Pon-lor searched for, and found, Thet-mun’s frantic gaze where he peered out over the top of a root. Pon-lor motioned aside, after the fleeing yakshaka, and after scanning his fallen cohorts around him the lad gave a curt nod.
His arms still tied behind his back, Pon-lor ran after the yakshaka. Arrows hissed past him. One plucked his arm. As he ran he sensed a growing numbness in that arm — a toxin. He suppressed the blood flow to that limb and hoped to live long enough to deal with it later.
Lying among the dead leaves ahead was one of these Himatan locals. The warrior was painted head to foot and wore a kind of armour over his chest of bent bamboo and rattan strips lashed together. His head was crushed as from some terrific blow. The yakshaka. At least he was still on the right trail. Soon, however, he knew he would lose his way. He believed he could now sense this witch should he put his mind to it; but the question was how best to get from here to there, what to eat, and what not to step on.
He ran on then, not certain of his direction, but wanting to put some distance between himself and the ambush behind. After some time, pushing through hanging vines and tracing round the fallen rotting logs of these forest giants, he paused for breath, panting. This time he was not faking it; Thaumaturg training, it seemed, was perhaps negligent of raw physical endurance.
He flinched, then, jumping, as someone emerged from the thick dripping fronds next to him: Thet-mun. ‘You’re too loud,’ the youth growled, peering warily about.
‘Cut my bonds.’
‘What for? What will you do for me?’
‘Get me back and I’ll see to it that you’re richly rewarded.’
The youth grinned. ‘That’s more like it.’ He pulled out a large, wicked-looking curved knife.
After which I’ll see you executed as a criminal.
He sawed through Pon-lor’s bonds. ‘You’re wounded,’ he yelped, indicating his arm.
‘Yes.’
The youth stared, confused. ‘But … there’s poison on them arrows.’
‘Yes, there is.’
The youth’s face revealed unguarded wonder. He drew a small packet from within his shirt. He offered it to Pon-lor. ‘Well … try this.’
Pon-lor unwrapped it to reveal a whitish paste. ‘What is this?’
‘Should kill that poison.’
Kill it? Ah, an antidote of some kind. Perhaps an alkaline agent. I am impressed. He smeared some on the cut. Thet-mun tore a strip of cloth and bound it. ‘How did you learn this?’ Pon-lor asked.
‘My ol’ aunt taught me the recipe. Come to think of it, some called her a witch, too.’
‘Ah. So, which way now?’
The youth pointed the blade. ‘That way’s west.’
‘No. Which way to the yakshaka?’
The scout flinched, hunching. ‘Wha’? No one said anything about trackin’ him down.’
‘I have to return with it. That’s the only way I — we — can get our reward.’
Sheathing his blade, the pock-marked youth glanced away, frowning, sullen.
Pon-lor could see his mind working: how he was thinking that maybe he would have a better chance alone after all, and so he murmured, ‘What will you do when you run into those cannibals again?’ A shudder of terror rewarded him. ‘Or the Night Children? They say the man-leopard, that legendary killer, still haunts these forests. Tell me, Thet. What will you do if he comes for you in the night?’
The youth ground his teeth, almost whining in his frustration and fear. ‘You made yer damned point.’
‘Very good. Now, which way?’
He gestured onward. ‘Couldn’t miss it if you was blind.’
Pon-lor invited him to lead the way.
* * *
Alone in the jungle a woman knelt drinking water she cupped in a hand from a thin stream. She wore only a cloth wrapped about her loins. Her breasts were high and firm, the areolae a dark nut-brown. Sweat-caked dust and dirt smeared her limbs, face and torso. Her hair stood in all directions as a wet black nest. Hand at her mouth she paused. Her bright hazel eyes shifted aside and she smiled, humourlessly.
Straightening, Spite kept her arms loose at her sides. She cocked her head, scanning the bamboo thicket surrounding her. She called in a sing-song voice: ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are …’
The amber light of dawn fought the lingering emerald glow of the Visitor, which now bruised the sky all the night and the day. Mist coiled among bamboo shafts and through the vapours low hunched shapes slunk forward. Spite turned, scanning the grove; she was surrounded.
The nearest creature reared up on its hind legs, squat and wide, yet far taller than she. It was vaguely humanoid with thick muscular limbs bristling with hair, and a wide deep chest. It stood hunched as if unable to straighten fully. Its wide blunt head, likewise thick with bristling hair, boasting thrusting tusks and black glittering eyes, resembled more that of a giant wild boar than anything human.
Spite sneered her distaste. ‘Soletaken degenerates. Gone feral, I see. What would you have of me?’
The creature waved a wide, black-taloned hand. ‘Begone.’
‘Begone? How dare you? Do you know who I am? My lineage?’
‘Aye,’ the boar-beast growled deep in its throat. ‘We know you. Thus — we wish you gone.’
‘Well … no. I will not. I seek something stolen from me. This has nothing to do with you.’
‘We do not care. We want you gone.’
‘Sorry to disappoint.’
The boar-beast raised its gaze to indicate the way she had come. ‘There is a pit in the north that awaits you, Spite. Perhaps we shall shove you back in.’
Spite’s bright amber eyes hardened and her lips compressed. ‘Do not tempt my anger, you pathetic night-beasts. Slink away before I tire of you.’
The boar-beast drew itself up even taller. ‘We tire of you!’ And it leaped.
A blast of argent power met it in mid-leap. The creature spun away, crashing through the bamboo. Another beast slammed into Spite, sending her tumbling. Wide and far more burly than any human, it shambled off on all fours, its thick black hair all grey down its back.
Snarling her rage Spite climbed to her feet and wiped the mud from her face. ‘I’ll have all your heads for this!’
‘But the muck and mire is a fitting place for you, Spite,’ commented a new voice, one much more smooth and cultured. A man emerged from the mist. Lean and muscled, this one’s hair was a short tawny yellow, like a pelt, and his eyes glowed as brightly amber as Spite’s. The fangs of a hunting cat dominated his mouth.
Spite hunched, now wary. ‘You I know.’
The man inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. ‘We have warned you, Spite. We ask that you go. Just leave and you will live.’
A scoffing laugh burst from her. ‘None of you are a threat to me.’
‘Not now, no. But who knows when — on some day or night to come — you will suddenly feel my teeth upon your neck.’ He raised a hand and snapped it shut into a fist. ‘Then, well … it will be too late and I will break your spine.’
‘Well. In that case. The prudent course for me would be … to kill you now.’ Her power flickered to life about her, licking in crimson and argent flames.
The man-leopard raised his eyes to the tops of the bamboo forest lost in the mist above her. ‘It is not I you must worry about today, Spite.’
Her mouth curled her annoyance and she turned, raising her gaze. ‘Oh, what now? Surely not your fabled bird-women.’ Seeing a hint of movement she squinted. The mist swirled, disturbed by the descent of a something massive. Darkness blossomed immediately above her; an immense yawning mouth, close to three fathoms across, set in a slim featureless albino head resembling that of a salamander.
Spite’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, shit.’
The titanic Worm of Autumn lunged, smashing into the muddy ground, snapping the rearing bamboo. The man-leopard leaped aside, running half on all fours. Of Spite, no sign remained. The monstrous beast writhed, flailing, its jaws working. Its length could not be guessed as its segmented mass disappeared into the murky distance.