The Corpse-Rat King

have an old age, am I? Funny how some things don’t occur to you until too late.” He stood, slid one foot forward as if walking across a frozen lake. “Pick up the branches. I want a fire.”

“Then why don’t you make it yourself?”

“Because,” Marius slid another step forward, and another, “I’ve been entrusted with a holy task by the will of the dead community you call home now, whereas all you’re good for is to be a camp follower.” He slithered up to Gerd and placed a hand on his chest. “Now do it.”

He pushed. Gerd took a step backwards to steady himself. His foot found purchase on the lichen, then half a moment later, betrayed him. With a look of shock, he fell to the rock floor. His head hit the stone with a hollow thud. Marius watched him slip about, trying to right himself, then slid back to his stone seat and sat.

It took him longer than Marius would have thought necessary, but eventually Gerd piled the branches in the centre of the cave and sparked a fire into life. Slowly the air in the cave began to dry out. Gerd crawled haltingly around on his hands and knees, scraping lichen away from the floor as best he could, until a dry circle was viewable, with the crackling fire at its centre. Only then did Marius leave his perch, stepping forward until he was between the fire and the cave opening.

“I’m going to sleep here,” he said, sitting down. “You can have the other side.”

Gerd edged away from him until he was as far away as he could be and still be within reach of the heat.

“How can you be trusted?”

Marius lay down, rolled over so the fire warmed his back. He gazed out of the entrance at the sky. A few stars were visible, but not as many as there should have been. As he watched, another blinked out of existence. Marius frowned in sudden alarm. What was going on? Another unnatural trick? Were the dead about to manifest some new, greater, way of controlling his existence? Then he saw the edge of the clouds, and heard the first roll of distant thunder, and relaxed.

“I like to sleep with the window open,” he said. “Besides, where would I go?”

Gerd offered no answer. They lay in silence, listening to the night time sounds of the forest below. Somewhere in the distance, a stream of light smoke rose into the blackness. The villagers, Marius guessed as he watched the tiny thread rise. With no shelter against the night they would have to build a fire, sleep underneath the trees as best they could. The night was cold, he supposed. Now he paid attention to it, he couldn’t actually tell. He could feel the heat of the fire but he knew that was there. If he didn’t think about it, would he forget what that felt like, too? He drew his arms harder around himself, focusing upon the distant smoke. The night was no friend to humans. Too many predators hunted by night, too many creatures better equipped for the dark. Ironic, he thought, having to rely for protection upon the thing that destroyed your life.

No, something inside him replied. The fire did not destroy their lives. That was you.

Marius rolled away from the voice, but the fire was too close, hot and painful upon eyes that had grown used to the dark. He turned back, and the smoke was still there, like a finger thrust upwards, searching for something to point at, someone to blame. He watched it gesture aimlessly at the sky, blaming the Gods, then closed his eyes.

“Marius?”

Marius sighed, then opened his eyes again and stared out of the cave.

“What?”

Gerd was silent. Marius could feel him gathering his courage. Oh no, he thought. Don’t ask.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Marius wanted to slap the ground, or slap Gerd. Instead he settled for another long sigh. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the close-crowded trees against each other. The sound of rain stalked closer. A flash of lightning illuminated the landscape for an instant. He gazed into the night, and saw images he’d long since shuffled to the back of his mind.

“When I was a child, maybe six or seven – we didn’t count birthdays – my father came home one evening and announced that he’d had enough of my face, and he picked me up and carried me to the end of our street and threw me into the mud. And just to make sure I got the message, he kicked me until I lost consciousness. And when I woke up, he and my mother had gone. So I had to fend for myself. I stole what I could, begged what I could. When I was nine, I killed a man. I thought he was a man. He was probably fifteen or sixteen, really, but he looked like a man to me. Killed him for a tenpenny and a tankard of cider. After that, there was no turning back.”

“Oh, my God. You mean it?”

“No, of course not. I grew up in a loving family. I had five brothers and two sisters and my father was a silk trader.”

“Oh.”

“My parents live in a nice house in a nice district of V’Ellos. I visit them any time I’m near. They think I’m an actor. I even pay a printer in Tarek fifty riner every few months to print up fake play bills so I can take them home and show my parents how well I’m doing.”

“But why…”

“Because you thought it would be true, didn’t you?”

There was a long pause. The rain walked up to the front of the cave and over. Marius felt the spray against his face, but made no move to wipe his eyes. Let it wet him. Let it see what it could wash away. When Gerd spoke again it was in a voice rich with guilt, and Marius shook his head.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I choose to do what I do,” Marius said to the dark. “I chose the life I live. And I was good at it. I made a living, and the living was sometimes bad, but it was sometimes good. I consorted with whomever I wanted, and wandered where the will took me, and all in all, I was about as free as any man might hope to be, apart from some fear and some discomfort, and the occasional run for the coast. And then I met you.”

“But… you asked me…”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I? Wandering around your little village, with your granny and your pigs and no idea what a diamond even looked like. And I thought there’s a happy lad. There’s someone who knows what his place is.”

Gerd stayed silent, but the question hung between them.

“I couldn’t believe it, I really couldn’t,” Marius said, answering the silence. “Nobody could be that happy with pig shit and wanking in the bushes.”

“I don’t…”

“Yes you did. Every bloody village boy does. Anyway, you could have said no. You could have said ‘No thank you, I’m happy where I am. I don’t want to see the world and learn a trade and have adventures and be rich.’ But you didn’t, did you?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly like you promised, was it?”

“Because I’m a liar, you idiot.” This time, Marius did slap the ground. “I lied to you, and you believed it, and then I had to actually try and teach you something and make us both rich and happy.” He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the images in front of them. “And you still fucked it up.”

After that, there was nothing more to say. Marius closed his eyes and let the raindrops find their way down his face to the ground. They felt like little fingers across his skin, like Keth, the dancing girl at the Hauled Keel, a million tiny touches designed to simultaneously relax the skin and embolden the blood. Oh, the things that girl could do with her tiny, dancing fingers. If Marius concentrated, he could pretend….

“You could have just said you didn’t hate me and left it at that.” The sorrow in Gerd’s voice banished all thoughts of pleasure. Marius opened his eyes. He was in a wet cave, in the rain, and he was still dead.

“Yes, well, now you know.”

They lay on opposite sides of the fire, listening to the rain thunder against the rock shelf outside. Marius stared out the dimly-lit entrance, willing on a sleep he felt neither necessary nor welcome. Anything to avoid another conversation. Then Gerd spoke once more, and the hope was shattered.

“You know, this reminds me of home.”

“What?”

“This. It reminds me of being at home.”