Androkles scratched his beard and scowled at the horizon for a moment, trying to think. “Well, the roads are full of armies and the hills are full of monsters. I suppose we’ll have to fly,” he said.
Agurne sighed and looked away. Garbi looked confused, and he got the impression she wanted to ask how he planned on doing that but wasn’t sure if he was serious.
Flower said, a bit too loud, “What about Pepper? We can still get him, right?” He fidgeted nervously with the hem of his shirt and whipped his soft, white tail anxiously behind himself. He didn’t meet Androkles’ gaze directly, choosing instead to look at the ground and try to seem casual.
“Nothing changed since the last time you asked. We’re still heading straight to him, boy,” said Androkles. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get into any trouble and make all this worse.”
“He won’t,” said Flower, with conviction.
“Wanna bet?” asked Androkles. Flower was not amused.
Wolfscar flew between them and asked, “Could you ride the cart on a place that isn’t a road? You could go on the snow. I saw the horses and they can do that.”
Androkles had considered it several times already, but it wasn’t the best idea. Not yet. He said, “There’s a reason they put the roads where they did. Most of the time, roads only get started because enough people started walking there. The road being there means it’s the best path between two places. If we tried making out own path, we’d probably just end up learning why no one wanted to go that way. Rocky ground, maybe. Wet sand. An impassable thicket. The gods only know. And I don’t want to get twenty miles into the wilderness and have to turn around.”
Agurne rubbed her face, trying not to let her weariness show too much, but Flower’s pain song had taken quite a bit out of her. She said, “Maybe we ought to hide out for a month and let all this settle down. That ogre’s cave smells about like his asshole, but I bet it’s dry in there, and it was blowing out warm air.”
He nodded and considered. What could it hurt? If Pepper was fine now, he’d be fine in a month. With any luck, most of this snow would be gone by then, which would make the travel easier. And if they still needed to make their own road, at least they could see where they were going.
“Mama, do you know any tricks to make it so no one can see us?” asked Garbi. “Like you did with the cart, but when we’re moving?”
“Not the way you’re thinking. I’d have to make us all charms, and they wouldn’t work as well as Pepper can do it. We wouldn’t be spotted at a distance, but we’re not going to sneak up to a soldier, smack his rod, and take his money.”
“Can the shades find Pepper when he hides, do you think?” asked Androkles.
Agurne tilted her head slightly and considered. “No, I don’t think they could. Not if Wolfscar can’t find him either.”
“Then can you hide us from the shades with your charms?”
“No, that I don’t think I can do. Not hide. I can ward us easily enough. Keep them from bothering us directly. But keep them from seeing us? It’s not that simple, ogre. Pepper’s hiding doesn’t make him truly disappear. He doesn’t go anywhere or stop existing. He hides the part of himself that your soul sees, and that Wolfscar sees. Your eyes won’t recognize they’re looking at anything if they rest on him. And then he has a bit of a trick that pushes away your attention. I only barely understand it, let alone well enough to put that wisdom in a charm.”
Androkles supposed he got the general idea, even if it sounded implausible in practice. He said, “Then the problem with waiting is that the King controls the shades, and so far they haven’t had any trouble keeping near us. I’d rather not find out one morning they led an ogre or centaur or dragon to come stomp on our beds. Could you turn the shades away? Maybe reverse the King’s magic?”
“For that, I’d need a whole lot of wicked power, and I don’t want to touch it. Most of my tricks only work because my heart is pure.”
She said it so seriously that Androkles couldn’t help but grin. “Your heart is pure? Your speech is so vulgar it deflowers maidens all by itself.”
“Perhaps you’re just a bad influence on me,” she said, a slight grin forming.
“I’m looking forward to making you a whole lot less pure,” he said with a grin of his own.
Agurne barked out a quick laugh, then chuckled again when she saw that Flower and Garbi had no reaction at all.
“But then again, you know what they say about impure ground, Agurne. It needs a good plowing.”
For once, he had her speechless. He could see her mind spinning, trying to think of a good reply that didn’t reveal too much in front of the little ones. As though they weren’t aware already how such things went! What a delightful surprise; his Agurne blushing like a maiden! His grin turned predatory as he said, “We’ll plow all the fields you can imagine when we get home. It’s a lot easier than you remember, if you have a good horse. How would you like to ride a fine Laophilean stallion? I’m sure it’d get you where you want to go.”
Her face was indeed starting to redden, and it wasn’t the winter wind—the air was still. She huffed and said, “If I see one I like, I’ll let you know!”
Wolfscar, oblivious, said, “I haven’t seen any other horses around. Just the ones for the cart. And the Army’s. But, I think I haven’t gone to see Pepper in a long time. I want to see him and pat him on the head like this—,” and here the little fairy patted the air, “and I can go, and then come back and tell Flower how he looks. Then Flower will know if he’s fine. Then I can look for a way to go that isn’t a road, and we can go get him.”
Androkles wasn’t done teasing Agurne, not after finally succeeding for once. She was currently glaring at him, but that look had more in it than she wanted to reveal. But Wolfscar kept his own schedule and there was simply no talking sense into him. And it had indeed been far too long since Wolfscar had reported on Pepper. Weeks? Months? He could hardly remember; so much had happened since.
He said, “That’s not a bad idea. I’m not keen on getting back out in the open today anyway. Didn’t you say there were two other armies nearby? I think I want to give them a day or two to decide where they’re going. How long do you think it’ll take you?”
“Oh, um…” said Wolfscar, sticking his fingertip in his mouth to think. “I don’t know. But not as long because I think we are close now. There’s a big place that the roads have to go around but I can go over. Mountains. Okay, Garbi, I am going now so you have to give me a kiss.”
Garbi tried to put on a smile, but it was too sudden and she wasn’t pleased. She held out her hand for the fairy to land on. He did, and she kissed him on the forehead, then once again just to make sure.
“Me too,” said Flower, shyly folding down his white cat ears. Wolfscar flew over and got the same treatment.
“And me,” said Agurne. Wolfscar complied. Then he looked over at Androkles.
"Fine. Come here.” After giving the fairy his due, Androkles added, “Be safe out there, little one.”
“I will fly very high,” said Wolfscar gravely. Then he darted off and vanished against the bright daylight sky.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in quiet. Androkles slowly went about setting up a camp, relaxing at regular intervals because there was no hurry and it hurt to move. Agurne was content to coo at the horses and keep an eye on the children, although every so often she sauntered off to scout around and satisfy herself that nothing was sneaking up on them. Which he appreciated, because he didn’t want to do it.
There was little chatter, even between Flower and Garbi. They stayed within arm’s length of each other the whole time, though, even when they were sent to gather sticks for firewood. Flower’s tail kept wandering over to look for hers, but she didn’t have one to wind together like he and Pepper used to do. Eventually Androkles and Agurne ran out of chores for them to do, and it came time for Flower to ask if they could go play somewhere out of sight, be told no, and get upset about it.
However, the boy surprised them. He cleared away a patch of hard ground and showed Garbi a game involving flicking little rocks around inside a circle.
Flower said he’d watched the King’s women playing it, enough to learn the rules, but was never allowed to try it himself. It was better played on a well-sanded shield, but there wasn’t one available. Finding proper pebbles was an ongoing task, since they were supposed to be flat and circular and each time someone took a poor shot they’d stomp off to find a better one. Even Agurne joined in eventually, and Androkles would have if the ground wasn’t so far down. The rules allowed three players at once, which meant that Garbi and Flower teamed up against Agurne every time.
Watching the game failed to distract Androkles from his thoughts for long. Although this camp was hidden pretty well from the road, they weren’t concealed from anything else nearby. No walls to hide behind. All the brush around hid them somewhat, despite the lack of leaves, but it also hid anything trying to sneak up on them until it was sniffing up their robes or stealing their bread. Maybe he should’ve hidden in the cave like Agurne suggested? No, if they tried it, they’d probably find the other ogre.
He kept imagining what he’d do if something came stomping in from this direction or that. Whether he should go for his spear, or just a grapple. If some beast like a wolf came from over there, between those four thin trees, then he’d have to grab Flower and toss him out of the way. If it came from over there instead, across that muddy stretch of dirt, then he could try and throw that rock as a distraction and grab his spear on the way over…
Androkles even contemplated just getting his spear now and sitting with it until nightfall. He didn’t, thought, because as soon as he did the children would stop enjoying their game and start worrying about whatever he was worried about. And they needed their rest. Their little minds could only take so much.
The worst of it was that he knew he was slow right now. His injuries would keep him from fighting well, and his killing intent had so many problems he wasn’t sure if he even dared try it. Things seemed to be going wrong with that, lately.
There was still miasma inside him. Androkles had let out so much it was visible to the eyes, so much it empowered evil magic and shades and monsters for who knows how many miles in every direction. And if Wolfscar was to be believed, that had only been half.
He couldn’t even feel it sitting there over his heart, at least not directly. He could only locate it by its effect on his anger, which swirled like a sea of fire in his gut. Now that he knew it was there, it seemed to contain his killing intent from travelling all throughout him, much like a plug on a perfume bottle.
Several days ago, laying in that tent after Garbi found him and sewed him up, he’d almost released his anger before he realized Garbi and Wolfscar were too close. He’d turned it inward, too late to swallow back into its normal bounds. It must have collided with the miasma, he decided, and knocked some loose. That was the cause of the pain, of the feeling of something starting to fracture inside him.
Or was it not the miasma at all? Maybe his killing intent had been misdirected and burned him like it burned his enemies.
Mari’s words sounded again in his mind. “You think yourself strong, but that is a wound. You are bleeding on us…” Which had she meant? His killing intent, or the miasma, or both? The process of extracting the miasma hurt as bad as any wound, and the visions of death that accompanied it were certainly unpleasant. Haunting. Lingering.
“Oh, you wormy little shit-piles! You stinking, rain-soaked pits of week-old cat guts!” exclaimed Agurne, to laughter that rang through the trees like bronze bells, purifying the air much like those did.
Androkles smiled and closed his eyes, simply enjoying the sound. Flower and Garbi’s laughs were so similar he could hardly tell them apart, and they were a joy to hear after so long. How had he ever lived without it?
Old Thais would have loved this. That man had always had a soft spot for children, which is probably where Androkles got it from. And good thing, too, because at eleven Androkles had been a handful. Miserable and angry and aimless as a trireme in a storm with no oars. Thais had been gentle and good, and not sparing with discipline or honey treats. Androkles wondered if Garbi or the boys had ever had anything like that? Surely they had. He’d have to buy them some and find out.
He relaxed and settled more comfortably onto the sack of grain he’d brought out to sit on. The air was quiet and plenty warm beneath the furs across on his shoulders.
Androkles turned his attention inward, gazing at the sea of burning fire that rested always inside him. It was such a strange thing; it wasn’t real, not in the sense of being something he could poke with his fingers. He knew what his insides looked like and there wasn’t a lot of empty space in there. It was something else, like heat from a sun that never set and which he could never spy with his eyes.
His killing intent, his anger, his wrath and will. It had no form, no edges really, and only proved its existence when his mind rested on it. But there was a place inside him where it was, and places where it was not. What was it doing there, down at the bottom of his stomach? Why there, and not in his ankle or his throat?
Indeed, why not? Could it be moved around? He only ever thought of it in two states: open and closed. Perhaps he was imagining it having a place at all, and came purely from the strength of his will, of his intention. That had been how he thought of it for many years. His intent to do violence, to harm. A will birthed by years of certainty that he would kill the man in front of him. The force of that absolute certainty gave his intention physical force, he had always believed. But there must be more to it; it had a place in him where it rested.
He tried imagining it being in his left shoulder, just to see if it would go there. It did not. He imagined harder, giving more and more focus to the effort. It didn’t move, roiling quietly as it had always done. He shifted his focus over to the other shoulder, and much like before, nothing happened… except the mildest of tremors. A tiny ripple, a hint of a shudder. He chose to try something else and turned his inner eye to imagine the well of his fury expanding inside him, out into his limbs. To his surprise, a heat began to spread, like a line of hot honey dripping down inside his legs where the blood went.
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He made himself relax and let it spread, watching with his inner eye as it found strange paths and channels inside him. To his imagination, it seemed to appear almost like a ball of roots, with many long strands all working their way throughout his body. The feeling was not unpleasant, however. It even went upward, along the sides of his ribs; except the broken one, where it pooled and stopped. That was interesting.
And it never quite made it past his heart. Watching his own will and anger crawl and swirl and spread throughout his body was curious enough, but now he could now clearly sense where the miasma was, plain as paint on a wall. It sat like a stone of blackness, inscrutable and inert and doing nothing but stopping Androkles’ will from flowing where it must otherwise want to go.
He tried again to make his intent pool in one area, this time in the palm of his hand. For a moment, an amount of it slipped up the internal pathways and rested there, but it never stayed for long. He took up a pebble and held it in the palm of his hand, wondering if perhaps the weight of it would keep his focus on the spot and let it collect there.
It worked. Soon the sensation of weight from the pebble on his palm was joined by a sense of pressure from inside his skin as the power gathered to push back upward against the stone. The longer he focused, the more of his anger collected and concentrated, warming even his fingertips. Heat and pressure filled his palm, so much he carefully peeked to see if it was glowing like an ember. It was not.
He kept his mind on it, mostly from curiosity, as more and more of his will gathered in his hand. He could sense the stone. His intent gathered around it, exploring its contours. An image of it formed in his mind, its shape appearing in perfect detail. He searched the experience more and more, feeling as if he was learning more than he had in years.
Androkles pressed the gathered willpower into the stone, wondering if it he could peek inside.
An ear-splitting CRACK like a lightning strike shocked him from his reverie. He would have jumped to his feet if his rib would let him.
Garbi, Flower, and Agurne all shrieked and turned toward him with eyes wide. He met their stares with wide-eyed confusion of his own. A line of wetness slid down his cheek. Rain? Sweat? He closed his hand to wipe away whatever it was and only then did he realize the pebble was gone.
Completely vanished, not even powder left behind. On his palm he found a ring of sore redness, perhaps a bruise. He wiped his cheek and found blood.
“Papa, what happened?” asked a panicked Garbi. She was so frantic her hands were trembling.
“I…” he started, but paused. What had happened exactly? He wiped blood dripping down another part of his face. Not much, not from broad, deep cuts. More like little puncture wounds. And then he knew: “I accidently burst a little stone.”
“You did what?” asked Flower, his golden-yellow eyes anxious and wide. He jumped to his feet and shakily stepped over to get a better look. Garbi was not far behind him.
“Well, I…” he started, but shut his mouth, unsure how to explain. He turned his attention inward briefly, just to see what his killing intent was doing. It had retreated and settled back into his gut. “I found I can move my anger around now, inside myself. I’ve never done that before. When I sent it into a little stone I picked up, the poxy thing burst on me.”
Agurne, for once in her life, did not sound angry. She must have been so surprised that she forgot to put on her usual airs. Something that should have sounded snarky was merely curious as she said, “What do you mean you moved around your evil? How? You got mad at different things?”
“No, it’s… it’s hard to explain. But my anger always felt like something inside me, like water in a jug. It comes out when I want it. Some in the army used to call it killing intent, and it’s something old soldiers get after they win enough fights. They just get a look in their eyes, and you know they’re going to kill you. It’s good for scaring off recruits. I always had it stronger than most because I fought in more battles. But I’ve never really tried doing anything with it, or at least nothing like this.”
Another drop of blood slid down his nose and into his mustache. He sighed. “Flower, Garbi, go find some clean cloth and wipe these little cuts off. Let’s see if there’s any bits of rock still stuck in me.”
The children hurried over to the cart to see what they could find, but it wasn’t long before it was clear all the bandages were currently in use. He saw Flower pick up the last strips of the red cloth for Wolfscar’s little robes and he and Garbi looked at each other nervously.
“Just get some snow if there aren’t any more bandages.”
The snow, it turned out, just made a mess. He figured it would soak up the blood, but it did more smearing than soaking, and the cold meltwater had a way of dripping all the way down inside his shirt. However, Flower did manage to pull out a piece of sharp stone about the size of a child’s fingernail from one of the cuts, which both horrified and gratified the nervous boy.
Without a word, Agurne handed him his spear before he even realized she’d gone to pick it up. It took only a moment for the children to realize something was wrong, and they went stiff and ashen-spirited as Agurne gathered them around behind him. Only then did she whisper in his ear, “In the bush to the north. Eyes.”
It took him several breaths to find it: a spotted, feline creature the color of the decomposing leaves against the dirt, almost perfectly camouflaged. Its eyes caught a glint and flashed yellow like the boys’, and only then did Androkles see its face: A man’s face the color of muddy water. A panther with a man’s face. Lovely. By all the gods, why not?
“What is it? I don’t see anything!” muttered Flower urgently.
“I have no idea,” said Androkles. Then, louder so the creature would hear, he said, “Can you talk?”
The hideous thing didn’t respond. Only when Androkles pull himself to his feet with his spear, eyes locked on it the whole time, did it stand from its ready crouch and step forward. The cat monster’s human face was unwrinkled and bald, smoother than was natural. It looked more like a clay doll than a man; the features were all there, but something about it was off. It could have even been female, for all he knew, but he didn’t think so.
The cat-thing pulled back its lips in what could have been a smile but looked more like a beast baring its teeth. Those were very much like the sharp shark-like teeth Skythanders had in front, but more jagged, as if it’d spent a lot of time chewing bones and rocks.
Just looking at the thing made him nauseous; something about the way it slinked forward like a panther after a lamb, coupled with its expressionless man-face, caused such deep revulsion in him that he thought he might vomit.
“Agurne, do you have any idea what that thing is?” he asked.
“No, none,” she replied, quiet and subdued. He sensed she was truly scared.
“Well, I hate it,” said Androkles. He stomped on the ground and shouted, “Get! Go on!”
Instead of drawing back like he’d hoped, the thing chose that moment to jump at him, mouth open and claws extended. The children screamed.
Androkles spun the spear up and swung it with both hands, hoping to catch the thing alongside the head. It ducked back and away, just barely out of reach.
His broken ribs erupted in scalding pain, forcing him to clench and bare his teeth right back at the cat monster. The shredded skin of his arms felt like one giant peeled blister from armpit to forearm, but it wouldn’t slow him down. The ribs, though—they might make him flinch at the wrong moment. He grit his teeth harder and scowled, bracing himself against the pain he knew was coming.
“I’ve got a shield up,” said Agurne, a bit father behind him. He nodded without looking; from the sound of it, she’d backed the children up to give him some room. Good.
The man-panther’s human eyes flitted past him and it began to circle around to the side. Androkles turned to follow, but only too late did he realize it was trying to get around him, not outflank him. He leaped out in a spear-thrust just in time to stop it from leaping right through Agurne’s shield.
He stabbed several more times, but the beast danced around the point of his spear like a leaf in the wind. Agurne stumbled and fell back, then was helped to her feet by Flower and Garbi.
The shield gone, the three of them scurried back behind Androkles while he did his best to keep the thing at bay. Garbi screamed the whole time—short, punctuated bursts of high-pitched shriek that made his ears ache. Flower had his mouth shut tight like he was afraid of what might happen if he opened it.
Ashe the Wolf was suddenly in the mix, having come out of her resting spot nestled in the cart. She growled low and menacing but didn’t dare attack on her own. She seemed to be as unsettled by it as he was. However, she did rush to place herself between the thing and Garbi. Thank the gods for that.
Androkles stepped forward with another stab and still the cat monster slipped around the strike with ease. Another, and another. Each time, the thing seemed to be a step ahead of him. It reminded him of a weasel he’d seen fighting a snake once. The weasel won.
He feinted, giving a series of quick half-thrusts intended to throw it off balance. For the slightest instant its footing seemed unsure and he stabbed forward again. His spear barely caught the thing in the front shoulder. Like before, it slipped away; but not before he gave it a good cut.
It screamed at him, the first sound he’d heard it make. Its wretched voice was somewhere between a young woman and an angry crow. Again his stomach ached and he felt himself turning green.
Trying to keep down his lunch distracted him for an instant too long. The wicked thing leaped at him again, this time up over the tip of his spear and right into his chest.
Androkles dropped the spear in time to get his hands against its ribs and throw it back down, but it bit the bearskin and held on. Its bottom claws raked against his legs but somehow failed to get through the thick wool of his pants. He heaved the thing upward, tossing his bearskin with it.
Poppy the Stag leaped forward to batter it with his front hooves, then dug his mighty horns in while it was still trying to untangle itself from the bear skin. The great beast ground it down like he was trying to push it right into the dirt and bury it. The man-panther must have been skewered in six different places, but that did nothing to stop its screams, or slow its wild twists and convulsions to try and get free.
Androkles retrieved his spear, grunting in pain when he bent over too quickly. This time, with the man-panther unable to move it was an easy target. He stabbed it at least twenty times, making an awful mess that he then had to help pull from Poppy’s horns when the stag finally raised his head.
His every hair seemed on edge, but it was over. He breathed deep to calm down. Androkles looked at the stag and their eyes met. It regarded him coldly as if to say, “Why am I taking care of this for you?” He gave it the slightest nod he could, then turned away. Well, what did that asshole of a walking feast offering expect, gratitude and a sweet cake?
The second panther had its claws in his shoulders before he even realized it was there. Its front and back claws dug into his flesh, fastening the horrible thing to him in a way he couldn’t resolve without a lot of his own blood. Before he came up with an idea, it started trying to chew its way into his skull.
The moment he felt its teeth hit bone, he released his killing intent at full force, almost on pure instinct. The second man-panther screamed into his hair and dug in further. It went rigid, but in a way that just made its claws clench even more firmly into his shoulders and thighs.
Agurne! What if she wasn’t ready with the shield? In a panic, he got as strong a hold on his anger as he could and tried to yank it all back inside, but it went wrong. He could feel it swirling in his gut, feel it roaring out of his entire skin, feel how it was stunted and stoppered by the miasma. No sooner was he aware of the cancer of miasma over his heart than his anger directed itself there, like it had gathered at the stone in his palm.
He felt a slip. Then a crack.
A sense of sickly blackness broke away from the rest and seeped out into his body. It soon permeated everything and roasted like plague-ridden acid all through his veins. He gasped and nearly howled, trying with all the focus and energy he could gather to direct it upward into the creature.
It did not obey him and his body became a battleground. All throughout him, his killing intent pressed and fought against the miasma, which burned and consumed and sickened everything it could. His anger swirled and fought against it, pushing it this way and that like oil and water in a shaken pot. The blackness inside him was poison. It was death. It was killing him.
It should have killed him years ago. It would have. He recognized that now: it would have left him long dead but for the counterbalance of his killing intent. Each year, each kill, they both grew stronger. Twenty-five years of bloodshed had made him what he was. Every battle grew the miasma stuck on him, and in response his killing intent grew to contain it. And no wonder it was getting so much stronger in the last few months—he killed a cyclops and a goddess. Did their deaths make miasma? Their corpses?
He had no time for further reflection. The monster atop his head twitched and inhaled sharply, sounding very human. Androkles felt its claws twisting inside him as it regained its senses. He grabbed it just above the front paws and tried to lift them out, but the fiery war raging inside him stole the strength from his arms.
The horrible creature licked blood off his forehead. Its tongue felt perfectly human, soft and wet. The cold air made him acutely aware of the slick of saliva on his forehead and he yelled aloud, “Oh, piss on the gods! Crows take it all!”
Genuine fury and indignation flared within him, raising the battle between his will and the miasma to new heights. The pressure of conflict welled stronger and stronger until he realized he’d made a grave mistake—the two powers had grown too much for his skin to contain.
He tried to direct it all up and out, but the burning oil inside him slipped off his mental fingers and pressed outward against his skin. It pressed against his skin until it burst out in several places at once, slipping out like steam from a pot with a good lid.
Androkles smelled burning hair and cloth. Trying to glance down through the hideous creature’s thick fur, he caught a glimpse of fire. All across his body, tiny spouts of flame were bursting forth and burning little holes in his clothing before puffing out.
Inside him, the two powers swelled and fought and scorched him. His mind fumbled desperately for anything he could do to stop it, to save himself before he lit up like a lamp and burned alive in front of his woman and children.
It was so loud he could hardly concentrate, and he realized that Agurne was screaming bloody horror along with the children.
OUT! he shouted inside himself. UP AND OUT!
Concentrating on the wet spot on his forehead from where it had licked him only seconds before, he imagined all the energy inside him gathering there. He screamed at himself to focus and poured all his mental energy into that one spot, willing everything to flow upward.
It obeyed, miasma and all. It felt like a grease fire atop a stormy ocean, but all that might suddenly collected in his forehead and collapsed on itself, heating up to unbelievable brightness.
Androkles buried his head in the creature’s fur and pulled it against him. OUT! he commanded, and pushed.
The two powers slid out of him and into the creature and immediately the thing burst in a blazing fury and split apart, splattering to the ground around him.
But the fire raged on. He could no longer call it back. It blazed ever higher, fed by the powers inside him like lamp oil. It came out his open eyes, his open mouth, his whole torso as he screamed upward into the sky. The fire roaring into the air above him flashed in bright greens and reds.
Ever higher it rose, drawing everything out of him that it could. He could feel the miasma wicking out of him in a line that hissed like death through his flesh.
The fire spouted above the trees and ever upward, high into the air. It made a bright pillar against the sky, causing the ocean-dark blue expanse to grow dimmer in comparison. He felt his skin blister and smelled his clothing burning off him.
STOP! he willed. And again. And again. STOP!
The heaven-touching column of fire winked out, leaving behind a clouds-tall trail of sickly yellow smoke, which vanished not two breaths later.
Completely enervated, Androkles collapsed to the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer. His mind was too weary to even try and see how much of his killing intent remained, if any; but it felt like a weight had been lifted away from his heart. Some few bits of miasma that remained inside him soon evaporated into the air, and it was over.
His battle-focus gone, he could hear again the screams of his family. Agurne shouted his name over and over as she raced about the little camp, and an instant later he felt himself being pelted with snow. They were putting the fire out. That was thoughtful.
“Ow!” he complained. Every bit of him felt singed and sore, inside and out.
“I think he’s out, Mama! The fire’s all out,” yelled a desperate Flower, his voice cracking with emotion. “Papa, can you hear me? There were only two of those things! It’s okay now!”
Garbi fell across his chest and started shaking him, trying to wake him. “Don’t die!” she shouted. “Oh, Papa, Wake up!”
Androkles tried to open his eyes, but they felt sunburned. “I’m awake, you silly girl. I just wanted to be on fire for a bit. Calm down.”
“Are you gonna live!?” yelled Flower.
“Well, I hope so.”
Agurne kicked him in the knee and said, “You bastard son of a youth and a tree knot! How dare you scare me like that! You’d better hope you do die next time, you ungrateful shitworm!”
Androkles would have grinned at that if he had the strength. He forced his eyes open to reassure them. “Help me sit up,” he said, holding up his arms. He groaned as they pulled him up, none too gently on his ribs. Surprisingly, his clothes had the worst of it. Singe marks and burn holes had rendered most of what he had on near useless, and already the chill air was creeping in.
He flexed his fingers and toes. Truly, he didn’t feel that bad, considering how much it’d hurt mere moments ago. He was sure he’d be covered in burns, but to his relief, he just looked a bit red.
“What happened, Papa?” asked Flower. “Why did you light on fire?”
He opened his mouth to explain just as he heard the shouts and warhorn come rolling in down from the army at the top of the pass. They’d seen the fire. Of course they had. How could they have missed it? Nothing could ever be easy. And into that realization came other sounds, bestial sounds of growls and trampled vegetation and dark, heavy thumps of something enormous moving. Lots of things. Headed here.
The army, and whatever further monsters the King’s shades had been awakening. Everything for miles around had seen the beacon he’d become, and from the sounds of it, they were all starting to move in his direction.
“Shit,” he muttered.