by Álex Souza
in Issue 125, June 2022
“Another one?!” said the elder, his gloomy face lightened by the tent’s torches. He lowered his head and exhaled. For a moment, silence ensued; only the popping sounds of the fire could be heard.
Boris, the elder’s only son, stared at his father and could feel the weight that his father was bearing: the weight of an entire tribe.
The elder continued, “Who was it now?”
“It’s my youngest son this time…” said Silvanus, of the men sitting at the meeting, who had lost two sons already. “He’s been in bed since this morning, limp and powerless as a corpse.”
“The same happened to my son!” said another man, his eyes equally sad. “What’s going on here? Doctor?!”
The doctor lifted his gaze and looked at the man from above his spectacles. With his black eyes, his weariness was second only to the elder. He said, “All the patients have the same symptoms: deathlike pallor and extreme limpness. It’s like anemia, but much worse. I’ve seen nothing like that, and I couldn’t find anything in any medical book.”
“And how many are in this condition?”
The doctor swallowed hard. “Thirteen. In seven nights.”
Everyone at the meeting lowered their heads and sighed. Everybody except for Boris. Leaning against one of the pillars of the royal tent, muscular arms crossed, he kept his impassive face. He was by far the youngest present—the others were all old men— and he wasn’t even old enough to attend the meetings, but he’s been there since his childhood, for he was the elder’s son and would be the caravan’s next leader.
On the morning following the day they set themselves by the lake, four boys awoke unable to move. Their pale skins and dark eyes made them look like zombies. It was so over-the-top that everyone thought that this was a prank at first; that the boys were whitening their bodies with some kind of powder and blackening their lips and tongues with paint. But it wasn’t. The children couldn’t even masticate. Three days later, all of those boys died. Every morning after that, at least one boy would show up in the same conditions.
Some people started wondering if it was a disease brought by the lake, so they should pack and leave at once. These people said that they should come back to the shanty towns around the capital and try to restart life there. Others, like Boris, thought that this was all a curse, some divine punishment caused by the neglect of the laws of the gods. In this case, moving would be of no use; they should concentrate on following the divine laws instead.
That’s what the last meetings have been all about.
“And what’s left for us to do?” Silvanus asked.
“Well…” The doctor rubbed his nose and reflected for a while, then said: “As we don’t know what’s causing it… there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. Why does it only happen to boys? We have no clue. As treatment, I’ve been doing the best I can, but our resources are scarce. I promise that I’m doing my best.”
“Clearly, /your best/ isn’t working, doctor!” said Silvanus. His hair had fallen out in a matter of days. “My sons, my boys died in my hands. And I have another one, lying in a bed, doing nothing more than breathing and looking to the ceiling with an unfocused gaze. Did you forget?”
“No, of course, I didn’t forget… I—”
“Will my son have the same destiny?!” someone interrupted. “And what about us?”
“I don’t want to go back to the city!” Silvanus said. “I don’t want to live near the sewers of that cursed place again. They’re the ones that shoved us off in the first place. And all because of the color of our skin! This lake that we found is a gift from the gods; it’s not even on the maps. The problem is this incompetent doctor. Maybe he’s the one drugging the kids!”
“Don’t you open your mouth to talk about my work!” said the doctor. “I just don’t have the means to treat this disease here. We’ll disassemble the camp and march towards the capital!”
“This is not for you to decide!”
Everybody stood up and started yelling at each other, cursing each other, and even throwing punches at each other. Boris would intervene, but his body didn’t move. He bit his trembling lip and clenched his fists to avoid showing his shaky arms. When he looked at his father, he saw the elder staring angrily at him. Boris looked away.
“Enough!” the elder yelled, making everybody shut up instantly, and sending a shiver down Boris’ spine. “The doctor is not to blame, that I assure you. Look at him; he’s been working non-stop for days.” He paused, stared each one of the men in the eye, then said: “We are staying. The problem is that you are drifting from the gods. This lake is a blessing bestowed to our people.”
“This is absurd,” the doctor said. “We must go to the city to ask for the help of the Church and the Empire and…”
“Blasphemy!” said the elder. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “This is my final decision. Leave. Go sleep with your families. Pray first.”
Everyone turned around and left the tent without saying anything; their unsatisfied faces did all the talking.
Boris gathered his courage and went towards the elder. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father spoke first:
“You didn’t move, huh? You clearly had something in mind, but you didn’t have the guts to say it. You just stood still.”
“Father, I—”
“You’re not an adult yet. Get out. Only come back when you’re a grown man.”
Boris’ lips started to shiver, and his muscles strained. Although he was physically stronger than his father, the old man would beat him up in any possible scenario. Boris just knew that. He knew that for a fact.
Boris turned around and opened the curtains. He left without looking back. He stood still for a while, gazing at the starless night. The camp was silent; everyone was already in their tents.
“Hello!” yelled the boy beside Boris, making the man jump.
“Django! You scared me. What are you doing up so late? It’s dangerous.”
“I was drawing. I like the silence of the night—it’s so silent that you can hear your blood flowing!”
Boris rubbed his eyes. “Oh, Django… I really thought you were sleeping already. It may be dangerous…”
“But Daddy, look: I drew us!” He showed the drawing of a tall and strong man, a woman with a baby in tow, and a little boy. They were all smiling. The drawing was cloddish but made Boris smile nevertheless.
“It’s great, Django. But you must go to bed, now.”
“What about you, Daddy?”
“Daddy’s going to visit Silvanus’ tent, see how his son is doing.”
“You’re going to Vano’s? Hey, I wanna go too! Please, daddy, he’s my friend.”
Boris sighed. “Ok, then. Just stop yelling. Everybody can hear you on this silent night.”
They held hands and walked towards Silvanus’ tent. A fire was still lit inside.
“Silvanus?” Boris said. “May I come in?”
Silvanus’ silhouette appeared. “What do you want?” he said.
“We came to check in on Vano!” Django said.
The curtains opened and Silvanus showed his dreary face. “Stop being so noisy,” he said. “Come in. He’s eating.”
When they entered, they saw a woman crouching beside Vano’s mattress, prying the boy’s mouth open and trying to feed him some soggy mixture.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Boris said. “I hope I’m not—”
“It’s no use,” the woman said. “Why don’t you eat, my son? You need to remain strong!”
“You have to eat, Vano.” Silvanus slapped his son’s face. The boy remained still, his eyes blinking slowly, as if he was daydreaming. “Come on, now.”
“Silvanus.” Boris placed his hand on Silvanus’ shoulder. “I don’t think he—”
Silvanus shook Boris off. “Come on, Vano, your friend is here. He wants to play. Play with him.” Silvanus grabbed his son and put him to his feet, then let him loose. The boy’s limp body crashed to the ground like a sack of bones.
Boris’ eyes widened. “Silvanus… you…”
The boy’s body hit the floor again. “Come on, son. Your friend is here!”
Django clutched Boris’ leg. “Daddy…”
Boris’ eyes watered up. “Silvanus…”
“What!?”
“Just… stop sinning.” Boris grabbed his son and left the tent.
After running back to their tent, Django entered it yelling, “Mommy!”
“Hush,” said the woman. “Your sister is sleeping. What happened?”
“I went to visit Vano with him,” Boris said, closing the curtains.
“You did what? That boy’s sick! What if it’s contagious?”
“He insisted on going.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, by the heavens. Couldn’t you just say no? Django, go to sleep.”
The boy bolted to the mattress and flopped onto it face-first.
“What happened over there?” his wife asked.
“Nothing,” said Boris. “Silvanus isn’t following our tenets enough. That’s all.” He promptly changed the subject: “What are you knitting, Theodosia?”
“Baby’s clothes, of course. She’s growing fast. I don’t want her running around naked. So, how was the meeting? What have you decided?”
“You mean what they decided.”
“Oh, by the gods…” Theodosia stopped knitting. “You’re not less of a man for not having the right to speak at the assembly. Just a few more years and you’ll be our leader. So?”
Boris sighed, then said: “The number of sick boys goes up every day. But this is a warning from the gods. We must keep on praying. We’ll stay.”
“Is that so…?”
“Yes, it is. And you, Theodosia, what do you think?”
“Well, I think that we better leave this place. Then suck it all up and ask for help, whoever they may be.”
Boris’ eyes widened. “Wow, you too?”
***
Hours later, Boris found himself looking at the ceiling, failing to fall asleep.
He and his family were resting on furs. Django slept in the middle, his breathing audible, because of the night’s silence. With his eyes already used to the dark, Boris looked at Theodosia and found her sleeping soundly, but with a hand on the baby’s crib. The baby was also in a deep sleep.
Boris stood up, put on his boots and a cloak, and left the tent. The sky was still starless and the encampment, still silent. Not even the wind shaking the trees made any sound. Django was right, he thought. This night is indeed soundless.
He sat near Silvanus’ tent, in an angle where he could see his own tent. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
Sometime later—he couldn’t tell how much later—his body jerked when he heard Silvanus’ tent opening. Vano, the boy, was getting inside it.
“Wh—What?” Boris started blinking and rubbing his eyes. “Am I dreaming?”
Vano turned to Boris, his big, unblinking eyes resonating in the moonlight. Buzzing like a zombie, he gazed at Boris for a moment, then got inside the tent and slumped to the floor, completely limp.
Boris swallowed hard. “Ho—How?” He thought: where did he go?
Boris heard himself shriek when he looked at his tent. Django was standing there, also coming back. Boris bolted towards him.
When he got there, Django was already lying down. “Django!” Boris yelled.
“Oh, by the gods!” Theodosia woke up. “Boris, what are you doing? Look, the baby is crying!”
“It’s… It’s Django. He just came back from somewhere. He was with Vano!”
Theodosia was trying to calm the baby down. “Silvanus’ kid? But wasn’t he bedridden?”
“Django?” Boris touched his son. The boy was freezing cold. “What happened? Why aren’t you answering me?”
“What’s with him?” Theodosia’s eyes widened. “Boris, why isn’t he moving?”
“I don’t know, Theodosia. I don’t know.” Boris lifted Django’s shirt and saw that he was totally drained of color. “But look, he’s all wet.”
Theodosia smelled him. “This isn’t pee. This is water.”
Boris’ heart skipped a beat. He shook his son. “Django. Talk to me, Django!”
Theodosia slapped Django’s face, making Boris stare at her with bulging eyes bulged. “Django, where were you? Say it!”
“Theodosia, how could yo—”
“Hush, he’s talking.”
Django’s black lips moved weakly. He mumbled, “Lake… The lake.”
Boris leaped to a chest and opened it.
“Boris, what are you doing?”
He found the daggers; placed one in his belt, the other inside one of his boots. “Wait for me here. I’ll end this.”
“End this? End what exactly? And alone? No, you can’t.”
“I must. It’s my duty to this tribe.”
Boris left the tent and got into the woods. The moonlight couldn’t get in there, so he was practically blind. He knew that in order to get to the lake, he just needed to go straight, but he seemed lost in that darkness.
Then Boris heard chanting. He was in awe; it was wondrous. Although it seemed to come from all directions, he felt attracted by its source. He went towards it.
When he stepped out of the dark woods and got to the margins of the lake, the moonlight blinded him for a while. It was aimed just at his face.
When he was able to open his eyes again, his jaw dropped. The peak of the mount in the middle of the lake was sparkling. A naked woman was sitting on it, her golden hair shining.
The cold sweat on Boris’ back was making him shiver. He thought about turning around and running away but couldn’t stop looking at the woman. The pressure that she emanated was so strong, so powerful, that he couldn’t hold a candle to.
Their gazes met and she stopped singing. Opening a lustful smirk, she jumped from the mount.
Boris observed while she floated slowly towards him, his eyes bulging. When she landed, Boris flinched and almost fell.
Her eyes were totally black; she didn’t have eye whites. Her black nails were longer than a baby’s arm. She strode towards him, her wide hips swiveling from side-to-side. She stood in front of him, casting a shadow, making him feel defenseless like a little boy.
“Dreaming…” Boris murmured. He pinched his own arm. “Drea—”
She clinched his nape.
Her freezing hand was like ice stabbing through Boris’ heart. As soon as he gasped, she made a move, kissing him. Now with his eyes closed, he couldn’t say if he kept kissing because the grip was too strong, or if he was genuinely enjoying it. Perhaps both.
Her other hand went down his chest, cutting his shirt with the nail, then got inside his pants, groping him between the legs. The woman then moved away slowly, a line of saliva linking both mouths.
Boris was completely numb. But, when she smiled, the sight of her teeth made Boris shriek and snap out of it. She only had fangs. Big, long fangs. This was no human. She had gills on her torso, and her fingers were webbed!
With a momentary lapse of sanity, Boris drew his dagger and drove it upward with a powerful thrust. It went through the chin and got out from the top of the head.
Trembling and gasping, Boris could see his breathing forming little clouds. He stared at the one responsible for the pandemic and thought, is it over? He pulled the dagger and expected the corpse to crash to the ground.
But she kept standing. Then she smirked at him again. Then she spoke, its thin voice entering Boris’ ears like razors. “This is not how food should behave,” she said. “Food should just come and let me suck the blood.”
A human voice in the body of that seemingly human monster made Boris’ face grimace in terror. He staggered backwards and his back hit a tree. He felt cornered. He was the prey, not the hunter.
The monster lunged towards him so fast that he just realized it when he was facing her again.
She blew a white fog against his face. “Good dreams,” she said.
“Get off me!” he impaled her with the dagger again, but her body just vanished, leaving a mist in its place. “Wh—What?”
Boris blinked, rubbed his eyes. He was in the same place he was before, but everything was different. The moon had turned into a bloody red, illuminating everything with that ominous color.
The monster’s laughter echoed through the woods, prickling Boris’ skin with goosebumps.
“Show yourself!” Boris’ throat felt raw, his muscles flexed with anticipation. “Where are you, demon?”
“Do you want me?” The voice was just behind Boris’ head. “Then come and get me.”
He spun around and thrust his dagger into her again. One more time, she faded as if she was a mirage.
The illusions kept appearing, laughing and provoking. Boris kept lurching at them, thrusting, slashing, smiting. and bashing. But they kept disappearing.
Gasping for air and feeling as if his heart was too big for his chest, Boris said, “How much longer?” He opened his arms. “Enough with the games!”
The chanting started again. It was unmistakable: wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Boris’ body stiffened; it didn’t want to walk to its certain death. But he fought against it and strode towards the sound.
When Boris got to the margins of the lake, he saw her chatting from above again, the scarlet moon behind her. But she wasn’t on a mount; she was sitting above a pile of bodies.
She grinned and called him with a provocative gesture.
Boris clenched his teeth and walked into the lake. The water was muddy, making each step a challenge. His foot bumped into something, and he fell, losing his dagger. He tried looking for it, but gasped when he found a bone instead. When he stood up again, he tasted iron in his mouth.
What?! he thought. I’m in a pool of blood!
He screamed when hands emerged and tried to clutch him, gashing his flesh with long claws. He kept treading, feeling his skin burning. His body jerked and jolted and vibrated. He was all pins and needles. His own blood was mixing with the blood of the lake.
He finally got to the foot of that pile of bodies. He found his hidden dagger inside his boot and used it to climb, thrusting it and using it as a lever to haul himself up. The bodies slashed him and pulled him down, but he screamed and kept climbing.
He got to the top and stabbed the monster in the stomach. The chant ceased. He revealed her neck by clutching her by the hair. He slit it, then heaved and tugged and plucked.
Boris fell into the lake of blood and, powerless, had no choice but to let himself drown.
***
Boris awoke amidst coughing, expelling water from his lungs. He turned around and vomited on the sand. His chest tightened. He tried to stand up with a jump, but his head ached so hard that he fell on his butt. He tried opening his eyes, but the morning lights blinded him for a while.
His hand bumped into something. He slowly turned around. “By the gods!” It was the monster’s head, the eyes dilated and the mouth remaining wide open. Then, he heard the chanting again. “No, no, no!” He covered his ears and ducked.
However, Boris realized that the chanting wasn’t coming from the head on the ground. He had killed her after all. He turned to the lake and saw countless woman-like monsters emerging from the water.
“After him,” one of them said.
“He killed our queen. After him!”
Grabbing the monster’s head by the hair, he bolted into the woods. He bumped into trees, stumbled over roots, and got scratched by branches.
When he reached the caravan, a woman looked at him with bulging eyes and screamed. People got out of their tents in a hurry.
“Boris?” said his father. “What happened?!”
“My love!” Theodosia ran towards him. “Is this… blood? What did you do?”
Hyperventilating, Boris watched blood and sweat drip on the ground, while he was catching his breath. Then he said, “This lake is no blessing.” People screeched when he threw the head of the monster to their feet. “And we have to get away from it.”
©June 2022, Álex Souza
Álex Souza‘s has appeared in Hyphen Punk, MetaStellar, and Etherea; a German translation is forthcoming in Nova Magazine. Souza has received an Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest. He slushes for The Common Tongue Magazine. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.