Black Halo

obedience. The trembling of her lips, the clenching of her teeth, was something her face struggled, and failed, to contain. Rage boiled beneath her skin like a purple stew of skin, bone and hate.

Lenk assumed it was rage, anyway, not possessing the unique brand of insanity that accompanied the ability to guess at a longfaces’ emotions. How Denaos remained calm in the face of them was likewise a mystery. He was used to seeing Denaos as a trembling, scurrying thing, not the kind of man that would stare down a tower of quivering muscle and iron without so much as flinching.

The sight, Lenk thought, was impressive enough that he would remember the rogue as this, instead of the splattered mess of quivering red chunks he was undoubtedly about to become.

‘You cut me,’ she all but squealed, her voice brimming with something beyond anger.

‘It’s what I do,’ he replied, without blinking.

That the man was thrown to the earth, Lenk expected. That the longface’s foot rose up was likewise predictable. That Xhai stepped over the rogue and stalked towards her fellow netherlings instead of bringing the foot down in a spray of bone shards and porridge spatters, however, threw him.

‘Get me my scumstompers,’ she roared to the longfaces. ‘The big, spiky ones!’

That was more like it.

‘Denaos,’ he grunted.

‘Oh, I’m just fantastic, thanks,’ Denaos groaned back. ‘What’s that? You didn’t ask? No. Why would you? I’m just getting my meadow muffins kicked out of me. You have to sit on the cold hard ground. How are you doing, Lenk?’

No time to humour him, Lenk made his question swift. ‘Where are they?’

‘He didn’t see, obviously,’ Dreadaeleon replied. ‘If he was drunk enough to start showing remorse, he didn’t see anything but a pool of his own vomit before he passed out.’

‘I didn’t have enough time to do something nearly so satisfying before that fish-woman put me under,’ Denaos grunted.

Lenk blinked, the echoes of a fading song bleeding in his mind. The siren, he thought, Greenhair. She’s responsible for this? For knocking me out?

‘Tried to be,’ the voice chuckled blackly. ‘Was not. Took iron and fists for that.’

‘She likely put the others out, as well,’ Denaos muttered. ‘Thank goodness we had someone who could shoot lightning out of their asshole on-hand to not do a gods-damned thing about it.’

‘As though it’s my fault,’ Dreadaeleon snarled. ‘I was as powerless as you!’

‘You cannot piss fire and be powerless!’

‘You’re not even supposed to be talking about this! You said you wouldn’t!’

‘Oh no! Denaos lied? Really?’ The rogue gasped, rolling his eyes. ‘Is this still even a surprise anymore?’

The boy made a reply, shrill and whining. Lenk could hear the tall man growl back. He could see the longfaces looking anxious, tending to blunted weapons with whetstones. He felt Togu’s presence, breath leaking from a quivering throat begging to be cut. He knew he had been betrayed, that he was likely to be killed, very soon, very messily.

Somehow, that seemed so … unimportant.

‘I’m not afraid,’ he whispered. One of the two prisoners beside him replied; he ignored them both. ‘Why is that?’

‘Fear is useless to us. It is for other … things. Not us.’

‘I am concerned, though … for her.’

‘Also useless.’

‘I wish I knew she was safe.’

‘Why?’

‘I left things … unsatisfied.’

‘Satisfaction is important.’

‘I need her to be safe.’

‘She does not feel similarly.’

‘You know this?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can sense her?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you know?’

‘Inevitable.’

‘I … need …’

‘We do not.’

He had no more words for the voice; they, too, were unimportant. He knew no words would convince the voice. He knew he could say nothing to deny the voice. He knew nothing would make the voice wrong. He knew this, without knowing it.

He knew this, because the voice knew it.

And the voice sighed, or seemed to, for it, too, knew something of him.

‘She is not dead.’

‘No?’

‘You don’t need her.’

‘I need her to be-’

‘She will.’

‘How do you-’

‘BRING HIM FORWARD.’

A shudder through the sand, feet charging forward; Denaos put up no particular resistance as a pair of netherlings hoisted him up and brought him toward Xhai.

And her scumstompers.

She still possessed feet, but he was only fairly certain. The amalgamations of metal wrapped about her ankles, forged with enough care to only passingly resemble boots, belonged on something that used them to crawl out of hell. They brimmed with spikes, rough and jagged, no space left uncovered.

He saw it, widened his eyes. Dreadaeleon saw them, all but squealed. Denaos undoubtedly saw them, said nothing, did nothing.

The voice answered the question before he asked it, slowly, softly. ‘He is at peace. He knows his sins, did what he could for them. His life is complete.’

‘It isn’t,’ Lenk whispered. ‘Is it?’

‘His duty is to accept the inevitability.’ It spoke firmly, swiftly. ‘Ours, no different.’

‘You’re not making sense,’ Lenk said, eyelids twitching. ‘You say one thing, then another, and they contradict each other and I don’t know which to listen to.’ He swallowed hard, gritted his teeth, almost afraid to ask the question that plagued his mind. ‘Are … you alone in there?’

‘We are not.’

‘Do you mean “we” as you and I or-’

A groan of agony drew his attention back.

The netherlings dropped Denaos before Xhai. He fell to his knees and no farther, staring up at the female impassively. She stared down at him, cruel, contemptuous, trying to hold back the rage trembling beneath her face.

‘Why don’t you scream?’ she asked.

‘No reason,’ he replied.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

‘I’ve had worse.’