Catechist - A Triumph Of Souls Part 17

"Maybe another time." The swordsman ventured a wan smile. "My soul's all tied up just now." He pointed to his companion. "With him."

"Pity." Straightening, the demon smiled affably at Ehomba. "I could split your sternum, tear out your heart, and leave you to bleed to death here in the sand." He shuddered slightly. "But I can tell that you'd spoil it all by resisting, and anyway it's too cold out this morning for sport. I've a ways to go before I dig a hole and make camp."

"Since you are not going to kill us," the herdsman replied good-naturedly, "could you tell us how far it is to the nearest water hole?"

"Water hole?" The demon eyed him in disbelief, then burst out roaring. It was laughter wild and withering enough to scald bare skin. Indeed, unprotected by fur or learning, Ehomba had to turn away from it to keep himself from being scorched.

"There's no water holes in this country. Hot springs, yes, and boiling mud pots, and steaming alkali lakes a being can take a proper bath in-but water holes?" One crimson, clawed finger elongated enough to reach up and over the specter's skull, pointing to the northwest.

"Only one place you might find running water, and that's Skawpane. They got everything in Skawpane.

Another month or so and I'll be due for a visit there myself, depending on how well the prospecting goes." From the vicinity of the occulted leather bag, small screams bereft of all hope seeped futilely.

Simna ibn Sind shuddered. The chill he felt had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature, perceived or otherwise.

"What is this Skawpane?" Ehomba asked.

The demon sn.i.g.g.e.red at some private joke. "Only decent place in the Blasted Lands. There's other flyspecks claim to be, but Skawpane's the only real town." Oculi that reflected righteously h.e.l.lish origins stared into the herdsman's. "Go there if you dare. If you seek water that's unboiled and nonpoisonous, that's the only place you might find it. I guarantee you one thing." It nodded knowingly. "You and your familiars will be a novelty. Don't get many mortals in Skawpane."

With that, the apparition tipped its hat politely, set it neatly back over the protruding horns, and ambled off down a side gully. In its wake the stink of masticated sulfur and burning brimstone corrupted the air, and bootprints fused the sand where they had trod into dungy gla.s.s.

Smiling pallidly, Simna was quick to offer a suggestion. "If we ration our remaining water carefully, we might well make it to the base of the mountains."

Ehomba considered. "That is what I wanted to believe. But I think now that I was allowing my common sense to be swept aside by optimism and hope. Hunkapa Aub in particular needs a lot of water." He sighed. "We must make our way to this Skawpane and refill our water bags there."

The swordsman was reluctant to concede the point. "How about we just let our common sense be swept, and hope that we find a spring as soon as we strike the foothills?"

Ehomba pursed his lips disapprovingly. "You are more afraid of what we may encounter in this town than you are of dying of thirst?"

Simna jerked a thumb toward the gully where the prospecting demon had disappeared. "If that thing was representative of the general citizenry of this particular metropolis, then my answer is yes."

It did not matter. He was outvoted. Having followed Etjole Ehomba this far, neither Hunkapa Aub nor the black litah was about to dispute his judgment. That was because both of them were dumb animals, Simna knew, though he was loath to point it out. Grumbling, he hoisted his pack and water bags and followed along.

Maybe he was worrying needlessly, he told himself. Maybe the demon had been having a little fun at their expense. Skawpane might prove to be a quaint, if isolated, little oasis of a community, its dusty streets shaded by palm trees, its inhabitants serene and content with their lot. Believing this, wanting to believe it, he marched along beside his tall companion with a renewed feeling of confidence. Even if he was wrong and his hopes were to prove unrealized, how bad could it be? A town was a town, with all the familiar urban baggage that implied.

When they finally reached the munic.i.p.al outskirts, he saw that he was only partially correct. Skawpane was a community, all right.

But it was no oasis.

XVI.

"Do we have to go in there?" Simna stood atop the smooth-surfaced, rounded boulder of yellow-white sandstone looking across the flat, hardscrabble plain that separated the travelers from the first outlying structures.

Ehomba did not squint as he contemplated their imminent destination. He was used to the sun. "Unless you want to chance running out of water before we reach the mountains. I have seen men who tried to reach the coast of Naumkib from the interior but ran out of water before they found a stream or village.

Even those who had not yet been located by scavengers were unpleasant to look upon."

"A fine choice," the swordsman grumbled. Resigned, he started down the gentle slope. "Hoy, maybe they'll have cold beer."

After a last, speculative glance, Ehomba followed and caught up to him. "Do you really believe that?"

"No," Simna confessed, "but here lately I find that I prefer refres.h.i.+ng delusions to the reality of our actual surroundings."

Skawpane turned out to be less appalling from a distance. From the disgusting state of the dirt streets that ran with dull green putrescence to the sewer grates designed to carry off flash floods of mucus, the act of merely walking quickly degenerated into a detestable activity. No edifice rose to a height of more than three stories, perhaps because of the lack of suitable building materials. Storefronts were fas.h.i.+oned of skin tanned to woody toughness by the repeated application of hot blood and salt water. The origin of these skins was a question the travelers by mutual unspoken consent decided not to ask.

Sidewalks rose a foot or more above the abominable streets. Instead of wooden slats, their planks were fas.h.i.+oned of split bones with the rounded side facing downward. Larger bones such as scapulae had been made into gleaming white shutters that flanked windows of thinly stretched corneas. Occasionally a poorly fas.h.i.+oned pane would blink desperately, reflecting its organic origin.

There were tall, narrow chimneys made of interlocking vertebrae, though what a home or shop would need with a chimney and fireplace in such a h.e.l.lish climate Ehomba could not imagine. Troughs of liquid sulfur stood outside several of the establishments. Standing patiently at their hitching rails and nuzzling the noxious, toxic brew they contained were a diversity of infernal steeds. The herdsman saw desiccated horses whose pointed ribs protruded from their sides and whose lower incisors pierced their upper jaws like the tusks of b.a.s.t.a.r.d babirusas. All had prominent, protuberant eyes that shone with the madness that resided within.

Nor were they the only mounts secured or occasionally spiked to the railings. One storefront they pa.s.sed had a pair of enormous, hirsute hogs roped to a trough at which they rooted ferociously. When these glanced up to espy the travelers, they strove hard to break their bonds. In so doing they exposed mouthfuls of long, sharp teeth that seemed to belong to some other animal. The saddles fastened to their backs were small and narrow, with disproportionately high pommels. What their riders looked like the visitors could only imagine.

Across the street three elephantine orange-green slugs lay melting in the sun. Their glutinous bodies renewed themselves as they liquefied and they emitted an odor so foul that it rose above all the other myriad stinks that afflicted the noisome concourse. In place of saddles they wore simple handgrips that were buried deep within the slimy flesh itself. Once more, their riders were thankfully conspicuous by their absence.

That did not mean that the streets were devoid of denizens. While Skawpane would never pa.s.s for a bustling metropolis, neither was it a ghost town-though ghosts shared the streets and fronting establishments with the rest of their fellow citizens. In addition to reddish demons who might have been related to the prospector they had encountered out in the layered hills, there were demonic folk of every stripe and color. Some were dressed in styles that would have been considered shocking in cities as far apart as Lybondai or Askaskos, but which in their current surroundings seemed perfectly appropriate.

Others were content with plainer attire.

The population was a melange of all that was disturbing and horrific, a veritable melting pot of the diabolical. Besides demons and ghosts there were less familiar phantasms, from towering, spindly brown creatures with bulging pop eyes to winged horrors boasting circular mouths that covered their entire black faces. The crows that haunted the tops of buildings and pecked at offal in the streets had membranous wings like bats, and sickly toothed beaks that looked fragile enough to crumble at a touch.

A flower-crowned, tentacled horror lazing in a rocking chair made of human bones tracked their progress down this boulevard of horrors with organs that were not eyes. Next to where its feet would have been if it had had feet, a dog-sized lump of multilegged one-eyed phlegm lifted its rostrum and sniveled threateningly.

Wherever they went and whatever they pa.s.sed, they attracted attention. Exactly as the prospector had predicted, the arrival of mortals in town was cause for comment. When a tubby yellow blob whose midsection was lined with gaping multiple mouths came b.u.mbling off the sidewalk toward them with self-evident mayhem on whatever it possessed for a mind and both Ehomba and Simna drew swords and proceeded to cut it to pieces, none of the fiendish onlookers voiced a warning or raised an objection. In fact, several evinced what appeared to be evidence of macabre amus.e.m.e.nt. A few interested horrors that had been considering partic.i.p.ating in the antic.i.p.ated butchery changed their minds at this exhibition of formidable resistance on the part of the visiting quartet.

"I need to stop and clean myself." Repeatedly licking one forepaw, the black litah applied it to his eyes and snout. "I don't think I've ever felt so filthy."

"It is not the street here that makes one feel unclean." Striding along, the always curious Ehomba tried to identify the composition of the slimed, slaglike substance beneath his sandals. "It is the atmosphere."

"Hunkapa no like," declared the hairy ma.s.s that lumbered along in his wake.

"We agree on something." Holding his sword like a long gray flag of warning, Simna put all the confidence and c.o.c.kiness he could muster into his stride. At the first sign of weakness here, he suspected, the four of them would go down beneath a horde of horrors, torn apart for a midday snack-and that was if they were lucky. It was vital to maintain an appearance of invincibility.

In this Ehomba was of no help. Ever since they had entered the town, the soft-voiced herdsman had altered nothing. His expression, his posture, the loose, casual manner in which he held his spear: all were unchanged. Whether this seeming indifference was perceived by the ghastly inhabitants of Skawpane as an invitation to feast or supreme confidence in powers they could not descry remained to be seen.

At least they were not immune to the effects of a well-honed blade, skillfully wielded, the swordsman reflected. He gripped his sword a little tighter.

"Hoy, bruther, where's the water you promised us?"

"Promised?" Ehomba glanced down at his friend. "If you would put food in my mouth with as much ease as you do words, I would never grow hungry again." Simna might think him detached, but his cool dark eyes missed nothing. "We need to ask someone."

"Don't you mean something?" The swordsman skipped agilely to one side as a crow soaring past overhead relieved itself. The dark red dropping sizzled where it struck the moist, mephitic street.

"I wonder why someone-or something-chose to put a town here, in the worst place imaginable?"

Ehomba mused as they walked on. The buildings were moving slightly apart as the street widened. They were coming to some kind of central square or plaza.

Simna's retort was tense and edgy. "Maybe it's a summer resort, where the residents can come to escape the heat of their customary surroundings. Who knows what monstrosities like these consider attractive in the way of climate or countryside?"

"For one thing, we like it beautifully barren and dest.i.tute, visitor. To most of us this is splendid country."

Thus hailed, they halted. The figure that had spoken had paused in its stroll down the osseous promenade. It was a lizard, but while both Ehomba and Simna were familiar with the four-legged reptiles from their respective travels and homelands, neither man had ever encountered a lizard like the one they confronted now.

Standing on its severely bowed hind legs, the reptile was a good three feet tall. It wore a military-style cap, maroon vest with gold stripes, long, tattered brown pants, and no shoes. Stretching another three feet behind it, a brown-and-green tail whipped nervously back and forth as it spoke. Completing the unexpected costume were a pair of pince-nez gla.s.ses that rode comfortably halfway down its snout.

Inclining its head slightly downward so it could peer out over these at the visitors, the lizard tut-tutted softly. "I declare, you lot are the most peculiar collection I've seen in some time. If you don't like it here, I suggest you move on."

"That is exactly what we are planning to do," Ehomba responded politely. "Just as soon as we are able to top off our water supply."

"So it's water you want, is it? In Skawpane." The head bobbed rapidly up and down. "Interesting. We don't get many calls for water here. Sulfur now, or antimony, or cinnabar; those the general store stocks in bulk. But water-your options are mighty restricted." Slitted eyes blinked as they stared up the street.

"So's your time."

"Why?" In the face of danger, it was typical for Simna's tone to turn belligerent. "Don't the locals like company? Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm the town monitor. As for my fellow citizens, they're an intemperate lot at best. Never know how the individual members of such a mixed bunch are likely to react in any given situation. There's folks here who'd like to talk to you, some who might invite you in for a game of cards or bowls, but most would probably prefer just to tear you limb from limb."

"Hungry?" Hunkapa Aub asked.

The lizard nodded. "Or just surly. Or wanting the exercise. Even established locals have to watch their step. The fiends among us are no respecters of residency. Skawpane's a popular place among the d.a.m.ned and doomed."

"Which are you?" Hunkapa inquired innocently.

"The downtrodden. In fact, things have been so bad hereabouts lately that I'm thinking of taking off for open country. You get tired of looking over your shoulder every minute. Trying to make a living in the midst of unrelenting demoniac anarchy takes a toll on one's health."

Holding firmly to his spear, Ehomba watched as a pair of blue demons with four legs and long, warty snouts crossed the street in front of them. They were trailed by three magnificently ugly but well-dressed miniature versions of themselves. Much to their parents' satisfaction, the young demons fought continuously among themselves. Darting in and among the impish offspring was a small, yapping bundle of thorns that had feet but no legs. Or head.

"You said that our options were restricted. That implies that options exist. What are ours?"

"For obtaining water?" The lizard turned, claws clattering on the bone sidewalk, and pointed. "The central plaza lies just ahead, on the other side of the memorial munic.i.p.al ceremonial slaughterhouse. In the middle of the plaza is the town fountain. That's where you'll find your water."

"And no one will object to us filling our bags?"

The reptile shrugged. "Your very presence here is an insult to all that is profane and unredeemed.

Mortals don't belong in Skawpane. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still alive. I would've thought by now that some enterprising perversion would have killed you, skinned you, and hung you out to cure in the sun. Or done so without killing you." Cold reptilian eyes regarded them speculatively. "As I said, you're an odd lot. You might get your water. Of course, after that you still have to make it safely out of town."

A scaly thumb gestured.

"Remember: on past the slaughterhouse, middle of the central plaza. And good luck."

With that it resumed its stroll along the sidewalk and had not gone more than a couple of yards before something long, leprous, and scarlet shot out from within a shaded storefront to wrap snakelike several times around its middle. Hissing violently, the lizard was drawn back into the depths of the aperture.

From within arose the sounds of violent and desperate conflict.

The travelers did not linger to witness the outcome. Ehomba led them onward, away from the noise of fighting. Not only was it the safe thing to do, it was the accepted reaction. None of the other locals out walking the streets paid the slightest attention to the shrouded life-and-death struggle taking place nearby.

They went about their business as if nothing untoward were taking place-which for Skawpane was perfectly true.

Simna placed his feet carefully, doing his best to avoid stepping on the pale white maggots that infested the street slime and snapped hungrily at his ankles. They could not catch him, but there were certain places on the public avenue where it would clearly be unwise to loiter. Though everywhere awash in corruption and decay, some spots were perceptibly worse than others.

"Hoy, I've seen too many tentacles since joining your company, Etjole." The swordsman nodded back the way they had come. "That one was particularly long and vicious. Reminded me of our encounter with the Kraken, but at least in this case there was only one of them."

Ehomba kept his gaze alert as he unblinkingly scrutinized shadows and side pa.s.sages. "Yes, but that was no tentacle, Simna. It was a tongue. And the storefront from which it emerged was not a place of business at all, but a mouth most carefully disguised. Little here is what it seems, and visitors such as ourselves can be sure of one thing only: the omnipresence of death."

"Hoy-thanks for that explanation, bruther. I feel so much better now." Behind them, the black litah paused repeatedly to flick slime from its paws.

"I am only pointing out what is true," Ehomba countered.

"Sometimes it's better to keep what's true to yourself." The swordsman nodded forward. "Looks like more of the friendly citizenry has come out to greet us."

From the ominous, looming double door that sealed the end of the slaughterhouse, more than a dozen of Skawpane's diverse inhabitants had emerged. They formed a line across the volcanic paving stones that marked the outskirts of the town plaza, blocking the only visible access to the center.

From their attire and accoutrements Ehomba decided that all or most of them must work in that dismal, odiferous structure. Several wore long ap.r.o.ns encrusted with revolting dark stains. Their expressions were frightful, their posture dire. It was clear that they had no intention of stepping aside to let the travelers pa.s.s.

Several stood more than ten feet tall and boasted multiple arms or boneless limbs. Others had three eyes, or no eyes at all. One of the creatures most nearly resembled the many-branched cacti that grew in isolated thickets back of the Naumkib's grazing lands. Toxic pus oozed from each quill, and the drool that ran in a steady trickle from a central orifice dissolved whatever it came in contact with.

All were armed. Not with weapons, but with the tools of their horrific, evil-smelling trade. Much in evidence were oversized skinning knives: long punctuation marks of metal, sharper than razors and blotchy with dried blood. The largest among the coterie of inhuman butchers fingered meat cleavers the size of small doors, weighty with malevolence. Standing in line, blocking progress, they watched the approach of the diverse quartet of advancing mortals. While most sported no expression at all (and indeed, some had nothing to express with), a few wore macabre grins that were crescent moons of pure evil.

Simna casually raised his sword. "Maybe we should go around; try entering the square from another part of town?"

"What makes you think these wicked corruptions of all that lives and breathes would not be waiting for us there as well?" Keeping his voice down, Ehomba slipped his spear into its sling on his back. "Besides, I have a strong feeling that if we were to turn our backs on any of the inhabitants of this place, they would take that as a sign of unqualified weakness and fall upon us in a body. From the moment we entered into the boundaries of Skawpane I sensed that sooner or later we would have to defend, and prove, ourselves." Reaching back over his shoulder, he drew forth the sword of etched sky metal. As always, it emitted an imperceptible hiss when drawn from its scabbard. "It seems it is to be sooner."

One of the biggest of the brutish butchers laughed hollowly at the sight of the two bright, slim weapons.

Its impure t.i.ttering resonated through the soles of the travelers' feet.

"Puny mortal weapons will not serve here, little meat. We're going to carve you up, dress you down, and pick our teeth with your bones!"

Something that looked like it had been run over twenty times by a wagon laden with building stone weaved slowly back and forth on powerful, if unsteady, feet. It had one oversized, bloodshot eye and a second that seemed to float around the lower portion of its face like an iniquitous afterthought.

"Use your jugular for a straw and suck your blood. Nice 'n' salty."

"Eyes," declared something else that had no name, nor want of one. "I claim the eyes."

"Not all eight!" The cleaver-wielding hulk swaying next to it objected strenuously. "Half are mine." It raised the immense blade.

Holding his sword at the ready, with a tensed Hunkapa Aub guarding his left side, Simna ibn Sind brayed defiance. "Come on then, you p.i.s.s-poor pack of putrescence! You motherless self-fornicators!

We'll see who's skilled with a blade here, and who's ripe for butchering! I'm thirsty, and I mean to drink my fill at your town fountain. And if that means going through you instead of around, then by Gucoron, have at it!" He nodded to his right, where a tall figure stood silently holding a larger sword before him.

"This here is Etjole Ehomba, the most powerful wizard on either side of the Semordria Ocean! Press him, and he'll blow out your eyes and pickle your entrails!" He gestured with one hand. "Come on then, you long-winded flock of featherless foulness!"

"A wizard." One of the other butchers cackled. "Mortal magic doesn't work here, little meat. The atmosphere is all wrong. Too dry, or too hot, or too disrespectful. Skawpane is rife with impudence and contempt for anything that seeps in from the world outside. Your magic, if you command any, which by the looks of you I seriously doubt, will not save you here." Saclike, malignant eyes bored into those of the swordsman. "You're going todie here, little meat. But you won't be food for worms, because we leave no sc.r.a.ps for our pets."

"Had a pet once," mumbled the thing with one oversized eyeball and one too small, "but it made too much noise one day. So I ate it. It was greasy." Rubbery lips smacked. "I like grease."