Outcasts of the Worlds Page 8

  Mack leapt upon the beast, clambering to maintain balance along its bony, elongated backside. Jean found herself rocked as the creature tried to buck him off, but Mack gripped its fur, managing with great dexterity to avoid impaling himself on the random quills protruding from it.

  “Hey! Hey, notice me!”

  Jean was unwilling to chance Mack’s ploy actually working, and began kicking the creature in the face, keeping its focus on her. She was still balancing on its head, pressed against the wall, when it unexpectedly cried out in pain, rushing forward as she tried to remain atop it. A spray of blood had erupted beneath it and she quickly realized it was Flynn’s handiwork.

  The beast began twisting its body, crying in agony as it bled out onto the temple floor. Flynn slipped out from beneath, covered in bloody viscera. Between her attacker’s convulsions, Jean found a moment to unhook her mace, and was about to strike, only to have it suddenly pull back, dropping her and leaving her hitting nothing but air.

  As she tumbled to the ground, Mack had also been tossed aside, still gripping a pair of quills by the stem. While he found his footing, Flynn was already upright, striking some of the blood from his clothes.

  As she shambled to join the others, the attacking beast reared back, gnarling and gnashing, cornering her against the path to the sunset balcony. Her side stung and she gripped it with her left hand, clutching her mace with her right. Winded as she was, it hurt to breathe.

  “Jeannie—”

  Before Mack’s concern could come to anything, Flynn turned with determination, advancing on the creature. His crimson fingers flexed for a moment before tensing for the kill. The creature attempted the first strike, trying to bring a cloven foot right through Flynn, but its attack fell to nothing as he rolled aside. The thing stumbled as its insides began seeping out and Flynn wasted no time, striking the monster’s other foreleg and crippling its balance as it howled in pain.

  Reconsidering its targets, the creature tried to skulk around Flynn, choosing the seemingly weaker prey. Flynn lunged, burying his claws in its side. It staggered before kicking him away, sending him sliding on his backside across the chamber floor. No longer taking chances, the creature lunged upon this smaller predator, certain to finish it off. Jean and Mack hurried around to help, knowing that one bite would have crushed Flynn’s head. But Flynn caught the creature by the jaw, mercilessly burying his claws and tearing it half loose. The creature’s last cry was shrill and wet as its body spasmed. Flynn slid his claws out and struck at the beast again and again, pulling away just before the hulking mass fell upon him.

  *

  Whatever it had been, the creature was dead.

  Flynn’s breathing was labored as his heart raced. He wiped the blood from his hands on the creature’s fur as best he could, enough that he could retract his claws, and look—if only a little—less the part of the monster. His fingers stiffened in the usual way before the lengths of his talons softened within the joints and he could flex them once again. He looked down on the creature—the first of its kind he’d seen on this subtly alien world. It would likely be the last.

  Jean staggered over, gripping her own bloodied side. Mack looked at the two quills he’d plucked and, disappointed, tossed them away.

  “Ya know, I’m starting to think I’m woefully unarmed.”

  Holstering her mace, Jean dug around inside her jacket with her free hand, producing something a few seconds later.

  “I’ve got this,” she offered. It was a metallic spork, covered in a film of dried blood.

  “Wait,” Flynn said, “you’ve been saving that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Since Earth?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mack looked it over, and scrunched his face, “Kinda small. I mean, I guess I could go for the eye …” Shrugging, Jean put it away. Mack continued, “Though I’d have to yell things like ‘now we match!’ or ‘eye scream, you scream’ …”

  Jean gave Flynn a rowdy pat on the shoulder. “Well, thanks for saving my ass.”

  “It’s no problem.” He gave a soft smile in return. “It had to be done.”

  Returning to the balcony, he picked up the empty rifle once more. Night prepared to fall on Sechal; the first stars could already be seen in the sky as a rift ruptured at Flynn’s approach.

  “Other places we go, they aren’t going to be like this,” Flynn said. “There are going to be people, like back on Earth.”

  “Well, hopefully not exactly like back on Earth,” Mack added.

  “I just … I don’t want to leave another trail of pain behind me,” Flynn said. “We may sometimes encounter an implacable foe, and we’ll have to do what we have to do to survive. But I’m just not satisfied with survival.”

  “It’s been good enough for me,” Jean gave a dry cough.

  “I’ve done my share of damage in the name of survival,” Flynn replied. “No, I—I’m not sure what it is yet, but I need to do something to make a difference, a positive one. I want to be remembered for some good I did, not for all the …”

  Flynn shook his head and stopped. Mack looked at Jean and shrugged; neither was quite sure how to respond.

  “I’m not leaving Sechal unless it’s to do something worth leaving it for,” Flynn resolved. “Otherwise, I might as well stay here and die in a place where no one will remember me.”

  Jean nodded, coughing from the pain. “Alright, I get that. Ya know I’m with ya.”

  “Likewise!” Mack grinned a slightly large and eerie grin, until Jean hit his arm, at which point it retracted into a more earnest one.

  Humbled, Flynn thanked his friends. Ready to go through the rift, he thought better of it, and stepped aside, allowing them to pass first. He didn’t look back as he followed, and the way closed behind him as night fell once more upon Sechel.

  Chapter Five: Surface Appearances

  Calculating as Flynn was, he had considered the nuances and hazards that would come with traveling between worlds. But after the long journey across Sechal, eagerness eclipsed good sense. That it was deep night when they reached their destination was fortunate, as there would have almost certainly been an audience otherwise. Less fortunate was the placement of the rift, which opened onto a platform, slippery and wet, providing little room to stand.

  Mack, the first arrival, had managed precarious footing, but the subsequent entry of Jean, then Flynn, sent all three tumbling down. Flynn twisted and turned but was struck again and again by stone and water before landing in the large basin below and watching all around him turn to red mist as the entrails he was soaked in tainted the pool. Nearly as abruptly as the fall, two hands caught his arms and dragged him out. Jean dropped him on the pool’s rim and promptly waded back in to find Mack.

  “What the fuck was that?!” she demanded loudly.

  Looking up, Flynn saw that they had arrived atop a stepped fountain embedded in the corner of a tall stone wall. The water flowed in cycle, likely drawn back in through pipes somewhere below. As he shook off the throbbing pain in his head, he saw the manifold marbled hands it must have struck against, cupping and pouring.

  Finding Mack, Jean hoisted him up and checked to ensure his health as he came to his senses. Drawing away from the fountain completely, heavy from the water soaked into his body and clothes, Flynn tried to squeeze dry what he could.

  “If it’s not occurred to you by now, we’re traveling blind.” After considering the fountain and the gray stone underfoot, he added, “But it looks as if we’ve at least found civilization.”

  “Yeah? Twenty bucks says ain’t a person here who’s actually civil,” Jean replied, clutching her wounded side.

  Flynn paused at that. “Do you have twenty bucks?”

  “Nope.”

  After their bruising entrance, which miraculously broke neither tooth nor bone, Flynn expected to see a city of brick or steel before him. Greeted with wildwoods as far as the eye could see, he attempted to look beyond and see just how deep the real city
was hidden, then realized that the forest before them was itself the city, constrained solely by its roads. Carved into some tree trunks and forming naturally as knotholes in others were windows, with panes of glass installed like portholes. Each looming tree had a door with a walkway connecting it to the road.

  “What the hell did we just crash into?” Jean asked.

  “I’m not yet certain.”

  The fountain they stood before was in sharp contrast to the town square it overlooked, whose gray stones all led to an ivory statue of a benevolent woman in flowing robes, kneeling on one leg and holdings her hands forth as she smiled down on onlookers who might find themselves reading the plaque beneath her feet. Flynn contemplated reading it and faltered momentarily, remembering the pain he’d suffered at the temple on Sechal. Shaking off that fear, he knelt. There was little reward for his bravery. The words were as foreign as before, yet unmistakably different in writing and arrangement. Consolingly, they caused no pain to look upon.

  “What’cha got, fearless leader?” Mack asked.

  Fearless leader? “Nothing I can glean here. Although …” Flynn sniffed the air, trying to pick up a scent that had been itching at him. “Salt water? This may be a port town.”

  There were other smells all about. Remnants of family meals still wafted faintly, along with the smoke of homegrown fires. Black puffs billowed from chimneys carved into the countless tree-homes. All around was well maintained, though to the three from Earth, it would have been stunning simply to see a fountain not caked with moss or crawling with living things. Some windows in the homes ahead were alight, perhaps from solitary readers or late-night lovers. There were people here; there was no doubt. After weeks apart from society, Flynn felt self-conscious. He looked at Jean, who had crouched down to examine the stone ground as she gripped the wound at her side. Part of him hoped she would still know what it felt like to be the freak, even here. Another part chided himself quickly for the thought.

  “Two moons, huh?” Mack was observing the night sky.

  “So there are,” Flynn concurred.

  “We’re gonna have to get this time of arrival thing under control,” Mack said. “First it’s sunset, then it’s midnight? My sleep schedule’s gonna go screwy and I’m gonna know this when I start having breakfast three hours after lunch.”

  “It’s lucky we landed when we did. Not too many people out; we can keep to the shadows if we need to.”

  “Any reason we need to dodge ‘em?” Jean grunted as she stood back up. “This ain’t Earth. I doubt people are lookin’ for people like us.” Easy bravado, for the kind of damage she could do when cornered.

  “Well, we don’t know what kind of people they are,” Flynn explained. Neither seemed convinced, and Flynn reached for a reason. “They might be, well … mantis-people. Mantisians.”

  “Mantisians?”

  “With long, raptorial legs and compound eyes?” Flynn’s words were met by blank stares. He shook his head dismissively. “I saw it in a movie once. Look, we don’t know what to expect here or anywhere so just … we need to be careful.”

  Jean shrugged and said, “Okay,” though Flynn knew she was hardly convinced and he regretted such a ridiculous example.

  *

  Fiery lanterns and starlight kept the city paths traversable despite the shadows cast by the web of branches overhead. Most disarming for Jean was discovering how safe a city’s streets could be, when given the chance. It wasn’t just the absence of wild creatures, running about or being skinned and cooked on an open spit, but also the lack of human dangers or ills; there was no vagrancy, no one selling something or themselves—or offering, for that matter, to buy. In short, she was unnerved and turned her head toward every rustling of the leaves. The pain in her right side only served to enforce an irritating sense of vulnerability.

  A few blocks in, Flynn spied the silhouette of a guard and pulled her and Mack into an alley to hide behind a large upturned root. She watched as a man clad in silver armor marched by with a disciplined gait. Unable to suppress a snicker, she uttered, “Mantisians?” and nearly gave them all away.

  Despite the disquieting silence of such a peaceful metropolis, Jean’s mood lightened as they passed through each aimless block, wondering what she might find ahead. Before long, a prismatic light appeared through the branches and they were eager to get a better look. Jean hoped to find a casino with a buffet, or at least the tacky neon sign of a seedy motel. As they emerged onto a wider street, they found themselves directly en route to the illumination they’d been following, which turned out to be a stone edifice in the heart of the colossal forest, stories high and perfectly cut. Though it was the size of a coliseum, it was indisputably some sort of cathedral, and Jean’s zeal diminished rapidly.

  A flattened figure was carved into the stone of each of the windows, likely meant to cast shadows in daylight to inspire the ones inside as much as it impressed those outside. A spire of stained glass capped the building, lit with a fierce flame that danced and made the place impossible to miss even in blackest night.

  Resigned, Jean said, “Only place in town that don’t look like it’s made of kindling. Seems open too. Think they’ll let us crash here?”

  “Jean? It’s a church,” Flynn reminded her.

  “I’ve crashed in more than a few.” Stopping in her tracks, she thought to add, “Most of ‘em had big gapin’ holes in the wall though.”

  Flynn’s hesitation only soured Jean’s hopes that some mother of mercy might have a hot meal waiting inside, and even Mack seemed unsure that it was a good idea. Whatever doubts they shared, all three were spurred in by a single gust of wind, as Jean felt it crawl up her back and make her teeth chatter.

  “You know, let’s just check it out,” Mack quickly agreed.

  “Can’t fuckin’ hurt.” Jean approached the tall, white wooden doors and grasped both of the bronze rings that served as handles. The door was so well maintained and perfectly oiled that it made no sound as she opened it. The splendor of the cathedral lit up before them as they stepped inside.

  *

  Craning his neck as they entered, Flynn found the interior of the cathedral staggering; as opulent as the streets outside were, what was kept within made them look impoverished by comparison. While the outer walls only suggested coliseum, the interior structure reinforced this interpretation. Rows of spiraled seats wrapped around several stories above, waiting to be filled by the faithful, circling round and round and blurring any clear difference between the front and back of the building. Even in this dark hour, the aisles were lined with candles as tall as a person, resting in deep bowls of steadily melting wax. Somewhere in the levels above, an elderly woman worked tirelessly to maintain them, igniting flames that had flickered out with a gust and replacing those that had melted too low. The ring of fire burned ever on.

  The altar was in the center, a platform situated above a shallow moat of water that flowed via stream into and out of the church, pouring forth from the hands of more statues of the same singular goddess.

  Save the distant matron above—whom only Mack paid fleeting notice to and who neither saw nor heard the trio in return—the cathedral was empty of life for but one other person. At the feet of one of the statues—sculpted apart from those that let the water in and kneeling with benevolent hands presented outward—sat a girl, perhaps a couple years younger than they were, cradling an ornate sword in her lap. She looked alarmingly human.

  Yet there were differences, and her rich purple hair was the first trait to set her apart. Her slender frame was draped in several layers of gossamer fabric, all wrapped tightly to her body with a network of red prayer beads that snaked around her arms, her legs, her torso. Her feet were tied with the sort of ornate sandals not meant for lengthy travel. Unaware of them, lost in thought, she looked somberly into the blade, gliding her hand gently across the flat of it. There was a yearning upon her face, and a supple beauty that was wholly native to this world.

  Whi
le Jean and Mack stepped ahead to gauge their surroundings, Flynn stayed back, more interested in the girl than the setting. Carvings and décor provided for guesswork at best; it was people who remained the ideal resource. If she took notice of him when he walked over, she didn’t show it. Her yellow irises reflected in the flat of the blade, tired and listless. He leaned on the back of the pew and watched her, keeping some distance.

  “Excuse me.”

  She said nothing in return, but tilted the blade slightly; he could feel himself caught in its reflection. Remembering the smell of salt water from before, he said, “My friends and I just came into port. We need some place to stay for the night.”

  “You speak well.” There was no warmth in her voice. She did not sound impressed; she was merely remarking.

  “I’m sorry?”

  The bead-wrapped girl glanced up at him. “You’re one of the beastmen from the southern isles, aren’t you?”

  Flynn ran with it. Seldom was he so easily handed a cover identity, and it was better to be stereotyped than shunned. “You’re not wrong.”

  “I’d heard the church was expanding, that missionaries were working that even savages might see Hapané’s light,” she said. “To teach you to speak as a man, to dress as one? They’ve done better than I could imagine.”

  “I learn quickly,” Flynn told her.

  Hapané. Almost certainly a goddess of this girl’s faith. Possibly the goddess. He looked up at the towering cathedral’s interior, musing to himself, “Hapané’s light …”

  The girl smiled bitterly, getting to her feet. “I’m making a terrible first impression, aren’t I?” She returned the sword to the statue she’d been sitting beneath, placing it across the goddess’s open hands. She then turned her full attention to Flynn, resting her left knuckles in her open right palm and bowing, “Ure dun’as Saryu qi.”

  In the pause following the girl’s bow, Flynn stood up and mimicked it, echoing the words she spoke, though they felt strange in his mouth.