Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

Tsonia fell into step next to him as they breezed through titanic corridors and extravagant salons, past bejeweled courtiers casually tormenting naked slaves, past the God-Kings concubines offering their unearthly delights, across sun-flooded terraces awash with exotic plants and artificial waterfalls, until they finally reached the heart of the palace and the enormous throne room of the God-King.

Garbed in a simple white robe, wearing an elaborate crown of woven gold, Xhastria's divine ruler was impressive to behold. He towered over his courtiers as an adult towers over a child. His features were flawless, as if chiseled by an unrivaled sculptor. Bands of muscle rippled under ebony skin hinting at a prowess that waited to be unleashed. Emerald eyes burned with astute radiance, each glance delving into the onlooker's soul.

He sat upon a towering throne made from bones and skulls inlaid in gold. Hundreds of courtiers mingled around the many-tiered dais the throne stood upon, all waiting in eagerness to be recognized and granted a moment of his holy time.

According to tavern gossip, the God-King's might stretched far beyond the mortal realm. It was said that he knew about everything that transpired within the farthest reaches of his demesne and farther. Yet none had seen him anywhere but seated upon his throne, always holding court. Some speculated that the opulent orgies and grisly torture chambers sustained him with life extracted from donors, willing and unwilling alike. Others were convinced that the viridian court had taken on a life of its own, that the God-King himself was no more than a puppet of his courtiers or some hidden cabal of demon-kissers.

Few were ever granted audience with the God-King, and those who were rarely divulged their conversations.

The sea of courtiers parted. Jewels glinted from pierced nipples and beringed cocks in the golden light spilling from the domed ceiling above. Elaborate masks gleamed and garish robes rustled as the courtiers made room for Tsonia and Joras. Exotic scents tantalized their nostrils as they walked the carpeted approach to the throne.

"The lair of the beastkin god smelled better than this," Tsonia whispered. "I miss the stench of Xhastria's streets already."

"Shh. No need to turn the court against us," Joras hissed.

"Red Tsonia." The voice was everywhere. It echoed from the green walls. It boomed from the domed ceiling. It was in the shafts of light burning on their backs. And it was in their heads.

"Your Holiness." Tsonia took a knee and bent her head in a rare gesture of submission. Joras went to both knees, prostrating himself. He hoped his arms would hide his nervous glances.

"At last you have returned. Is it done?"

"Yes. Kelgore is dead. I bring you his skull as tribute." She nudged the wooden case.

"Open it."

Tsonia hesitated for just a moment, then she pulled the lid open. Inside, on a simple linen cushion, rested a skull, all of the flesh stripped away down to bare bone.

A low, foreboding rumble echoed through the majestic throne room. A dark cloud seemed to pass the sun, for the golden rays subsided, leaving the throne room in dim twilight.

"This is not Kelgore's skull," the God-King proclaimed. "I do not see his obsidian eyes."

There was a chorus of gasps as every courtier took a step back.

"Kelgore is dead," Tsonia said again, with all the conviction she could muster. "I saw him die."

The silence inside the throne room was deafening. Then, a soft rustle of cloth from the throne. The God-King had risen. Every courtier in the hall sank to their knees, holding their hands above their heads, to ward off some as-of-yet unseen calamity.

"Red Tsonia, repeat what I said when first we met," the God-King said in the patient tones a parent uses when admonishing an unruly child.

"You said 'bring me the skull of Kelgore the Despoiler,'" Tsonia replied defiantly. "But his skull was destroyed after much hardship and loss of—"

"Silence!" The force of the God-King's voice cracked a pillar. The bust of a golden woman tumbled to the floor, crushing a dozen courtiers beneath its weight. Even maimed and dying, they dared not to scream.

"My orders are precise, with no room for interpretation. Were it otherwise, my demesne would have fallen to enemies from within and without centuries ago." He sat down again. "I know of your trials and tribulations. I know of your loss. I have seen the Despoiler die by your hand. And yet, despite your best efforts, you have failed in your given task."

Tsonia did not dare to speak, yet her brow was heavy with rage.

The God-King went on. "Had you admitted your failure, I might have granted you a measure of recompense. You did see to the Despoiler's end after all. Your deeds will grant welcome reprieve for my beleaguered fishermen and their families."

The God-King raised his hand and he shouted a single word no mortal tongue could pronounce. A mote of liquid fire flew from his palm, engulfing the wooden case and setting it ablaze. Tsonia gritted her teeth against the infernal heat but refused to move, her gaze locked with the inscrutable being on the dais.

"You tried to deceive me, Red Tsonia. Such heresy is punished by death." Again, the God-King's palm erupted in fiery radiance. "But today you find me in a merciful mood. Your deeds saw the Despoiler brought low. Instead of death, there shall be exile. Leave the Green Cities by sundown and dare not return until you have done due penance. Now begone from my sight."

With this dismissal, the mass of courtiers swelled around them, obscuring the throne and the God-King from view. Tsonia came to her feet, gnashing her teeth.

"That's it? All the heartbreak, all the hardship for naught?" she yelled. Her voice was drowned out by the thundering clamor of the gossiping throng.

Joras clawed into her arm. "Let's go already," he hissed, pulling her towards the exit. "Or do you want to risk outright execution? It was noon already when we arrived!"

"You were not party to his judgment, Joras." Tsonia said mildly, reaching for her purse. "Take what I have and make yourself a peaceful life." She walked by his side, head bowed in defeat. "I've caused you more than enough grief. You deserve better than to walk the deserts with me."

"Deserts?" Joras laughed softly. "I've heard Debon is a beautiful place any time of year. Deep forests, snow-covered tundra, towering mountain peaks. Would that not make a suitable backdrop to paint my muse?" He gestured towards the exit. "If we hurry, we might even catch Aelric and ask for passage before he and his men get themselves killed in whatever watering hole they found."

Tsonia chuckled. They passed a gilded door frame. Wails of ecstatic anguish poured from it. "You're more of a glutton for punishment than those deluded fools. But who would I be if I rebuked my beloved chronicler and artist?"

"Much less well known," Joras retorted. "Come, the sun sinks low. We should hurry."

***

In a forgotten vestibule under the beastkin's temple, covered by dust and cobwebs, Shala seethed.

The End