Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

***

The next morning, the party left their camp site, bleary-eyed, short-tempered and hardly rested. At least they had a bellyful of food, to grant them energy for another sweat-drenched hike through tangled vines under the wide-brimmed, leafy canopy.

Sethos slid down a tree. "The volcano is that way," he said, pointing. "There is no sign of a trail through all this damned tree cover."

"It was much easier walking than having to hack our way through the undergrowth," Ambrose complained, massaging his ankle.

"Can you still walk?" Montu snapped. "Or should we carry you?"

"I think I have a few more miles in me," Ambrose said, pulling himself up to his full height again. "Let us find some fresh water and a more defensible position before we settle down for the night."

"I've seen a clearing not far from here," Sethos said. "With any luck we might find a spring or a stream there."

Tsonia again took the lead and they set out, soon swallowed by the deep viridian shadows of the jungle. The men were growing testy. The maddening noise of wildlife and the rolling of the natives' drums was even beginning to wear on her nerves. The air was hot and humid, almost as tiring as the act of marching through the gloom. The stench of rotting vegetation was all-encompassing.

The ground, Tsonia noticed, thus far stable enough save for hidden vines and air roots poised to trip them up, became more and more soggy. Rivulets of water glinted, highlighted by the few errant shafts of late afternoon sun which managed to pierce the emerald canopy overhead.

And then the endless gloom brightened as the jungle thinned ahead of them. The clearing was nigh!

Tsonia stopped abruptly, causing Joras to nearly bump into her. The artist swayed to the side, a shocked yell tearing from his lips. Ahead, wound around a thick, spiked pole, someone had left a skeleton, its skull painted a ghastly red and the arms spread along a crossbeam.

"What is this?" Joras gasped.

"Seems to be some kind of totem," Ambrose guessed, mopping thick beads of sweat off his forehead. "Maybe the natives use it to mark their territory?"

"I wish they'd use signposts, like civilized people," Joras muttered. "Gave me a righteous scare."

Tsonia crouched, her blade at hand, her eyes scouring the ground sucking at her feet. "No tracks. No sign of a worn path."

"Why put up this ghastly marker then?" Joras wondered.

Ambrose examined the body. "What do the natives look like?" he wondered.

"Large, monstrous. Heads which look more like animals than human," Tsonia said. "Why do you ask?"

"Don't you see? There's nothing monstrous about the skull. They must have found a human and put him here."

Tsonia traced her fingers over the skull, noticing the cracks and pits in the bone. "That's too old and weatherbeaten to be a fresh kill."

"So we're not the first humans to maroon on these shores," Joras said. "Maybe there is a settlement somewhere? And ships to take us back home?" His eyes gleamed with renewed hope, echoed by Montu and Sethos. The sailors slapped their shoulders in silent jubilation.

"We need directions," Tsonia admitted. "First we learn more about the lay of the land. Then we find the natives and Kelgore."

The warrior pushed past the grisly totem, resuming their trek. She had taken only a dozen steps when a guttural noise came from the pack.

"Quiet you," Tsonia snapped. The unliving witch inside answered with another growl. Whatever she wanted was turned into gibberish by the wood secured between her teeth.

"Maybe we should find out what's irking her," Ambrose suggested.

"I'll not suffer more of her insults," Tsonia growled. "I've had more than enough of that already." She slapped the pack. "You only speak when spoken to, you hear?"

A spiteful grunt was her answer. Satisfied with it, Tsonia headed towards the vestiges of daylight breaking through the gaps between the towering trees. Ambrose and Joras were right behind her.

"Ishtar's tits," Tsonia cursed, stopping just shy of the last trees. "That's not the kind of water we need."

Ambrose joined her, blinking at the radiance assaulting his eyes. The clearing was vast—and covered almost entirely in swampy, brackish water. Misshapen trees grew from tiny islands like mutilated appendages of a submerged giant. Like diaphanous clouds with vile intent, large swarms of bloodthirsty insects lazily drifted over the stagnant pool, their droning buzz heralding naught but agony should they find soft, exposed flesh. The first breeze they'd felt in hours greeted them, but it carried a hellish stench, like rank, rotting eggs.

"Sulphur," Joras said, indicating the distant volcano visible above the treeline at last. "The volcano's influence must reach all the way here."

The pack groaned. There was the hair-raising sound of teeth scoring salt-encrusted wood.

Tsonia grabbed the pack and held it at eye level, her gaze lancing into one of Shala's eyes, barely visible behind a clump of rodent fur. "I've had it with your noises, woman," she hissed. "One more gasp, growl or moan and I'll toss you into the depths of the swamp. Do you understand?"

A noise, almost a word, made it past the gag. Tsonia tossed the pack over her shoulder again. "Good."

She cast a long, troubled gaze around the swamp and tried to judge the distance to the volcano's rising foothills on the far side. The plume of smoke rising into the evening sky seemed almost sinister in the fading light of dusk.

"Crossing this pit will be slow and messy. Who knows what kind of beasts are lurking under the surface." She scowled at a swarm of insects drifting close. "And I don't fancy being bitten by those bloodsuckers. Even if it takes us longer, we should walk along the edge."

***

The sun had long ago fallen below the horizon and still they trudged along the edge of the swamp, looking for a spot of dry land to set up camp. They came across another totem, this one built from human bones as well and still, their purpose eluded them. Exhausted, tired and riddled with insect bites, they struggled on.

Montu cast uneasy glances to the side, noting the strange lights flickering under the surface of the swamp and the thick fog obscuring their already limited vision.

He had been born and raised in the Green Cities, surrounded by endless deserts. The jungle, the swamp, all teeming with murderous life, was utterly alien to him. He didn't know if swamps were supposed to glow like that. He glanced towards his blood brother Sethos, but the Xhastrian seemed as uneasy as he was, grasping the heft of his axe with white-knuckled intensity. The captain—no, Ambrose!—cursed and stumbled, the treacherous ground grasping his already weakened leg. Joras easily caught and steadied him.

"If we don't find a safe place soon, this swamp will be my grave," Ambrose grumbled.

A hollow groan answered him, loud enough to be heard over the ever-rumbling drums. And then another. And a third.

Montu raised his sword and cast his gaze about. The sounds had come from the swamp, but try as he might, he didn't spot anything awry.

Tsonia, blade in hand, whirled on her heel. "This is not the time for idle jests!" she snapped.

There was a strange, sucking noise, of something being dragged across the muddy ground. Montu caught movement at the edge of his vision. There, cast in sharp relief against the sickening glow of the swamp, he saw an arm rise and fall, hand curled into a claw. The arm ended in a body crawling along the ground. Sightless, milky eyes rolled in a devastated skull, the jaw frantically snapping.

Another shape shambled close, this one's rotted limbs swaying in an unsteady gait. And there were yet more, rising from the swamp, dozens of unliving nightmares coming to haunt the living.

"Away from the water," Tsonia ordered. "Before they cut off every escape!"

"If it's not too late already," Sethos growled, swinging his axe. "They're everywhere!" The heavy blade split a skull like rotted kindling. Still, a clawed hand grazed the Xhastrian's shoulder as the body crumpled, tearing a gash into his dark skin. Montu swung his sword as well, beheading the crawler at his feet. Ambrose, Tsonia and even Joras swung sword and axe and spade, trying to stem the tide of shambling bodies slowly, inexorably encircling them.

A hand closed around Montu's ankle, sharp, filthy claws digging into his skin. He stumbled backwards, escaping the second hand slicing downwards by sheer dumb luck. The headless body at his feet still writhed, still sought to tear him apart. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Montu bent low and tore the clammy hand from his leg. Sethos' axe came down, shattering the undead thing's spine. At last, the body stopped moving.

"Thank you, brother," Montu said.

Sethos gasped in protest. Hot blood fountained, spattering across Montu's face and chest. Another corpse grasped Sethos from behind, claws like iron vises around the Xhastrian's arms, teeth tearing at soft tissue. The Xhastrian moaned and staggered, trying to dislodge the monster frantically gnawing at his throat. The axe fell from his fingers.

Montu used the heavy pommel of his sword, slamming it into the stinking head until the thing stopped tearing at Sethos's neck. His blood brother was alive, just, his breath a sick, wet gurgling.

"No, don't die," Montu whispered.

Sethos raised his hand, a flick of a gesture to the rear.

Before Montu could turn, a heavy weight fell on him from behind, toppling him onto the gasping Sethos. Razor-like claws tore into Montu's back, sharp teeth sunk into his calves and shoulders. More and more bodies piled onto him, robbing him of the air to scream for help.

Whimpering helplessly, his face caked in his brother's blood, Montu died, torn asunder by the ravenous horde.

***

T'pek shook his head. The fools had left the trails and ignored the totems. Every whelp of the tribe knew to give the red bones a wide berth. The elders had the grisly warnings placed for a reason after all. The swamp was forbidden, the final resting place of all convicted criminals, be they tribesmen or outsiders. Only, ever since they had tossed that witch into it years ago, the corpses would not stay dead. His keen eyes easily pierced the gloom and his nostrils caught the rancid stench of the swamp-borne dead as they poured from the waters.

He had seen the dead walk twice, once as a dare when he still was a stupid, reckless whelp and now for a second time, while watching these curious outsiders blunder through the Hunting Grounds. While the other members of his hunting party couldn't wait to boast of their catch in front of the females and elders, T'pek knew that patience would bring much greater gain.

And unlike his younger kin, he knew a few words of the outsider tongue, gleaned from the flamboyantly clad traders who had come to the village once and never left or those lost souls that had been picked off the beach over the years.

He would challenge this fire-headed female in her own tongue. She would accept, and then she would yield to him once beaten. His pack mates had been younger and quicker, but T'pek was a shrewd old hunter, invisible unless he wanted to be seen and gifted with years of experience.

There was a distinct stirring from his loins. That fire-headed female was strong and fierce. Other hunters would scoff at her lack of caution the mighty jungle demanded, but T'pek had seen her grow and adapt already. Not even her lack of fur dampened his lust for her. She would give birth to powerful whelps and he would make sure she would do so often. To make his heated wish come true, T'pek needed to throw the ravenous dead off her trail first.

From his perch in a holy kalupa tree, he spotted one of the thick-skinned swamp dwellers, docile plant-eaters renowned for their tender meat and fierce tempers once angered. Their fragrant blood made for good bait and he knew they would run away from any danger.

T'pek pulled a sharp-edged sling stone from his pouch, a serrated, triangular flint perfect for piercing thick hide and cracking skulls. He nestled the projectile into his sling and, easily balancing on the thick branch he'd been sitting on, let fly. The jagged missile hit the swamp-dweller's arse, carving a deep gash into its hide. Braying madly, the ponderous beast thundered forwards, blood mingling with water.

T'pek bared his teeth in a feral grin. He could see the dead horde falter, the stragglers swerving to track the fresh bait. More and more stumbled back into the swamp, eager to latch on to the fresh source of blood like the wicked snapperfish infesting the White River which had torn apart his first mate.

If she was as strong as he hoped, the fire-headed female would now be able to make a clean break from the dead.

He settled back on his haunches and resumed his vigil. The hunt was far from over.

***

The sky was still dark when they dragged Unami from her hut. A plump midwife, purring quietly, carried her newborn, Kra'ar, away while the hunters herded her up the steep ascent to the ancient temple. Unami was too exhausted from giving birth, too tired to bite and claw, so she let them do as they pleased.

Through the great hall they went, empty save for the fire pit in the center and the twisted columns trying to stem the weight of the temple's crumbling roof, down into a chamber she had never seen before. A singular oil lamp provided scant illumination, barely enough to see the carvings adorning every inch of the walls. Gaping maws, unblinking eyes leveling accusing stares, and half-formed limbs danced along the frieze.

She clutched her aching belly and lashed the hunters to either side of her with an imperious stare. "Kra'ar needs me," she growled. "I must feed my son."

Stone doors on the opposite side of the room opened, the towering slates scratching along the floor with some reluctance. Three elders emerged, their grayed whiskers and blunt snouts hidden behind ornate golden masks, their heads bloated and deformed by feathered headdresses. Long, colorful robes had been wrought around their slumping shoulders and withered groins.

"What do you want from me at this hour?" Unami barked, masking her fear with feigned rage. She bared her teeth, a challenge rising in her throat. Her growl echoed off the carved walls. Unami slapped the hunters' claws away and stood alone, shaking like a defiant, storm-tossed reed.

"Silence!" one of the elders barked. The mask he wore was the sharp-beaked Condor, keen eyes and mighty wings. "Do you not grasp the gravity of your situation, whelp?"

"Who do you call a whelp, you decrepit fossil?" Unami snarled. "I have just delivered my firstborn! I have seen the jungle! I have-"

"You have stolen our sacred treasure and given it to an outsider!" the second elder roared. His mask showed the Serpent, venomous fangs and crushing strength. "Once they realize what can be found here, they will come and demand more and more! First they will bring honeyed words and lies, then they will bring warriors and weapons!"

"Ha!" Unami spat. "First they would have to cross the jungle. Don't you teach that only the strong, only the hunters can brave the hostile wilderness? How many outsiders will perish on the journey? How many of them will be able to even lift a weapon if they even find us? How many will be able to stand against our fierce warriors?"

"Insolent child," the third elder hissed. He wore a skull, the guise of Death Inevitable. "Traditions and rules have a reason. Your reckless actions prove why not every member of the tribe can be a hunter. Strength has to be tempered by wisdom, fury tempered by mercy. Your brash disregard of the rules clearly shows you are nothing more than a foolish whelp still, unfit to walk among the adults!"

"I have followed the rules. I came back to give the tribe another hunter. What else do you want from me?"

"Kra'ar will be well-fed and taken care of," Condor proclaimed. "But your penance has only just begun."

"Normally we would bind you in stones and drown you in the swamp, as befits a lowly thief," Condor said.

"But the volcano's awakening has roused The Sleeper," Serpent said. "Someone has to placate him. This is a task for a woman. You have been chosen as penance for your transgression."

"What? No. I will go into exile. I will return to Aelric! I want to see the frozen water come from the sky!" Unami howled.

"I am afraid you won't leave the temple, foolish, insolent child," Death Inevitable whispered. "Giving birth to a hunter does not absolve your sins. It is your solemn duty to the tribe. But if you can placate The Sleeper, all will be forgiven."

"All will be forgiven," the other two rumbled. Condor bowed his head and the hunters grasped her shivering arms.

"Placate The Sleeper? I am no priestess!" Unami wailed. "What am I to do?"

Death Inevitable crossed the chamber, reaching into the gaping maw of a hideous stone effigy. His paw depressed the sculpted tongue within and the floor opened before her like a ravenous maw.

"Deliver her," Serpent said, motioning for the pit. The air wafting from the orifice smelled wrong. Sweet and thick was the scent, causing her ravaged sex to weep in heat.

The hunters first dragged, then shoved her forwards. Unami stumbled into the pit and fell. Like every member of the tribe she knew how to fall, even if her weakened body was slow and clumsy. Instead of breaking her legs, she curled up into a ball and dropped onto a slope of smooth stone. There were no holds, no purchase for her claws or scrabbling feet. Unami slid frantically into the lightless depths underneath the temple. Above her, the floor rumbled closed.

The slope curled downward like the blasted serpent before delivering her into a lightless space that she judged huge by the sound of emptiness. The sweet stench was thicker here. Her teats ached and her sex seemed to overflow. Her breath threw shuddering echoes from the far walls.

Blind like a newborn, Unami pawed on all fours, trying to earn a feel for this space. The floor was made from stone, large, regular tiles neatly fitted. The tip of her tail still touched the slope and there was no wall in easy reach. She took another step. Her paw landed on a bone. Unami gritted her teeth. She would not grant the elders the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She pulled the bone closer. It was long and stout. It would make a fine club.

There was a soft noise ahead, a shy rustling.

A grim smile stole onto Unami's lips. If there were animals down here, they would probably be as blind as she was and easily hunted. At least she wouldn't starve.

"Come, come, little ratty," Unami sang. "Mother has need of you."

The rustling came again, closer now. Using her sensitive ears, Unami aimed and swung the bone with murderous intent.

There was swift movement, a powerful whiff of that sticky, sweet air. The cudgel hit the floor with crushing force and splintered into a thousand pieces like a hollowed twig.

More rustling. Four, five sounds of movement at once. Unami bared her claws and teeth. How many rats were there?

Something long and serpentine curled around her leg. It was soft and wet and moved with shocking speed, coiling around her calf and knee.

Then came a jolt and she was unceremoniously dropped on her back. All Unami could do was to protect her head by twisting her spine and curling up as best she could. The impact cracked a few ribs and her elbows.

Gasping in the thick, clingy vapors, she slapped at the soft, writhing tissue grasping her leg. Another tendril came, slick and wet and it curled around her other leg. With inexorable force, they pried her thighs apart. Shrieking, Unami clamped both hands over her gaping sex - to no avail. Another tendril came, binding her wrists and yanking her hands aside with contemptuous ease.