“Your tongue for a lie, your hand for an insult, your head for the truth.”

-Serpicus, Elandran Scholar, 731 B.U.

 

The kithraxi chattered and made vague gestures with their many hands. Taira sat in the dirt opposite them and tried to make herself understood in broken True Speech. That seemed to be the only kin language that the insectoids somewhat understood. Stephan interjected where he could to help her with certain phrases.

The kithraxi with the broken mandible pointed to itself, then the sash draped over its breast, hissing and chittering all the while.

“This one is called… Shzkh, I think,” Taira said, struggling with the pile of clashing consonants. “The other one is Gkhzj. They were crew members on that ship we saw earlier. They crashed, and the lakata took everyone but the two of them. They've just been trying to survive since.”

“You’re sure there aren’t any more of them?” Stephan asked. “I think we can handle two, but if there’s a hive…”

“I’m sure.”

“What will you do with them?”

“What do you mean? We will bring them back to the ship and take them somewhere safe.”

“Yes, yes, but after that.”

“Oh. Um. I suppose I hadn’t… thought about it.”

Stephan crouched next to her and lowered his voice, despite being nearly certain that the kithraxi didn’t understand a word of Elandran. “They think you’re their queen.”

“Let them think it, for now,” Taira said. She petted Shzkh on the head, and the kithraxi melted into her touch.

“I’m just saying, it might be unwise to let them get too attached before we know how this is going to pan out. We still have to take this up with the captain.”

“I’ll make her understand.”

“How? She’s not exactly known for her reasonable and open-minded nature.”

Taira looked up. Her dark eyes, usually soft and flighty, were hard as flint. “I’ll make her understand,” she repeated.

Stephan realized it was useless to argue. He took a step back, allowing Taira to continue her pleasant conversation with the killer beetles.

There was a sound. Rustling in the shrubbery.

“Codes, what is it now?” Stephan said with a sigh. He turned and put his hand on the Rivello, only a few bullets left. He hadn’t thought to bring any extra magazines.

Something skinny and green stumbled out of the bushes, covered in fine nicks from the sharp leaves.

Yin.

Stephan raced towards her and caught her in his arms just as she was about to tip over, unsteady with exhaustion. A deep gash in her right thigh gave him pause.

“What happened?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

She didn’t answer.

He took her shoulders and shook her firmly, looking into her large, black eyes.

“Yin, you have to tell me what happened. You’re hurt. Where are the others?”

The girl bit her lip. Hard. So hard he thought she might break the skin. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she blinked them back, looked away.

“There were too many,” she said. “And that… thing. It got them.”

“Thing?”

Taira padded over, brushing the dirt from her pants. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Stephan merely motioned for her to listen.

“What got them?” Stephan asked. “What thing?”

“Demon,” Yin said. She dug her fingers into Stephan’s sides, squeezed so hard that he grit his teeth with pain, and buried her face in his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry. I was weak. It said it was going to take its time with them. They’ll be getting tortured by now, and it’s all my fault.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t see them die?”

“No. They just got knocked out. The captain told me to run, so I did.”

Stephan glanced up at Taira. She nodded.

“Then there’s a chance,” he said, fighting the pit in his stomach, the urge to get up and run as far away as he could get. “We’re going to save them.”

Yin looked up, leaving a long trail of snot on his sleeve. “Really? But you’re not…”

“Withhold your skepticism. Right now, we’re all they’ve got. Taira, do you think your new friends will fight for us?”

Taira shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Turn that into a ‘Yes’ for me, will you?” He got up and lifted Yin onto her feet. “Yin, I want you to tell me everything about what we’re facing.”

“What about Torch and Kazzul?” Taira asked.

Stephan shook his head. “Too far. Can’t chance it. It’s down to us.”

They both accepted his word without any further protests. Taira went to speak with her kithraxi, while Yin started babbling about lakata and demons.

*****

Kurko awoke, bound by his hands and feet with thick vines, torso thumping with ghost pain from the serpent’s death grip.

He was on his knees in front of the throne, demon slumped against the hundreds of skulls. They rubbed together whenever the serpent moved, producing a whisper-thin sound that made his skin prickle.

Quintilla lay next to him, bound and unconscious. Her scalp was sticky with blood. They were surrounded by every lakata still standing, dozens of them.

Damn it, captain, he thought. You never listen.

Kurko couldn’t pretend he would have wanted her any other way, though.

“Oh, you’re awake, how exciting!” the demon said. It clasped its slender hands together. “I absolutely cannot wait to hear you scream. Would you mind terribly if we got started straight away?”

Kurko spat on the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m being too forward, of course.” The demon’s grin was unnaturally wide. “It’s just, I’ve never had the pleasure of carving up a kin of your… stature. So many places to cut, but where to start? I simply cannot help myself.” It spoke a few words in its own infernal language, snapped its fingers, and a pair of lakata stepped forward on Kurko’s left and right.

They used jagged knives to bend off his natural armor and cut into his flesh. He kept his teeth clenched, refused to make a sound. Blood trickled from his arms and torso.

I won’t scream. Won’t give this slug the satisfaction.

If I hold out for long enough, Yin will return with help.

He had to believe that.

Kurko willed his hands to radiate cold, slowly freezing through his bonds. He could break out of the restraints in an instant, but he decided to stay put, despite the pain, despite the knives running through his flesh.

I have to put up with this, he thought. For her. No way I can get her out of this on my own. I have to wait for help to arrive.

The demon sighed, propping up its head in one hand. “Why will you not scream for me? Are you really that unimpressed by my hospitality? How rude.” It spoke again in its native tongue, and the two knife-wielding lakata hissed their assent.

They plunged red knives in and out, in and out. Kurko whimpered, tilting forward, limbs on fire. It took all his focus not to cry out. The lakata were carving runes into him, he realized. The twisted mockery of true magic that was written Zhurfuran.

The two torturers finished and stepped back, bowing as best they could—hunchbacked though they were—before their master.

“Good, good, good!” the demon said. “Let us see how you enjoy this.”

It snapped its fingers.

Kurko’s body contorted in agony. He grunted as the runes all over his body flared to life with dark flame, searing into his flesh.

“Ancestors… help me,” he whispered. Sweat beaded on his forehead and back, immediately freezing to ice.

It went on for minutes. It put him on the ground, rolling back and forth in an attempt to put out the fire. It didn’t work. He made his body regrow ice, but it melted off immediately.

This wasn’t normal fire. It was something darker. Something with a life of its own, a hunger that couldn’t be sated.

Kurko bit down on his tongue to keep himself from screaming.

Won’t get the satisfaction.

Fucking slug.

Won’t scream.

I won’t.

I won’t.

Kurko went still at the sound of a moan. He looked to the side and found Quintilla getting to her knees, weakly struggling against her bonds as she began coming to.

“Captain,” he said. “Are you alright?”

“Feels like waking up after a few too many at Sweet Devil,” Quintilla grumbled. She rubbed her head with bound hands. “I’m fine, though.”

Kurko gritted his teeth at another wave of pain. His back arched, and the corners of his mouth frothed with saliva.

“You’re absolutely no fun,” the demon said. “How much pain will I have to inflict before you scream? Too much. Messy. I don’t like it messy. I like it clean, do you understand? I cut you, you scream, everyone’s happy. No need to make it a drawn-out affair.”

Its red eyes darted between him and the captain. “You’re not very concerned with your own misery, but you seem to like her. How about…?”

“No!” Kurko shouted. He worked his way up to his knees, fighting the insistent spasms in his arms and legs. “You don’t need to hurt her. Like you said, you want…” Another wave of pain caused him to trail off as spittle flew from his mouth. “You want it clean. You’ve already started on me, so… So, finish it.”

The skinchanger slowly shook its head, grin widening. “No. I don’t think I’ll do that. I think I’ve found exactly the right button to push. You will scream for me, you blubbery pig, oh yes you will.”

The demon had the two lakata untie Quintilla’s hands. She lashed out with a backhand, but one of the lakata caught her wrist and twisted until she dipped forward.

“Damn you, stop this!” Kurko called. “Do you have no heart?”

The skinchanger shook its head in wonderment. “No, I do not. But I would very much like to know how it works. I hope you can illuminate me.”

Two additional lakata brought out a large, flat stone which they placed in front of Quintilla. Grooves in the stone darkened by dried blood marked its diligent usage.

The two additional lakata retreated, backing away while bowing deeply. The two that remained grabbed Quintilla by her shoulders. One took hold of her left arm and forced it forward, placing her hand on the stone.

“Please,” Kurko whimpered between waves of pain.

The demon didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on Quintilla with a rapturous, open-mouthed grin.

“Don’t beg on my behalf, Kurko,” Quintilla said. She looked up at him and smiled. Gentler than usual. “They will never listen, and I already know how you feel. Besides, it’s unbecoming. I like you better as the strong, silent type.”

Kurko took a deep breath, settled into her rhythm. Forced himself to smile despite the pain, despite the runes slowly burrowing into him, turning his muscle to quivering ash. “Careful, captain. It almost sounds like you want me.”

The lakata passed up a large, wide-bladed axe through their ranks, eventually handing it to one of the torturers.

“What if I did?” she asked. “Would you say no?”

“You know the answer to that.”

The axe came down.

Quintilla’s little finger was sheared clean off. It flipped through the air and landed in the dirt a meter away. The stump that remained pumped blood onto the flat stone. The captain stared at it in shock for several moments. Kurko did too.

Then he let out a howl. He strained against the vines binding his hands and feet, cracked open the frozen bonds, and staggered to his feet. His legs quivered, struggling to hold his weight, but they held. His rage melted away the pain.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I will kill every single one of you.”

The skinchanger clapped its hands, the sound echoing throughout the silent clearing. “Oh, how tickling! Finally, I get to hear you scream. But please, sit down—I want to hear another.”

It waved dismissively and the runes flared brighter, so hot that the pain turned cold. Jagged steel sinking through his limbs, hooking his lungs. He fell to his hands and knees, blood spilling from his mouth. He had bitten through his tongue.

Another finger came off, the left ring finger. Quintilla whimpered, sobbed with the pain, but the lakata held her firmly in place. Kurko didn’t have the strength to save her. He turned away his head in shame.

“Well, this sure is getting dull,” the demon said. “I can tell you feel the same—you’re not even looking. Don’t worry, we can ramp things up for you.” It gestured to its wrist, and the axe-wielding lakata nodded.

It pulled back its weapon.

Two shots rang out.

The lakata dropped the axe, staring at a weeping exit hole torn through its chest. It slumped over on one knee.

Before the lakata hit the ground, a hole opened in the air above Kurko’s head, ringed by sparks of dark energy. Two beetles as large as children dropped through, armed with axes pilfered from the lakata.

They hit the ground and rolled to their feet, already attacking the crocodilians before Kurko could blink.

Distracted, the demon let the fiery runes fade in intensity. Kurko stood, wincing at the pain, and grabbed the second torturer by its head. He lifted it into the air and threw it back to the ground, then stomped it to a bloody pulp.

“Don’t hurt my captain,” he said. “Don’t ever.”

A green streak flitted in among the lakata. Heads bounced off in its wake.

The rescue is finally here, Kurko thought.