Black Halo

with. But at the same time, she was snappish and curt with him, as well as everyone else, and did her best to avoid them all.

And, he thought with a sigh, he had indeed grown fond of the sight of her in Teji’s native garb.

The stream ended with a shudder as he carefully wiped himself down with a handkerchief one of the Owauku had offered him in exchange for a brief display of fire dancing along his fingers. Not quite an even trade by his reckoning, since that display had likely been the reason behind his sudden breakings of the dam.

He found himself hard-pressed to stay mad at the creatures, though, if only because he found himself hard- pressed to even look them in their tremendous, rotating eyes. This became doubly difficult due to the fact that he was especially hard-pressed to find any way to avoid the creatures.

He looked down from the lip of the sprawling, spiralling valley that was their village. Sandy paths topped the concentric rings of stone that formed their streets and held their reed huts. Tiny, swift-moving streams flanked each road. And walking upon these roads, swimming in these streams, dozens of little green blobs scampered about.

Scampering was apparently one of their very few ambitions in life, haggling and yelling at each other being the others. But above both of these, they seemed very fond of lounging. Under the shade of their lean-tos, amongst the pools fed by the waterfalls dripping in from the forest that loomed over their valley, in the half-drowned sandy bottom of their village; it didn’t matter where they happened to fall, the Owauku had turned laziness into an art form.

And because of this, Dreadaeleon found himself wondering, once more, where this particular village had come from. The stone circles were far too smooth, far too orderly to be anything born from nature. The waterfalls did not trickle of their own accord, but were fed into their streams and pools from aqueducts and trenches that undoubtedly had required many very patient men a long time to carve from the rock. But the creatures scarcely seemed to have the attention span required to carve a slur into a coconut, much less hew this marvel of sand and stone and stream.

He studied for as long as he dared until he heard the unmistakable cry of greeting. He assumed it was greeting, anyway; the Owauku’s language tended to blend salutations, curses and propositions into remarkably similar words. The dozens of green blobs became dozens of pairs of bulbous golden globes as they all looked up at him, yellow smiles splitting their faces and stubby appendages waving at him. His grin and wave were equally meek as he noted with no undue relief that only the Owauku demanded such a reaction.

The Gonwa were mercifully curt.

There was no shortage of the lankier bearded lizards walking amidst the sandy pathways, either. Very rarely did the more stoic creatures even deign to notice their companions’ presence, and when they did it was only with a mutter in their own language and a downturn of their eyes.

Side by side with the Owauku, they didn’t look particularly strange, and their smaller cohorts didn’t seem to mind their presence one bit. Together, they soaked in the dozens of pools that lined the rising sandy ridges in the valley, each one fed by gently trickling waterfalls, flowing swiftly from the forest above to splash in the pools below, sending cascading droplets against the damp earth and …

His eyes widened as he felt a sudden warmth cascade down his inner thigh.

‘Oh, come on,’ he whispered, turning back to the hut’s wall.

The effects of an overuse of Venarie were random and imprecise, ranging anything from pink sweat to instantaneous internal combustion, swiftly followed by external combustion. Horror stories lingered about the occasional bout of extreme overindulgence that resulted in spontaneous hermaphrodite transformation combined with the sudden growth of tails, fins, horns and extra mouths.

Dreadaeleon supposed he ought to be pleased that an uncontrollable bladder was all that he suffered.

And he was, indeed, pleased up until the moment he heard a familiarly unpleasant voice behind him.

‘Well, well,’ the distinctly masculine voice muttered, ‘watering your garden, are you?’

He whirled about, seeing his horrified visage reflected in Denaos’ broad, white grin. The tall man folded his arms over his naked chest and canted his head to the side at the boy, the wrinkled lines in his face suddenly giving him a decidedly sadistic visage.

‘I’m not sure what you know of botany,’ the rogue said, stifling a chuckle, ‘but you won’t be growing any daffodils with the fertiliser you’re using.’

‘How long have you been standing there?’ Dreadaeleon demanded, painfully aware of the startled crack in his voice.

‘You’re never happy to see me anymore.’

‘Possibly because you watch people while they urinate for purposes I cannot begin to even summon the will to fathom.’

‘Intimidation, mostly,’ the rogue replied with a shrug.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, see, a fellow who can sneak up on you and put steel in your kidneys while you’re not looking is just unpleasant. A fellow who can do all that while you’re indulging your glittering wine?’ His grin took on an exceedingly unpleasant quality. ‘Well, there’s a man to be scared of.’

‘I suppose I should have clarified,’ Dreadaeleon muttered, waving a hand, ‘I don’t want to follow. Go away.’

‘I don’t see why I should,’ Denaos replied. ‘You’re doing well enough.’

‘Did you take me for the type that would lock up while being watched?’ the boy growled.

‘Well, no.’ The rogue chuckled. ‘That would be weird.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, mind telling me?’

‘Telling you what?’

‘Why, precisely, you go wherever you please? Being amongst half-naked reptiles is hardly an excuse to cast modesty to the wind.’

‘It’s not your place to know.’

‘It is my place to ask,’ Denaos retorted. ‘Frankly, if you’re going to go explode in some magical blaze of fire, I think I have the right to know.’

‘You think it’s magical, then?’ the boy asked, sneering.

‘Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things wrong with you that aren’t magical, but this …’ He gestured to the soaked earth. ‘This seems more in the realm of “things that could go horrifically awry.”’

‘It’s just a little loss of control,’ Dreadaeleon replied as calmly as he could. ‘Magic needs fuel. I am that fuel. I don’t get to decide which muscles it eats away.’

‘That doesn’t seem much like a muscle you should be gambling with,’ Denaos said. ‘What was it that caused it? Too much magic stuff?’

‘Yes, exactly. All the wondrous thought and power that goes into my gift and you’ve boiled it down to “too much magic stuff,”’ the boy snarled. ‘You have a promising future as an archivist for the drunk and simple.’ He glowered disdainfully at the sleepy look in the rogue’s eyes, sniffed at his foul breath. ‘Mostly the drunk.’

‘Well, there’s hardly any need to be snide about it,’ the rogue replied. ‘Really, though, I am a bit curious.’

‘And I’m a bit uncomfortable with where this is heading.’

‘Hush, I’m pontificating.’ The rogue leaned back with an air of scholarly ponder, tapping his chin. ‘Why in Silf’s name, or whatever gods you don’t happen to believe in, would you still be suffering magic-related ailments if you haven’t had need, cause or want to continue using magic for all the time we’ve been here?’

He knows. He knows about the tome, about the scrying, about the stone …

The thought came almost unbidden, and the stiffening of his spine and sudden dripping halt of his flow came completely unbidden. The rogue’s eyebrow rose so slowly, with such arrogant curiosity, that Dreadaeleon could almost hear the muscles behind it creak like a door.

No, he told himself. He knows nothing. How could he?

How could he not? the boy countered himself. It’s not like you’ve been particularly subtle about it. And he has a penchant for sneaking up on people …

That made sense, the boy had to admit. He should have known he couldn’t get far enough away to avoid