Tome of the Undergates

ignored the splashing moans of disappointment as he climbed onto the chunk of green. The great stone loomed over it, tall, grey and jagged. An elder, he realised as he brushed a hand over it, who had seen the stream born, the forest born, and so much more.

He knew the stone.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the memories. The elder was free with his tales, let the scents escape his soil and fill Gariath’s nostrils. They came quickly, almost overwhelmingly.

Taoharga was born here, he knew, and she was the swiftest runner in the land. The earth scorned her feet and the beasts feared her approach.

He inhaled again. Gathar stood here and sheltered his children beneath his wings when the storms came and did not relent for three days.

The sound of breath. Argha and Hartaga were born here. They stood, they fought, they hunted and they bled together.

They came one after the other, his breaths short and ragged. Gratha laughed while she mated here. Harathag roared to the sky here as his children died before he did. Iagrah watched her son catch a fish and wrestle with it here.

‘There. .’ Gariath whispered, his voice afraid to confirm what he knew, ‘there were Rhega here.’ His eyelids twitched. His hand pressed hard against the stone. ‘They were. . we were here.’

Were.

It was not the name of his people or his family that echoed in his mind. It was that ugly, muttering qualifier that caused his brain to ache and his lips to quiver. Rhega were here. They are not any more.

That should have been the end of it, he knew, one more reason why hope was stupid, one more reason to go running back in tears to the comfort of hatred and the warmth of anger. He should have gone back, back to fighting, back to bloodshed. But he could not bring himself to walk away, not yet, not before he looked to the elder and asked.

‘Where did they all go?’

Gariath’s ear-frills twitched as he heard the sound of leaves rustling. He cast a glower out over the surrounding underbrush. Had one of the weakling humans followed him to this place where they weren’t meant to go?

Just as well, he thought as he flexed his claws. There was no more reason to continue this imaginary game of pretending they didn’t deserve to die. There was no more reason to keep them alive. They were the answer to his question, they were where the Rhega went.

No more questions. No more excuses. This time they all died.

‘Come out and die with a bit of dignity,’ he growled, ‘or start running so I can chase you.’

His unseen spy answered, bursting from the foliage in a flash of red. It moved quickly, tearing so swiftly across the green and through the stream that he did not even lay eyes upon it until it was upon him.

There was a sudden pressure upon his ankle, warm and almost affectionate. Slowly, he glanced down, his claws untensing, wings furling themselves as he stared at the tiny red muzzle trying to wrap itself around his foot.

The pup, apparently, did not sense his smile and the young creature renewed his vigour, clawing at Gariath’s leg with short limbs, trying to coil a stubby tail about the taller Rhega’s leg to bring him to the ground.

Gariath reached down and tried to dislodge the pup with a gentle tug. The young Rhega only held on faster, emitting what was undoubtedly intended to be a warning growl. His body trembling with contained mirth, Gariath hooked his hands under the pup’s armpits and pulled him up to stare into his face.

From behind a short, blunted muzzle, the pup stared at his elder. His ear-frills were extended, not yet developed enough to be able to fold them. His wings were tiny flaps of skin hanging on his back, the bones not strong enough to lift them yet. His stubby little red tail wagged happily as he stared at Gariath through bright eyes.

That’s right, Gariath remembered with a smile, our eyes are supposed to be bright, not dark.

‘I almost got you,’ the pup growled. He bit at Gariath’s nose, the taller Rhega’s nostrils flickering.

‘I don’t know,’ Gariath replied with a thoughtful hum. ‘You’re a pup.’

‘I’m a Rhega.’

‘You’re small.’

‘I’m big.’

‘Big enough to be held like a pup, maybe.’

At that, the pup emitted a shrill snarl and bit Gariath’s finger. The sensation of tiny teeth grazing his tough hide was familiar. He remembered a pair of jaws nipping at him in such a way, two equally small voices insisting how big they were.

The smile he offered in response, however, did not feel so familiar.

‘Fine, you’re huge.’ Gariath laughed, dropping the pup.

The smaller Rhega landed with a growl and a scrabble of short limbs as he scrambled to his feet. Gariath, in response, fell to his own rear, taking a seat opposite the pup. He could not help but stare at the small creature; he had forgotten how small he had started as. The pup was tiny, but not weak, unharmed from the fall, back up and on all fours as he growled playfully at the older Rhega.

Did I ever growl like that? Gariath asked himself. Were my eyes ever so bright?

‘I might not be so big now,’ the pup said, making a feinted lunge at the older Rhega, ‘but my mother says I will be someday.’

And at the pup’s words, Gariath felt his smile drop, fade back into a frown.

He doesn’t know, he realised.

And how could the pup know? He couldn’t see himself, couldn’t look at the way the sunlight occasionally passed through his body. He could not see the distance in his own eyes, suggesting just how long he had been so small. He could not see that the earth did not depress beneath him when he rolled and jumped.

He couldn’t possibly know he wasn’t alive any more.

‘What’s wrong?’ the pup asked, tilting his head to the side.

‘Nothing is wrong,’ Gariath replied, forcing the smile back onto his face. ‘It’s. . just been a long time since I’ve seen one of you. . one of us.’

‘Me, too,’ the pup said, plopping onto his rear end. ‘There used to be lots of us.’ He looked around the glade and frowned. ‘I wonder when they’re coming back.’

Tell him, Gariath told himself, he deserves to know. Tell him they’re not coming back.

‘I’m sure they will soon,’ Gariath replied instead.

Coward.

‘I hope so. . they left a long time ago.’

‘Where did they go?’

The pup opened his mouth to speak, then frowned. He looked down at the earth dejectedly.

‘I. . I don’t know.’

‘Then why are you still here? Didn’t your father take you with him when he left?’

‘My mother was supposed to,’ the pup replied. ‘My father left. . long ago, long before she did.’

‘He died?’

‘I. . think so. It’s hard to remember.’

The pup placed two stubby clawed hands on the tiny bone nubs that would someday be two broad horns.