, as did the guards. All collapsed as the fruit’s soporific vapors choked the scene in swirling bluish clouds. The astonished crowd looked up and pandemonium erupted.
The King’s Hope, having silently drifted in from an unexpected quarter, now hung above the wildly shouting throng. Her forward momentum had been arrested by the grappling hook caught upon a nearby spire. A rope depended from her open keel hatch, and at its end Casta swung, a damp cloth wrapped about his face, while Amanias, gagged and bound, hung slightly further up.
Casta gestured to Zilaha who manned the winch. The girl nodded and quickly lowered him further. The ground rushed up alarmingly, and with a grunt he landed heavily upon the Podium of Death. The fruit’s vapors billowed about him and clung to the damp cloth upon his face. The gas caressed him with scented drowsiness as other guards, too distant to be affected by the fumes, rushed towards him, fierce war cries bursting from their angry mouths.
Casta knew he had but moments left. Senses fading, he slashed free the now unconscious king and rushed to his father’s side as Zilaha played out more cable. With fumbling hands he strapped one harness about his sire’s sleeping form; then, vision darkening, began securing Helion to the other.
Zilaha looked down. She saw Casta swoon and fall unconscious to the ground. Wild fear seized her heart in its jaws - the warriors were nearly upon him, their javelins poised for the fatal cast. Frantically, she seized the winch’s lever, jerked it savagely. Then, grabbing the remaining fruit the worried girl swiftly hurled it at the rushing men.
The fruit plummeted. It burst among the raging warriors, but too late - already they had swiftly cast their javelins. Zilaha gave a silent cry of terror as with horrified eyes she traced the flying weapons deadly path. Then the winch took in the slack and hoisted up the men with its heavy counterweight. The arching missiles barely missed their rapidly rising forms.
Through the dizzy heights of air the trio rushed, then slowed as Zilaha applied the winch’s brake. She gently eased them within the vessel’s hold. The girl severed the winch's counterweight and closed the hatch. The ship’s sails unfurled to catch the winds of Sky as the grappling hook was freed, and with stately grace she departed the chaotic scene below…
Casta awoke, head pillowed in Zilaha’s lap. He was relieved to see that his father and Helion were safe. They were still unconscious, having inhaled a greater quantity of gas. Sitting up, he slipped his arm about the girl and drew her to him as the ship swung to port.
Zilaha placed her head upon his shoulder. She was looking much better now, Casta having cured her of withdrawal symptoms that had arisen on their homeward journey - symptoms caused by the Sacred One‘s addictive hallucinogens.
“Tyris must have set our course for Setusa, city of the philosophers, as he said he would. He has friends there - people of influence who will help us establish a new beginning.”
Zilaha smiled, and he kissed her gently. But in the background of his happiness lurked the dark presence of Death, and the madness of the king...
**********
Amanias awoke and looked wildly about. The king was once again in his own apartments. His ministers stood by the sleeping couch upon which he rested, their grave eyes fixed not on him, but upon Death, who had assumed the form of a child whose gender was indeterminate.
The Emperor of Shadows bowed before Amanias, speaking thus: “Your journey ends, Lord King, as all journeys must.”
“But I won,” cried the king, a wild look in his eye. “I’m immortal,” he shrieked, and then insanely giggled.
The ministers looked at one another. Naked fear was upon them all. Only Death seemed unperturbed as it slowly bared its arm so the king might see. Amanias’ eyes went wide, he recoiled in horror at what he saw - Death’s youthful limb bore the very words he had so arrogantly carved upon that dead tree on distant Xyla:
I, Amanias, king of Thar, have outrun Death. I have gained my immortality. Men will be born and die; kingdoms rise and fall. But only I shall endure forever.
Ah, how this vainglorious inscription cruelly mocked him now.
“Oh, foolish man,” spoke Death, quietly. “Your race was lost before it could begin, for where can you flee and find that I am not already there? I am the Emperor of Shadows. I am at all times everywhere. In my palm rest all the worlds that are, have been, and will be, for all things must have their end eventually.”
Death’s words struck Amanias like fierce blows. He sagged upon the couch, suddenly bereft of the delusions afflicting him. The world receded. Reality became a strange mirror in which he glimpsed himself; his life played out upon the wavering glass - from birth to the moment now upon him - a strange progression that emerged from swirling silver mists.
And in this silent drama, the ghostly players, himself included, drifted across the stage of time, their quiet passage stirring memories, long forgot. And in the play thus presented Amanias saw the brutal truth of all his faults displayed - a tyrant and a coward, a man great in power but small in spirit, a king in name alone.
The vision faded. The king stirred. “I am undone,” he murmured…“How strange it is… Darkness comes…Yet I see more clearly than before…Ah, how the gods must laugh at petty man…“
Amanias raised his eyes and met Death‘s dispassionate gaze. Solemnly, the being approached, and with a bitter laugh the king of Thar let Death take him firmly by the hand.
The End