The White Towers (41 page)

“And if we go in, it’ll be the same thing that happened back in Zanne?”

“I believe so.”

Suddenly, Kiki cupped her hands around her mouth. “
Hello in there! Can anybody hear me? We’re weary travellers looking for an inn for the night
.” Her words reverberated back to her from the vast gateway, metallic and strangely hollow. It made her feel less than human.

She glanced back, back up the road, to where Dek had emerged from the tower and placed the twin heads of the axe at his feet, both hands resting on the end of the shaft. The blades were covered in blood. Dek’s face was ashen.

“We need to get moving,” said Zastarte, voice gentle. “The city has fallen.” Kiki gave a nod, felt herself crumbling, felt the whole of the fucking mess welling up inside her, forcing up from her belly through her throat and out through hot tears which coursed down her cheeks. Zastarte put his arm around her, hugged her, and they moved slowly back up the road. Dek and Zastarte locked gazes as they drew close. Dek’s face was filled with a low-level rage, brows narrowed in a murderous look that sent a shiver down Zastarte’s spine.

“You get it done?”

“Yes,” said Dek.

“They’re all dead?”

Dek looked away. “All of them,” he said.

 

They climbed out of the valley on weary mounts, their morale low and ebbing further away. The rest of the day was spent heading east along sweeping dirt roads packed with snow, that finally climbed into high hills; the roads became increasingly winding, and the hills acted as a channel for driving winds, which made all three wrap in their blankets and lower heads against the wild shrieking, the violent buffeting.

The landscape had a wild, savage look, littered with massive rocks from an ancient ice-age, and sometimes even huge hunks of rusted iron. The trio stopped on several occasions, staring at massive blocks of rust, with ancient pipes and gear wheels, pulleys and levers. Some seemed to be mining devices, and the Iron Wolves could trace a long line of old cables down boulder-littered hillsides.

They camped in the lee of one such ancient behemoth, with its toothed wheels and cables thicker than a man’s thigh, and which lay at a right-angle to a tall black wall of slate. Dek built a fire on which to cook some hot food, but also to try and cheer them up. The world seemed increasingly desolate, increasingly pointless.

They ate, and Zastarte produced a small flask of rum. It was bitter and strong, and Kiki drank deep before the tears left her and a rosy glow attended her cheeks. Dek had failed to comfort her during the long ride, and they’d eaten in silence; but now, he sat beside her, put his arms around her shoulders, and she snuggled her head to his chest.

“Do you remember that time in Drakerath? We were on leave for a week, not long after the War of Zakora had finished. We were still in high spirits, the Heroes of the Hour, and were pissed and honeyed up to our eyeballs in some leaf-peddling back-street cellar den run by the Red Thumbs.”

Kiki glanced up. “We did that a lot, Dek. You thinking of any time specific?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Some dandy bastard tried to pick you up. Twirled around in front of you, I actually think he was dancing, and I actually believe that
he
believed he looked rather grand.”

“I remember that!” snapped Zastarte. “You broke his nose!”

“And he challenged you to a duel.” Kiki grinned, and it felt good. “Yes. I do remember now.”

“Out into the snow you two went, both drunk as lords, as high as an eagle’s fart. You danced around for a while, missing each other with each sweep of your swords, until Dalgoran intervened and took away your weapons. Made you settle it with fists. But even then, you could hardly bloody hit one another!”

“You rolled around in the snow for a bit, then just lay there giggling, like children.”

“Yes, yes, I remember it
very
well,” said Dek, and hugged Kiki tighter. “Because it was the first night we made love under the influence of the honey-leaf.”

“Ahh, the beautiful leaf,” said Kiki, then saw the look in Zastarte’s eye.

“Yes?” She tilted her head.

“We know you have some,” said Zastarte, voice low and level. Non-judgemental.

“Saw you take it,” agreed Dek.

There came an awkward silence. Kiki stared at Zastarte, then up at Dek, then down at the ground. She kicked her boot against the icy hardness, then leaned forward, and warmed her hands against the soft-crackling flames.

“Don’t make me get rid of it,” she said, her words little more than whispers on the wind. “It’s one of the few things that keeps me going.”

Again, Dek and Zastarte exchanged a glance over Kiki’s head. Dek gave a sharp cough, and Kiki looked up. “Er,” he said, then cleared his throat properly. “It wasn’t that we wanted you to get rid of it, as such, Captain.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “We wanted to fucking
share it,
girl. You’re not the only one suffering through these harsh times.”

Kiki met his gaze. Saw the grin, the skeletal baring of teeth, and yet
looked through
the grin and saw the pain hiding like a mask of silk strands beneath his real human flesh. She saw the glimmer of pain in his eyes. And she realised,
understood,
with sudden clarity – like being dropped naked into a pool of ice-melt – and a gasp, that gods, she wasn’t the only bloody person in this damn miserable world who wanted, needed, a bit of chemical stimulation once in a while. And sometimes, sometimes ale and whiskey, they just weren’t enough.

“It hit you hard, didn’t it? Back at the tower.”

“Let’s say I’ve lived through better moments,” rumbled Dek.

“So, come on, show us your stash,” said Zastarte, holding out his hand, dark eyes glimmering with fire demons. “It was
coins,
right?”

Kiki nodded, and dug out her pouch, and coyly undid the string. “I’ll share, but only on one condition.”

“Name it,” said Dek.

“I never have to clean another pan, spoon or plate for the rest of this mission.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” agreed Dek, amiably.

“Now hold on,” snapped Zastarte.

“What?”

“A man like me, well, he has his
fingernails
to think about.”

Dek stared at him. Hard. “You
what
?”

“OK, OK,” relinquished the dandy, with an almost feminine toss of his head. “I suppose I can clean
the odd spoon.
”

Kiki handed both men a small coin of compressed, refined honey-leaf, and then took one herself and carefully replaced the pouch deep inside her clothing, in the secret pocket she’d stitched there herself. Close to her heart. Her
twin
hearts. The heart of the
Shamathe
…

“After you, gentlemen.”

And slowly, all three placed a honey-leaf coin beneath their tongues, and their eyes grew bright, and they shared that intimate moment of the honey-leaf user, of knowing exactly – in an unpredictable way – of what was about to come. Because the beauty, or maybe the curse, of the
leaf
was that, each and every time, the drug manifested itself in different ways.

“You remember that time we were talking about?” said Dek, dreamily.

“In Drakerath? The first time we made love, after taking the leaf?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Want to do it again?”

“I think that would be – magical.” The fire, the stars, the moon, the world, all had taken on a glowing, surreal edge; and when she turned her head, every single point of light in the universe trailed sparks. Like she was a god.

Dek took her head gently in his huge hands, and kissed her. She tasted him, and he her, and their tongues played, and their lips moved languorously as the remains of the honey-leaf dissolved and flowed down their throats and into their veins and the world seemed soft as down…

A cough. Dek opened one eye.

“I have a proposition,” said Zastarte, who was reclining against a rock, one leg kinked at the knee.

Dek broke the kiss with Kiki, and it took her a few moments to realise. Then her eyes drifted open and she turned, as if floating, and gradually focused on Zastarte.

“What do you mean?” she whispered, drifting out a smile.

“How about a threesome?” Zastarte gave a broad wink. “I am a skilled and generous lover.” He fixed his dark eyes on Dek. “With women and with men.”

Dek nearly choked. “Get fucked, you fucking queer!”

“That, I think, was the whole idea,” smiled Zastarte, placing his fingertips together to create a steeple before him. “What do you say, Kiki? I am handsome, am I not? I have seen you watch my naked limbs in the forest, the times when I changed, the times I bathed in woodland pools. What say you?”

“I…”

“She fucking says no, is what she fucking says!” snapped Dek.

“Why don’t you let her answer?”

“Why don’t I snap your fucking neck?”

“Are you so afraid of the repressed sexuality every man carries within himself? Dek, my dear, dear love, there
is
no male, and there is no female; there is just fucking, and sensuous pleasure, and the constraints placed on us by a so-called civilised society. Let the honey-leaf free your mind, Dek. You’ll soon realise my cock tastes as fine as any quim.”

Dek went to surge to his feet, but Kiki clung onto him. “Wait,” she said, “wait.”

“As always, resorting to violence.” Zastarte carried a gentle mocking on his face. “The great pit fighter, more interested in defending a fake government imposed honour than actually using his
brain,
using his
body,
and pursuing that greatest of beautiful pursuits: physical ejaculation.”

“I’ll knock out all your teeth,” hissed Dek.

“Yes?”

“We’ll see how well you do with the ladies then.” He gave a nasty smile. “And the men.”

“Dek, calm down.” Kiki slapped him, a sudden stinging blow, then rolled back, giggling. She turned on Zastarte. “The reason it has to be a
no,
Sweet Prince, is nothing to do with sexuality, or prudishness; but everything to do with me being utterly, and totally, in love with Dek; and willing to bind myself to a concept of monogamy because of that all-consuming love. Now.” She smiled sweetly. “Go to sleep, Zastarte. Or go and keep watch. Or pleasure yourself beneath your blankets. Me and Dek, we have some loving to catch up on.”

And she fucked him. And it was amazing. The sensation, the flavours, the buzz running through her veins and through her brain. They writhed and moaned under their blankets, occasionally a leg or peeping breast highlighted by the orange glow of the flames. They no longer cared about the elf rats. They no longer cared about mud-orcs, or King Yoon or Orlana the Changer; the hunting Tree Stalkers or any of that fanciful fantastical horse shit. The sex was totally incredible: gentle and wild, subtle and brutal, vague and intense, the best sex Kiki had ever had. And even though Dek came, they carried on, and he came again as she clawed his back and bit his chest like a… she-wolf, and the honey-leaf tasted bitter in her mouth now and Suza was laughing a distant, sleazy laughter edged with the caw of crows plucking eyes on an ancient battlefield, and she thought of the Great Lie, and how if Dek knew about the Great Lie, how she had used the magick to change herself, how if Dek
knew
how she’d really looked at her moment of creation – well, how he wouldn’t fuck her in a million years. Not even with Zastarte’s dick. And she fell tumbling into an umbilical well of despondency and desolation; down the long dark slippery tube, and the fall lasted a million years, ending with a retarded birth.

 

They slept in late, dangerous with no sentry, but gone from the world and its realities with the lingering dregs of the honey-leaf. It did that to you. It fucked you over in
many
different ways. Dek made coffee in silence after they awoke, and they drank it strong and bitter, for they had run out of sugar – a crime Dek found hard to forgive. He blamed Narnok. “That old cut-up axeman bastard,” he muttered, as he forced down the bitter brew, choking.

They packed and mounted up, and within an hour could see the Crystal Sea to the north. It had earned its name well, and glittered both with immense beauty, and yet sepulchrally. Despite the crystal clear waters leading to stunning beaches of polished rocks, the Crystal Sea was possibly the most treacherous stretch of water outside the Plague Ocean. The seemingly gentle waters, with their crystal qualities and gentle, shallow shores, were a dangerous siren to the uninitiated; for the sands of the sea bed sucked people down to their deaths, and powerful and random undercurrents meant once you were a few feet into the waters, you weren’t ever getting out again.

“Some sailors call them the Death Waters,” said Zastarte, conversationally. They had paused atop a high hill, where a track wound along the coastline. “Apparently, they have taken the lives of a thousand lovers, ten thousand exuberant children, a hundred thousand fishermen.”

Dek threw him a sideways glance. “You’re a fucking good man to enliven a party,” he said, somewhat sourly. His head was thumping. So were his balls. His new partner was a demanding lover.

“I am merely imparting the rumours,” said Zastarte.

“Get you hard, does it?”

“Not as much as watching you humping your bitch,” smiled Zastarte.

Dek growled, but Kiki placed a hand on his arm. “Not here. Not now. We have bigger fish to fry.” She glanced at Zastarte. “I hope you cleaned your blankets in the morning.”

“With the skill of a practised voyeur,” smiled the dandy, and kicked his horse into a canter.

They rode for another couple of hours, well past noon, until they spied the distant, vast canopy of Skell Forest stretching across distant hills like a green-black death-veil on a mourning widow.