Black Halo

‘It’s not like I’ve got a lot else to do,’ he growled. He cast a glance over her insultingly pale flesh, unpocked by even a hint of red. ‘How is it that they’re not biting you, anyway?’

‘Ah.’ Grinning, she held up an arm to a stray beam of sun seeping through the roof and displayed the waxy glisten of her skin. ‘I smeared myself in gohmn fat. Bugs don’t like the taste, I found.’

‘Is that what that smell is?’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier.’

‘Well, I noticed the smell, certainly, I just thought it was all the gohmns you were eating.’

She grinned broadly. ‘Every part is used, you know.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, scratching an errant itch under his loincloth. ‘I know.’

He could feel her laugh, seeping into his body like some particularly merry disease. And like a disease, it infected him, caused him to flash a grin of his own at her, to take in the depth of her eyes. He could scarcely remember when they had looked so bright, so clear, unsullied by scrutinising concern.

‘It is nice, isn’t it?’

It is.

‘It could always be this way.’

It could?

‘Is that not why you wish to leave?’

It is, yes, but … well, you hardly seem the type to encourage that sort of thing. In the back of his mind, he became aware of an ache, slow and cold. In fact, you’re being awfully polite today. That’s … not normal, is it?

It should have occurred to him, he supposed, that it would take a special kind of logic to try and ask the voice in one’s head what constitutes normalcy, but his attentions were quickly snatched away by Kataria’s sudden exasperated sigh.

‘How long have we been sitting here, anyway?’ she asked.

Lenk gave his buttocks a thoughtful squeeze; there was approximately one more knuckle’s worth of soil clenched between them, as far as he could sense.

‘About half an hour,’ he replied. ‘You remember how we’re going to go about this?’

‘Not hard,’ she said. ‘Tell Togu we’re leaving, ask on the progress of our stuff, get it back, find a sea chart, ask for a boat, head to shipping lanes, quit adventuring and the possibility of dying horribly by steel in the guts and instead wait to die horribly by scurvy.’

‘Right, but remember, we aren’t leaving without pants.’

‘Are you still on about that?’ She grinned, adjusting the fur garment about her hips. ‘You don’t find the winds of Teji … invigorating?’

‘The winds of Teji, muggy and bug-laden as they may be, are tolerable,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s the subsequent knocking about that I can’t abide.’

‘The what?’

‘Yours don’t dangle. I don’t expect you to understand.’

‘Oh … oh!’ Her understanding dawned on her in an expression of disgust. ‘They knock?’

‘They knock.’

‘Well, then.’ She coughed, apparently looking for a change of subject in the damp soil beneath them. ‘Pants, then?’

‘And food.’

‘What about your sword?’

Not the first time she asked, not the first time he felt the leather in his hands and the weight in his arms at the thought of it. The image of it, aged steel, nicked from where he and his grandfather had both carved their professions through anything that would net them a single coin. His sword. His profession. His legacy.

‘Just a weapon,’ he whispered. ‘Plenty more to be had.’

He could feel her stare upon him, feel it become thick with studying intent for a moment before he felt it turn away, toward the opposite end of the hut. She leaned back on her palms and sighed.

‘Chances are it might be here,’ she said, sweeping an arm about the hut, ‘given all the other garbage he seems to collect.’

He followed her gesture with a frown; it was a bit unfair to call the possessions crowding the hut ‘garbage’, he thought, especially considering that most of it was stuffed away in various chests and drawers. He did wonder, not for the first time, how a monarch who presided over lizards with little more to their collective names beyond dried reeds and dirty hookahs managed to assemble such an eclectic collection of antiques.

The hut’s stone walls looked as though they might be buckling with the sheer weight of the various chests, dressers, wardrobes, braziers, model ships, crates, mannequins sporting everything from dresses to priestly robes, busts of long-dead monarchs and the occasional jar of … something.

And over all of them grew a thick net of ivy, flowers blooming upon flowers, leaves twitching as insects crawled over them. They seemed a world away from the dead forests beyond with no life.

‘All that grows on Teji,’ the lizardman Bagagame had said as he escorted them in, ‘grows for Togu.’

Of course, the reptile hadn’t bothered to say why, amongst the various pieces of furniture, there wasn’t a chair or stool to spare the honoured guests the uniquely displeasing sensation of having soil crawl up one’s rear end. Then again, he hadn’t bothered to say why the king never moved or spoke before he vanished behind the throne … and presumably stayed there.

‘We’ll ask him if we can sift through this’ — he paused — ‘collection.’

‘You were going to say “garbage”.’

‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’

‘Whatever,’ Kataria grunted. ‘It’s all moot since I’m pretty sure he’s not going to wake up in this lifetime.’

He glanced up towards the throne at the end of the hut, overpolished to a lumpy, greasy sheen. Squatting in its seat, as he had done for the past half hour, the past four conversations and the past two conversations that included discussions of itches in strange places, Togu sat, impassive, unmoving and possibly dead.

He was likely very impressive under the brown cloak, Lenk thought, if bottle-shaped and narrow-necked counted as kingly features in Owauku society. He blinked, considering; that seemed to fit the kind of persona that would be cultivated by a race of heavy-smoking, bug-eyed, bipedal reptiles who ate, raised and wore bugs.

But electing a corpse seemed a bit too eccentric even for them.

He was giving heavy consideration to the idea, though, considering King Togu didn’t even appear to be breathing, much less moving, at the moment.

Probably a concern.

‘Why worry about it?’

Why worry about the fact that we’ve been waiting half an hour to talk to a dead lizard?

‘Well, when you say it like that …’

A noise crept through his head. It began softly, then rang with crystalline clarity: cold, clear and mirthful. His eyes went wide.

Did you just … laugh?

‘Ah, honoured guests!’

The bass voice of Bagagame boomed with the ache that rose in Lenk’s neck whenever the Owauku made his presence known. He looked up to see the stout lizardman waddling in from the small hole in the stone wall that formed the hut’s back entrance. His yellow grin broad, he bowed deeply, doffing his hat.

‘May Bagagame present, on behalf of y’most pleased hosts of Teji …’ He stepped aside, pulling back the portal’s leather flap. ‘King Togu!’

Lenk turned a baffled stare from the hole to the figure seated upon the throne. Seeing no movement from the shrouded figure seated upon the throne, he glanced back to the portal and instantly had to choose between greeting, screaming or vomiting at the sight of the creature creeping out of the shadows.

It was difficult to decide, however; there was no clear way to regard the amalgamation of green flesh, fine