Black Halo

Better to turn away.

Fires smouldered. He breathed deeply. He stared back.

Turn away.

Her lips twitched. He held his breath.

She smiled at him.

All at once, heat seemed to return to him, his blood turning to mangwo again. He smiled back, strained to smile harder than she was, to show her he felt the same as her. Of course, he thought, if he could read past the pained smile and know exactly what she was feeling, that would have been helpful, too, but he resolved to make do with what he knew.

He knew he wanted this bloodless moment, this voiceless silence, this stare he could not turn away from to last for the years to come.

And as he stared at her — at the sad, pitying smile she gave him — he knew he had only one more night.

‘So!’ she said swiftly, lids drooping, smile widening. ‘Why aren’t we still drinking?’ If that.

‘It’s a party, right?’ she asked with a quavering laugh. ‘We’re going to be at sea for who knows how long by tomorrow. Best not think about anything but tonight, right?’ She jerked a nod on his behalf. ‘Of course right.’

He said nothing as he followed her farther over the ridge, her eyes furtively searching for any sign of the drink. Any drop visible, however, was fast disappearing down gaping, green gullets. He noticed that her ire seemed to rise with every moment her lips were left dry, a growl rumbling through her body. He could almost see the hackles rise on her naked back.

Denaos was probably right, you know, he told himself. She thrives on the violence. She can’t even go this long without getting angry. How long could you possibly take that in? It’s the right decision, then. Say nothing. Try not to even think about her. That’s wisest.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he rarely took the wisest course of action. And as he walked behind her, eyes drawn to her slender, sweat-kissed back, he began to develop a theory as to why that was.

Desperate to turn his attention to anything else, he glanced at the rapidly thinning throngs of various green bodies. The lizardmen were vanishing, either collapsing into dark corners or wandering off, leaving only the echoes of their laughter and their aromas behind.

‘Where the hell are all of them even going?’ he muttered to no one. ‘Is … is it us? Do we smell or something?’

‘Who knows?’ she said, chuckling. ‘Maybe there’s some ancient code of conduct for drinking with lizard-things that we’re not adhering to.’

‘Of course. Maybe if we ate insects we’d be fine.’

She laughed a long, obnoxious laugh. The very same noise that he had once loathed now put him at ease. Whatever he might be feeling, all the tragic and inconceivable thoughts he might have, she felt none of them. That much was clear by the ease with which she carried herself around him, how swift she was to laugh, how very much unlike him she appeared to be.

Good, he thought, glancing at a nearby fire, that’s good. If she’s not feeling anything, then there’s nothing to talk about. I mean, if she was going to feel anything, she would have done it with a lot of drink, wouldn’t she? The worst is behind you, my friend. Well done. Well done, ind-

His brief self-congratulatory mood was quashed the moment he collided with her. She had turned about, regarding him with an intent stare. Enraptured, he was only aware of their proximity as he felt their sweat mingle between their skin, the rise of her belly pressing against his as she breathed deeply. His pulse raced, far too swiftly for him to feel hers, as blood quickened through his body.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and moved to step away.

He hadn’t made it another step before she lashed out her hands and seized him. The blood had rushed out of his head, leaving him far too slow-witted to realise what was happening, let alone resist it. Her nails sank into his skin with predatory possessiveness as she drew him against her body and leaned out to press her lips against his.

There was no patience in her embrace, no sense of tact and certainly no hesitation. Her tongue slid past his lips in hasty, urgent fury. His thoughts were left far behind as his senses raced ahead on a thundering heartbeat. He could taste the mangwo on her tongue, feel the need in her breath and hear the growl that welled up inside her, quaking through her body and into his.

Breathless and blind, his mind finally caught up to his senses, barely conscious of what was happening. By the time he realised it, however, his body had already acted. His arm had snaked around her, feeling the tension in her as he pulled her close. His hand had woven into her locks, pressing her lips farther against his, and a feral need that he hadn’t even realised was inside him burst out through his mouth. It matched her vigour, matched his pain, fingers clenching her hair where hers sank into his skin, drawing her firmly against him as she pulled at him with animal fury.

And when he finally had the space to think, it was without words: a short, fleeting sense of overwhelming satiation that threatened to bring him to his knees.

And it was made all the shorter when her hands snaked out, parting from his skin in an instant to come up between them. His chest nearly ruptured against the force with which she shoved him, sending him toppling upon his rear to the sand. He stared up, agog and slack-jawed, only to find the same expression staring back at him.

‘Hey,’ she said softly. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘No, it wasn’t-’

‘It was,’ she interrupted, shaking her head. ‘It … it really, really was. Sorry. Sorry.’ Her face contorted in agony as she whirled about, fleeing past the throngs of lizardmen, past the smouldering fires, into the night. ‘Damn, damn, damn, damn …’

And he, sitting on his rear, staring at the darkness into which she had vanished, finally found the time to think.

Well done, indeed.

‘Not fair, not fair, not fair.’

Dreadaeleon’s words churned into his mouth on acrid bile. His breath was clogged with the taste of acid; his mouth felt packed with a tongue twice its actual size. With every step he took as he scurried behind Togu’s stone house, his stomach pulled its knot a little tighter.

And he still spoke.

‘She was about to … about to …’ He collapsed beside the hut’s wall, gasping for air as he felt the nausea roil in his throat. ‘About to do something. And now this happens? NOW? ’

His indignation was punished with a painful clench within his belly that sent his hands to the earth, his mouth gaping open with a retching noise that stripped his throat. Something was brewing inside him, fighting its way through his knotted stomach with thick, sticky fists. His eyes bulged, blinded by tears. His jaw craned open, stretched painfully wide in anticipation of what clawed its way out of his throat.

The vomit came out on a gargling howl, tearing itself free to douse the nearby shrubbery. Dreadaeleon knew not how long it lasted; his attention was focused on keeping all other orifices shut.

It did end, however, and Dreadaeleon lay gasping on the sand, the bile dripping past his lips to pool on the earth. The pain subsided in diminishing throbs, but not slowly enough to spare him from his own thoughts and his regrets and his anger.

This was something to be worried about. This was something to be terrified about. These reactions were not normal, not to anyone not suffering the Decay. Now was a time for prudent thought, careful concern. At any rate, he certainly shouldn’t have felt the rage that he did.

But he had been so close.

It had been a graceless exit, naturally; there was no graceful way to run away to spill one’s intestines out on the earth. He would have very much liked to have stayed, to discuss philosophy with Asper. She had been so open, enough to make him open, as well. He had told no one of his parents, of his initiation into the Venarium. She had