​​​​17 Hunted in the Styx

LORN LARTHUZ WAS deep within the Styx when a ghoul’s death-wave felled the carnivorous songbirds. Plump blood-red bodies pelted the hilltop like feathered raindrops. A good thing, as the flock had sighted her. Bleached bone littering the landscape was a testament to their insatiable hunger. The little buggers sang beautifully after a feeding.

She dropped the daggers as the ghoul slid into a wide hole, the shimmer of magic on the blades dissipating. She fell to her knees at the edge, gripping her head. The viral creature’s death had released a piercing shockwave that left a booming in her skull. Travelling through the Styx was bad enough, but rendered deaf she would be dead in minutes. A person needed all their senses to survive in the Grim’s world. It took several minutes for the painful echo to abate. Sound returned, and she removed her trembling hands.

Lorn stared into the pit at the ghoul’s somewhat-human face. It was hard, as she saw it lying there in death, not to imagine it as a person. Magic had done this, warping the human form into something mindless. Magic had also killed it, her magic meant to heal, but now twisted to kill. No, no it wasn’t right to blame it on magic. An intelligence, sick and twisted with power was responsible for both. She thought of Threadfin Todder, a viral who had a mind of his own, an undeader who had made her feel, human.

If not for magic, what sort of man might he have been? Would he have existed at all? She had no answers, but the more she probed, the more difficult the questions became. I wish he was here, she thought and felt guilty. Wherever he was, he was better off far away from her.

The undead ghoul hadn’t fallen easily. She’d stabbed it in the side of the head a dozen times. After repetitive blows, its face had sagged, eyes glazing. Not that there had been much behind them. Smothered in dirty brown skin with patchy hair, it had vicious teeth, and claws instead of hands. This one had three eyes that were far apart, with a grey, hairless, and desiccated face. Despite its visage, its humanness mocked her.

Muttering curses, she retrieved her daggers, got to her feet, and glanced at the massive sphere filling half the sky. It had grown fainter. Another, smaller one, with wide ring structures, was dipping towards the horizon. Perhaps a few hours and it would be dark. Her head felt fuzzy. Thinking straight was difficult. She double-checked the ghoul hadn’t bitten her. They carried viralic plague, after all.

On sight of her clothing, she groaned. At this rate, she would be wearing nothing within days. Parts of her clothing was shredded. The weather in this world could change in a heartbeat, from scalding heat, to acid rain, to freezing snows. Thus far, she couldn’t tell if there were seasons. She had failed to discern a pattern.

Typical, she thought. The dead forest interior had darkened, the ghoul a grey blob within the pit. I steal one measly Shathra Stone, and everyone wants a piece of me. Entire Spectrum was in a flap from what she could tell. Well, she thought with a wry grin, if I’m going to cause a ruckus, best make it the biggest ever. At least, I’ll be infamous. The girl who stole existence.

It was two days since she’d escaped her captor. He’d made her think he was like her, lost. Pitiful, appealing to her humanity. It had worked. Until, the man’s kobold allies had appeared from nowhere. There were others too, bounty hunters, though she’d managed to stay one step ahead of those.

She winced at the thrum between her ears. Of course, this had been the whole point. Lead them on a chase. Still, didn’t make it fun. It’ll all be over soon. Stick with it, woman. You can do this. You have no other choice.

She cleaned the weapons, a recent gift from a powerful ally. The hilts felt cold. She knew they were no ordinary blades because they reacted to her magic. She’d owned several fine blades once, but bringing them with her had proved impossible, considering the manner of her arrival. Naked as a newborn, she’d taken her current clothing from one human and two non-human corpses, putting together a crude outfit.

Dying sunlight struck the lifeless canopy. Below, the gloom deepened.

The shadows attacked, slithering from behind dead trees. Lorn swore as they converged on her. A tusked and hairless boar-like creature crashed through the dead undergrowth, snorting. Its silhouette stretched toward the shadows and the animal disintegrated. Backing away, she lost her footing and fell into the pit. With a thump, she landed on cold flesh. The ghoul’s head moved, jaws opening. She quickly backed away. It was what annoyed her most about the undead. Being dead already, they tended not to die.

The shadows appeared to have coalesced into distinct halves. The silhouettes of both slithered towards her, into the deep hollow. Spiders with sixteen legs scrambled across thick roots to escape. Worms as thick as an arm, jaws gaping, oozed from the mulch, hunting the spiders. Their shadows joined the convergence. The ghoul’s however, did not. Its mouth widened to an impossible degree, jaws unhinging. Lorn began to feel herself pulled out of reality.

She watched the winged shadows rise above her. The nearest reached out a hand, but not towards her. She saw it as a blur. On the edge of her vision, it was clearer, skin stretched over air instead of bone. It possessed a feminine quality. It laid fingers on the ghoul’s forehead and the viral’s body belched into flame. The shadow opened its mouth in a parody of the ghoul, and fed on the smoke. It took Lorn a moment to realise her own was open. She clamped it shut, fighting the urge to vomit.

The fire extinguished, and nothing remained but blackened bones.

‘Don’t toy with me,’ yelled Lorn. ‘Kill me and be done with it.’ Life had been nothing but painful since she’d discovered her mother’s body. She thought she might’ve been five or six years old. At night, she often tried to recall her mother’s arms around her, singing ... something. She couldn’t remember. Not with those other memories intruding. I don’t know who I am. Death had to be better than all of this.

Pain sliced through her as the ethereal hands delved into her chest. Cold, which was deep and unforgiving, gripped her heart. It slowed in response and she blacked out.

When she next opened her eyes, instead of shadows, two human-looking figures stood before her. A man and a woman.

‘Curious,’ said the woman, a curvy blond in a diaphanous green gown.

‘Repellent,’ said the man who wore woollens embroidered with too much gold.

‘Oh, dearest, you must widen your perspective.’

‘You don’t fool me,’ said Lorn in a hoarse voice, sitting up. ‘I know what you both are.’

‘Oh,’ said the woman, with raised immaculate eyebrows, ‘and what would that be, my dear?’

Lorn uttered a humourless bark. ‘Neither of you idiots can have it.’

The man began to examine his surroundings as if disinterested. The woman however, fixed a penetrating stare on Lorn. ‘Now, there is no need for rudeness, and after we saved you from the horrid beast.’

Lorn laughed again. ‘Interference would be a better word.’

The woman shrugged and instead said, ‘I am called, Mania,’ she added with a gesture towards the man, ‘and this is, Manic.’

‘You’re shraeds is what you are. Why are you trying to appear human, and in the Styx of all places? What game are you playing at?’

‘She speaks with familiarity, sister.’

‘Knowledge.’

‘Experience.’

‘It is her?’

‘It is her.’

Both shraeds looked at one another, before Mania shook her head. She appeared disappointed. ‘We assumed you would be comfortable with this form. Our true appearance isn’t civilised by mortal imaginings. We’ve tried this once before and it proved a successful test. However, we are not permitted entry into the Styx, so we borrowed something from you to complete these forms. To give them stability here.’

‘A cheat,’ said Manic, ‘to thwart our enemy’s defences. Our true forms masked by yours in a manner of speaking.’

‘Initiative.’

‘Subterfuge,’ said Manic.

‘A necessity.’

Lorn remembered their ghostly hands probing her. She shuddered. What had they taken from her? She thought she felt the same, if exhausted.

‘We are unlike our siblings,’ Mania continued, ‘if I may put it that way. You need not fear us. We mean you no harm. In fact, you are in need of our aid.’

‘You want the Shathra Stone.’ No point dragging this out. ‘You’re not getting it, like I told you.’

‘Perceptive,’ said the brother, focusing on her again as he returned to his sister’s side, ‘if somewhat impolite.’

‘You are not the first to try,’ said Lorn. ‘I’ve faced bribes, threats, torture, and death in the past number of days. None succeeded. You won’t either.’

‘Surprising,’ said Mania.

‘Dangerous.’

‘Caution is required.’ Mania reached out a hand to Lorn. ‘This world is a treacherous place,’ she said in a kind voice. ‘You will need all the protection we can provide. You will come with us.’

Lorn stared at the outstretched hand as if at death itself. ‘And, if I refuse?’

‘We have mutual interests, my dear, so compliance is logical. However, if we must force you, pain will prove necessary. Let us not make this an unpleasant experience. It would upset me and I do so dislike being upset. It is unpleasant.’

Manic smiled. Lorn realised if anyone were to cause her pain it would be him. His eyes said he wanted to see her suffer. Not for any reason other than his enjoyment. Lorn gripped Mania’s hand. It felt surprisingly solid and warm. The shraed helped her up.

‘Well now,’ said Mania, ‘that wasn’t so bad.’ She turned and gestured to her brother. ‘Come along, dearest, let us make haste. There are many leagues between here and home, and darkness approaches.’

‘Home?’ Lorn asked, walking between them, feeling odd. The twin moons would begin to rise soon, as the heavy spheres faded, night stealing across the Styx. This entire situation was unprecedented. She had no idea where it would lead. However, she could not allow interference with her plan.

‘Our ancient fortress of Volg,’ said Manic. ‘You’ll love it. The torture chamber within the dungeon is all prepared. I recommend the rack. A mortal invention, I appreciate. Humans are disgusting creatures, but they do have a flair for pain, excitement.’

‘You are unlike any shraeds I’ve heard of,’ Lorn muttered.

Mania tutted her disapproval, ‘Pay him no mind, dear. He has a unique sense of humour. Volg is our home, though it does need repair. Enemies have beset us for millennia, especially that inconsiderate, illegitimate, cretinous excuse for a ...’ she paused to compose herself. ‘The Grim is a most treacherous creature. You must avoid him at all cost.’

Right, avoid the Grim, thought Lorn, as they walked through the grey light of the Styx. Well, that’s going to prove a little difficult.

Because, he’s expecting me.