Hush (Dragon Apocalypse) (29 page)

“Maybe they’re heading back to the village to sound a warning,” I said. “We might be close.”

“Maybe,” said Infidel. “But I didn’t see anything like a village anywhere near.”

“Hang tight,” I said. “I’m going to slip beneath the ice and figure out which way they’re going.”

“Go,” she said.

I let go of the silver threads and slipped from my shell. I willed myself down through the ice, shuddering from both the chill of my environment and the existential crises that confronted me every time I let go of the illusion of solidity and embraced the advantages of my spectral nature.

In the water, the ice overhead was a pale translucent gray-blue through which the twilight seeped. From above, the ice looked uniform, but from beneath it revealed itself to be riddled with cracks. Since we’d been flying up from the south and hadn’t spotted a village, I had a hunch that the ogres were heading north. I pursued, and a moment later spotted their faint auras. I flashed toward them just as they reached a gap in the ice. With powerful kicks, they burst upward, doing what can only be described as a reverse dive. Once above, they began to run without so much as a pause to catch their breaths.

I continued to give chase, hoping they’d reach their destination soon. They didn’t. I couldn’t accurately tell time, but I’m certain I gave chase for at least an hour. The blue twilight that had persisted after the sunset receded once more to black. I had only starlight to see by, but it was sufficient to reveal that the frozen ice the ogres ran across was now bordered by actual land, steep cliffs a half-mile high.

At the second hour of their headlong flight through the darkness, I began to wonder if Infidel would give up on waiting for me. I should have committed to a time limit, but planning ahead wasn’t something either of us was famous for. The ogres showed no signs of weariness as I floated beside them. Aurora had told me she was a runt among her kind, and assuming that these two random specimens were closer to average, she’d been right. They were each at least ten feet tall, broad-shouldered, with arms and legs packed into seal-fur tights that fit like second skins. Given the tightness of their pants, I had evidence that these were males of the species. Their faces were the same pale blue-white as Aurora’s, but squarer. Their brows were dappled with hemi-circular scars that reminded me of overlapping scales. I’d seen similar scarification as decoration among river pygmies, who sometimes marked fish-scale patterns along their shoulders and spines.

Just as I’d decided to give up and return to Infidel, I saw a glow on the northern horizon, completely different in nature from the brief sunrise I’d witnessed earlier. I flitted upward and found the cliffs cut back in a sharp V shape a mile across at the open end. Within was a frozen bay, decorated by what looked like hundreds of perfect hemispheres packed closely together. My lack of perspective made them look small at first, until I saw ogres going in and out of them through sealskin curtains. Drawing closer, I saw that they were hollow domes of ice almost fifty feet across. Most were topped with dark black holes from which smoke rose; the fires within lit the structures with a dim yellow light. Black shadows moved menacingly against the backlighting. The atmosphere above the village had the distinct aroma of rotting fish and burnt bacon, a scent reminiscent of the whale oil the Wanderers burned in their lamps, but much stronger.

Having at least a minute’s lead on the two startled hunters, I flitted into the nearest dome. The smell within was so foul I reached up to pinch my nostrils, forgetting the intangible nature of both fingers and nose. In the central fire pit they were burning what looked like cow patties, though of course there were no cows within a thousand miles. Perhaps they were ogre turds; at least a dozen of the beasts were packed into this dwelling. They’d shed their clothing and went about naked. The floors of the ice dome where carpeted with thick sheets of skins, and the warmth of the room was surprising; I wondered how the walls survived. A mother ogre was nursing three youngsters simultaneously; she was equipped with four working breasts. I’d never noticed this excess of mammary glands on Aurora, but Aurora had typically dressed in a manner that concealed the true contours of her body. She’d worked for the Black Swan for two years before I learned she was female.

The ogres within the dome all lifted their heads at once. The two hunters were close enough to the village that their shouts could be heard. Flitting back outside, the commotion grew; not only were the two hunters shouting as they covered the last few hundred yards toward the village, but news of their arrival was being trumpeted in deep-barreled baritones from dome to dome.

I couldn’t understand a word, as my link to Sorrow was now several miles distant. Again, I never claimed that some future monument to me would be engraved, “The Man Who Thought Ahead.”

The cacophony of voices reached a crescendo as the news reached the furthest edges of the village. From my aerial position I watched as the two hunters were led along what looked to be a well-trodden path to the north. I quickly spotted why. Unlike the jagged, natural-looking cliff on the southern half of the V-shaped bay, the northern cliffs had been carved into an impressive edifice. The face was sheer granite, polished smooth, and riddled with windows and balconies. Statues of ogres sat within alcoves. I was looking at either a palace or a temple, or some blend of both.

Before I could go within to investigate, a white-clad figure emerged from the torch-lit interior of the highest archway. This was an ogre even larger than the two I’d been chasing. A cheer went through the crowd that gathered beneath. They began to chant, “Tarpok! Tarpok!” I guessed it to be his name, though perhaps it was just a more formal greeting than “awk.”

Tarpok stuck out a beefy arm and the crowd fell silent. He called out to the crowd with a voice powerful enough to rattle window glass and startle the horses, if the village had possessed either glass or horses. Though I didn’t speak the lingo, I sensed from his tone that he’d asked a question; most likely, “What’s all the racket?”

The two hunters were pushed to the front of the crowd and shouted back something. They both waved their hands as they spoke, and between their gestures and inflection my translation was, “A two-headed creature from the stars swooped down and attacked us! We abandoned our catch and ran for our lives!”

Tarpok asked a short question that made the crowd laugh. My hunch: “Maybe you chewed some bad blubber?”

The two hunters bowed, placing their hands over their hearts in the near universal gesture, “I swear it’s true.”

The ogre in the window responded with an appropriately solemn and studious look. I drew closer. Tarpok was a good twelve feet tall, and solid looking. I mean, none of the ogres would blow away in a stiff wind, but something about their subcutaneous fat gave most ogres a doughy look. Tarpok was chiseled. What I thought had been white clothing was in fact his bare skin, all the better to display the elaborate tapestries of tribal scars that decorated his imposing form. I also noted that he had four dark blue nipples; apparently this
was
standard ogre anatomy.

At last, having posed in dramatic contemplation for a sufficient length of time to build suspense in the crowd, the big ogre thrust out his hand in a stiff salute and screamed, “Hack hack hack hack!” or words to that effect, which, judging from the jubilation that followed must have meant, “I believe you! I will find this star-beast and kick its ass!”

A smaller ogre appeared in the shadows and handed Tarpok a large horn carved from a narwhal’s tusk. He blew into the end with a long, tooth-rattling “BLAAAAAAAAT!” As the note trailed off, a dozen shooting stars streaked down from the heavens, as if they’d been shaken loose by the call.

Tarpok disappeared into the shadows. I watched the window for his reappearance, since the crowd continued gazing in that general direction. A minute later they cheered with excitement, but I didn’t see him. Then I realized he was now on top of the cliff. He was wearing a black cloak I assume was whale hide, with matching pants of the same material. He had a battle-axe with a head the size of a coffee table slung over his back, and in his left hand he carried a harpoon that was more menacing than even the Jagged Heart, a twenty-foot-long shaft of iron with the tip hammered into a flesh-mangling mess of razor-sharp serrated hooks and barbs.

I had to wonder if the Immaculate Attire would stand a chance against a weapon like this. I consoled myself that Infidel could at least escape by taking to the sky. Then I saw the crowd pivot. I noticed a lot of the stars were blotted out by something big moving overhead.

Having lived by the ocean most of my life, I’ve seen my fair share of whales. Menagerie had one among his tattoos that I’d never actually spotted in our tropical climes, a beast that vaguely resembled a panda in its stark black and white coloring, but was even more evocative of a dragon by virtue of a dagger-toothed mouth that could open wide enough to swallow boats. He’d called the thing an orca.

He hadn’t told me they could fly.

Or, perhaps they can’t, and it was merely some enchantment that kept this beast in the air. Whatever the case, I watched, slack jawed, as a sixty-foot black-and-white whale sailed up to the cliff, swimming in air as if it were water. The beast cruised with its back just below the top edge of the cliff. Tarpok leapt into the air, the crowd screaming with jubilation as he landed astride the beast. The whale was rigged with an elaborate leather harness. Tarpok wrapped his fists into the lines and tugged the beast’s head toward the southern horizon. The orca let loose a loud “whuff” from its blowhole and, with a flick of its tail, surged in that direction.

The crowd gave chase from below, but the whale picked up speed with every wave of its tail. Tarpok raised his harpoon above his head and shouted, “Chakaaaaa!”

“Chakaaaaa!” the crowd screamed in unison.

With Sorrow unavailable, I held out hope the word just meant, “Good-bye,” and not, “Death to star-monsters!”

I’d seen enough. It was time to get back to Infidel.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BONES AND TEETH

A
S THE TRACKLESS
ice flashed beneath me, I feared I would never find Infidel. Had I been limited to ordinary sight, my fears would have been well-founded. Fortunately, when I held my left hand before me, with its phantom wedding band, I could feel a pressure like the tug of a distant magnet. At last my ghost eyes spotted her by the bright aura she cast as the only living thing for miles around.

It was fortunate I could see her aura, because the Gloryhammer couldn’t be seen at all. Infidel had cleared the butchered meat from the seal skin and flipped it fur side up, then stretched out on the ice with her fox-cloak curled tightly around her, forming a very tiny tent that hid both her and the hammer. My wooden body was laid out on the ice next to her, its arms folded neatly across its chest, as if it had been prepped for burial. I jumped inside. My wooden bones clattered as I sat up. She stirred, raising the lip of her hood ever so slightly. A bright beam of light shot over the bloodied ice.

“Was I snoring?” she asked, sounding drowsy, as pale fog rolled out from the gap she’d made.

“You were sleeping out here? You’ll freeze to death!”

“No, no, it’s pretty comfy,” she said. “The fur traps my body heat really well. I just conked right out. Were you gone long?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Well, I needed the nap. I feel ready for anything.”

“Trust me, you aren’t ready for what’s coming. Let’s get out of here,” I said, standing, looking north. “The two hunters made it to their village and sounded an alarm. Now the village’s top warrior is on his way here to do battle with the monster that stole the hunters’ seal.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Infidel sat up. The moisture that had been trapped by the fur instantly turned to frost on the silver trim of her armor, and left tiny glittering diamonds of ice on her eyelashes. “We want them to come to us.”

“This guy is riding a flying whale and carrying a solid steel harpoon. He looks like the very definition of bad news.”

Infidel furrowed her brow. “We came here looking for help against Purity. That means we need to talk to someone important. He sounds important.”

“He sounds dangerous! Let’s get out of here!”

“Excuse me,” said Sorrow in my ear. “Did you just mention someone riding a flying whale?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“That would be Tarpok,” said Sorrow.

“Is that the whale or the rider?” I asked.

“The rider. The whale is Slor Tonn.”

“Is this a private conversation or can I listen in?” Infidel pressed her cheek close to my ear without waiting for an answer.

“So, you’ve met Tarpok?” asked Sorrow.

“Not really,” I said. “He didn’t see me, but he’s on his way here, and he looked like he was coming for blood. The whole village was shouting him on, yelling, ‘Chakaa!’”

It was difficult to hear, but I think Sorrow sighed. She asked, “What did you do to get him angry?”

“Nothing!” said Infidel. “We just startled a few hunters.”

“Tarpok is the village champion,” said Sorrow. “He’ll lose face if he doesn’t return with some corpses. He’s a very dangerous fighter, but his whale is even worse. When you fight them, target Slor Tonn first.”