It did end, however, and Dreadaeleon lay gasping on the sand, the bile dripping past his lips to pool on the earth. The pain subsided in diminishing throbs, but not slowly enough to spare him from his own thoughts and his regrets and his anger.
This was something to be worried about. This was something to be terrified about. These reactions were not normal, not to anyone not suffering the Decay. Now was a time for prudent thought, careful concern. At any rate, he certainly shouldn’t have felt the rage that he did.
But he had been so close.
It had been a graceless exit, naturally; there was no graceful way to run away to spill one’s intestines out on the earth. He would have very much liked to have stayed, to discuss philosophy with Asper. She had been so open, enough to make him open, as well. He had told no one of his parents, of his initiation into the Venarium. She had listened so thoughtfully; she had looked at him so eagerly; she had touchedhim. He could still feel her fingers on his shoulder.
And then he had gone and ruined it all. She loathed him now, he was certain. How could she not? She had reached out to him, he had bared his past to her, and when she sought answers, when she recognised that hehad them, he had run away to paint the shrubbery with his supper.
It was better that she hadn’tseen that, of course, but not by much.
He would have spared himself more thought for self-loathing if not for the pungent scent of smoke drifting up to his nostrils. He glanced up at what had started as shrubbery, now resembling some sort of half-digested salad. His vomit was hungrily chewing on it with a thousand tiny, semiliquid mouths, belching steam with every moment it reduced the plant to a brown, messy blob.
Suddenly, the days of fiery urine seemed not quite so bad.
His condition was worsening.
Whatever offences he might have committed were forgotten as that phrase echoed in his head. His body was acting, amplifying its functions, functions that should not beamplified, of its own accord. It had likely been that little display in the valley, pulling the Owauku from the puddle, that had done it. It was a stupid thing to do, he reminded himself.
But she had been so impressed…
A small compensation. Too small. As he struggled to rise, he found his muscles weak, even weaker than they had been moments before. His magic was going awry, applying itself to all his bodily functions, and he paid for it as he paid for any other exertion of power. Of course, flashes of lightning and fire were far more impressive than flaming urine and acidic vomit.
The stone … he had to retrieve it.
A violation of Laws, perhaps, but there was no other option. It was the stone of the longfaces — that chipped, red sphere — that had kept his body in check, that had kept it from being overwhelmed. He had to retrieve it; he had to return to the sea, search the wreckage, find the damn thing and return to normal.
But how? More scrying would mean more magic. More magic would kill him sooner than later, it was becoming clear.
Voices burbled out of the hut.
Togu.
Of course, he thought as he staggered toward the door. He would beseech the king, convince his companions to delay the voyage. He neededthe stone; they didn’t need to know why beyond the fact that it gave him the power to move their ship. The lizardmen had trawled the sea for their belongings and found nothing, Togu had said, but that simply meant they weren’t looking hardenough. He could convince them. He could forcethem.
He would have believed it, too, if he hadn’t paused outside the king’s door to retch again.
‘What was that?’
He pulled himself up from his spewing, holding his nausea-soaked breath at the sound of voices burbling out of the king’s hut.
‘There is someone out there,’ Togu’s deep voice spoke.
‘Soon to be many more,’ another voice replied, a lilting, lyrical phrase that flooded into Dreadaeleon’s ears on a song that would be soothing if the recognition didn’t shock him into wide-eyed silence.
Greenhair, he thought. The siren … here?
‘The longfaces have just arrived, Togu,’ she continued from within the hut, ‘ahead of their master. He will arrive shortly and he will expect you to be there to greet him with the human offering.’
‘They haven’t arrived yet, Togu,’ another voice, this one gruff and hissing, spoke. ‘There is still time to avert this. The forests are dense and the longfaces are not given to caution. You can flee.’
‘And they will burn the forests down,’ Greenhair replied sharply. ‘They willfind you, Togu, one way or another. Embracing this way means that your people live. Hongwe shouldunderstand this better than even I.’
‘I do understand this,’ the speaker identified as Hongwe snarled, ‘and that is why I know what it is you’re sending the humans to. I saw it happen on Komga, to mypeople. I will not watch you do this to others.’
‘You intend to stop this?’ Greenhair’s voice contained an edge of harmonious threat.
Hongwe muttered in return. ‘They are your people, Togu. I can only ask that you see the stupid villainy in this plan.’
Dreadaeleon, heedless of the vomit hissing on the sand or the lancing pain in his stomach, held his breath, listening intently to the long silence that followed. In the valley below, the sound of drums were dimming, the noises of jubilation quieting. In the quiescence, Dreadaeleon could hear the king’s body rise and fall with the force of his sigh.
‘I do what is best for my people. Do as you must to make the humans ready to give to the longfaces.’
Dreadaeleon turned, bit back a shriek as he stepped in the pile of his sizzling bile, dragged his foot on the earth as he made to run down as fast as his cramping body would allow him. The pain shot through him in great spikes that he forced himself to ignore. He had to get below, to warn his companions, or at least one of them.
He collided suddenly with a bare chest and looked up, frowning. This wasn’t the one he had hoped for, but still …
‘Denaos,’ he gasped, ‘we have to get below. Togu, he’s-’
‘Who cares?’ the rogue asked, on a reeking chuckle that sent him swaying. ‘Who gives a flying turd what’s going to happen anymore?’
He wasn’t sure how much the tall man had actually drunk to push him over the edge and he hardly cared. The man’s only purpose now was to perhaps stall Togu and his conspirators when they emerged. Thus, Dreadaeleon wasted no more words and tried to push his way past, only to find a long arm in his path.
‘You don’t see what’s going to happen, do you?’ Denaos said, laughing. ‘Not as smart as you thought you were, huh? Can’t see we’re all damned without Asper following us, without the Gods on our side.’
‘No one’s following anyone if you don’t get out of the way,’ Dreadaeleon growled. ‘The longfaces are-’
‘I said who cares?’ Denaos emphasised the question with a hook that sent the boy sprawling to the earth. ‘Don’t feel bad, Dread. I’ll be punished for that. For a hell of a lot more.’ He held a hand to his temple, pointing to eyes that had gone from sunken to two fevered, black-lined pits. ‘I can’t … I can’t stop seeingher. The whispering just doesn’t stop. I thought it was the demon, but … but it’s something inside me. Something Idid, can’t you see?’
‘I can’t, and I don’t care,’ Dreadaeleon’s words were laced with wincing whines as he struggled to regain his feet. ‘I … I’m having a hard time moving. Denaos. You have to get down there and warn the others that-’
‘Not important,’ Denaos replied. ‘Asper’s leaving. She was going to hear my sins, tell me it was fine, but not yet, not now. She’d never forgive me now. Neither would They.’ He pointed to the sky. ‘Whatever happens now is just … just …’