Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

Groaning, cursing his ancient bones, Serpent came to his feet. The Sleeper had freed him from the outsider's spell. There was a strange movement on his back and gingerly, Serpent prodded for it. Something long and viscous dangled from the nape of his neck, streaked in blood and amniotic fluid. He gasped in terror as he beheld the Sleeper's pale limb, sprouted from his own burst flesh.

He tucked the offending appendage under his headdress and hurried through the temple, past the moaning females begging for their new god to return, to grace them with his seed. He growled in barely contained rage at this defilement of the tribe and hurried past, to where Condor was sprawled in a pool of blood in a dark corner, unheeded by anyone. His mask had fallen off his grayed face and his snout and forehead were a ghastly pulp. Ichor and brain matter ran down the wall from where he had shattered his own skull.

"We will find a new elder," Death Inevitable whispered behind him, the Sleeper's limb grown from his neck gently touching Serpent's shoulder. "But first, the Sleeper. Can't you feel it?"

Serpent nodded as shivers ran down his spine. The Sleeper was furious. First they had fed it an impure, hollowed shell of a woman. Then it had spent some of its precious power to free them from the outsider's spell. It demanded praise. It demanded food. The Sleeper demanded a sacrifice.

Serpent exchanged a long look with Death Inevitable. "Didn't Condor, rest his soul, say there were strangers approaching?"

"He did. We must bless Brother Condor with the funerary rites quickly, so that we can find these new outsiders."

***

Between the broken stone walls, Tsonia strolled openly, waiting to be challenged by a sentry. She had followed the path T'pek had indicated to the outskirts of the ancient ruins that his tribe called home. When no challenge came, she continued on towards the temple where he said the elders would gather.

It was possible, she knew, that she was being watched. T'pek and his people were nearly invisible in the lush jungle foliage when they wanted to be. Much of the jungle had encroached on the overgrown stonework so there might have been eyes anywhere. If they were there, Tsonia could not see them. What she did see were abandoned tools and utensils, lying discarded as if their owners might return at any moment. As she made her way across the village square and deeper into the ruins, it felt more and more like walking through a town that had been hastily abandoned ahead of an invading army.

She saw the antediluvian temple rising out of the green, towering above the village. It was just as T'pek had described it. It could be seen from anywhere in the village, she merely had to find her way through the disorganized warren of crumbling stone and twisted vines.

Tsonia mounted a set of steps between a hut roofed with animal hides and another with browning palm fronds and emerged on a wider avenue than the path she had left. She stopped short, and very nearly retreated a step, for scattered before her were dozens upon dozens of the native beastkin. They made no effort to conceal themselves, lounging and slouching on the steps and rubble that surrounded the temple. Several of the men saw her, but none bothered to rise.

She approached them cautiously, sword in hand, and yet still none seemed alarmed by her presence.

"Who speaks the outsider tongue?" she called to the assembled throng. None answered. Tsonia picked her way among them and while some watched her pass and some even stared, they did not try to stop her. They seemed listless and enervated as if by hunger or thirst, yet there was food and water aplenty in the village.

Another surprise awaited her when she saw a clear separation of the men and women of the tribe. The women were clustered closer around the temple wall, and unlike the men they seemed agitated and anxious.

"Who speaks the outsider tongue?" she asked again, hoping to arouse a response.

"I do." said a clear, strong voice from above her. Tsonia looked up, as did every other face in the crowd.

There at the entrance to the temple, stood her quarry, Kelgore, resplendent in multi-colored robes of leather and plumes. He was flanked by a pair of burly, green-furred beastkin guards wielding long boar-spears. Kelgore himself appeared unarmed.

"But Thelyrian is so much more civilized, don't you think?" he asked.

"What have you done to them?" Tsonia demanded.

"I merely asked them to wait on me. When I wish for anything at all, they fall all over themselves to provide. I'm their new god you see."

"When was the last time they ate?"

A curious expression crossed Kelgore's face. In another man, it might have been embarrassment at the oversight or perhaps even guilt. In Kelgore it seemed more like irritation.

"You six there," Kelgore gestured, looking down with glassy black eyes at a knot of the idle men, "Prepare food and drink. Feed everyone." In his voice, Tsonia heard an odd resonance that sent a shiver up her spine. The six beastkin leapt to their feet and dashed off into the village towards the abandoned cookfires.

"You see? They worship me. They live to serve."

"How very nice for you," Tsonia said, starting slowly up the last flight of steps to the temple door, sword in hand.

And suddenly she was back on the bottom step, her hands empty, the sword slung at her side. She had no memory of descending, nor of sheathing the sword. Tsonia bit back her anger.

Kelgore smiled. "Tell me Red Tsonia, before I bid you welcome to my kingdom... have you come to kill me?"

"Honestly, I expected to find that the natives had eaten you," she lied. "I'm a little surprised to see you doing so well for yourself, and I'm starting to see why the God-King fears you so."

"Perhaps I could entice you to change sides?"

"Perhaps you could."

"Then approach, Red Tsonia, and be welcomed." Kelgore waved his guards back a step and extended a beckoning hand. "I shall have a feast prepared in your honor. But first come and meet my court. I have a, um... proposal that I think you'll find rewarding."

Tsonia climbed the stairs and took the hand he offered. Kelgore led her into his throne room, his two guards never more than a short pounce behind him. The cool tile floors were covered with thick hides. The sunlight, through open gaps in the ancient ceiling scattered pools of light and shadow. In the center of the room sat a crude divan covered in supple leather and stains that appeared fresh.

Joras and Ambrose were there, sitting on a pair of smaller settees, picking at platters of fruit held by naked beastkin girls. Joras sat up with a start.

"Red Tsonia, we thought you drowned!" he cheered. Tsonia worried his enthusiasm was a bit forced, but Kelgore didn't seem to notice. "How ever did you survive?"

"Much the way you did, I suspect." she answered putting a bit of cold distance in her voice. "It's 'Joras', right? And... 'Ambrose' I believe?"

Ambrose nodded. "Welcome to a very exclusive club of survivors, Tsonia," he said without getting up. "I suspect you may come to enjoy being marooned here in Kelgore's kingdom."

"Yes." She cast an approving glance at Kelgore, taking his measure. "Yes, I suspect I may."

There was a commotion at the door and everyone turned to see two strapping beastkin carrying in a roughly crafted wooden settee, similar to the couches Joras and Ambrose enjoyed. Behind them, T'pek came, bearing a heavy roll of thick, wooly hides to drape as padding. Tsonia recognized the familiar scarring across his chest and spared him only the briefest glance.

His hand was held with fingers crossed, the prearranged signal that all was in readiness.

"Come, come! Over there," Kelgore gestured to the natives, directing them to set the new furniture between Joras and Ambrose, giving Tsonia a position of importance between them. "Set that down and be quick about it."

Joras lounged with an arm stretched across the chair back. He too had his fingers crossed.

Ambrose did not. A brief anxiety flashed up Tsonia's spine. She risked a longer look and when she caught his eye with a questioning cock of her eyebrow, with a sigh of reluctance Ambrose crossed his fingers as well

She had the signal ready on her lips. All she had to do was speak it.

"Your majesty, I believe you said you had a, um... proposal for me?" She crossed in front of him with more sway in her hips than a ripe Debon maiden. She turned and perched herself on the edge of his throne drawing concerned scowls from his guards and a knowing smile from the King himself. "If you have something to say then... now is the time"

On her word, T'pek unfurled the roll of hides with a snap sending the head of Shala tumbling across the floor to come to rest at the feet of her astonished son.

"Kill her, you fool! It's a trap!" screamed the witch's severed head, just as Tsonia hoped she might.

No matter how enchanted Kelgore's guards, that sight could not fail to rattle them. It would give Joras and Ambrose the precious second they needed to aim the short reeds that the natives used as blowguns. Not much longer than a man's hand, the weapons were easily concealed. T'pek had found a cache of them at the hunting camp, along with the darts and a clay jar of the sleeping poison. Joras and Ambrose had practiced with them for hours.

Tsonia was already on the fly, launching herself off the divan sword in hand, trusting her companions to deal with the guards quickly and without bloodshed. One well placed strike would take Kelgore's head and end his tyrannical reign over these people.

Kelgore ducked her blow, recovering from the shock of his mother's appearance with more composure than Tsonia expected. Nonetheless, T'pek would be on him in an instant. Tsonia whirled on the would-be king to follow up her first attack and suddenly felt her feet fly out from under her.

She hit the hide-carpeted stone floor hard. Instinctively she rolled away from a follow up attack by what she assumed must have been the long spear of one of the guards. Seizing that momentum, Tsonia sprang to her feet and saw Joras, T'pek, and Ambrose unmoved from their places, still and passive.

She turned to see Kelgore's still very much alert guards advancing on her, and Kelgore himself grinning as if he was particularly proud of himself. Raising her sword with a primal scream of fury, Tsonia charged.

And she was on her knees, wrists bound behind her back, her neck tethered to her knees, and the points of two spears pressed to her shoulders. Tsonia clawed through her memory for some recollection of how she had been bested and she found nothing.

***

"Really my dear, did you think that would work?" Kelgore asked. He lounged on his breeding throne with his mother settled comfortably by his side. The long spears of his guards held his betrothed prisoner, bent double on her knees before him. Her allies stood by, waiting for his instructions. They would stand there waiting until they starved to death if he so willed it.

"You have never respected the power I procured for my son," gloated Shala. "And now you shall die for your arrogance."

"Don't be hasty, mother," Kelgore admonished. He had no intention of slaying his future bride, despite his mother's opinions. "I think she may yet come around, if given a proper demonstration."

The vixen-warrior on the floor in front of him strained against her bonds with a scream, even as the spear points pierced her flesh, raising drops of black blood that trickled down her shoulders and fell hissing to the floor.

"Their rope is really quite strong, isn't it?" Kelgore asked, amused by her efforts. "It was your beastly lover there who trussed you up so securely." Tsonia looked up and shot a glance at the scar-ridden beastman who stood nearby.

"Oh, don't feel betrayed. He really didn't have any choice. In fact, I think that he is the one who should feel betrayed. Did you really promise to bear him pups? You must know that your demon-blessed womb will never bear mortal fruit."

"Then why do you seek to make my barren loins your own?" Tsonia hissed up at him. Her vibrant hair hung lank in her face as she strained against her bonds to meet his gaze. She really had learned nothing.

"Enough of this!" insisted Shala. "Kill her now and be done with it! This boasting is beneath you. You should be ordering these savages to build you a boat, not wasting time fawning over this whore."

"Silence, mother!" he spat. He was proud of the kingdom he had built here, but nothing would be good enough for his mother until the God-King lay dead at his feet. She had no appreciation for the finer things in life that his demon-gifted powers could provide. She could make him so angry sometimes.

Kelgore drew a knife from his belt, toyed with it for a moment while eyeing his mother's head. She returned his glare, but said nothing. He took a moment to steady himself before looking at the younger of Tsonia's allies and calling "Joras, come take this knife."

"What are you doing? Leave him alone!" snapped Tsonia, straining again at her bonds.

"Yes, your loyal follower," Kelgore observed. "Perhaps the only person you really care about. Your memory and his both tell me how much he means to you, and what destruction you might rain if not for his companionship."

"Kelgore, I swear to every god on either side of the veil," Tsonia hissed at him through clenched teeth, "if you hurt him there is no hell with a pit deep enough to hide you from my wrath." Her bonds groaned with the effort of containing her fury and the spear point dug deeper into her shoulders.

"No, no, no. You've got it all wrong." Kelgore waved away the absurd idea and stood from his throne, forcing Tsonia to struggle even harder to look at him. He turned to the young artist, knowing that if there was any leverage over Red Tsonia to be found, this man was the fulcrum.

"Joras," he said. "Kill Ambrose."

The young man in the horrid orange cloak turned on his lover, who stood motionless and indifferent. If there was fear in the older man's soul, Kelgore could not yet see it in his eyes.

"No!" Tsonia screamed. "Joras! Stop! Joras, fight it! Fight him! Stop, Joras, please!"

But there was no stopping a command once Kelgore had issued it with the full force of his will behind it. Indeed, Kelgore doubted even he could have stayed Joras's hand now. The man moved with deliberate speed and with one strike, he stabbed Ambrose through the heart.

The sea captain looked up with a gasp. Now Kelgore could see the shock and terror in his eyes. A tear rolled down Ambrose's cheek as he took Joras's face in his hands. If Ambrose spoke, he was too quiet for Kelgore to hear over Tsonia's screams of protest. Ambrose pressed his forehead to Joras's and caressed the scruff of his lover's chin. Then he fell to his knees and died.

Joras stood over Ambroses's body for but a moment, the dagger held limp in his hand. Kelgore saw the familiar twitch as his puppet's will returned. Joras finally heard Tsonia screaming. He looked around trying to remember where he was. Then he looked down at the dagger in his bloody hand, and past it to the man lying in a spreading crimson pool at his feet.

Joras dropped the blade and collapsed sobbing over Ambrose. Kelgore smiled at the agony in the man's voice as he begged the still-warm corpse for forgiveness.

The king knelt next to Tsonia to make it easier for his betrothed to hear his words. When she refused to meet his eye, he took her by the chin and turned her tear-streaked face towards his.

"You have my word, darling Tsonia," he said. "I will never kill your friend. But if you continue to defy me... You will."

Tsonia clenched her eyes closed and jerked away from his touch.

Kelgore would give his lesson a moment to sink in. He stood and turned to Tsonia's beastly ex-lover. "You there," he made a dismissive gesture towards Joras. "Take him away and lock him someplace secure."

The brute easily hefted Joras onto his shoulder and carried him out of the throne room, the howls of lamentation eventually fading in the distance. The king resumed his throne, beckoned a naked serving girl bearing a platter of fruit, and selected a morsel that looked tasty. He noted with a smile that his prisoners' struggles had ceased.

"Now then, Red Tsonia—or, may I call you Kaela?—my proposal," he began. "You will bear me a host of children. With our demon-blessed powers combined, our offspring will grow to be the most powerful warriors this world has ever seen. They will be the officers who will lead an army of my loyal bastards against the so-called God-King of Xhastria."

Tsonia said nothing.

"I'll take your acceptance as granted. What do you think of that, mother?"

"I think you waste decades on what should be a simple conquest," sneered Shala.

"There is no pleasing you, woman." Kelgore's brow furrowed and he wondered how long he could forestall his mother's restoration ritual. If he could deny her pure blood tonight, she would have to begin the process all over from the beginning.

He was contemplating excuses when there was a rush of movement in the far corner of the temple. Snake-face and Skull-face appeared from a darkened passageway that led deeper into the temple than Kelgore had cared to explore. Holy men were always so intractable in their routines. But no matter, he had need of them now.

"There you are." He stood to address the shamans as they hastily approached. "I have grand news. I am to be wed! My bride has arrived at last!" He gestured to Tsonia, bound at spearpoint on the floor. "Prepare a ceremony fit for your god."

The two elders stopped short. They turned and looked at each other, their expressions hidden behind those damned masks. Kelgore would have removed them, but a holy man in his raiment was so efficient at inspiring compliance from those Kelgore could not turn directly.

"It... is good," said Snake-face at last, using the pidgin Trade Tongue.

"We have a... holy place below," added Skull-face. "Very special. It is only best for our god's wedding."

"That sounds perfect," Kelgore agreed. "Find Bird-face and make the preparations. I wish to be married at once."

Snake-face hurried out of the temple, no doubt to fetch whatever sacred vestments he required and to arrange for the wedding feast. Skull-face turned back the way he had come to prepare their most sacred chapel until Kelgore called "Wait!"

Skull-face turned around slowly.

Kelgore picked up his mother's head from his throne, strode purposely across the room and handed her to the shaman. "Find someplace secret and quiet to keep this," Kelgore told him.

"Kelgore?' his mother barked. "What are you doing? Unhand me, you savage charlatan!"

"Can't have you spoiling my wedding night, mother. I'll see you in a couple of days."

Kelgore bounced back onto his throne and selected another piece of fruit from the girl's tray as the witch's screams of invective faded into the darkness. He almost felt sorry for poor Skull-face having to endure her bile. But the savage couldn't understand a word of it anyway, so it was alright.

He looked down at Tsonia, still seething quietly on the floor in front of his throne. "Cheer up, my love!" he taunted her. "Today is the happiest day of your life!"

***

Joras barely noticed where T'pek was carrying him. He didn't really care either. The enormity of what he had done was threatening to swallow him like a gaping, black maelstrom.

He had killed Ambrose.

Somehow he had rammed a Vizingian dagger straight into his lover's heart. And he did not remember doing it. But there was no mistaking the crimson pool surrounding the still body, the look of odd reverie on his bearded features.

He had killed Ambrose.

There had been long stretches of time when their paths had led them to wander or sail different parts of the world, but when they met, it always was a joyous occasion, much like returning to a safe harbor after a grueling storm. Ambrose was a fierce lover, a wise friend and sometimes even a devilish jester, one of the few people to rile up Tsonia without incurring her wrath. Ambrose was one of the few people to talk some sense into Tsonia when her mind was ablaze with tales of mad adventures, with visions of gold or glory too large even for her to take on, a welcome ally indeed.