Extremus Fors Chapter 6

Lujan Minoris

The woman slept fitfully, her dreams dark and troubled. She did not know where she was, or who she was. All she knew was she had to run, as fast and as far as she could. Something hunted her, something dark and vile that wanted to eat her soul. If it caught her then death would be no end to the torment, so she ran, all the while clutching a serpent to her breast. It writhed and lashed about, sank poisonous fangs into her skin that made her veins burn. She wanted to be rid of it, but dared not throw it away. For some reason she must endure. So she ran as her skin blackened and her hair fell out. Fingers withered and dropped away and at the last her bones crumbled and she collapsed into dust.

At that her eyes flew open and she let out a scream. Thick furs tangled her legs and she thrashed in dismay, thinking the serpent had wrapped itself around her. It took long moments for her to realise she was not being eaten alive, she was in fact laying in a bed. Confusion rang through her, a sense of dislocation and lost time. Her memories were a sharp jumble of impressions and disjointed images. She remembered ice and cold, her skin burning with frost chill and her guts clenching in starvation. She could remember fear and loneliness and despair, then nothing but terrible dreams. It seemed she had lost a great deal of time.

Intrigued she slid out of the bed, tossing off furs. She was naked and barefoot and winced slightly as her soles touched cold flagstone. Chilly yes, but not frigid, the air was warm and a soft light filled the room. She cast her eyes about and saw a bedchamber filled with odd bits of furniture, tables, stools and chests. Oddly everything was made from a form of ivory, bones and skins or stone. There was no wood to be seen anywhere. Primitive and feral, surely it must be and yet on one stone wall hung an ornate timepiece, ticking away hours in a thirty-two segmented face.

Having no frame of reference the woman slid over to a wall, where an opening leaked fiery light and warmth. No blaze burned there, no piled fuel, instead there was an opening covered by a wide-framed grate. Heat leaked continuously from the hole, summoned from deep underground, keeping the room from being covered in ice. Geothermal, the word arose in her head, volcanic channels carrying the planet's core energy upwards. Those were impressive words; she only wished she knew what they meant.

One mystery solved the woman cast her eyes about and saw a tall mirror standing upright. Set in a frame of two ivory tusks a solid piece of obsidian rested, polished to a mirror sheen. She tiptoed over and looked at herself, seeing a tall and lithe woman in the watery reflection. Long legs, piercing eyes, full breasts and flawless skin, all were present, and all were lies. She didn't know how she knew that but an instinct cried out this was not her, she was something far more powerful, and fearful and vile.

A wicked laugh made her spin about. She saw no one there, but at last her eyes alighted on a long sword, laid upon a table. It was horrible to look upon. Its length was marred by notched breaks and serrated extrusions. The hilt boasted writhing pornography and a bloodshot eye stared from the pommel, fixing her with a hateful stare. It hated her, she knew it instantly, the disgusting thing wanted her dead. It oozed wroth and promises of torments unending. Without saying anything she knew it was her doom.

A knock at the door startled her and instinctively she grabbed a fur from a table and wrapped it around herself. Moments later a door made of ivory and stretched leather opened and a girl stepped in. Joy at seeing a living person filled the woman, accompanied by fear and loathing. She didn't know this stranger and was wary. The girl tiptoed inside and set a bowl of greenish soup down, then closed the door gently and said, "You're up Mzz, good."

The accent was strange, Gothic words mangled into a mushy local dialect and yet the woman understood perfectly. Oddly that didn't alarm her and she replied in kind, "Where am I?"

"You're in the fastness of the Sunside clan. Lucky we found you before you froze out there, few more hours and you'd be meat on our tables."

"Is that a threat?!" the woman spat.

"Woah, didn't mean to vex ya. We aren't like that; we only eat what comes our way. People is welcome guests, but we can't afford to pass up what we find. Just count yourself lucky it was the Sunsiders who found you, the Icefield clans wouldn't have waited for you to stop breathing. They eat people alive, so they say."

The woman barely followed that and pressed, "Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Rebre," the surprising answer came from her lips, unbidden and unlooked for.

"Well Mzz Rebre, I'm Millic and let's get you some clothes."

The girl turned to a chest and opened it to start rummaging through a pile of furs and leathers. As she did so Rebre, as she knew herself to be, got a good look. Millic appeared to a primitive savage, clad in untanned furs and with malnourished flesh but appearances were deceiving. Her throat was dotted by various fluid-links and her spine bulged with implanted gland-stims. Her legs were piston limbs, tipped with powerful claws that clicked on the stone but would drive into ice like picks, ensuring a firm footing on treacherous terrain. She affected an innocent manner, but her fists were scarred and Rebre doubted not she had killed before.

Millic pulled out some hide trousers and a jerkin and tossed them over. Rebre snatched them from the air and winced at the smell, but having little alternative pulled them on. Fur lined boots were next and she slid her feet into them with a welcome shiver. Dressed at last Rebre saw her reflection, baggy clothes hung off her in folds, far too large and cumbersome. That wouldn't do. Rebre's fingers twitched of their own accord and her reflection wavered. Her clothes now fitted her perfectly, hugging her form in subtle ways that only emphasised her beauty. It was another lie, Rebre knew that but didn't care, what was worrying though was she didn't understand how she had done it.

In the corner of her eye she saw Millic moving. The girl was inching towards the heavy sword, her eyes fixed on its shimmering length. "Don't touch that!" Rebre barked.

"I wasn't!" Millic started as she snatched her hand back, "Pretty though."

Rebre found the blade repulsive and snarled, "It's not to be toyed with."

"Odd how it changes when you're not looking at it. The clanners who brought you in said it sang to them."

Rebre snapped, "Don't test me, leave the sword alone."

"Only trying to help," Millic shrugged, "The chief wants you fed and dressed. Come morning he'll want to see you. And then he'll decide how to put you to work, or slit your throat and have you chopped up for dinner. Sorry Mzz, but it's a cruel world out there."

With that Millic backed out the door, pulling it closed. Rebre was tempted to storm out, but didn't doubt guards would be posted beyond. Besides, if she did get away there was nowhere to go, her fragmentary memories spoke of endless ice fields and frozen ruins. She'd starve, if she didn't freeze first. Frustrated Rebre stalked over to the bowl and sniffed it, then gagged. It smelled awful, some form of fungal broth, possibly algae, not promising. Still it was hot and she was famished, so she clenched her nose and picked up the bowl. She gulped it down as fast as she could bear then stuck out her tongue and made a retching snort of disgust. That produced a chuckle of scorn from the blade and Rebre grimaced. Annoyed she marched over and grabbed a discarded fur. She wrapped the odious blade in the furry stole and then dumped it in a chest, muttering, "You can shut up."

"That won't do anything you know," a deep and sonorous voice echoed forth. Rebre spun about in shock, looking for an intruder but finding none. A deep laugh echoed forth and a mocking call, "Over here!"

She turned to look at the mirror and found it changed. Where once her hazy reflection had dwelt now was smoke and darkness. She inched closer and saw a bulky figure hanging back in the mists, outline blurred beyond recognition but taller and broader than any man. Yet two eyes burned in that smoke, so very sharp and bright that they cut through the fog. She knew those eyes, how and why eluded her, but she knew she knew them.

"I am not afraid," Rebre hissed.

"Why would you be?" the voice asked, "We are old acquaintances afterall."

"I can't remember," Rebre confessed.

"To be expected, you have wandered far, through realms undreamt. The centuries have worn down your mind."

"Centuries?!" Rebre gasped as she looked at her flawless hands, expecting to find withered twigs.

"Centuries, millennia, days, minutes," the voice sniffed, "To immortals it's all the same, time is whatever we want it to be. But what matters is we are reunited. Oh, the revels we will enjoy, the billions we will lead into rapturous excruciation."

Memory stirred, worlds burning in ecstasy, mind-blasting sights of debauched massacres, where murder and carnal pleasures were one and the same. Death, destruction and joy, all running together in a vision to break sanity. She saw herself sitting in courts of perversion, swaying kings and princes to ever greater feats of depravity. And through it all the ghost of a dead sibling, hanging over her shoulder and bleating about a stolen life. That was it, Rebre and Rebis, siblings squabbling over which one got to live and which would remain a ghost.

"My brother," Rebre hissed, "Rebis."

"If it pleases you."

She hissed, "You had your chance at life and wasted it. I am real now, I am physical, you remain but a ghost. Don't think you can take back your life."

"Let us not fight, it is so boring. I have far more delightful things to teach you."

Rebre crossed her arms and said, "Such as?"

"For starters, proper enchantments to conceal that sword. Its emanations are drawing too much notice. People you really don't want to meet can smell it on the wind."

"No tricks?" Rebre pressed.

"Not over this, I don't want to see that blade in the hands of the unworthy any more than you do."

Rebre narrowed her eyes and said, "First tell me where I am, and who is holding me prisoner."

"You are on a disappointing ball of ice, inhabited by feral clans of Techno-barbarian degenerates. Not much to work with, but it's a start."

"A start?" Rebre queried.

"Your memory truly is scrambled. But I'm sure it will come back quickly, once you put your mind to it. First step is finding the local warlord and seducing him, amaze him with your power and insight. Make him eat out of the palm of your hand, until he dances to your tune. Fill his head with dreams of glorious conquest, within a month you'll be running this pathetic ball of ice."

Rebre sensed that was true, it sounded right at least, and said, "And then what Rebis, am I to be your puppet? Shall I be your slave in all but name?"

"So distrusting, good to see you haven't forgotten everything. No, this pebble is too small for my tastes, we deserve the stars themselves. But first we must claim this world, and secure it against any intruders."

Rebre wasn't convinced but saw little alternative and relented, "On that we can agree. Show me what must be done, the sooner I get off this ice-cube the better. I have no intention of wasting away in this frigid hell, not when the stars are waiting."