the wall through which the orange light of a torch flickered and a voice emerged.
‘Are you in here?’ Asper called.
Relief died in his heart. He looked up and saw the creature’s twin jaws smile a pair of horrific grins as the light waned. The last thing he saw of the beast was its chattering teeth as the lantern’s blue light dimmed.
And then died.
It was a foul thought to think, he knew, but it was true. He could escape now. He could flee.
And she would die.
But what could he do? The creature, whatever it was, was clearly too strong for her, or for him.
No, no. He thumped his head. There was no telling what the thing was, if it could even be killed, by a hundred or two. Where was the sense in offering it up two victims instead of one? Where was the sense in lingering behind? What would be the point of it all?
He sucked in a breath. A thought came to him, clear and concise.
He clenched his teeth and reached for his bottle.
She shouldn’t be surprised, Asper told herself. She should have expected this; even something as simple as going to get water, even something as noble as easing a companion’s fever was beyond the rogue. The ability to perform any act that wasn’t completely selfish was beyond Denaos as a matter of nature. She knew this, as she knew she shouldn’t be surprised.
Let alone hurt.
Every step, she scolded herself with a fury that burned as hot as the torch in her hand. To think that she had told him she had once relied on him, even in such a roundabout manner as she had. Undoubtedly he relived that moment, those words, revelled in them, laughed at how much power he had held over her.
She loathed him for it, but for every ounce of scorn she spared for him she took two more for herself. She was the one who had told him. And even if she told herself that she had left Dreadaeleon behind to find water herself, she knew that she searched for the rogue with equal intent.
As for what that intent was, she thought as she looked at the torch thoughtfully, she would know when she found him.
So raptly did her loathing capture her attention that she hadn’t even seen where she had wandered. The rock wall she had followed had become a decaying ruin, rife with mist and silence. She swept her torch about; the darkness of the night drank her fire and offered only inky blackness in exchange.
She had taken three more steps into the gloom before the thought occurred, not for the first time, that she was wasting her time. To go searching for a man whom she had once seen evade scent hounds while doused in cherry liquor and whorestink was folly enough, but to expend so much effort on a man for whom getting doused in cherry liquor and whorestink was a frequent occurrence was simply stupid.
Let him cling to the power she had so foolishly offered him, she thought, let his laughs be black. She turned about, held her chin high and tried not to care.
The wind picked up, sending the mist roiling about her ankles and her torch’s light flickering. It carried with it a stink of salt and the faded coppery stench of dried blood. The moon shifted overhead, exposing a scant trace of light over her.
And with it, a shadow.
She turned and beheld the monolith, towering over her. She did not recognise it, she did not know it. But something inside her did. Her left arm began to sear with pain, to pulse angrily. She let out a shriek, holding it tightly against her body, not daring to drop her torch. Instead, she raised the light to the statue, exposing it to fire.
A great robed figure stared back at her. Its left arm was extended, robe open to expose a thin, skeletal limb. She recognised the arm. Just as the arm recognised itself, throbbing angrily at its stone reflection. Biting back pain, she stared farther up at the statue. Beneath the stone hood, a skull grinned back at her.
And spoke.
Her eyes widened at the sound inside her head that echoed into her heart. She whirled about, searching for the source of the whispers.
‘No,’ she whispered. She clenched her teeth as thoughts came racing back to her, images of two young girls in a temple, a flash of bright, agonising red, and one young girl walking out. ‘
It was with the mention of that name that the pain began. Her arm ached, burned with an unbearable agony that pulsed in time with the beat of her heart.
The torch fell from her hand and its light was smothered in the mist. But even as darkness fell upon her in a thick cloak, Asper’s world was still bright and blindingly crimson. The arm twitched, pulsed beneath her sleeve, and she could feel its heat through the cloth. She writhed, collapsed to her knees and moaned into the darkness.
‘Stop …
‘Why?’ she wailed. ‘Why, Talanas? Why? What did I do this time?’ She held her arm up to the sky and shrieked. ‘
The whispers came now, slowly and brimming with a bitterness where before there was only sharp malice.
And slowly, the pain in her arm began to abate, to subside from agonising throb to dull and steady ache. Her pain began to seep out of her in hot breaths. The whispers, however, continued.
She should escape. She should run.
But Denaos …
No. She pushed him out her mind with hate, hatred for herself for thinking of
She looked to the rent in the wall through which she had come and took two steps before becoming aware of the fact that she could see it. In an instant, she knew that made no sense; the moon was shrouded, the torch was dead.
Where had the blue light come from?
A low, chattering sound rose from behind her.
She whirled, and the scream was drowned from her as two mouths of teeth and lips opened as one, emitting a screech that overwhelmed all other senses. Pain, fear, instinct were rendered mute before the wailing. Her voice followed a moment after as she felt a pair of cold hands wrap about her throat.
She had no screams to offer the sight that awaited her, had barely the clarity of mind to take in the full extent of the creature. Its lantern swayed between them on a long and glistening stalk, bathing its bulbous head in waves of light and shadow. She saw a pair of mouths — twisted and sharp, soft and female — torn between gaping, toothy growl and broad, wicked smile.
It did not occur to Asper to fight, to struggle against the creature or even to scream. The abomination transfixed her with horror, rendering her capable only of staring in gaping, mind-numbed abhorrence. She was aware of being lifted from the ground, drawn toward its glistening, jagged outer teeth. She was aware of the creature’s vast void-like eyes dilating into tiny pinpricks of blackness against froth-coloured whites. But she was
