16. Sixteen

“Where do you come from?”

Gathering ruined vegetables from his dustup with the witch was a menial task, so far beneath him, Ryurikov should have gone into that hut and mounted Jezibaba’s head on a pike. Fortunately for her, his mood soared higher than the trees, feeling satiated enough to humour her.

It helped that the giant, terrifying demon of the Unbroken Wilds was there alongside him, obediently returning vegetables to the soil.

FROM THE UNDERFOREST. I brOUGHT YOU THERE.

”I meant how did you come to exist, and you know it.”

Awimak replanted a carrot, patting the dirt around it with great care. I DID NOT REALISE I NEEDED TO EXPLAIN PROCREATION TO YOU.

“You’re fucking hilarious.” Ryurikov hurtled a piece of cabbage at Awimak’s arm, breaking it against the bark-like forearms. The chickens flocked to it with eager clucks. “Don’t answer me, then.”

Awimak rose to his full, glorious height and regarded him. I WAS FORGED FROM THE EARTH.

“By who?”

Jezibaba’s shuffling footsteps irked Ryurikov’s ears. “Will you put the rest of your clothes on?” She came up beside him, glower firmly fixed in place.

“No,” said Ryurikov, and bent over with his ass facing her to collect more of the ruined produce. He ignored the painful twinge that bolted up his backside. “I happen to like the breeze around my balls.”

Not to mention his clothes were currently drying out, flapping in said breeze from where they hung along branches. He’d done what he could to get the hag’s foul blood out, although feared the stains would forever be there.

“I don’t see how fixing your mess is going to help find Valka, either,” he added, tossing the bucket away with careless ease. It tipped and spilled most of what he’d collected. Fuck. “Vasili said a dragon got her, but I don’t believe for a second she got herself turned into anything’s roast dinner.”

Jezibaba squatted to stroke the fox-red chicken over its head. It had taken a keen interest in Ryurikov for the past few minutes, pecking around his boot-clad feet.

“Who?” she asked.

Ryurikov sneered. The very memory of Vasili putting his hands on him pushed bile up into his throat. Even Awimak’s attention snapped to the hag, a certain angered intensity in the flare of his eyes.

“The reeve, you roughdried prune.”

Lizard eyes glanced at him and grey brows furrowed. He glared at her, daring her to confess to it. To tell him she’d set Vasili on him deliberately.

“It’s a misconception that dragons spit fire.”

Ryurikov heaved a weary sigh. “They shit it, I know.” It was like being back at home where the governor tried to beat useless facts into him. “Does it even matter what end it comes out of?”

IT DOES NOT.

“Exactly. Thank you, Awimak.” He flashed his demon a smile. “Either way, she wouldn’t have gotten herself cooked. Which dragon would it have been?”

“There are too many, I couldn’t tell you,” Jezibaba grumbled, now stroking the patterned chicken.

“Oh, fuck me.” Ryurikov ran fingers through his hair. “I’m going to have to hunt dragons until I find the right one?”

The old trout straightened up and pursed her lips. “The last thing she told me before we parted ways was that she would head for Stoutburn.”

Ryurikov groaned in exasperation. “The guild town.”

“She wanted adventure.”

“Sounds about right. Wait,” Ryurikov darted after the hag as she walked away from him, “does that mean she’s been here, in this hut? In this garden?”

“Of course she was!” The old woman hobbled back inside and Ryurikov pursued.

“Why?”

“I had things to teach her. Then she became bored.”

Was that a hint of bitterness? Ryurikov smirked. “Yes, Valka. What were you teaching her? Has she developed a taste for children?” He snapped his fingers. “I knew I should’ve worried more when she showed an interest in caring for our cousins.”

Jezibaba halted in the kitchenette so abruptly he nearly bumped into her. “I do not eat children!”

“Whatever you do,” Ryurikov said, taking cruel delight in this newfound ability to crawl under her skin, “sketching your victims is wild. I’ve seen the portraits.”

Finally, there was some colour in that wrinkled face, blotchy and red and hideous. When Jezibaba spoke, it was in a barely restrained bellow, “If you don’t want me to spell your limp mole rat off and feed it to my chickens, then I suggest you get back in that garden right now.”

For a solid moment, Ryurikov considered his chances. Spelling off his cock wasn’t murdering him, she could and likely would do it. He decided against taunting her further.

“Fine, but get that hut moving for Stoutburn.”

“We’re already headed there,” Jezibaba called after him.

Ryurikov glanced at the surrounding trees. It was impossible to tell they were on the move, the sky too clear to hint at anything. When his gaze settled on Awimak, down on one knee and petting the chickens, he leaned his elbows on the rickety porch railing to watch.

Aside from Angelus, Ryurikov never stuck around long enough to discover any feelings for anyone. Because of Angelus, he’d been reminded of why. His soulless eyes bothered him slightly less these days, but the anger at the prince of darkness for permanently altering his features still burned hot in his chest.

Yet here he was, after a good lay, still inclined to stick around. Awimak wouldn’t betray his trust like that, he was almost certain of it.

ARE YOU WELL?

Ryurikov horse-kicked his focus back to the present. “Yes.”

Stoutburn.

Built around a ravine—and Ryurikov had no hope of understanding the logic behind that decision—the city’s streets reached across the wide gap as bridges, crooked and towering structures of raven black lining either side. He and Awimak had walked several hours to reach it, the forest line barely visible along the hazy horizon.

With the sun beating down on black stone, Ryurikov wished he’d stolen a cloak of more breathable fabric. It was suffocating. Trudging past colossal ebony pillars standing sentry on either side, he made it a point of avoiding eye contact with guildspersons waiting to lure him inside with empty promises.

“Hey, you! Fellow in the cloak!” A stocky woman in a handsome vest waved him over, sleeves of her tunic rolled up to reveal powerful biceps. “Are you looking for adventure, fame, riches? Only the best quests here! Come, sign up!”

Awimak took a step in her direction. MORE ENTERTAINMENT, YES?

“No. Ignore them,” Ryurikov murmured as discreetly as he could. “They’ll only trap you and charge you a fortune for collecting a thousand sticks or something. And anyway,” he glanced at the guild’s sign with distaste, “I’m not signing up to a place called Gallant Steelers.”

“That is a terrible name!” bellowed a heavyset man a few paces down, clad in a leather loincloth and harness that did nothing to hide his bulging muscles, or the tiny bulge between massive thighs. “You’d be better off with us, Wood Shields!”

Ryurikov grimaced again, moved away, and the next guildsperson frantically waved them over, long, thin arms wobbling like wet rawhide.

“Come in here for the most glorious of tasks!” An odd creature, ashy face void of any features but two round eyes with peach-coloured irises that were, quite frankly, ghastly. “We might not kill you.”

Ryurikov placed a hand on Awimak’s forearm to stop him approaching the Seeper. “We are not joining a guild called Capering Corpse either.”

IF WE WILL NOT JOIN ANY, WHY ARE WE HERE?

“Don’t pout.” Ryurikov’s lips twitched with a smile. “I’m looking for someone specific. I promise I’ll entertain you later.”

He let his hand drift down, grazing the bark-armoured forearm, until his gloved fingers traversed pronounced knuckles. Awimak’s claw twitched forward, the backs of their hands connected, and fingers threaded. Ryurikov swallowed.

He’d come to a standstill, as had the beating of his heart. Too many thoughts kicked up in his mind. An absolute whirl of chaos, it was impossible to grasp at one thought and focus on it. Awimak’s fingers squeezed his, then let go. He carried on walking, leaving Ryurikov to stare after him until he gathered his wits.

It took a long time.

Once the storm in his head settled, he dashed past Awimak, walking a few paces ahead. He reached up to fiddle with his scarf, belatedly realising he no longer had it, still tied around the broom, again slotted in Awimak’s great big beautiful horns.

A section of the bridge stood clear of the narrow structures, granting them a full view of the ravine and the city that occupied it. Grasslands stretched on either side of them. Yonder to the south lurked the mountains shielding dragons from the rest of the world.

Awimak looked out across the expanse with him. WHY HAVE YOU CHOSEN TO SEARCH FOR YOUR SISTER?

Ryurikov tapped his fingers along the heated stone of the parapet. He relished in Awimak’s closeness, in particular because he cast a welcome chill into his immediate surroundings.

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” he admitted, quietly. “I doubt she’ll even want to see me. If she’s alive, she’ll have heard the rumours.”

RUMOURS THAT ARE MORE THAN HEARSAY?

He sighed. “Yes, Awimak.” He turned, resting his back against the stone to look out across the other side, and the floating lily pads, tethered by thin, russet stalks, reaching as high as the bridge they occupied. “It occurred to me when I was caught by the enforcers.” He rubbed his thumb over the length of his pointer finger, idly. “I was only hunting for some deer, they didn’t appreciate my doing so on Monarch Mulgar’s land. Between you and me, I don’t even know how to cook.”

WHY HUNT FOR DEER?

Ryurikov’s smile was wry. “There was a maiden I hoped to seduce into doing it for me. Bread and fruit are easy enough to steal, but meat? Most towns still standing have broadsides with my face on it.”

YOU WEREN’T SUCCESSFUL.

A glance at Awimak suggested he remained judgement free. “They spooked the deer, clubbed me over the head with something. A mistake I’ll never make again. Anyway, you could say that facing the threat of being made into a meal myself had me reconsider a few things.”

HOW DID YOU LEARN THE JEZIBABA POSSESSED THE MIRROR OF THE LOST?

At that, Ryurikov chuckled, not at all surprised that this too was something Awimak was aware of. “I found it through this place.”

He pushed away from the parapet and proceeded beyond the bridge’s crest. The floating lily pads provided shade to the bridges further below in the ravine, but didn’t reach this far up. The sun hammered their reflective surfaces, the vividness of it forcing him to squint. By the time they reached the shade the other side of the rocky wall provided, he had green spots dancing in his vision.

Fewer structures occupied the vast quantity of irregular stairs descending to the next bridge, although alleyways dissevered the dark rock, where peddlers and lone guildspersons gathered. Most of them were beggars desperate for coin, and other things. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Ryurikov flicked ores and even a few crones at some. The youngest, in particular, and they were all disgustingly grateful.

The deeper they went, the more darkness overwhelmed. A pink glow emanated from the underside of the lily pads to light the way and, perhaps unsurprisingly, a few Candescent occupied the lower levels.

Ryurikov kept a close eye on the ropey humanoids lurking in the shadows. They were all members of the Capering Corpse, he knew, and was glad to have his bow at his side again. Especially when those creatures were capable of flight, their long ashen bodies flapping like loose undergarments in a windstorm.

He veered through the wide doorway of a library, its facade carved out of the ravine walls, twisted pillars on either side. Awimak waited by them, the library wouldn’t house someone his height.

Ryurikov’s footfalls were silent as he strode across rugged floor tiles, keeping his eyes skinned for the Lyke. His gaze drifted around the displays of weaponry and armour, attention soon caught by the massive sword resting on several stands. The sword of a goliath. Idly, he wondered if Awimak could wield the weapon, before a giant tome in the back caught his attention. It glowed with an ominous blue on its lecterns, and pouring over them was the Lyke.

“Apatura,” he murmured, quiet enough not to disturb the few other occupants carefully inspecting weapons to borrow.

The Lyke’s head jerked up, and she whirled, ghostly face hidden within the shadow of her ochre hood. “I had a feeling you’d be back.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“It’s funny,” she continued, her voice an unsettling cross between a croak and a hiss, “because I’m certain you swore to me I’d never have to look at those barren eyes again.”

Ryurikov rolled his shoulders against the insult. “I’m after information.”

“I take it the mirror didn’t pan out.” Apatura slammed the glowing tome shut. She needn’t have bothered, when its script was illegible to him, although it looked faintly familiar.

“It did, in a roundabout way.”

“I warned that you’d only see yourself.”

“Yes, but I would’ve been a fool to take you at your word,” Ryurikov snapped.

“True.” Apatura smiled, sharp teeth grimy with green algae. “Whatever you want, it will cost you, as always.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been told Valka has tangled with a dragon. I don’t suppose you know which one?”

Apatura took a long moment to respond, during which she stared at him with two pebble-sized dots, glowing pallid. “You assume she’s alive.”

“I assume nothing.” Ryurikov patted himself across the chest. “I can feel it deep in my heart, she’s alive. We’re connected in spirit—I don’t fucking know if she’s alive! I’m only hoping, for fuck’s sake.”

“Shhh!”

He glared at the short fellow standing on an antiquated table, toying with a frayed noose, then returned his withering look to the Lyke. “Why does everyone have to be so fucking difficult? Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Great Dragons spank me, you’ve turned into an even bigger ass,” Apatura snarled. “Ten crones, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Steep.” All the same, he flicked each crone at her, some landing on the ground to twirl on their noses.

Apatura didn’t move, yet the still spinning coins vanished in a faint puff of silvery smoke, reappearing in her open palm. Thin fingers closed, and Ryurikov caught sight of rotting skin on the back of her hand. So, she’d been rejected by her own magic. Fortunate then, that he’d caught her before the decay consumed her in full.

“It wasn’t the dragon who took her, it was the drakes.” Apatura turned back to the blue glowing tome to stroke its rigid leather spine. “Studious types, those. You may have some luck approaching them in peace.”

“How? They shit on anything that comes anywhere near the foot of their mountain.”

“That sounds like a problem.”

“Dare I ask how you know it was a drake?”

“Drakes are meticulous. They write everything down.” Apatura’s thin blue lips twisted. “At least, they try.”

“Right, right. Of course.” Ryurikov waved his hand again, and it wasn’t in farewell. He paused when a realisation hit him. Indignation burned his insides and he palmed the hilt of his long dagger. “You couldn’t have told me this before I went hunting for Jezibaba?”

Apatura didn’t look at him this time. “You get the answers you pay for.”

He grit his teeth, calculating the risk of attacking her right there and then. She was a powerful mage, and dabbled in things that disconcerted even Ryurikov. But was she faster than his blade?

“Your companion.”

Ryurikov wrenched his focus back to the rotting Lyke. “Pardon?”

“An interesting choice,” she said. “You may want to get back out there.”

He took that as a warning, maybe even a threat, and scoffed at Apatura in farewell. Passing the imp on the table, he said, “Try putting it around your neck and jump from a height.”

Ryurikov dipped out of the library and froze.

“Awimak, what the—”

IT IS LOOKING AT ME.

Ryurikov stared at the sinewy Seepers clustering around his demon, indeed staring at Awimak as though they were aware of his presence.

He shook his head. “It?”

THEY ARE WITHOUT SOUL.

“Ah.” They were just standing there, flapping in the wind, pale orange eyes fixated on the horns. “You’re invisible, yes?”

YES.

Ryurikov hesitated. “Let’s go.”

The moment he grabbed hold of Awimak’s forearm, the Seepers snapped up straight, elongated limbs reaching for the bridge-obscured sky, heads frozen-still, and eyes bulging.

Fuck, that was unsettling.

Ryurikov slowly reached for his bow. An infestation of eerie breaths rattled down the length of the ravine, spiking fear into the puckered crevices of his asshole. Before he had an arrow ready, they sprang up, twisted themselves around Awimak’s limbs and horns, and collectively pulled him to the ground.

Awimak reared, tore at them with his claws, sending tattered pieces flying. There was no blood, no viscera. They ripped like empty sacks of skin.

Arrows did nothing to stop the Seepers from spinning around muscular limbs. Ryurikov swore, grabbed his serrated dagger and cut at the ones around Awimak’s legs. He swept his blade upward, slashing one trying to wrap itself around his own face, its two halves fluttering past either side as he swiftly scaled Awimak and held on.

“Awimak, dash!”

His demon galloped up a set of stairs, massive hooves striking stone echoing. He didn’t shift like in Enlumine’s Wish. Ryurikov made a note of asking him why later, gracelessly waving his dagger in an attempt to counter the unpredictable inpour of boneless flesh-sacks. They were surrounded, whipping bodies and rattling breaths blocking out surprised outcries from those they passed.

The ghoulish creatures were trying to tie Awimak down again as he crossed the first bridge, but most aimed for Ryurikov in particular. He held onto the horns tight, leg hooked around one coil while he fought the Seepers off as best he could—they had taken to slapping him in the face, at his hands, prying loose his hold on Awimak by unravelling the old green cloak. Ryurikov ran his blade in between the eyes of one entwining his leg, only to release an undignified yelp when it peered up at him with those peachy eyes and—

“It has a mouth!”

And so many teeth, more than there was room for.

Awimak took a sharp turn, headed across another bridge, his limbs still wrapped in ghoulish layers. Ryurikov steadied his hold and made a noise of repugnance, pushing his blade into a Seeper’s soft skull as it sank its teeth into the green cloak, suckling on it.

Those that had tied themselves around Awimak slithered up, their ashen skin glistening silver in the sunlight as they ran out from the other side of the ravine back onto yet another bridge. More mouths opened, more teeth snagged his cloak, slurping. Sucking the old, dried viscera off it.

Ryurikov moaned in utter dismay, then sawed the stained fabric away from the horns. He ignored Awimak’s growled protest, the old cloak ripping and shredding under his blade, under teeth and hungry sucks.

More rattling was his only warning before a Seeper wrapped itself around his face. Ryurikov inhaled with shock, drawing part of its loose skin into the back of his throat. He gagged, flailed, and lost his grip. His back collided with hot stone. He clawed at gelatinous skin to peel it off, his shouts muffled, panicked, his dagger dropped somewhere.

With ever-increasing desperation, Ryurikov groped for his long dagger, of no mind to calculate the risk by slashing it so near his face when the Seeper abruptly unlatched itself. He inhaled and coughed so hard it hurt. In his faded vision, he caught sight of his old cloak fluttering past, in the mouths and floppy fingers of Seepers, each fighting for its share.

Lying flat on his back and gasping for air, Ryurikov stared up at the bright sky. A large shadow slipped over him and he closed his eyes for a moment before rolling onto his stomach to see the ghouls feasting on what remained of his cloak further down the bridge.

Awimak helped him up, pressed his serrated dagger back into his hand, then bowed to let him straddle his neck again. All without saying a single word.

The Seepers fussed noisily behind them while Awimak walked back out of town. Ryurikov ignored the baffled stares by guildsmen. With a strained cough, he slung himself over his demon’s head.

In the heat, Awimak’s breath wasn’t visible, despite his harsh panting.

The silence that stretched between them was filled with unspoken inference. Awimak’s breathing eventually evened out and, walking past the two crooked pillars, they were back out in the open, an expanse of yellowing grass surrounding them.

“So.” Ryurikov tapped his fingers along the skull’s forehead. “The cloak you wouldn’t give up—my cloak—ended up attracting a bunch of ghouls.”

Awimak said nothing.

“I nearly died.”

His demon snorted in displeasure.

“Awimak.”

FINE. I AM SORRY I TOOK YOUR CLOAK.

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”