Friday again

The harpies who ate the pollen began to change. It began as a shimmering glow around their bodies. Then, they seemed to stretch, and melt, and grow all at the same time. The teacher, who ate none, jumped onto the shoulders of the next nearest harpy. This one began to expand rapidly. Its head enlarged, its fur grew longer, it hunched over, its arms and legs inflated to the size of tree trunks. Within moments, the teacher sat atop a harpy that was also a mammoth. Its fur shimmered and glowed with the multicoloured hues of the pollen but, apart from the fur, it looked exactly like the real thing.

Similar transformations took place down the line. Every second harpy began to change. Runt saw several hoppers, kiddners, and wolves. In each case, a harpy leaped onto the back of the nearest creature. As a group, they turned and jumped, clawed or climbed their way up onto the stage. It happened so quickly that most of the gorgons continued to stare up at the distraction and chant. Then, some of the guards began to notice, and their shouts of warning spread. Soon the crowd was forced to turn their attention back to the stage.

The harpies atop their glowing mounts formed a grim circle, facing outwards, around the big boss. The teacher leaped off his mammoth and onto the chest of the massive gorgon and leaped back again. Runt saw the puff of pollen and heard the gorgon sneeze.

“Great gorgon, leader of leaders, I ask you again. Stop this madness before every harpy, gorgon, and demon are consumed by it. Return to the ancient ways. You know this path will only lead to our mutual extinction. Please! Ask your people to leave the mines and re-join us in our ancestral homes.”

Runt held his breath and watched the reaction of the giant white-haired gorgon. Its eyes, now jet black, filled with tears and the creature began to weep.

“You are right, teacher harpy. This is madness. But the gorgons will not listen to me. You have the wrong boss.”

The gorgon then pointed up and away, towards the place the other gorgons were looking. Runt followed the direction of the trembling finger and his heart skipped a beat.

“Has it really only been a week?” he whispered in horror. Truly it felt like he had spent a lifetime stuck in this mine. But there, marching down the tracks, was a line of gorgons each carrying a crate of booze. And, trailing behind, strode the bulking bear-like frame of the kennel master.

Tyron paused as he saw the commotion down below. His voice boomed across the cavern.

“Get them, you fools!”

The nearest guards turned and launched themselves up onto the stage and a bloody fight ensued. In the chaos, Runt was shoved to one side, then kicked in the head and, finally, shoved from behind and into the light. He found himself face to face with Brain. The young gorgon merely glared at him and grabbed Runt’s arm with a vice-like grip. They watched the battle unfold together.

The pictures on the base of the stage did not lie. In the past, when gorgons and harpies lived together, the harpies used magic when necessary to convince the gorgons to behave. If the gorgon fighting became too rough, or they needed encouragement to clear an area for a new fey-tree, the harpies used a kind of spell to make it happen. If a gorgon became stubborn and refused to listen to reason, or if they wandered too far from the fey-trees they were meant to protect, the pollen helped them to think more clearly. Sometimes, when the gorgons were being extra painful, the harpies would transform into these magnificent beasts. Sometimes the only language the gorgons would listen to was violence. In the form of these giant creatures, the harpies, as a last resort, would knock sense into the gorgons. In this way, harpies and gorgons lived in an uneasy truce for countless generations.

In those ancient times, though, gorgons only ate fruit, and rock, and the only animals they fought were drop-bears. Once the humans came, everything changed. The gorgons followed the humans, trained with them, and copied their ways. Under the guidance of the humans, the gorgons learned how to hunt and kill. They learned the weaknesses of the beasts. They learned their strengths. They learned the most efficient ways to defeat each of the great creatures of the Deep Wilds. They used those skills with deadly effect, now.

The harpies fought valiantly but, within minutes, the gorgons subdued every one of the shimmering beasts. Once beaten, the harpies shrank back into their usual shape and size. Each of them was grabbed by the neck and jammed under a bucket on the gravel beach with a large boulder plonked on top. They were trapped and defeated.

The crowd cheered and began chanting once more.

“Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant!”

They repeated this over and over until Tyron made it to the beach and up onto the stage. Runt panicked, desperate not to be seen by his old master.

“Brain, let me go! You don’t understand. I can’t be seen by Tyron, no matter what!”

“Why not?” Brain said, with an icy voice. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? The Tyrant is a hairless weird born just like you.”

Runt turned slowly back to the stage and, as that thought sunk in, his old master began to speak.

“Gorgons! You have fought well. In the old times they used magic to keep us cowed. Well now gorgons have magic, too. Magic that makes us strong! Now the harpies know, once and for all, they can no longer treat us like slaves. The harpies are defeated! The last of them huddle in their burrows and wait for the end of all things. We have won, gorgons. We have avenged the great betrayal!”

The crowd clapped and cheered.

“You, though, old one,” Tyron said, looming over the white-haired gorgon, “you disappoint me. Why are you still a boss? You are so old, so frail. It’s sickening.”

Tyron towered a full head taller than the boss atop the stage. Still, the gorgon stood its ground and looked up at the bear-sized man. “No gorgon among us can beat me, Tyrant. I remain the boss until that day comes.”

“I can beat you, though, can’t I?” Tyron said, grinning mercilessly. “Should we fight?”

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Before the white-haired gorgon could respond Tyron struck it a mighty blow. The sound was of meat slapping against rock and the impact, like a crack, echoed across the cavern. The big boss crumpled and fell to the gravel beach below. The guards, the ones that followed the boss around, stood awkwardly, staring between Tyron and the fallen gorgon.

“Help the old thing up to the stands.” Tyron boomed. “You’ll stay a boss while it serves me. You may be old and feeble but your guts are strong.” The kennel master laughed while shaking droplets of blood from his bleeding knuckles.

“Gorgons! We have made great sacrifices to reach this point. We have learned to live in the dark. We have learned to breathe the orange smog. We have dug holes to find the golden rock that the demons value. We have found the magic yellowcake and learned to grow our joeys without the fey-trees. Soon, we will reap the rewards of this difficult work.”

“I, too, have suffered. Look at my ears. The old among you remember. I was forced to cut them off to blend in with the demons. I was forced to learn the demon ways. I was forced to live in a hut like one of them and behave like one of them. All this I did to befriend them, to gain their trust, and to give us a voice in the city. Gorgons! I have suffered in that demon city but it was worth the sacrifice. The demons hear our voice. Soon, they will welcome us into their houses of stone. Soon, there will be no more work. Soon, there will be fire, and fighting, and all the booze you can drink!”

The crowd cheered wildly. Tyron grinned at the crowd.

“Gorgons! All this will come to pass. But not yet! We are buying our way into the demon city one bucket of gold at a time. Just a little more work. Just a few more buckets of gold. Until then, let us drink, and fight!”

The giant bear of a man jumped down into the crowd and began making his way across to the seating. As he walked past the buckets holding the harpies he snarled at them, saying “Long have I waited for this day, teacher. I will deal with you myself. Once the fun here is finished I will throw you all, one by one, into that lake of fire. Except you, teacher. Old master. I think I might keep you as a pet. As you once kept me.”

Tyron kicked gravel and spat at the buckets as he made his way to the seats in the middle of the amphitheatre reserved for himself, the big boss, and the guards. The crowd dispersed back to their seats apart from a small group of gorgons who waited by the stage. Bottles of booze were handed out at the end of each row of seating. The gorgons took a swig, then passed it on. Brain walked back with the other joeys and dragged Runt along behind.

Runt’s head swam with shock. Tyron was a gorgon? He thought back to the signs that, in hindsight, made so much sense. The giant’s ears. He used to say he trimmed them to help him fight, but really he did it to blend in. No one would accept a kennel master with pointy ears. Runt remembered the way he threw rocks so accurately, killing those kingfisher birds, and was reminded of the brutal accuracy of the gorgons in the quarry, hurling rocks at Stripes. He remembered how Tyron reacted to the drop-bear ambush the day Jethro got clawed. He scared it off so effortlessly. As if he was trained to do so. Runt slapped himself on the forehead. Tyron literally slept in a nest of rags! It never occurred to the boy that his master’s bed resembled the nest of sticks and leaves out in the fey-tree clearings. Tyron was a weird born. Why didn’t the teacher say so?

Up on the stage the first fight was about to begin. A group of gorgons stood on the square of granite and, at the signal, they began to brawl. Fists flew, mouths spat curses, gorgons tumbled. Eventually, only two were left atop the stage. They circled each other. One charged, the other ducked, and the gorgon went flying off the edge. The crowd roared its approval.

A bottle of booze made its way along their row, too, and Runt watched as each joey, including Brain, took a swig. The bottle was passed to Runt. Gingerly, he lifted the bottle up and pretended to take a sip. Brain leaned over and tipped the bottle back causing a large glug of booze to slide down Runt’s throat. It burned like liquid fire. Runt coughed and his eyes watered. His head immediately began to spin.

“You’re going to need it,” Brain said, grimly, “it makes it hurt less when we fight.”

“What if I don’t want to fight?” Runt replied. Brain looked at him sadly.

“We’re gorgons. It’s what we do.”

The victorious gorgon stood on the stage, huffing and puffing, with its arms held high. Runt recognised the creature. It was Bruiser, the gorgon unceremoniously flogged by the big boss for complaining about too much work. That fight seemed like a lifetime ago to Runt, now. Several large gorgons from the boss’s group climbed onto the stage, each carrying a reward. The first gorgon handed over a bottle of booze. Bruiser took a giant swig from the bottle and held it up, nodding.

The second gorgon carried a large sack. Runt recognised the crude sack from Gunther’s booze cart. The sack was held open and Bruiser, looking inside intently, reached in and pulled out a threadbare scarf. The gorgon frowned and held the scarf up inquisitively, before wrapping it around its waist. The crowd clapped in approval at this gesture. A third gorgon carried a flat sheet of hammered gold. They stood the mirror up and Bruiser twisted from side to side, admiring how the scarf looked around their waist in the reflection of the golden mirror. Runt saw a gorgon in the next row turn to its neighbour and grunt “Bruiser look great! Bruiser fit right in with demon when gorgon move to city.”

Finally, a fourth gorgon carried a barrel. A sickly yellow glow spilled out as the lid was opened, illuminating the gorgons standing around it. Bruiser’s mouth opened wide to accept a large spoonful of yellowcake. Runt had seen the effects of yellowcake once before when a gorgon ate a tiny amount of powder in the mine. This was a much larger amount. Bruiser’s back arched, its eyes blazed with a yellow flame, and the gorgon screamed so loud that the entire crowd fell silent for a second. The scream continued as the gorgon fell to its hands and knees. It began sucking in huge gasps of air and, with each breath, its body seemed to swell. When Bruiser stood up again, Runt could have sworn the gorgon had grown a head taller.

The crowd cheered wildly, now, chanting Bruiser’s name. The gorgon leaped down from the stage and marched towards a boulder jutting out of the gravel on the beach. As the crowd continued to chant Bruiser began bashing the boulder with its bare hands. Shards flew as the gorgon pulverised the rock until there was nothing left. The gorgon held its fists up to the crowd and soaked up their cheers. Bruiser then walked up to the centre of the amphitheatre and was welcomed by Tyron and the guards with handshakes, backslaps, and banter. Another guard had joined their ranks.

“Bruiser’s lucky,” Brain said softly, looking sad, “born big, born strong, good at fighting, and popular. Bruiser’s one of the Tyrant’s guards, now. They’ll have the best of everything when we move to the city.”

Another fight commenced, with the same outcome. The victorious gorgon received its awards. This time, the gorgon drew a tattered looking skirt out of the sack. Runt watched with grim amusement as the gorgon pulled the skirt over its head and wore the skirt around its neck. It too, was fed yellowcake, with the same terrifying result, and it joined Bruiser in the central seating with the guards. Another fight commenced. And another.

Runt felt a tingling warmth spread across his body. The feeling started in the pit of his stomach and blossomed out to his fingertips, down to his toes, and across his blushing cheeks. He relaxed back into his seat and giggled to himself. Suddenly, the smog didn’t sting his eyes so much. His muscles stopped aching. His breathing became easier.

Runt didn’t pause the next time the bottle of booze made its way across their row. He took a swig without hesitating. It didn’t burn as much going down the second time. His head felt light. In fact, his whole body felt lighter. He felt so light that, if he jumped, he just might sail up to the roof of the chamber, like the harpies soaring on the updrafts of the fey-trees.

Runt looked back down to the buckets, each with a trapped harpy inside, and his eyes welled with tears. He clenched his fists. At the next chance, he would tip those rocks off the buckets. He’d free the harpies and get the hell out of this place. He looked across to where Tyron sat. It took Runt a while to spot the giant. He was forced to squint a little. It felt like someone was rocking the seat back and forth, too. Runt’s fingernails bit into his skin when he finally spotted his old master. “This is all that man’s fault, somehow,” Runt thought, clenching his jaw, “and he’s going to pay for it.”

Runt found himself being dragged to his feet to the laughter and cheering of the crowd. It was the joeys’ turn to fight.