Smithe drew a long knife from his belt and stalked forwards. Before Aimi could stop him, the quartermaster stabbed Feather in the chest six times. Alfer and Jolan danced away as Feather dropped to the floor, moaning and writhing.
“Bit of overkill, don’t you think, mate?” Alfer said sourly.
“Anybody else see his fingers?” Jolan said.
“I felt ’em,” Smithe said, leaning in for a closer look.
Aimi held her torch close, and promptly lost her stomach. Feather’s fingers had been gnawed away to the bone, leaving only sharpened claws behind. She finished throwing up, and Pavel moved to her side, muttering something low and soothing. She shrugged the priest away.
The others were crowded around Feather’s wriggling form, keeping their distance as they watched the boy’s death throes.
“My vote is for getting the fuck out of this place,” Aimi said, spitting out the foul acidic taste in her mouth.
There was a unanimous round of agreement, and the whole expedition was soon making its way to the temple’s exit, leaving the dying boy behind to bleed out his last.
“Well, at least we got something out of this shit hole,” Jolan said, bringing up the rear. “That statue oughta be worth… Fuck!”
Aimi spun around. Feather was attached to Jolan’s back, clawing at his chest and biting his face as the pirate flailed about. Aimi stumbled away, tripped, and collided with one of the arches, sinking down onto her arse.
Feather’s teeth found Jolan’s ear and the boy bit down, tearing a new scream from Jolan’s mouth. Smithe rushed forwards, his knife back in his hand, and punched Feather hard in the face. The metal of Smithe’s knuckle rings broke the boy’s nose with the first hit, and the quartermaster didn’t stop there. Smithe punched him again and again, until Feather lost his grip on Jolan and crashed to the floor.
“My fucking ear. My fucking ear! Tell me it’s still there, Jotin.” Jolan was shaking all over. Blood dripped steadily from the wounds on his head and chest. Pavel ran forwards to tend to him.
“Um…” Jotin shut his mouth and shrugged at his brother.
Feather was still twitching on the floor, gurgling on the blood weeping out of his ruined face. Smithe stood over the boy with his vicious knife still in hand.
“Fuck this.” Smithe dropped to his knees, straddling Feather. He started punching, each strike accompanied by a sickening thump. Aimi was certain she’d have lost her stomach again if there’d been anything left to lose.
By the time Smithe had finished, he was dripping with sweat and breathing heavily. His expression had turned from rage to disgust, and blood and worse dripped from his fist onto the floor beside Feather’s body. Pavel was busy wrapping a bandage around the head of a wincing Jolan, and the others were either silently watching Smithe or had turned away from the violence. Aimi huddled against the arch, her knees drawn up close.
Smithe stood and staggered away from the body, and Aimi got a good view of the wreckage the quartermaster left behind. Her stomach roiled and she dry-heaved.
There was nothing left of Feather’s pretty face to recognise. The boy’s head was all torn skin, smashed skull, blood, and bits of brain. Never before had Aimi seen anything so hideous, and none of the others had either, judging by their similar reactions. Even Smithe looked sickened to his soul at the carnage he’d wrought.
“Let’s…” Smithe took a deep breath, and it came out ragged. “Let’s go.”
Alfer appeared at Aimi’s side, holding out a hand to help her up. She took it gratefully and pulled herself to her feet, joining the others as they started once more towards the exit.
Aimi heard shuffling behind her, and turned to see Feather’s corpse twitching on the floor. As if tugged by a puppet’s strings, the headless body rose up into a crouch, facing the fleeing expedition.
“Ya gotta be fucking joking,” Smithe said. “Ya don’t even have a head!”
Feather’s body lurched forwards a step, and Smithe grabbed the torch from Aimi’s hand and flung it at the boy.
“Run!” the quartermaster screamed. It was all the permission they needed. As one, the group turned and sprinted for the dim rectangle of light that marked their way out.
With six people all trying to get out of the temple at the same time, it was a fair squeeze through the doorway and Aimi clipped her shoulder against the stone door. She cried out in pain as her momentum spun her around, and she tripped over her own feet, crashing to the ground. The world twisted and spun about as she rolled down the steps.
At the bottom of the stairs, Alfer stopped at Aimi’s side and picked her up once again. Every limb hurt, and she was grazed and cut all over. Her knees were protesting at the beating they’d taken, but there were more important things to worry about.
“Where’s Kebble?” Jotin said in a high, panic-stricken voice. The marksman was nowhere to be seen.
“Which way did we come to get here?” Smithe said.
Alfer pointed. “That way, I think.”
“You think or you know?”
Feather’s headless body lurched into view in the temple doorway. The vines infesting the building started to move, winding around pillars and crawling across the stone like snakes. The chittering noise was louder now, and a dark tide of legs and carapaces flooded out of the temple around Feather’s feet.
“I think.” Alfer said, walking backwards.
“It’ll do,” Smithe whispered. “Everybody, run. No stopping for anything. Go!”
Chapter 44 - The Phoenix
Kebble wandered alone through the ruined city that had once been his home. The figures he saw in the streets weren’t spirits; they were ghosts of his past. People he’d once known, people he’d once loved. All dead and gone. All his fault. Now nothing but figments of his imagination.
There had always been a tugging. Kebble had felt it for long over a thousand years, an invisible rope always pulling him back to HwoyonDo. He’d searched for his death everywhere in the known world, but here and now, he knew why he’d never been able to find that end he longed for.
Kebble was a relic of a long-forgotten past. He neither desired nor deserved to live, and neither did he belong to the current age. His god had cursed him with long life. Now Kebble realised it was only until his return, only until his god could claim his miserable soul.
He passed the house that had once belonged to his first wife. They’d met at the library, both children of patronless scholars. The romance had been a whirlwind of passion and competition. Hiria had been as determined as Kebble, though she simply hadn’t been able to keep up with the speed at which he absorbed knowledge. They married in the spring, and by the end of that winter, Hiria had given Kebble his first son.
Kebble moved on. He had no wish to dig too deep into those memories. He remembered his first son as both a babe and as an old, wrinkled man bitter at his father’s permanent youth. Kebble remembered all of his children in their twilight years.
Walking past his father’s ghost, Kebble averted his eyes. He had no wish to see the man beaten and bloody, clutching his right hand to his chest and praying his fingers weren’t broken. It was a dangerous game his father had played with the criminals of HwoyonDo, and eventually it cost him everything.
Kebble’s weary legs carried him to the great library, house of all knowledge the Forgotten Empire had ever earned. In many ways it represented the beginning of his journey, the beginning of his life. He had a feeling it would also be the end of both. Kebble wondered if any of the texts inside had survived the many years. Perhaps, before his end, he would learn something new.
Turning away from the library, Kebble set his feet back towards the temple. It was likely the others would have finished looting the place by now, and they might need help returning to the gate. Kebble would lead them to their destination. He wished to speak to Captain Stillwater once more, to thank the man and say goodbye.