Black Halo

Forty-One

Togu stared from the shore. When he was smaller, at his father’s side, he recalled days of splendid sunsets, the sea transformed into a vast lake of glittering gold by the sun’s slow and steady descent. He had always been encouraged by such a view, seeing it as a glimpse into the future, his future as chief.

Those had been fine days.

But he had learned many things since the day his father died. Gold lost its lustre. Treasure could not be eaten. And the sun, he swore, had been progressively dimming its light just to spite him, so that he could never again look at the ocean without seeing the world in flames.

Fire, too, had once held a different meaning.

He glanced to the massive pyre burning only a few feet away and licked his eyes to keep them from drying out. Just last night, this fire was a beacon for revelry. His people had gathered about it, danced and sang and ate the gohmns that had come from it. Last night, he had stared into the fire and dared to smile a little.

Today, he could not bear to look at it any longer than a few deep, tired breaths.

He had lit it over two hours ago. Only now did he hear the steps of heavy feet upon the sand. By the time he had turned to face the sound, Yaike was already standing over him, arms crossed, his single eye fixed upon the diminutive lizardman.

‘You came,’ Togu muttered.

‘You lit the fire,’ Yaike replied, making a point to reply in their rasping, hissing tongue.

‘I did,’ Togu replied in kind, wincing. The language always felt so unnatural in his mouth since he had learned the human tongue. Perhaps that was the reason Yaike looked down on him with disdain now.

Or one of them, at least.

‘I was expecting Mahalar to come,’ Togu muttered, turning away.

‘Mahalar has concerns on Jaga.’

‘Shalake, then. Shalake used to come often.’

‘Shalake leads the defence of Jaga. Speak with me or speak to no one.’

‘I have spoken to no one for many years,’ Togu snapped back. ‘I have lit many fires.’

‘The nights are long and dangerous,’ Yaike said. ‘The longfaces prowl above the waves; the demons stalk below. The numbers of the Shen are limited, our time even more so. We do not need to make excuses to anyone.’ He narrowed his eye. ‘Let alone those who harbour outsiders.’

Togu turned toward the sea again, away from his scowl.

‘The outsiders are dead.’

He felt Yaike’s stare upon him like an arrow in his shoulder. He always had. That the Shen had only one eye did not diminish the ferocity of his scowl; it merely sharpened it to a fine, wounding edge.

‘All of them,’ Togu added.

‘How did they die?’

‘Most of them drowned,’ Togu replied. ‘But you already knew that. You sank the ship they were on.’

‘You said “most”.’

‘One of them crawled back to shore. She was exhausted.’ He turned back to face the Shen, his expression severe. ‘I cut her throat.’

‘She …’ Yaike whispered.

‘Yes. She.’

He was not used to seeing Yaike grin. It was unnerving. Even more so when the Shen scratched the corner of his missing eye.

‘Died swiftly?’ Yaike asked.

‘Messily.’

‘Is that all, then?’ the Shen asked.

‘No,’ Togu replied. ‘The tome …’

Instantly, Yaike’s expression soured, grin slipping into a frown, frown vanishing into his tattooed green flesh.

‘You don’t need to know about it.’

‘It came to my island. It drew the longfaces here. The demons were close enough to Teji’s shores they could have broken wind and I’d see the bubbles. I deserve to know. The Owauku deserve to know.’

‘There are no Owauku. There are no Gonwa. There are no Shen. There is only us and our oaths. Remember that, Togu, the next time you think such questions.’

‘Oaths? Oaths?’ He snarled at the taller creature, his size temporarily forgotten. ‘For who do we swear these oaths, Yaike?’

‘Our oath has always been to watch the gate, to wait for Ulbecetonth to-’

‘I said for who do we swear these oaths, Yaike? I am well aware of what the Shen says our oaths are. I am well aware that we Owauku and Gonwa have no choice in swearing them. What I want to know is who? For who do we kill outsiders and spill blood?’

Yaike’s eyelid twitched slightly.

‘Everyone.’

‘Including Owauku?’

‘Including Owauku.’

‘Including Gonwa?’

‘Including Gonwa. We protect everyone.’

‘Then tell me,’ Togu said, ‘why these oaths do not protect us. Tell me why the Gonwa are here on Teji and not on Komga? Tell me why their fathers and brothers die under the longfaces’ boots while the Shen do nothing?’

Yaike said nothing. Togu snarled, stepping forward.

‘Where were your oaths when the Owauku starved? Why did the Shen only come to Teji and kill the humans who would help us? Why did the Shen say nothing when I said my people could not eat oaths?’

Yaike said nothing. Togu stormed towards him, tiny hands clenched into tiny fists.

‘Why did I have to kill the outsiders, Yaike? Why did I have to barter them to the longfaces? Why didn’t you step in and protect us from the purple devils in the first place? Where were your oaths, then?’

Yaike said nothing. Togu searched his face and found nothing; no shame, no sorrow, no sympathy. And he sighed, turning away.

‘If you can give me nothing else, Yaike,’ he said, ‘tell me what will happen to the tome.’ At his silence, the Owauku trembled. ‘Please.’

The Shen spoke. It was the monotone, the deliberate, the pitiless speech born of duty. Togu hadn’t expected any great sympathy. But Togu hadn’t expected to shudder at the sheer chill of the Shen’s voice.

‘The tome will be ours,’ Yaike said. ‘It will return to Jaga. Mahalar will decide what to do with it. The oaths shall be fulfilled, with your cooperation or without.’

‘It is in Jaga now, then? In Shen hands?’

‘It is safe.’

Togu sighed, bowing his head as he heard Yaike turn and stride down the shore. He wasn’t certain how far the Shen had gone, if he would even hear him, when he muttered.

‘Is Teji safe, then?’

‘Honour your oaths, Togu,’ Yaike said. ‘We will do the same.’

The footsteps faded into nothingness, leaving behind a cold silence that even the roaring pyre could not diminish. Togu stared into the fire, sympathising. He had stared at it, once, thinking it the greatest force of nature in the world. The power of destruction, of creation, feeding off the earth and encouraging growth in its ashes. In its lapping tongues, he had seen himself.

He still did.

For now, he stared at something gaudy, easily controlled and impotent against the forces around it. He stared at a tool.

‘Did you hear all that you needed, then?’ he asked in the human tongue.

Lenk stared at him from the forest’s edge, nodding solemnly. He stepped out onto the shore, Kataria creeping out of the brush after him. She scowled down the beach, ears twitching.

‘He thought you slit my throat, didn’t he?’ she growled. ‘Did you see that smug grin on his face? Like he had done it himself …’

‘You took his eye,’ Lenk pointed out.

‘I would have taken the other one, too,’ she muttered, adjusting the bow on her back. ‘But no. Someone said we had to wait and listen.’ She gestured down the beach. ‘And for what?’

‘The Shen have the tome.’

‘And?’

‘We’re going after it.’

At that, both the shict and Owauku cast him the combined expressions of suspicion and resignation usually reserved for men who slather their unmentionables in goose grease and wander towards starving dogs with a gleam in their eye.

‘To Jaga?’ Togu said. ‘The home of the Shen has never been seen by anyone not Shen. Only they and the Akaneeds know how to get to it.’

‘That’s fine,’ Lenk said.

‘You will probably die.’

‘Also fine.’

‘But why?’ Kataria asked. ‘What about returning to the mainland?’

‘I have not seen any sign of Sebast or any rescue,’ Lenk said. ‘Have you?’

His gaze was expressionless, rid of any emotion, let alone accusation, yet Kataria squirmed all the same, rubbing her neck and glancing at the earth.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But the plan was to get a boat and return that way, wasn’t it?’

‘Demons in the water,’ Lenk replied.

‘But-’

‘Shen, Akaneed, longfaces, Deepshrieks …’ He shook his head. ‘Every time we seek comfort, every time we flee danger, it finds us.’ His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, lingered there for a moment too long to be considered casual. ‘This time, we go find it. We finish what we came to do.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘We kill those who try to stop us.’

She stared at him searchingly.

‘We?’

He turned to her, eyes hard.

‘We.’

He stared out over the sea, then glanced to Togu.

‘We’ll need a boat,’ he said. ‘Supplies, too, and as much information as you can give us about Jaga and the Shen.’

‘Asking a lot,’ Togu mused, ‘considering what I’ve already done for you.’

‘Considering what we could have done to you, it’s not unreasonable,’ Lenk replied, his stare harsh. ‘You betrayed us. We could have done worse.’

Togu nodded glumly, waving a hand as he turned and stalked towards the forest, towards his village.

‘Take what you want, then,’ he said. ‘We were born in death. We will survive.’ He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Lenk. ‘If you don’t, though, I won’t mourn.’

‘No one has yet,’ Lenk replied.

Togu’s eye ridges furrowed briefly as he glanced past the two companions. An errant ripple blossomed across the waves.

For a moment, he thought he had seen a flash of hair, green as the sea, pale flesh and long, frilled ears that had heard everything. For a moment, he thought he had heard a lyrical voice whispering on the wind. For a moment, he thought of telling the companions this.

But only for a moment.

Togu nodded again before disappearing into the brush. Lenk turned and stared out over the sea, either not noticing or ignoring Kataria as she turned an intent gaze upon him.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m always all right,’ he said.

‘I mean, are you well?’ she asked. ‘You’ve said barely a word since we got off the ship.’

‘I’m trying not to waste my breath so much.’

‘Look, about what happened …’

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Can you really think of any way to end that sentence that will change anything?’

She stared at him, frowned and shook her head.

‘Then maybe you can save some breath, too.’

He turned to go, felt a hand on his shoulder. Something within him urged him to break away. The thought occurred to him to turn and strike her. Something within him did not disagree with that. He did neither, but nor did he turn to face her.

Not until she seized him by the shoulders and forced him around, anyway.

Her stare was intense, far too much for searching, for prying, for anything but conveying a raw, animal need that was reflected in her grip, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her mouth quivered, wanting desperately to say something but finding nothing. Her teeth were bared, her ears flat against her head, her body tensed and rigid with trembling muscle.

He stared back at her, wary, his own body tightening up, blood freezing as something within him told him what was happening. This was it, it told him, the betrayal he was waiting for. She had done it before; she would do it again. The aggression was plain on her face. She was going to finish the job now. He should strike before she did so. Strike now, it told him, seize the sword and hack off her head. Strike.

Strike.

Kill-

And then, there was no more thought, no more action. He had neither the mind nor the will for either as she pulled him close. There was only his body, feeling every ridge and contour of muscle on her naked midsection, each one brimming with nervous energy. There were only her eyes, shut tight as though she feared to open them and see anything in his.

There were only their lips pressed together, their tongues tasting each other, their hands, off weapons, on each other.

And the unending sigh of the ocean.

She pulled back, just as swiftly as she had embraced him. Her body still shook, her fingers still dug into his skin, her ears were still flat against her head. But her eyes were steady, fixed on his, unblinking.

‘I can’t change,’ she whispered, ‘anything.’

And she turned.

And she walked away.

And he stared after her, long into the night.