No Turning Back, Page 2

  ~~~~

  Alleathon Naichen stood slowly, gaze flicking between the now-silent alley-way and the man he'd overcome. Though in basic shape they were both human, the differences were marked. The unconscious man was of average height, average build, and average weight. He little differed from many of the men around him in the city.

  The giant standing over him was very different from the men of Ivrithan, from any of the men of the whole world of Alluvia. Half again their height, he topped more than two and a half yards. He wore no clothing over his body, and his skin was hard and unmoving. He might have been wearing a form-fitted suit of armor, for his shell-like surface preserved his modesty and sharply defined his musculature. His breastbone protruded slightly in his chest, giving it an outward curve that ordinary men lacked.

  While his face was clearly defined and well-built, it was slightly off-looking; something had been minutely changed without the permission of aesthetics. His eyes were large and deeply set, yet they were all one color, without white, iris, or pupil. That color was blood-red, which matched the swirls of pigment that streaked across his skin-armor, making undefined patters down his arms and legs.

  His hands ended in long fingers with squared fingernails, yet his feet displayed no toes. He wore no boots, but one might imagine the skin-armor had fashioned them. His body was entirely hairless save for his thin, red eyebrows, which currently scrunched together across his forehead. He absently slipped the metal ball into the empty slot in the bandoleer slung across his torso.

  As Alleathon considered, the citizens of Casserion began to emerge from hiding. Murmurs began, then louder calls, then cries of anguish. It was always the same.

  "It's a Descendant!"

  "Dam'd unnatural beast!"

  "Hush; he just saved out lives!"

  "And killed how many to do it?"

  "You want to be a Drone, then?"

  "He's naked!"

  "Is it dead?"

  "She's dead! Oh, God, she's dead!"

  Yes. It was always the same.

  Reaching a decision, Alleathon bent to grab the unconscious man, hefting him easily. Securing his hold of the man's waist, Alleathon walked toward the alley-way, senses alert for ambush. Sukkers generally weren't subtle, but caution was its own reward. Reaching the passage, he stopped, probing. Nothing. The woman and the coat-covered person were not in sight. He listened, opened his mouth slightly to help him smell.

  So much dust! So much screaming from the street! It was hard to make anything out. Closing his pupil-less eyes, he reached into his blood, calling on his unique gift. After a brief pause, he could hear heartbeats. Dozens behind him, ranging from pounding to sluggish. The steady, weak pulse of the man under his arm. And one strong beat farther down the alley. Only one.

  Reaching for his bandoleer, he pulled a small rectangular object from it and held it to his mouth. "Laillmen, Sonelion, Vyenthon, to my location. Bring a wagon."

  Alleathon entered the alley-way, caution hand-in-hand with practiced confidence. Stashing the unconscious man out of view of the street, he moved forward, scanning each rubbish bin, each doorway, each brick. The beat grew louder but not faster. Strange; it was already fast. But not panicked. Quick, almost like an animal's. He paused again, taking another breath, gaze unfocused as he listened. There.

  Up ahead, a single-story amid the three- and four-stories, a private patio on a roof. The heartbeat came from there. As he neared, he could smell the tang of blood. He could hear crunching and slurping. His mouth twisted slightly. He paused at the base of the building, listening. Someone ... or something was eating.

  He tensed his legs and leapt lightly onto the roof-patio.

  The woman was dead. Very dead. The coated person was eating her. Alleathon was fiercely glad that his suited form had no gorge, for he surely would have heaved otherwise. There was blood everywhere. The attacker (a girl, he could now see) had ripped the woman apart and begun chewing on her bones. In fact, it looked as though the girl was only interested in the bones, since Alleathon could see large chunks of flesh scattered on the patio floor.

  The girl had been engrossed in her task, but Alleathon's landing caught her attention. Her head snapped up, bone clenched in her teeth in macabre comedy, eyes wide and feral. Alleathon flinched inside at what he saw there; the child was mad! Her mouth opened, bone falling to the tiles with a clatter. She stared at him, eyes widening further, jaw working randomly. Then she threw herself forward onto her face. Her muffled voice rasped out at him in the Ivrithan language.

  "Master Tesselëan! Came back! Long time, couldn't, came back! Hunting! Hunting! Tesselëans command hunt; Hunt!"

  Dear Lord above; the girl was insane.

  She shuddered suddenly, drawing in on herself. Then she looked up at Alleathon.

  Alleathon recoiled instinctively; he couldn't help it. Her gaze was no longer mad; it was tortured.

  "Please," she whispered in a normal voice, tears spilling over her thin cheeks, "Oh, please. Just kill me before it makes me kill again!"

  She shuddered again, twisting slightly. Her eyes closed halfway, then opened. The madness was there again. "Hunt!" she cried again.

  She jabbed a finger at the mutilated corpse. "Hunt! As commanded! Gontozenel dead! Gontozenel not fight again!" More shuddering, then sanity.

  "Please, sir Descendant. I-- I think it's trying to tell you that you are its master, and that it's-- it's killing the Sukkers for you. That-- that it's been making me kill the Sukkers because that's-- that's what it does." Her face screwed with pain and concentration.

  "It makes me eat their bones. That's where the Sukkers are, inside the Drones they take. When I ... eat the bones, it can eat the Sukkers." Silent tears streaked down her filthy face, which she lowered.

  Alleathon stared, mind racing. What had she called him? Tesselëan? Why did that word ring through his blood? He could still feel her heartbeat, and now he could feel something else. There was something there with her, sharing her body. It was the most bizarre sensation he'd ever known. Something in him knew the thing inside of her; It pulled at him.

  And she claimed It was eating the Sukkers? How was that possible? Sukkers dematerialized as soon as the host was dead! Wait; she had called them something else. Gontozenels. That word also stroked a chord within him, one that jangled harshly on his senses. It was true.

  This ... thing that hosted in the girl was hunting Sukkers, and It knew the old names. No-one remembered what the Ancients had called themselves or what the Sukkers still called themselves. This thing did. This thing that hunted Sukkers and bowed to the Descendants of those Ancients.

  "Hunter!" he snapped quietly in Ivrithan. The girl's head whipped up. The creature used her eyes to stare at Alleathon.

  "The energy of the Su--Gontozenels is in the bones of the humans they possess?"

  "Yes, Master Tesselëan! Life of Gontozenel! Bones!" The creature's control was not perfect; the girl fought it.

  "Then all you need is the energy? You don't need the bone itself, or the human Drone?"

  "Feh! Hunt Gontozenel!"

  Alleathon took that for a yes. He casually lifted one of the balls from his bandoleer. "I see. Had you told me this before you grabbed this Drone, we might have been able to simplify the process. This sphere contains Gontozenel energy, drained out of the Drone hosting it. Is this what you seek?" He pressed the side of the ball, at a specific part of the subtle engraving. It began to glow softly.

  The girl hissed and lunged, barely stopping herself from leaping onto Alleathon. No. The Hunter lunged, and the girl barely stopped It. She fought to control It (or herself) for several moments. They compromised; she remained kneeling on the patio, and the Hunter spoke.

  "HUNT."

  The hunger in that word sent a slice of fear through Alleathon. He stared down at the girl, who shook with the effort of holding back the Hunter.

  "Ah. That's good to know. Here." He flipped the containment ball to her; she neatly snatched it out of the air
with both hands. No need for instructions, amazingly. Her hand immediately found the right section of engraving, releasing the stolen energy. Alleathon reflexively tensed; a Sukker was loose! But only for a second; the girl opened her mouth and shoved the ball as far in as it would go. Instead of dissipating and regenerating who-knew-where, the white energy slid back over the ball and into her mouth. She sucked on the ball frantically, fiercely.

  In a short time, there was no more glow from the energy ball. The girl relaxed, and the ball fell from her mouth and clattered across the deck. She leaned back on her heels with an expression so worn, so defeated that Alleathon's heart nearly broke.

  "Sir Descendant," she whispered with no trace of the Hunter, "Thank you. That's the first time ... It's so ... happy now." She leaned forward slowly, gently falling facedown onto the paving. Now her tears came with tiny cries.

  "Wait here," Alleathon said as his gift alerted him. "My fellow Descendants have arrived, and I will speak with them. If you will stay, Hunter, you shall have many energy balls to drain, with no flesh in the way."

  Not waiting for a reply, he jumped back down to the alley-way and ran hastily to the street.