A petite face peeked up from the blankets piled in the corner. The Naga woman – barely more than a girl, really – froze in shock. Gamarron did not pause, but let his momentum carry him toward her. “Keep the door shut!” he rasped at Kest as he went.
The door thudded closed, and the sleepy Naga’s face flashed from alarm to rage in two heartbeats. She opened her mouth to give a warning cry just as he reached her. The ridge of his hand crushed her windpipe just as she drew breath. Gasping and clutching at her throat in pain, the beautiful young monster tried in vain to give the alarm. Only whistling gasps escaped, but she threw herself past the old savage and pushed toward the door with fierce determination. Kest saw her advancing and blanched.
Gamarron recovered his balance just as she lunged for the boy. Catching her by the hair, he hauled her back into the center of the room, bearing her to the floor with his weight. Her fingers scrabbled first at the floor and then at his face as she tried to escape, tried to survive. Her tail thrashed noisily, and the warrior monk threw his legs out, twining as much of her coiling length as he could around his own body. Young the thing might be, but her tail was strong. A loop found his waist and squeezed, and he wondered if he had miscalculated this fight. His ribs creaked in protest.
Beating back her flailing hands, he fastened his gnarled, oak-hard fingers around the thing’s throat. Kest was watching the struggle in silent horror, and Gamarron became aware that the voices in the hall were right outside. The Naga heard them at the same time and redoubled her efforts. The black-robed fighter had to adjust the density of his bones to reinforce his tortured ribs before they snapped. He wondered why the advanced uses of the koda still lay within his reach when the fundamentals had fled him. There was no logic in it.
The sounds from the hallway crested as one of the passing Naga laughed, sharing some inhuman joke with its companion. Then, blessedly, the sounds started to fade as the two nighttime wanderers passed the doorway and headed somewhere else.
He dared not let up until they were out of earshot. He listened intently, his hands held tight about the Naga’s throat, keeping both their bodies as still as possible. It took forever for the sounds outside the door to fade.
“Gamarron.”
He snapped his eyes to the young Beast Rider and was confused to find the boy looking at him in disgust. Abruptly Gamarron realized that the Naga had long since stopped struggling. Her face was purple, and her tongue hung limply from her mouth. Unfastening his hands from the monster’s throat was harder than it should have been. He stood, wiping his hands on his still-damp robes.
There was a mewling sound from the piled blankets. In two steps he had crossed to the spot and thrown black the covers. Beneath them was an infant Naga.
At first glance the thing might have been mistaken for a snake. It was less than a meter long, its entire body smooth and scaled, indistinguishable from its serpentine relatives. But the head… it bulged out more than a snake’s ought to, and it was smooth of skin. Gamarron could see the outline of the forehead and the beginning hints of cheekbones pressing out from a flat face that lacked a nose. It was grotesque. It hinted at humanity while being entirely devoid of it. He picked the thing up right at the junction of neck and head, as one might grasp a venomous snake. It cried and twisted in his grip – an unnervingly human noise. He could not bear the sight of it.
Kest kept his back against the door. “Is that one of them? One of their young?”
“One of their spawn,” corrected Gamarron. Shifting his grip, he put a stiff thumb on the abomination’s spine right at the base of its skull, pushing in hard while he twisted the head with his other hand. There was a soft crack, and the thrashing snakeling went still. Stifling a shudder of distaste, he dropped the corpse back into the bedsheets.
Kest was frozen, looking at him as if he were a Naga. Gamarron imagined seeing himself through the boy’s eyes, and shame flooded through him, leaving a bitter tang that ached in his molars. He had not hesitated; had not considered any other option than death. Looking at the malformed babe, he could see milk trickling from its slack lips. It had been nursing.
He balled his fists. “They are not human,” he said roughly, not meeting Kest’s eyes. “I told you. You make the decision before it comes upon you, and then you do what you must. Let your conscience slow your hand and you will die, and likely I will too.” I have no time for crises of morality right now.
When he looked up, the expression on Kest’s face had not changed. “It was a baby,” he whispered in disbelief. “There was no need.”
“Kest.” He put a firmness in his words that he did not feel. “Look at me. They’re – not – human. Shake it off and come along. We don’t have time for this.” What am I doing? What is happening to me? He hadn’t killed that brutally in a long time, not even when fighting demonkind.
They left the room quietly, neither of them wanting to spend any more time with the dead bodies than necessary. The creatures who had forced them into the room were long gone. Gamarron looked up the hallway toward the crown of the tree and felt suddenly dispirited. He turned back toward the entrance. “Come on.”
Kest didn’t argue. They crept back toward the entrance in silence. With each
