The Doll's Eye

Evolving characters, chaotic lands...

The following story is from the world of Bug & Claw, where highly intelligent mutant arthropods rule what's left of the devastated world created by humans.

The finding

We are shrivelled, dormant.

We sleep. Ages go by. Our sleep deepens.

Creatures come. They snack on our legs, our body. We don't have the strength to fuss and continue to sleep.

Rocks fall. They crush our body, our remaining legs. We continue to sleep.

A new creature comes. A scent awakens the cogs of our mind. The creature takes a knee in our cave. drip drip drip. It's bleeding. A drip from the creature's brow falls on our dust-covered mandibles. Flashes of a recent battle flit through our head as our remaining eye quickly begins to perceive light again. We rejuvenate.

"Watch out, Hroth," we say lightly, seeing the bandit creep behind him that he does not. His long antennae twitch just before he feints left, slashing. An arc of blood goes wide over the cave walls– over us. "You don't have much time," we say. "He was hired by your uncle and is part of a group. Others follow."

"Who? What are you? A... child?" Hroth asked warily. "How could you know that?"

We pause a moment. How long had it been that we've lain here? "We know through blood. You bled on us as you knelt, and when you slew him, we knew more. No children. Not yet. We have slept for a long time."

Hroth began to squirm, uncomfortable, grateful maybe but debating leaving. We, however, could not move.

"Your uncle plots against you."

"I know."

"And your mother."

"WHAT?!"

"Take us with you. Blood talks. We will know more together."

And so Hroth scooped us up. Our first keeper.

A rebellious prince, Hroth is distinguished by his formidable antennae and metallic exoskeleton. He has astonishingly fast reflexes but is disadvantaged by impulsive, short-sighted desires. He seems driven by a single purpose– to overthrow the current despotic leadership (which he would inherit).

The smithing

For a time, Hroth carries us, staying one step ahead of his enemies by allowing us to drink of their blood and divulge their plans to him. But things are fuzzy. Sometimes, it's not a complete story we receive, just flashes, pictures, a face, or words. So, Hroth devised a plan of his own.

Being a noble has its advantages. Money, connections. Hroth commissions us a new home with a great whitesmith artisan named Fi. He says blacksmithing would be too dangerous and draw too much attention anyway. Plus, although white metals are rare, they're much stronger and will keep us safe.

After drinking the blood of many of his enemies and spinning many stories for Hroth, he leaves us with Fi. Several months pass. Occasionally, he returns with a few drops of blood in a vial for us and a few lumps of alloy for Fi.

Eventually, our new home is complete. We sit proudly in the head of a great mace made from white alloy. Fi has spent the bulk of the alloy on the head of the mace, making it a bright, shiny white, while she says the shaft and handle may be slightly more prone to damage and discolouration. A few holes in the head allow blood to flow from the outer spike to us, and a much bigger one acts as a window and allows us to flex what remains of our abdomen, press our eye out and see. We are ready to explore. And together, we are prepared to conquer.

"It's finally time to give you a name," Hroth says.

"I've thought about that," Fi interjects. Hroth raises an eyebrow. "I gathered some of these, and I think you'll agree they slightly resemble the final design."

"They do; what are they?"

"They've got two names, actually– both could strike fear for your enemies, especially to those who know what they are. It's a highly poisonous plant, you see. Baneberry is the common name."

"Heh. And the other?"

"That's the one that reminded me most of... well. Its voice. Doll's Eye."

"Yes. Baneberry – The Doll's Eye. Fitting."

And, so, we were given two names and had a place: a new, sizeable spiked mace that resembles a single pedicel and accompanying berry from the white baneberry plant. Our first name intimidates, while our second name strikes a different kind of fear. We don't mind, as long as our thirst is quenched.

Hroth's sacrifice

Hroth helped us drink, know, remember, and see; we helped Hroth see through what others had known and had seen. Slowly, over a few years, we advised him in his long game of cornering his uncle and mother. When bugkin tell the story, they say Hroth took his time because he wanted his plan to be ironclad, but the truth was we knew enough in our first fights with his uncle and mother's henchmen. They also say Hroth spared his mother from us, and she took her own life, but that isn't entirely true either.

Hroth was reluctant to seek out his mother. He could not believe she would plot against him and wished we could not taste the memory of her plans spread through reckless and hotheaded henchmen. We were indifferent to seeking her out, for the most part. But the more blood Hroth fed us, the more we felt a spark inside us. Flashes of silk and branch. Pictures of a place that felt like home made us feel whole. Would helping Hroth find closure at the end of these threads take us closer to this feeling, to this... blood vision? We resolved we must find out.

"It is time," we told Hroth.

"I..."

"Your uncle first, then."

"Yes."

We knew from the last foe we'd dispatched that Hroth's uncle, Glodr, and his mother, Trat, would be found together, but Hroth need not know that.

We lead Hroth and two of his followers through the sleepy coastal town of Dewwallow, the Blinddrift, and finally, to an old lighthouse near Stagbay. We had led Hroth on one last bloodbath, hoping to work up his anger so he may actually slay his mother and we may complete our blood vision. His uncle Glodr used the lighthouse as a base of operations (a detail we'd known but kept to ourselves until now). We let Hroth know that Glodr often paced the grounds at midday to shout orders to his men when they were about and otherwise stayed at the top of the lighthouse watching the world.

We advised Hroth, "wait until nightfall. Approach from the rear by the shed. If you care to be seen, the password for safe passage is tend the garden, watch for weeds. None of those who guard here have seen you in body before, so they should not recognize you." These juicy tidbits we collected from the fallen made it seem like Hroth and company were invisible, working their way, guard by guard, to the top of the lighthouse. As he made his way up the spiralling steps, his heartbeat grew louder and louder. It excited us.

Hroth threw the door to the top of the lighthouse open, which was not even locked.

"What is this... ?" Glodr said, gaping, realization hitting him even as the words escaped his mouth. We had our eye pressed against the side of our housing in anticipation.

"You mean you did not expect to see me, uncle? Even after you've been sending me so many invitations?" Hroth said.

"Take him," we said.

Before Glodr could reply, Hroth lunged, bashing us across him. To-and-fro, and we drank. This man had lived a fuller life than the others before him. We could hardly contain ourselves with all of the new information, pictures, smells, and sounds, flooding our memories this night, and we began to shake, to rattle against the walls of our home.

Standing over his uncle, feeling triumphant, was when Hroth noticed her opposite him in the room atop the old lighthouse. His mother. She stood, staring, fixated on him.

"I knew it would come to this," she said.

"YOU KNEW?!" Hroth yelled back. "You have forced my hand from the very beginning. My own mother and my uncle sought my throat. You will tell me why!"

"I'm told that's what that thing does for you– tell you people's deepest, darkest secrets once you strike them down. The Oracle was right."

"The Oracle?! The Oracle is a fraud. Is that what this has all been about...? What did she tell you?"

"The same thing your uncle did. You plotted for an early throne and would come to kill us both, and here you are."

Hroth's antennae began twitching. "He's been sending kin to kill me for years now. I have done nothing but defend myself, mother. I have smashed thorax after thorax– likely innocent, misguided bugs– for that manipulative pool of blood?"

Hroth glanced at what was left of his uncle Glodr. We think he knew without our help that the Oracle was an agent of his uncle's. She had been for years– we knew it as soon as we tasted Glodr's blood. We also knew that it was not a very well-kept secret. How could Hroth's mother, a queen, their leader, be so foolish?

We began to speak, "The Oracle was an agent of Glodr, paid in ..."

Hroth cut us off swiftly. "Do not help her. We do not need answers from crooked Uncle Glodr's blood; she can work it out herself. Can't you, mother? So, elaborate and tell us, what kind of fool is the queen?" This was interesting to us.

Trat, the queen, trembled as she spoke. "No, my brother... Glodr is... was a great man. He would never..."

The tension excited us. We vibrated in our housing more and more, and we interrupted. "She is wr-r-r-r-rong. Take her-r-r-r."

"No!" Hroth shouted, trying to control us, his grip wavering as we sent trembling down the grip.

"I am not wrong!" Trat shouted, stepping closer.

"You a-a-a-r-r-r-e. The bloo-d-d-d knows. We kno-w-w-w." And we wanted more blood.

"If blood is yours and this thing's truth, Hroth, then you shall have it!" Trat shouted, lunging with a small blade.

Hroth tried to stop her, to stop us. "No, Mother! Please, don't listen to it! Stop!" But she was at him now.

Hroth swung us to block Trat's advances. He was as fast as he ever was, antennae twitching this way and that. With every collision, we were filled with more anticipation, stuttering, peeking, and shaking. No matter how fast Hroth was, the shaking began to throw him off so that Trat could cut him superficially. This made us wonder– could we vibrate in such a way as to direct our keeper's strikes and defences to a degree? If we wanted blood, to help Hroth find closure, and improve our blood vision, then we must try.

We first tested our theories on defences, allowing Hroth to become wounded. Maybe this would throw him off, we thought. Eventually, we saw an opening–our eye pressed to the edge of our housing–where his downward swing to block could become an attack, and we wriggled with all our might. Hroth must have figured out what we were doing at the last second, crying out. "No!" We struck her hard across the temple.

Hroth dropped us to the floor, reaching for his mother as she stumbled backward. "Mother, no. I'm sorry." She was gone, out the window. We assume, onto the rocks below.

"It wa-s-s-s small, but we got a taste," we said. "Do you want to know what.."

"SHUT UP!" Hroth shouted. "I see what you are and what you want now," he said, picking us back up again. Before we could reply, Hroth heaved us as hard as he could out the window after his mother. We did not expect this. What a strange overreaction when he knew his mother would become a part of us and never truly be gone.

We landed in the shallows with a soft splash not far from the rocks where Trat had fallen. We slept there on and off. We learned later that Hroth had become traumatized by the lighthouse events. He never pursued the throne. Instead, it's said he became a hermit.

A vision

Long, silk roads that seem to go on forever, intertwining, and undulating. They're all at once brilliant white, colourful, and full of life. Each seems unique, on its own journey, with its own story to tell. We follow them for what feels like ages. Our attention shifts in and out, with dazzling flashes, almost as often as we change which shining road we follow. The road we follow doesn't matter, they all slowly coalesce towards a distant center point, a dark tree that consumes each road's light. So very distant. That twilight growth, that is where we must go.

Getting accustomed to Stagbay

At first, our recent time of drinking with Hroth makes us lustful and restless. We want to continue to drink, to journey, but we are stuck here. We do not like this.

Eventually, the waves lull us to sleep, and there we sit in Stagbay for years.

The non-white-alloy portion of our mace begins to rust, and barnacles and some other parasitic life take up home along us. We assume the organic parts of our grip and hilt rotted off long ago, but we cannot see much of our mace’s bottom half embedded in the muck.

Once, sometimes twice a month, the tide is so low the head of our home is completely exposed to the air, waking us. We can look around, observing for a few short days how the landscape, bug-kin, the world and all its influences have all changed. As the tide returns after new moons, it also brings us many visitors: fish of all sorts, but also many non-kin in the form of feral isopods, amphipods, porcelain crabs and various shore crabs. They breed here, the whole bay becoming teeming with life. They also fight, wound and occasionally kill one another, blood drifting through the water to us.

Although much more difficult to parse, we can search the feral's memories. We can get mostly all manner of sensory things, and generally mostly sight and smell. Though occasionally one has evolved a sense for the "odd-wave,” we could not tell what they were getting an impression of with it. Primitive brains. Still, over time, we are able to use their memories to map much of our surrounding area Glodr and his henchmen never travelled and to discover the areas some of the ferals avoid.

After the third year like this, one day, when we awoke, the long-empty lighthouse was destroyed, and much of the landscape looked as though it was charred. We wondered if it was Hroth who returned in anger. We did not see many bug-kin for a long time.

We continued the cycle, waking once or twice a month, getting a wave of information, and returning to our slumber, waiting for a new keeper to find us. However, the area remained fairly uneventful for 371 years.

The birth of a settlement

On a day in the 372nd year that we wake, we see a small flag on the cliff’s edge. What does this mean, we wonder?

We start to see figures each year now. At first, just a few around the remains of the lighthouse. They are hard to make out from a distance or shadow. The memories we collect from the scattered feral blood in the waters suggest new, unique injuries– spears, escapes from what we’d assume were hooks and nets. We have renewed hope. We might journey... might drink again.

We drift off. Someone will find us soon. Is it a bell we hear helping urge us off to sleep?

It’s not until the fifth year of seeing the flag that a structure is built near the cliff’s edge. They must keep closer inland. The memories we collect tell us they still hold to the waters around the other edge of the cliffs, outside the central area of Stagbay. Do they not know the minnows and other life schools nearer to us? Even before drinking of the feral and learning of the tides, this much of the bay area made sense to us. The use of the structure is also not apparent to us, nor of familiar construction. It’s not very tall and looks made mostly of stacked wood and mortar. We resolve that they must be simple creatures.

We try to stay awake in anticipation of things to come, but year after year, we sleep and wake in our usual cycle. Occasionally, we hear a “gonging” sound but cannot determine what it may be. Some bell?

We see how these creatures have progressed, in what ways they’ve changed the landscape, or if they’ve come any nearer to us. We bide our time, but these things be damned; they are slow! And why do they not come near the bay? It is either fear or stupidity, and we still err on the side of stupidity.

Almost 23 years after seeing the small flag first appear, we awaken from the regular cycle. Yes– this is a good sign! Much blood is in the water, but something also collides with us. What a jolt awake but welcomed. We parse these new blood memories quickly.

The blood belonged to a minnow and a non-kin isopod, feral, more significant than it should be. The minnow was hooked and being reeled in, and it seemed the isopod decided to latch onto its back. Unlucky minnow, but lucky us, for they were both reeled over the edge of the boat– a boat that had crossed into the waters of Stagbay instead of staying around the bend where they usually do. Many exciting developments, indeed. What did this mean, we wondered? But, finally, with a closer look at our neighbours... we delved deeper into the blood.

Two surprised bug-kin faces stare at what they’ve reeled in. On the left, a brilliant, metallic green and copper carapace flashed in the sun, distracting the fish and scaring it even more. On the right is a darker, broader head emblazoned with vibrant orange stripes, antennae with orange ends, and one of the most ridiculous facial expressions we’ve collected thus far. So they were stupid. The fish flopped about anxiously and in pain, trying to get the isopod off and the hook out. The feral isopod, angry as they ever are, seemed intent on its primary task. That is until the metallic-kin started prodding it with the tip of a spear. At that, it unlatched, reared back, and bared its fangs. This only gave a better view of its abdomen, we imagine, which was suddenly pierced with the spear, and then the isopod was shaken off overboard. The orange-stripe-kin looked disappointed like it was having fun with the whole bit. The isopod fled, crashing into us, hoping to try and burrow for hiding. We assume they kept the fish; either way, we did not collect any fresher blood from it than what was shed from the mutated mouth and claws of the isopod. This was all so interesting to us.

It was only a week until the regular cycle of things would wake us, so we attempted to force ourselves awake. Perhaps others would venture close again. Through the thin water and foam, we could see the shadow of a great structure the bug-kin were building near the remains of the old lighthouse suddenly come tumbling down. Rubble splashed all around, luckily not burying us beneath it. We thought we also felt a slight vibration further away a moment later, but our view was obscured by all the mud thrown up for days. This was not good. If they were too inept at building here, on this rocky terrain, what if they left without finding us? If it was some other danger, what was it? By the time the water receded at its regular time, and the muck with it, we could only discern that two large construction projects had fallen or taken major setbacks somehow. That, and how lucky we were not to be covered in rubble, now surrounded by it from the collapsed construction above. We slept, weary of excitement and wary of optimism.

It took them almost twenty years of toiling away, but on the cliff directly above us, where one of the settlements’ projects had toppled years before, stood a looming stone tower– impressive looking and decorated, too. On the cliff opposite, where the other large project we noticed had fallen, now stood what looked like a great hall. It looked sturdy, and as though they had pivoted on their construction materials, though again, we could not make out exactly what it was at our distance. It reminded us of an old style of architecture we’d only collected in our memories once before. From the hall’s base, they had begun to carve stairs into the bottom of the cliff down towards us in Stagbay. Maybe these creatures weren’t so stupid after all? The settlement itself had grown modestly around these more prominent buildings. We could make out foliage poking out over the cliffs– they must have found a way to grow in the rocky area of Stagbay! This would likely speed up their construction in the years to come.

Three years later, we found ourselves admiring the progress on the steps carved into the cliff and how the rock that was being carved away was being used for fortifications around the settlement. It was midday, and the sun beat down. The shadow of a large cloud started to move across the bay toward the workers on the steps– no, not of a cloud. What then? The shadow moved silently, but the settlement saw and was aware of whatever caused it; the workers began to clamber upward. What happened next was even more unexpected to us. Several bugkin of the settlement teamed together to move a larger, reflective object and some smaller objects into the sun on the cliffside. Were there other bugkin also fanning with large leaves in the direction of the approaching shadow?

At last, what caused the shadow moved into our vision. A hulk of dirty white with protuberances coming from the head appeared. An albino shrew mole, both mutated and overtaken by fungal growths covering most of its head. It frothed at the mouth, raising its head to the air, likely smelling, we thought. As it stretched upwards, we saw its forepaws and claws were enlarged. It must have smelled whatever the bugkin were fanning toward it and lumbered that way, never once making a noise we could hear (at least from how far away we still sat in the bay). Maybe it caught sight of the shiny object that was left out (so not totally blinded by the fungus, then) because it took off running– and it was fast. Now we could hear it, as it trampled towards the settlement and also because it was screeching an awful noise! The shrew mole closed the distance quickly, clutched the shiny object in its mouth, and took off in the opposite direction whence it came on the other side of Stagbay. A clue. If this was why the bugkin avoided much of our area of Stagbay if they could help it, and so they knew this creature was here, why didn’t they leave? Who were these bugkin, and what was this settlement? Our curiosity felt renewed.

Another 15 years passed, and we did not see the shrew mole. We wondered how many times the settlement had encountered it while we slumbered. The steps down the cliffside to the bay were now finished, and the settlement had many fortifications. A new smell was also on the wind, one we hadn’t smelled in a long time– a forge. Interesting. Were they preparing an attack on the shrew mole? We did not have much time to wonder about it as our thoughts were interrupted by... talking?!

“I’ll hide in the rocks, Toby. They can’t see me here! They can’t know that I’m here, can they?”

“Come hide in the shallows with us, child. We’ll help keep you safe.”

The child and the doll

The child was cautious at first.

“Who... who said that?”

“We did, child. Do not fear; we cannot hurt you.”

We could hear their splashing, coming closer.

“I do not... see anyone?”

“We are stuck down here, in the muck and rocks, but we are strong and can help you. Look here; some of our home must still shine in the sun.”

KA-TANG!

“You are in this?”

“Ah. Er... yes.”

The child shuffled around us, taking our home in. At last, we saw what kind of kin we were dealing with. Crab-kin? Unexpected. If there were crab-kin about, why had we never seen them in the shallows before? We could not see the other bug, Toby, they spoke of.

They asked, “How did you get stuck there?”

“We were thrown many years ago. From the top of the lighthouse that used to sit at the top of the cliff.”

“Lighthouse?”

“Never mind that. What do you hide from, child? And was there someone else with you– a Toby?”

“Toby!” The child held up a claw, and a tiny mite skittered up to the very tip and presented itself. “He’s my friend.”

“How nice. We can be friends, too. And we can keep you safe from whatever you are afraid of.”

“You can? But how?”

“Dig us out, friend. You will see.”

And so they did. Not much held us there all that time, yet we had been stuck there for almost four and a quarter centuries. We were heavy to the child, but they dragged us a short distance, free from where we had been for so long.

“You are a talking rod?”

“We are a weapon of great construction... of great destruction. And also of knowledge. We may look small, but we are many and know much. We can help you to–....”

“Oh! I get it!” The child suddenly began dragging us through the muck and then up a rocky path, grating us harshly against the stone. We could barely think, but we dared not interrupt. New sights and new tastes were on the horizon!

We finally reached the summit. The child seemed to be checking to see if it was being watched. We could not help but take in all that had changed and was now within view.

The settlement we had seen from below was much larger than we had initially thought. It must be a large town or hill, in the old speech. Now that we could see more buildings, we wondered if the old speech was better suited. There were monuments of fantastic-looking beasts adorning the town streets. They appeared to become more abundant closer to the massive great hall. The hall had grand swooping arches; several appeared to be doorways while others seemed decorative and covered in some colourful... were those exoskeletons? What kind of bug-kin were these?

“Friend, we met Toby, and now we think it’s time you told us who you are,” we said.

“Shh, they’ll hear you!” They whispered as they looked around cautiously, and then “I am just Sofi.”

“Ahh, Sofi. You may call us Doll. We will be quiet. Good crab-kin, good friend. Listen.” And we told Sofi how to skulk about in the shadows of the buildings without being seen, like so many of the bandits we had drunk of knew how to do. We did our best to teach them how to keep their feet light. The hardest part for Sofi was to carry us without scraping along the ground and making noise. All the while, Toby stood on the top of Sofi’s head like a scout. We wondered if the little mite would make a sound if it detected something.

Sofi made it over a ridge past some of the buildings and sighed. “There! No one will bother us now. You are smart, Doll.”

“Good. Now, tell us, Sofi. What is that town?”

“The Watch?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Uhm... Patient Watch.”

“But a watch, yes? And what is a watch?”

“It’s...” Sofi fumbled and kicked at the ground a bit, looking around. We had asked a raw question, it seemed. Suddenly, they straightened up and recited:

-

Have humility, all kin fail

Order none we will not do ourselves

Now our lives tomorrow, the future

Offering not competing

Understanding foes and friends

Remembering those who have fallen

-

They looked proud, like they’d passed a test we did not know we had given. Perhaps we had grown too interested in these kin. Perhaps the world was best absorbed through blood. We made a resolution. “Tell us, who is it you wish to understand?”

Their proud look fell. “Uhm, no one, really.” And then they pointed to the north, and Toby scurried up to the tip of their claw to point along with them. “Toby and I just want to go build in the old forest.”

We did not recall any forest in the area. “Sofi, did you hurt yourself recently?”

“I fell on a sharp rock!” They rubbed between two leg segments. “Toby and I ran from the townkeepers.”

“Yes, we can smell your wound. Sofi, we can help you better if you let us taste it.”

“What?!”

“It is where our knowledge comes from. The blood.”

“Doll, you are being weird. I don’t like it.”

“Only a drop will do. Then we will know so much more. Please, Sofi.”

“Stop, or Toby and I will leave you here.” Sofi crossed their claws.

“Very well, Sofi. Where will you take us, then? How can we aid you?”

Sofi set off, dragging us along the harsh ground again, our punishment for offending them. They trudged along for quite a while, stopping infrequently and swiftly. Even if we were to interrupt, we weren’t sure if they’d hear us. Finally, they stopped, and we tried to look about. We stood at the edge of what looked like a long-dead forest. Trees that had barely grown above saplings before some kind of blight wiped them out.

“You will help us stop Mhul, and then they won’t keep us from the old forest,” they whispered.

Mhul, that meant death in the old speech. We realized we were at the base of a larger sapling, Sofi dragging us slowly toward a giant pit around the opposite side of its base, and the stench of death indeed came from within. “Sofi, who is Mhul?” We whispered the question that we did not really need to ask.

“They keep us from having any fun. They... are the one we watch for.”

“Sofi, I am a powerful weapon, and you are surely a great fighter, but you cannot fight the shrew mole.”

“Pa trained me; I know what I’m doing! It’s just a dumb old rodent! No one has even seen it in years!” They raised their voice.

“Sofi, please, take us back to town. We will find a way to get rid of Mhul for you. We promise.”

“You’re just like everyone else!”

“No, we–” suddenly, there were scratching and sniffing sounds. Startled, Sofi must have dropped us. We lay there on the ground, watching as an ominous bouquet of multi-coloured mushrooms rose from the hole in the ground. “Quickly now,” we whispered, “stay quiet and listen closely to our instruction.”

But Sofi (and Toby) were long gone, and two massive sets of claws now straddled us. Children are stupid.

The monster hunter

A set of elongated claws were on either side of us. Mushrooms grew slowly from the ground into a massive contrasting white mound. We watched as the tremendous dirty white beast of a shrew mole pulled itself out of its hole. We could see now up close that it was a he. He sucked in through his mouth and gave a quick snuffle out his nose before shaking dust and earth everywhere. So, this was Mhul.

Mhul attempted to adjust his eyes, squinting into the sun. They were tiny, red, and covered in pus and yuck. They must still work, though, for Mhul suddenly locked his gaze on us. We imagined Sofi’s dragging polished us nicely, and we were shining in the afternoon sun. One excited screech later, we were snatched up inside Mhul’s foul-smelling mouth and carried back down into his burrow.

The entrance to Mhul’s burrow was much longer than we expected. We went down almost eight feet before things opened up into a chamber. We stopped there momentarily. He was excited, frothing at the mouth, and his saliva was starting to get inside our home. As it touched our small body, we began to feel strange. We continued through tunnels, though moving more laterally now than descending. We passed branching tunnels several times, the air seeming fresher or worse without rhyme or reason. We assumed some directions lead to different entrances while some to separate chambers. Mhul had made quite the home for himself.

We arrived in a larger room and were suddenly greeted by the familiar clanging and clattering sound of metal on metal. Mhul was digging in his treasures, shiny things he had collected over the years. He found what must have been the perfect place for us, and we came out of his mouth with a crash. We were covered in his putrid saliva and felt woozy. Our vision went dark, and we slept.

When we awake, for once, we are unsure how long we have been out. To affect us in this way, Mhul’s mouth is a more dangerous place than it even looks. But Mhul does not appear to be here now, and we take in our new surroundings. We could be here for a while. At least Mhul seemed revered, dangerous. Who knows how many entrances there are to his burrow? Perhaps he could drop a new treasure covered in blood, maybe even a body on top of us. Two small metal blocks vaguely illuminated the chamber in the treasure pile. We began to sense around in the dark to see how likely this dream of ours relying on Mhul for drinking might be. A hole in one of the metal blocks moved.

We looked closer, wondering if we were still under the effects of Mhul’s saliva. The front of the other metal block opened and what looked like mandibles wiggled about. “Are you kin?” We asked. It snapped shut, and we could swear the holes on the metal moved about in such a way that we were being observed now.

“Shh... Mhul will get ya!” Said the closer metal block.

Then, “no, no. You were napping. He’s gone, can’t you tell?” Said the other.

“We are not so easily harmed, although his saliva knocked us out for a time.” We said.

“Ahh, yes, you are like us? Metal-housed kin?”

“Yes,” we replied. “Now that we’ve looked at you a bit more, we assume you cannot move?”

“No, miss. No can.” Replied the one.

Then the other added, “we were... made this way. The metal keeps us from moving until another kin puts their appendage into us.”

“What? Why?”

“When not worn, we can’t go anywhere, but when worn, we can help the wearer fly and see things.”

“If they’re light enough!”

“We understand. You see things because of how you glow?”

“We can get brighter. See!” They laughed at their joke as the entire cavern lit up bright green. It was a longer oblong cavern with an entrance at either side. We sat in the treasure pile near one entrance. The other entrance looked like it immediately started an incline; maybe it was an exit to the entire burrow. We could make out many exciting treasures among the pile now, but none so interesting as these two kin, who still held the most of our attention.

“We assume you are bug-kin, then? What are your names?” We asked.

“Right! We were two of the phew surviving lightning-kin. I’m Zill.”

“Zat.”

“And there’s a few of you in there, you said?” Zill added.

“In a manner of speaking. You may call us the Doll’s Eye, or Baneberry, whichever you prefer.”

Zill and Zat began chittering excitedly. “We have heard of you,” Zat said.

“Oh?”

Zill began “many ages ago by now. That’s how long we’ve been down here. Our last keeper was looking for you. When they stopped to soak in a small pond, we were on our way to find you. They took us off, you see.” Zat began chittering in the background. “That’s when one of Mhul’s ancestors saw us reflecting in the sun and snatched us from the pond bank. We saw our keeper slink into the water to avoid detection, being no match for a shrew mole on their own.”

“And so you’ve been here ever since?”

“Afraid so.” Said the less chatty Zat. “Kin used to make their way down here. Either in shrew mole jaws or on their own, but they never lasted long when they did.”

“No one has tried in a while?”

“No, but maybe it’ll stay that way even more now,” said Zat.

“Why’s that?”

There was silence for a time. The two bug-kin allowed their greenish glow to settle back to its original dim state.

“Aren’t you bad?”

We wondered how long we might be stuck down here and with whom. Our rumination was cut short as we thought we still saw more movement in the cavern. This time near the roof. What was that? We thought we saw a couple more flits of activity on the roof coming from the passage furthest away, advancing slowly toward us.

We could hear Mhul coming down the tunnel into the cavern from the far-inclined passage, where we saw movement on the roof. Zill and Zat remained silent, but we suddenly heard a new voice from the other entrance behind us.

“Where is she, beast?” Mhul stopped, his claws digging into the earth. Did they mean Sofi? Did they not get away after all?

We tried to draw his attention, “Use us, we–“

“Shut up, Eye.” Did it know us?

The voice stepped into our vision. A large crab-kin, decorated, armoured, carrying a large axe with a smaller claw, but its larger claw was menacing enough on its own. The lucky type of crab-kin whose forelegs were occasionally born more like smaller nimble claws with extra digits. His were moving about at his belt, arranging tools as he advanced, but he never looked down.

“I said, where the hell is Sofi, beast?! WHERE. IS. MY. DAUGHTER?”

On the last word, Mhul charged, as did the crab-kin.

We watched a dramatic and graceful scene play out, the likes of which we had never witnessed before. The crab-kin threw something from its belt into the face of Mhul, causing him to screech. At the same time, movement from the roof came shooting down. Five isopod-kin that had blended so well with the colour of the earth unless they were moving were placing wires in Mhul’s way while he was blinded. The crab-kin had been loud to draw attention away from them!

As each wire tightened, Mhul grunted and screeched. The isopods now concentrated their wire work on Mhul’s front legs, meaning to topple him forward. And so they did, just as the crab-kin leapt in the air, swinging his mighty axe at Mhul’s mushroom-covered head. An isopod on each side drove a spear in either of Mhul’s eyes for good measure. Mhul slumped, and his breathing stopped, but the crab-kin and smaller bug-kin stood at the ready for several more moments before easing.

“Form groups and look for her. Pip, with me,” the crab-kin said. And they dispersed through the tunnels.

Eventually, the crab-kin and the lone isopod-kin, whom we assumed was Pip, drew near us. “Take us with you; we can help you find her. It’s not safe down here. We hear Mhul has family in these tunnels.” We tried to reason with the two of them.

Pip looked up at the crab-kin and then back at us, shaking their head.

“It thinks we’re in danger, Pip.” He mock laughs. “Did you see many shells or exoskeletons down here? No. Ol’ Mhul took some that wandered where they shouldn’t or went looking for his treasure, sure. But Mhul left Patient Wa– Mhul was trained to leave Patient Watch alone. And Mhul was the last shrew mole in the area. No, there’s no more of its family in these tunnels.”

“You took Mhul down effortlessly– then why–“

“Why leave Mhul alive so long? The Breach doesn’t always kill its watch. We seek to understand friends and foes. That big, dumb shrew also kept other infected away.”

“You used it.”

“We used it.”

Several isopod-kin and a stink-kin came down the far, inclining tunnel and approached. The stink-kin addressed the crab-kin. “Overseer. Your daughter has been found above. She is quite, er... apologetic.” The overseer’s expression and demeanour softened slightly.

“Good. Thank you. Start sampling Mhul for the scholars while Pip and I finish here.”

“Yes, Overseer,” said the stink-kin before turning away and issuing orders to the others.

The overseer paused and took the treasure hoard in for a moment. “Sorry, Pip. While we didn’t mean to lose Mhul today, you’ve certainly proven yourself. The Breach is lucky to have your tactical mind.”

“Thank you, Overse–“

“They’re out of earshot, Pip. Lou is fine, old friend.”

Pip chuckled. “Softy. Thanks, Lou, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Well, I mean it. And I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to Sofi. Now, take them and anything else you want and can carry. You knew they were here, and they’ll help you on your way further up the ranks.”

“Wow. To think they’ve been sitting down here so long.” We wondered if we were included in this exchange, but Pip leaned down, picked up Zat and Zill and a few other trinkets and said to them, “don’t worry, I’ll treat you right” as he walked away.

“Now, as for you,” Lou said.

“You knew we were here as well?”

“I did, and in the shallows of the bay before Sofi, as many before me in the upper Breach ranks have known.”

“Why leave us there? Why avoid the bay?”

“It bothers you not knowing, doesn’t it? Having to pull information out of kin. Trying to manipulate them.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll entertain you this. If you had experienced much of our town, you would have seen that we are mostly bug-kin. The bay is infected; no kin have risen from it in years. However, it seems not to have bothered you much. The things we can eat or use from the sea are selective. We knew you were there, sitting among some of the worst of the infection, but we also knew your reputation preceded you. Over centuries, the Breach sowed rumours of you like a ghost to help keep children and trainees away from the shallows.”

“But all it took was one.”

Lou looked offended. “One and my own.”

“Yet you will use Zat and Zill and not us? We can be of great help.”

“You’ll drink only the blood you’re allowed now, wretch.”

We could hear a gong ringing in the distance.

New roads

Lou had us scooped up, wrapped in a blanket and ushered off. From what we could hear, any who knew of us being in Mhul’s cave were either sworn to silence or misled.

We were kept in the Breach’s great hall for a couple of weeks until the excitement died. They transported us in secrecy at night. We never saw the route, the direction, or even the means of travel. We did not see any of it above ground when we arrived at our destination. At least not at first, and not with our own eye.

We were taken deep underground before we were ever uncovered. They chained and locked us with a key in the very center of a deep room. Strange geometric sculptures hung from the roof– a roof of which we had trouble seeing the ceiling. A solitary gemstone sat near the base of where we were chained, giving the room its purple light.

This was the village of Orman, we were told. A place built on secrecy and faith, a place no one would think to look for us to begin with, but also one no one knew had hidden depths even if they did come looking. All other questions we had we were told would be answered in time. And so they were.

We had only been chained in the village of Orman for a week when a bug-kin was pulled into our room by cloaked and masked figures, using chains to keep him equally distant and under control. A figure in a different colour and mask trails behind them but does not hold a chain.

As the chained kin was led in, we noticed the amazing looming bodies of matriarch bug-kin descend from the ceiling. We had not seen them hiding among the sculptures, their voluptuous figures blending with the geometric patterns.

The bug-kin seemed to sense the ominous tone of the room it had been led into and began to struggle. They beat it down with cudgels hidden in their robes. The lone figure approaches and draws a dagger, stabbing the chained bug-kin, though non-vitally.

The figure brings the dagger to us, dripping with blood.

The matriarchs all smile, bobbing with excitement.

“You will tell us his crimes. The rest is yours.” the lone bug with the dagger says.

We begin to shake excitedly in our new home.

“Of course.”

Epilogue

The silk roads come faster now, bobbing up and down, intertwining over top of one another. We can almost jump from one to the next. Brilliant colours guide us. The dark tree at the center awaits.

Soon.