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The Demon of Arbhala

By Sirius

The cheerful morning twittering of birds and the long, lovely clouds of the sunrise provided a stark contrast to the gruesome scene on the outskirts of Arbhala. Galah emerged out of the jungle splashed from head to toe with blood, the jackal's muscles screaming from the huge load he dragged behind him. The ropy netting the villagers had provided him was barely holding together, and his progress had been agonizingly slow. Galah had never hauled anything as big as the bounty he now dragged toward the village. He felt a weariness that permeated through to the bone, and wanted nothing more than a long rest. However, that was not to be. There were a few tasks left to fulfill.

If Galah looked bedraggled, the behemoth inside the netting looked downright wretched. It looked like nothing more than a shaggy mass of matted, bloody fur and rotten rags. A boy on the edge of the village caught sight of him and gave a cry to rouse the others. They came swarming out of their huts, both amazed and revulsed, crowding into a loose circle around Galah and his prize but unwilling to approach any closer. It occurred to Galah that he probably looked as frightening as the creature he'd hauled out of the jungle.

The crowd parted to let the village chief through, and the jackal gave the chief a long, hard look. The chief returned merely the slightest of nods to him, and then turned to the crowd and announced:

"Rejoice and give thanks to our warrior jackal, my brothers and sisters! Tonight we celebrate! Tomorrow will dawn a glorious new day for our village! And from now on you may sleep soundly, never to fear the shadows again! The Demon of Arbhala is no more!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, some of them even dancing and singing praises, and Galah felt horrible. They were already making songs up about him on the spot. He felt like running back into the jungle, or perhaps simply collapsing. He allowed the villagers to lay their hands and blessings upon him, which only made him feel filthier. He turned back to look, and the villagers were already pelting the huge, shaggy body inside the netting with rocks and rotten fruit, heaping vulgar curses and words of scorn upon it.

"Enough," said the chief, catching Galah's look. "Let our hero rest for now -- and do not pile your hatred on our fallen foe. He was a worthy enemy, the greatest scourge our village has ever known -- and a powerful demon. Let us leave him be -- Galah and I alone will bear the demon's corpse, and we alone shall see to its burial. As your sacred leader, I must perform this duty. Now go...there is nothing more to see here. Prepare for tonight's festival."

The crowd gave a general sigh of disappointment, and gradually dispersed. Some brave little children actually ran right up and kicked at the huge creature inside the netting, then ran away laughing. Galah fought an impulsive urge to bark harsh rebukes at them. The adults dispersed more readily, but he could see the same impulse in them too. The village had lived in fear for so long -- it was tempting to be disrespectful to the source of that fear now that it had been felled, and dragged into the mundane light of morning. Galah supposed he could understand that impulse, but he also shared the chief's sentiment. One had to respect the mighty even after the mighty had fallen. Galah knelt by the great, pathetic creature inside the netting, and reached out to touch its fur. The chief remained, watching from a discreet distance.

"So what now?" whispered Galah, his eyes shut.

"They have prepared a carrier of woven branches," said the chief. "They should be bringing it here shortly. Then we must proceed back into the jungle...and we must be quick."

"So you knew all along," said Galah, glaring at the chief. "You planned all of this. Even leaving the powder with me was your design. You gambled with my very life."

The chief said nothing.

"Will it be a long journey?" asked the jackal.

"Indeed it will, with a burden such as this."

"Good." Galah bared his teeth at the chief, feeling fresh anger burning in his heart. "Then we'll have plenty of time for you to tell me the truth."

Ten days earlier, with Bharis's huntsmen on his tail, Galah encountered the village of Arbhala. Galah had vaguely heard of the place but never been there; it was not on the main road. Of course, the jackal could not afford to take the main road anymore. The Adi's trackers had forced him into the jungles, taking long-disused trails in an effort to keep two steps ahead of them. The great irony was that he was now being pursued by men he himself had once trained. Still, that could be turned to his advantage: there were tricks he knew that he had never taught them, and he was able to anticipate their positions much easier than they could determine his.

Under normal circumstances, the jackal would not have stopped at a village. But he had not slept or eaten in three days, and as hardy as Galah was, his endurance was finite. The road and the chase had taken a toll on him; his grip was not as steady as it could be, nor was his senses as sharp. The village might serve as a decent hiding-place, but precautions had to be taken.

Even with his leg muscles complaining, Galah doubled his pace, extending his senses to their furthest limit. He deliberately avoided the village at first, laying a trail that went around and far past it. When he was sure none of his pursuers were close by, Galah masked his scent, then doubled back and stealthily headed for the village, taking care to make no more noise than a passing breeze. He felt his pursuers approach...and then pass right by him, continuing on along his false trail. They were good -- but he was better, and that would never change. Only Baji even stood a chance -- and Galah doubted Baji would be part of this chase.

Nonetheless, the jackal still spent a lengthy amount of time skulking around the outskirts of the village, checking for traps or anything else he might've missed. Anticipation was a dangerous game. There were far more possible moves to it than anyone would be comfortable with, and sometimes one could not predict them all. In the end, there was always a gamble, always a moment when you had to test your opponent.

He was lucky this time, however. Perhaps they thought he would not double back undetected, or that he would not waste his time hiding in a backwater village, but from what Galah could detect, none of the Adi's huntsmen were waiting there...yet. He knew they might still come. Galah silently resolved only to stay as long as absolutely necessary. Once his body felt able again, he would be off in a new direction, to continue confounding his pursuers.

The jackal entered the village openly, and the reception he got was the last thing he expected. The villagers poured out of their huts, singing praises, laying their dirty hands upon him and muttering broken blessings. Galah moved slowly through the crowd gathering around him, trying to ignore and fend off the touches. It seemed they saw him as some sort of savior. The word "hero" was repeated again and again in the crowd, in hoarse tones of reverence.

"Please," said Galah. "I do not know who you think I am, but I need to see your elder, and ask for haven in your village."

They bore him to the largest hut, lifting him off his feet and carrying him on their backs. Galah looked around warily, hoping the fuss wouldn't draw any notice from his hopefully distant pursuers. He was deposited before the entrance and given a few more hands-on blessings, then shoved inside the darkened hut.

The jackal's eyes adjusted swiftly, and he perceived a squat, round old bear sitting in the center of the hut, attired in the simple but brightly-hued fabric of men of the country. His fur was black save a cream-colored, V-shaped marking on his chest. Around the bear's neck were necklaces made from large beads of some whitish stone. Surrounding the bear were gifts of fruit and offerings of incense, and Galah had little doubt that he was in the presence of the village chief. The jackal went to his knees and made obeisance. The elder before him might only be the chief of a backwater village, but it was still best to show respect when one was a guest seeking refuge.

The bear brought out a long pipe of dark wood, and took a lengthy, serene drag off of it. As he blew the smoke out, the chief wordlessly handed it to Galah. Not wanting to be impolite, Galah took it and took a small drag off of it. It was something other than the typical crushed kalaja-leaves one usually smoked; there was a heady odor of natural oils or something similar, and Galah felt a mild buzz surround his head for a little while, one which relaxed his worries to a degree. While he was wary of unknown mixtures, he was indeed grateful for a little calmness.

"I am Antravadana, sixteenth chief of the village of Arbhala," said the chief. "And I can only assume you are Galah, the former Sher of Anagari."

Galah tensed at the mention of his name from a stranger, but the chief gestured for him to remain seated.

"Please, my friend, do not fear," said the bear. "You are quite safe here. I only know your name because it has been spoken so much in the Blessed City's marketplace, where our farmers sometimes trade. We do not pay your Adi tribute, nor do we receive his blessing, and so we do not consider him our master. We would not turn you over to his minions."

"I am grateful for your kindness," said Galah. "But if you know me..."

"Then it does make things complicated, does it not?" The chief chuckled softly. "No one but I has made the connection, Galah. The other villagers merely think you are the latest answer to their prayers."

"What precisely have they been praying for?"

The chief chuckled. "Someone to save them. Isn't it obvious, from the greeting you received?"

Galah narrowed his eyes skeptically. The whole situation suddenly seemed preposterous, as if he'd walked into an ancient tale. "And what does Arbhala need to be saved from?"

The chief rose to his feet and went to get something from the back of the hut. It was a ritual mask, a horrible visage with curved teeth and blue fur and crazed yellow eyes. "In the Blessed City, do they teach the tales of the lost gods?"

"Superstition and blasphemy," Galah scoffed. "Nothing more."

"Perhaps," said the chief softly, touching the mask. He sat down and leaned in close. "Or perhaps there is a seed of truth in every such story. Long ago, Galah, every village, no matter how small, had its own god. But what happens to those heathen gods when their villages perish? Deep in these lands there are tales of such abandoned gods wandering alone in the forests...until they turn mad, and become demons. This face I hold...it is the old god, Enki, whose rule in this land, ages ago, was marked by living sacrifice. This is the demon that now plagues us."

"I do not believe in such things."

The chief gestured to the entrance. "Yet our village does We always have, and now something lurks on our borderlands. It runs with the ghati-lizards and stirs them up, and it can tear apart our fences and carry off our livestock with ease. People have only caught glimpses of it, but we have heard it bellowing deep in the night. A few brave souls have gone forth to hunt it down, only to vanish without a trace. The demon grows bolder with each attack, and we know it will not be long before --"

Galah held up a hand. "Stop, please. With utmost respect, I ask that you dispense with the story. Chief, what is it you want from me?"

"You must slay it."

The jackal quirked a brow. "You're joking. Do I look like a hero of fable? Do you believe my coming was orchestrated by the gods?"

"My villagers believe that," said the chief. "And I myself know three things: you are a strong-looking jackal, they speak your name with reverence and fear in the Blessed City, and we have something you need."

"What do you have that I might need?"

"Refuge. We know the Adi's forces have been afoot in these jungles, and sooner or later they will come to this village. You can outrun them, but it would be so much easier to hide until they give up, wouldn't it?"

The jackal growled very softly.

"It is, of course, your choice." The chief took another draw off his pipe, and blew out bluish smoke. He regarded Galah with a stoic, flat face. "And I will accept your choice either way."

Galah sighed softly. "Then let us see how you will hide me."

The chief nodded, and the jackal gazed into those dark eyes and found that he did not like them. Whatever emotion hid behind the bear's eyes, be it hope or fear or something else entirely, he could not tell. Galah was certain of one thing, however: there was more happening here than it seemed.

Another man slipped into the chief's hut. This man looked ancient in the extreme, a withered old elephant whose eyes were set deep in wrinkles. He had a huge, thick belt from which hung dozens of small leather sacks, and the elephant had a necklace of yellowed, cracked old ghati-teeth around his neck. Galah immediately recognized him as a medicine man. The chief offered the pipe to the elephant, who gratefully accepted it and took a drag. As thick smoke curled out of his trunk, the elephant rummaged through his bags until he found one, then pulled it from his belt and handed it to Galah. With that, the elephant grunted softly and departed without a word.

"We have done business with the spice traders along the Great Road, and they taught us how to prepare this mixture." The chief looked at Galah intently. "It is known as dhathuri. Take care not to sniff it, for a whiff will make you dizzy. A pinch will put you in a deep sleep for several hours. And a little more than that will slow your heartbeat, cool your body...and make you appear not unlike a corpse, for a few days."

The odor from the bag was noticeable even with it tightly sealed. Galah wrinkled his nose. It was a strange odor, fragrant not unlike some sort of flower, yet there was also something indefinably unpleasant about it. Later, looking back on it, Galah would decide it smelled like an apple blossom just beginning to go to rot.

"How will this help you conceal me? I need to be hidden, not dead."

"Yes it will," said the chief. "For we can hide you in a place they will never dare to look. We are going to bury you."

"What guarantee do I have that you will unearth me when it is done? How do I know you will not sacrifice me to whatever god you worship? Or deliver me into the hands of my enemies?"

The old bear sighed. The genuine desperation creeping into his voice was unmistakable. "Do you really believe the stories they tell you about people like us? You saw the faces of the men and women here. I ask you, are those the faces of bloodthirsty heathens, deceivers, traitors? Give us a chance. You are a fugitive; you must take blessings from wherever they come."

Galah sat there for a long while, studying the old bear's face, contemplating the situation. It really did feel almost like a simplistic fable. The moral, perhaps, was not to stray from the main path, lest you be delivered into the hands of madmen in the jungle. It occurred to them that when he was younger and full of naïvete, Galah would not have hesitated to dive headlong into a foolish situation such as this. He would have found it exciting.

The jackal couldn't help but chuckle a little at himself. "Very well, chief. You seem to have awakened something adventurous in me. I accept."

The bag of the dhathuri powder was opened, and the stuff was emptied into a cup while everyone held their noses. Water was poured into the powder, and the mixture was handed to Galah. It was fragrant yet bitter and nearly caused the jackal to gag, but Galah forced himself to down it in one gulp. He turned to the chief, and began to speak, but quickly forgot whatever he'd planned to say. The chief seemed to be receding from him, flowing backwards down a corridor of rippling darkness. Galah seemed to hear someone else speaking, or perhaps it was the tolling of temple bells...and then...

He dreams, mad fever dreams that have no sense of order. Eyes everywhere in the darkness, hundreds, thousands. Drops of water in a pool, each drop taking an age of the universe to fall. Men bowing in supplication, sacrifices, unspeakable acts on the old altar. Fur that flows and ripples like fields of grain stirred by a powerful wind. Fangs and claws and the deep darkness that breathes in and out of everything. The dead, dancing. Stamping their skeletal feet, stirring up ash and sparks from the funeral pyre. His lovers. They are all dead. They all died for him. Luwak is among them, burnt to a cinder, smiling a skull-smile. Death is the jackal's shadow; it sweeps through the streets behind him as a scythe would, cutting down all who follow. Blood. The blood speaks. Flames dance. Everything spins, even the stars.

Galah awoke to absolute darkness, to the cramped space of a simple wooden coffin. He panted, pressing his hands to the wooden walls. Panic gnawed at him; it took effort to stave back the urge to claw or punch his way out, to splinter the wood and spill in the six feet of earth above him. The air was stale and fetid, and the silence was absolute. The jackal's hands felt around, found something near his hip. Yes! The bag of dhathuri! He remembered now -- the chief had warned him of the possibility of waking early. If that happened, he was to take another pinch from the bag, and sleep a little longer.

But what if they had indeed abandoned him? What if the time of his unearthing had come and gone, and they had decided to sacrifice him after all? There was no way to know how long he had been lost in that trance. The panic was threatening to overpower him. At least he knew he was still alive; the thundering heartbeat in his chest reaffirmed that. Marshaling his effort, Galah brought the bag to his face, carefully undid it with trembling fingers, and took a pinch of powder. There was no water here, so Galah simply placed it on his tongue and swallowed. It was gaggingly unpleasant, but it did the trick. He was soon lost to the trance once again, and if there were dreams this time he did not remember them.

When Galah awoke next, he was on a mat in the chief's dwelling. The old bear smiled down at him.

"Your friends arrived while you slept," said the chief. "But we held true to our word and feigned innocence. They searched the grounds thoroughly, but they did not scent you. The rot of the burial grounds masked you quite well."

"What about the other places I passed, such as your hut?"

The chief smiled a gap-toothed smile. "Perhaps it is good that we are all so smelly."

"Who was their leader?" Galah flexed his limbs, savoring the feeling of freedom of movement. He'd never fully appreciated such a simple thing until now.

"A young black leopard, with passionate golden eyes and a cloak of dark crimson."

"Baji..."

The chief chuckled. "A former pupil?"

"You are astute for a country man, Antravadana. Surprisingly cunning, as well. I suppose I should be thankful for that."

"Rest for now, Galah. Your pursuers have moved on. The dhathuri is still in your body; it will take several hours to completely pass. Then...when you are on your feet..."

Galah reached for his belt, and there found his sword in its scabbard. His fingers tightened on the hilt. "...then the hunt begins."

The villagers held their equivalent of a mighty feast, bringing what was presumably the best of their simple harvestings to make a great stew in a cauldron over an open fire. They danced simple dances and played simple instruments of bone and skin, and Galah sat respectfully and inwardly thought about how very far this place was from the Blessed City, both in distance and in character.

The villagers laid gifts at his feet, simple carvings and necklaces of little precious stones strung up on gut-string, bandings of ghati-hide and good-luck charms. The jackal smiled at all of this and bowed in thanks. But the medicine man also came forth to daub patterns in red paint on Galah's face and arms, and this made the jackal scowl.

"Why is he painting sacrificial markings on me?" Galah hissed at the chief, who sat beside him. "That is what they are, aren't they?"

"It's tradition," the chief said simply. "We do it for all who choose to hunt the demon."

The medicine man finished the markings with a blood-red circle over Galah's solar plexus. To Galah, the last marking looked for all the world like a target.

"Do they expect me to fail?" said Galah harshly.

"We have a saying -- 'pray for rain, prepare for floods.' We're simple folk, Galah. Practical."

"You do precious little to reassure me."

The chief half-smiled. "If you are truly up to the challenge, do you really need reassurances?"

Galah decided he did not like the chief.

The feast ended as the night overtook the village, and the villagers took to their huts. Beneath their momentary celebration was a deep undercurrent of fear. The medicine man placed his wrinkled hands on Galah's shoulders and murmured a blessing in an ancient language the jackal did not know, and then shuffled away. The chief said nothing; he merely pointed to the far edge of the village. Beyond it lay dense jungle. Galah nodded and, drawing his sword, took off.

Midnight in the jungle. Little bits of moonlight shone through the canopy above, providing the dimmest illumination. Galah's every sense was wound tight, his eyes struggling to penetrate the darkness, his ears trying to pierce the silence. Here, impressions were maddeningly vague. There was definitely movement, and the scents of living things, but nothing was precise. The jackal moved deliberately slowly, not wanting to lose track of his own position. If there were things in this jungle that would oppose him, he was sure that he would not have to search them out. They would find him.

A lone bird called, and the jackal flinched, pulling into a crouch, sword at the ready. There was a fluttering in the distance as the bird left whatever perch it had been on and flapped away. Galah slowly rose, chuckling. He wondered if perhaps there was no demon, that maybe the ghati alone or even the villagers' own superstitions were --

There was a shape in the forest. Galah's thoughts immediately halted. It stood perhaps a hundred paces away, a distant mass. Initially it had looked simply like a very big, mossy rock, but there were two unblinking, glowing points of light coming from it now. Eyes. It was staring at him. It was huge. It was definitely not one of the ghati-lizards, either. Those creatures were slim and quick. This was...something else.

Galah couldn't make out any details, and there appeared to be no distinguishable scent. No, that wasn't true; there was a vague odor from the direction of the shape, but it wasn't distinct in any way. The thing just kept staring at the jackal, unmoving and unblinking. Galah felt his heartbeat quickening. Those twin points of light were mesmerizing. Now, slowly, it began to move. It stood up...and Galah only then realized it had been crouching. It was even bigger now, a towering shaggy mass enshrouded in shadow.

The unblinking gaze was horrible. Galah averted his eyes...and that was what saved him, for only then did the jackal realize the ghati had surrounded him. There were eight or nine of them, and they were almost within striking distance, their cold reptilian eyes regarding the jackal with uncomplicated hunger. He was nothing but a piece of meat to them, food that hadn't quite stopped moving yet. The ruse had been broken, and so they lunged at him, all at once. Galah moved without thinking, his sword arcing and hacking through the air. They were fast, but he was faster, and this was his specialty.

The ghati made fine opponents. They were predators of the highest caliber, silent and swift and vicious, their slender bodies moving in scaly blurs as they clawed and snapped at the jackal. Galah leapt up, feeling all the old energy of his youth return to him in a flash. His sword almost seemed to move with a mind of its own, whistling through the air as he began to swing and hack at the huge reptiles, matching their speed. His blade hit true, and the reptiles screamed hideous, high-pitched cries as he slew them. Hot lizard-blood splattered the jackal and the tree-trunks. One or two managed to slash Galah up, and red-hot pain seared across his sides and arms and shoulders. He ignored it and fought on, his higher awareness dimming, submersed within the instinct to kill and kill and kill. One leapt onto his back and tried to sink its teeth into his neck, but Galah took it by the head and snapped its neck in a single, furious twist. Dead instantly, the lizard flopped off his back and to the ground. Before the jackal knew it, six of the ghati were dead and the rest were fleeing. The battle was won.

Galah remembered the creature in the distance, and looked to where it had been. It was gone. But now Galah heard a deep bellow somewhere in the jungle around him, a rumbling cry that was sourceless and chilling. It was not the cry of a bird or lizard; it was something else. Galah had never heard a sound like that in his life. It sounded both mournful and filled with rage, and the silence that followed was just as terrifying. Galah turned again and again, wielding his sword shakily. His hands were uncontrollably trembling, which was rare for him. He looked in every direction, his heart thundering a hard drumbeat in his chest.

The cry came again, and although Galah did not know from which direction it came, it was definitely louder. It was definitely closer.

The branches and low-hanging vines of the trees behind him were suddenly rent asunder, torn to bits by huge claws, shoved aside by the progression of a gargantuan shaggy mass. It screamed and bore down on Galah, its gleaming gaze filled with rancor, and Galah caught a glimpse of a monstrous, unspeakable face. He ran.

The jackal did not care that he was fleeing -- something he rarely did -- or which direction he was fleeing in. His internal map of the jungle had been lost to panic, and he was flying blindly across fallen stumps and ducking under vines and splashing through muck. It was no longer important that he keep track of his direction; what mattered was that he get away from that...thing.

Even in his panic, he refused to think of it as a demon. Such things did not exist. Superstition, mountain tales, foolishness. But he thought of the face he had glimpsed, those mutilated features and the horns and the curved fangs, and he felt real panic.

The jackal was not as young as he once was, and he could not continue to flee so swiftly. He paused to catch his breath, gasping for air. The jungle was silent. Then, somewhere in the distance, there was a heavy footfall. A while passed, and another came. It was advancing, but slowly. The message was clear: Galah was on the creature's soil. It had the advantage, it knew the lay of the land, and it was taking its time because Galah's defeat was inevitable.

"So be it," Galah whispered. He sheathed his sword and began to explore the area around him, forcing away the battle-haze and banishing the fear from his mind. These were unproductive impulses. What he needed now was a plan. There was precious little to work with here...but perhaps there was enough. His hand went to his belt, and surprisingly, there he found the bag of dhathuri, still half-full. The chief had forgotten to take it back.

Another heavy footfall sounded. The creature was coming.

When the demon arrived, it saw a cloaked figure in the open. The creature rushed at the unmoving figure, baring its huge claws, ready to tear it apart. But it was only Galah's cloak, set upon a hastily-made pile of mud and branches meant to resemble the jackal. As the claws slashed the cloak to shreds, the powder scattered on the fabric was kicked up into the air, forming a faint, billowing cloud which spread around the creature's head. The creature bleated in distress, recoiling and covering its face. Galah watched from the underbrush, hoping that it had inhaled enough of the dhathuri to knock it out. The creature staggered, knocking down a tree or two as it swayed. The powder was definitely having an effect, but it was not enough to fell the beast. The creature spun about, clearly disoriented.

Luckily, Galah had planned for this too. He leapt out, making sure to avoid the dispersing cloud of powder, and barked to get the creature's attention. The creature roared loudly in reply and lunged at him clumsily, claws outstretched. Galah dodged the lunge -- albeit narrowly -- and ran. The creature lumbered after, taking a wobbly but still quite swift path. It seemed to be unaware of any obstacles, simply plowing through brush and tearing trees to splinters with swipes of its claws. Galah could hear its panting, which sounded curiously muffled. He led the creature to the intended spot, and then carefully leapt over the assembled pile of leaves there, diving into the underbrush. The creature came to the spot as well...and then leapt over the leaves just as the jackal had done. Galah swore.

There was only one chance left. The creature was still standing in front of the leaf-pile, sniffing the air for the jackal's scent. It was becoming increasingly disoriented, it seemed. Galah burst from the underbrush and rushed the monstrosity, barreling right into it with the full force of his body. The creature tried to grab at him but failed, and with a howl of utmost fury it fell through the leaf-pile and into the hidden pit beneath. Galah readied the bag of dhathuri, ready to throw the entire remainder of it onto the creature. Surely that much of the stuff would bring death, even to a demon such as this.

But the jackal hesitated. The creature in the pit no longer looked demonic or mysterious. It was curled up in the loamy soil of the pit, and it was sobbing. More than that, it was speaking. Or trying to, at least. What came out in a choked, whimpering voice was: "Nnnnnuhhh ...nuhhhhhh...ahshrrryyy...nuhhhhhh...!" It was making no effort to climb out of the pit; its heavy claws were held over its head in a crude defensive position. It seemed to be miserable, and terrified. Galah wondered how this could have been the same creature as before.

Galah put away the bag of dhathuri, and unsheathed his sword. He stood at the edge of the pit and aimed his blade at the creature. "You! Name yourself! Are you the creature the villagers call Enki? Answer me!"

The creature cautiously took its paws from its face and looked up at him. Galah saw the twinkling of the eyes from the hideous visage, and he realized something. The creature's face wasn't a face at all...it was a mask. What Galah had taken to be a gruesomely distorted face was in fact made of gnarled wood, and the curved 'fangs' were actually old ghati claws, fitted into the mask and turned upwards. The eyes gleamed from within twin eyeholes in the mask, and what Galah had taken to be a shaggy mane was in fact bluish moss. There was something familiar about the mask. Other than the mask, the creature wore a mass of tattered rags that looked as if they'd been stolen from the village and worn almost to the point of being threadbare.

"I say, answer me! Are you the one called Enki?"

"Ennnnkhheeee..." echoed the creature, then slapped its chest. "Enkhee! Ruhh!"

"Where do you come from? And why do you run with the ghati and attack the village?"

The creature said nothing. Galah wondered how much it could understand. He felt a bit foolish wielding his sword at a foe that was out of striking range, so he put it away...but kept his hand on the hilt. He also scanned the area for remaining ghati, but none could be seen or heard.

"Remove your mask," the jackal suddenly said. He was eager to see what was beneath it. He wasn't sure if the creature understood, and made the gesture with his hands of removing the mask. The creature shook its head vehemently.

"Do it, or I will throw the powder upon you, and you will die."

This provoked a yelp of distress from the beast, and it complied. It clutched the grotesque mask and lifted it off its head, revealing a grimy face of overgrown, tangled fur. Enki had a thick muzzle and a dark nose, and haunted, deep-set eyes that still softly glowed beneath a heavy brow. It was a face both terrible and pathetic. His ears were rounded and small. Enki was a bear, it seemed, the biggest ursine Galah had ever seen. He looked at Galah with a questioning expression, as if wondering what would happen now.

"I am Galah," said the jackal. "Former Sher of the Blesed City of Anagari. I am a killer, through and through, and I've bested you, Enki. I thought you were a dumb beast, but since you can reason, I give you one chance: leave this forest, and never harm the village of Arbhala again. Otherwise I will kill you."

"NUHH!" Enki cried out. "Hummmm! Mhhhiie-hmmmm!!"

What was he saying? It was obviously a protest, but...what was that last word? Galah crouched. "Speak more clearly! What did you say?"

"Hummmm...hooooommm..." Enki's face contorted with visible effort. "Hoom. HOME."

"The jungle is your home?"

"NUH! Ahbuhhhh!"

"Arbhala...is your home?"

"Ruhh! RUHHH!" Enki nodded frantically. Galah assumed that 'ruhh' meant yes.

"But...how can that be? You are a wild man. You do not belong in a civilized village."

To this, Enki had no reply. He seemed to want to say something, to explain, but the great bear's expression seemed to crumble into a deep sadness. He covered his face and began to sob once more, rocking back and forth in the grime of the pit. It was strangely pitiable.

Galah was starting to feel weary. His wounds from the ghati burned, and for the first time he noticed them. He was covered in blood, and he wasn't sure whether it was the blood of the lizards or his own. He touched a gash on his shoulder, and realized it was deep. Not so deep as to disable him, but enough to be a problem. His sides were bleeding as well. Enki looked up at him with an inscrutable gaze.

Galah rose to his feet to consider his options...and froze. All around him, the surviving ghati were gathered. They lurked at the perimeter, and they were behaving in a way the jackal had never seen before in lizards of this kind: they were neither charging nor hiding. They were simply standing, watching him like sentries. Galah realized something else: there were more lizards, deeper in the forest, half-visible in the distance behind the foremost ones. There were many, far more than he could ever win against in a fight. But they did not approach; they simply...waited.

"Humm," said Enki. Galah was loath to take his eyes off the lizards, but he quickly glanced at Enki. Enki was no longer curled up; he was standing now. He looked at Galah expectantly.

"Are you..." Galah stared at Enki. "Are you...their master?"

Enki nodded very slowly.

"How is that possible?" Galah looked around at each of the ghati. They stood their ground, making no move towards him. He'd never heard of wild lizards acting this way; it was not in their nature. They were predators, and normally did not hesitate. Down in the pit, Enki extended his arm, holding out his huge paw. His eyes dared Galah to act, to make a decision.

Galah looked around once more at the lizards, then back down at the bear in the pit. When he had first arrived in Arbhala and heard the chief's tale of demons haunting their village, the jackal had felt like it was all kind of ridiculous, the stuff of tales. Now he had that feeling once again, but it no longer seemed ridiculous. He did not understand how things could be the way they were now, but one thing was certain: he was being tested.

Galah made his decision. He leaped down into the pit, immediately landing in a crouch. He backed away from Enki, who still stood with his paw outstretched. The bear remained motionless, watching him intently. Galah very slowly rose from his crouch, and edged towards Enki. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to draw it in an instant. Enki glanced at the sword.

A lifetime of service to the Adi had taught Galah one important lesson: to always trust his instincts. Galah had learned to notice the tiny gust of air that told him a blade was being swung from behind, or the tiniest twitch of movement in the darkness that told him an ambush lay in wait. His instincts were almost always on target. But tonight, standing before this creature, he found his instinct clashing with his reason. Part of him would not let go of the sword, but part of him was curious. There was a mystery here, and Galah wanted to get to the heart of it. Galah swallowed back his fear and let go of the hilt, reaching out to clasp Enki's paw. There came a skittering of claws from above. The ghati were in motion once more. Galah cringed, but he saw no lizards come diving into the pit. From the sound of it, they were departing.

Enki let go of Galah's hand and cupped his paws together, facing his palms upward. "Ufffyuhh."

"You...what do you mean? You...do you want to help me up?"

"Ruhh!"

Galah nodded. He took hold of a handful of Enki's dense, knotted fur, and climbed onto the creature's thick palms. Enki lifted Galah easily, raising him until the jackal could climb out of the pit. As Galah scrambled out, he noticed right away that the lizards were indeed gone. Every last one of them had disappeared into the night. A moment later, Enki himself climbed out of the pit, hooking his massive claws into the soil and heaving himself up.

"You could have escaped it at any time," said Galah, shocked.

"Ruhh."

"And somehow, the ghati obey you...and you could have killed me whenever you wanted."

Enki nodded. "Ruhh-ruhh."

"Who are you?" Galah asked, troubled by all of this. "You must tell me...who are you, truly?"

The bear looked at Galah with unmistakable sorrow, and bitterly uttered only one word in reply: "Enki."

"Enki is a forgotten god. You are flesh and blood. You..." Galah suddenly felt the world sway around him, as if he were at sea. Standing was becoming difficult. In all his fighting, he'd failed to attend to his wounds. He felt faint, and reached out to grab hold of something, anything. Enki took his hand, then scooped him right up in his shaggy arms. Galah struggled to stay conscious, feeling the darkness edging over his senses. Enki began to walk through the jungle, carrying him somewhere. Galah saw the moonlight flickering through the canopy above, and then there was a time of grayness and distant pain and nothing more.

When Galah's senses returned, he found himself in what looked like the ruins of an ancient temple. There had once been other empires in these lands, and their remnants still littered the countryside. His body rested on a bed made of many layers of dried, flattened leaves. It was hardly comfortable, but it was enough. Beneath the leaves was what looked like an altar of some kind, or perhaps it had once been. These ruins had been abandoned for centuries, it seemed. No, not entirely abandoned. By the morning's light, Galah could see the clear signs of recent habitation: piles of rocks and ash where fires had been lit, scattered bones from fresh meals, and so on.

Galah looked at his wounds. They were covered with some sort of stuff that had an oily plant aroma. It was a salve of some sort, and it seemed to be doing the trick. His wounds were no longer bleeding, and there appeared to be very little signs of infection. And now his caretaker approached: Enki, clutching mangos in his paws. He placed two next to Galah and began messily devouring the rest, making beastly smacking and slurping noises as he ate.

"Thank you," said Galah softly. "For this...and for your kindness."

"Ruhh," said Enki, and belched.

Galah tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but a sharp pain streaked through his shoulder. The jackal winced and laid back.

"Nuhh." Enki laid his paw on Galah's chest. "Arraaungghh."

"Very well," said the jackal. "If you are willing to care for me, I will take the time to heal. But when I am well, Enki..."

"Ruhh. Unnnohhh."

"Tell me one thing, though. Have others come from the village to seek you?"

"Ruhh."

Galah gazed at the huge bear. "To speak to you, or to hunt you?"

Enki sighed heavily, and made a quick slashing motion in the air with his claws. That gesture alone answered Galah's question.

"I see," said Galah. "You were waiting for someone -- anyone -- to show a single sign of compassion, weren't you?"

"Ruhh."

"And the others...the ones who were unkind...did you kill them?"

"Ruhh," said the bear firmly, and he momentarily glared at Galah. The look bespoke far more than the grunts of the beast. I do not have to answer to you, said those eyes. You don't know what I've been through.

There were many questions still to be answered, but Galah was content to accept his lot for now. The mystery here was old, as old as the beast before him, and it would wait a few more days. He laid his head back and stared at the fragmented, half-destroyed ceiling of the ruins. Enki looked down at Galah, then to Galah's surprise, bent and gave the jackal's face a gentle little lick. The beast then lumbered off, leaving the ruins to attend to whatever it was he did during the day.

Galah passed the next week in the ruins of that temple, allowing his wounds to fully heal. Enki arrived often to provide food and apply more of the salve, which Galah saw was indeed squeezed from leaves. They had no conversations for the most part; the jackal wasn't even sure if a conversation was really possible with the beast. Sometimes Galah would ask basic questions and the bear would answer in simple affirmative or negative grunts, but the major answers eluded him. Galah was perpetually uncertain whether Enki could not express himself more clearly, or could and simply wouldn't. One thing was certain: Enki was more intelligent than Galah had initially believed.

The jackal's wounds healed, although they would remain a new addition to the many old scars on his hide, and gradually Galah felt his strength return. It was easy to forget that he wasn't quite as young as he used to be, and that ordeals such as the dhathuri-sleep and the battle with the lizards could take a distinct toll.

Alarmingly, the ghati were never far away; the jackal occasionally heard their hisses and even caught glimpses of the lizards pursuing small creatures in the underbrush. They did not enter the ruins, but they did come close. Galah came to understand; Enki wanted him to stay here, and somehow the lizards were obeying his will, keeping Galah penned in. Surely the villagers thought him to be dead by now. He knew he could not stay forever, and that sooner or later he would have to break this news to Enki.

On the afternoon of the ninth day since his arrival in Arbhala, Galah was out of his bed, practicing fighting moves in the midst of the ruins. Enki lumbered up the cracked stone steps and entered the temple, then looked at Galah questioningly.

"Nine days is far too long to go without practice," said Galah simply. "I must maintain my skills."

Enki shrugged, and shuffled over to Galah's bedside. He carried an armful of items, all of which belonged to Galah: a flint, daggers, Galah's sword, provisions of dried meat, a waterskin, Luwak's vial, the woven netting of hemp provided to him by the villagers, and so on. He dumped these on the bed, and then laid Galah's leather pack on top of this.

Galah chuckled. "I thought I would have to fight you...I thought you would have wanted to keep me forever."

"Nuhh," said Enki softly. He pointed to Luwak's vial, and looked at Galah meaningfully.

"Yes," Galah said. "Someone I love...someone I seek. I sacrificed everything for him, and he waits for me somewhere to the west. It was foolish of me to get caught up in Arbhala's business...it has only delayed me from my journey. But once again, I thank you for your kindness. I do not know what I will tell the villagers, however..."

"Shhhh," said Enki, approaching. He held his paw out to Galah. "Umma urrah."

Galah cocked his head. "What? Do you want me to follow?"

"Ruhh."

Enki led Galah to a secret place, a waterfall in the shadow of a green mountain. Here tropical birds sang, fish darted in the pool at the base of the falls, and rainbows flickered in the misty air. The shelves of mossy rock beside the fall formed a natural stairway down to the pool, and Enki and Galah took this route. On the flat, rocky embankment, Enki stripped off his rags and dove naked into the pool. Galah had sensed all along that Enki was male, but now his maleness was quite prominent, and the jackal looked away, slightly embarrassed. The bear paddled around in the pool, occasionally diving and coming up with a fresh, flapping fish in his jaws. He spat the fishes out onto the embankment, and Galah gutted them with his dagger and strung them up.

Enki seemed to be having the time of his life. He gestured several times to Galah to join him, and finally the jackal couldn't resist any longer. He peeled off his clothing and dove into the pool, savoring the coolness of the water. He floated on his back, paddling gently, feeling a great calm come over him. His scars stung a bit, but he ignored it. Perhaps tomorrow there would be more hard roads to tread, more intrigues and troubles...but for now, just for a little while, he would relax.

Enki swam over, picking Galah up in his wet arms. He took Galah right through the waterfall, to a shadowy overhang behind it. Here wet curls of moss trailed from the ceiling, and the bottom was shallow enough for Galah and Enki to sit down. Enki held Galah tightly, squeezing him to his chest as a cub would carry a toy. Galah looked up at Enki. "I am glad for your companionship, Enki...it is hard to believe that you are the same creature that..."

He trailed off. Enki's shoulders slumped, his thick brow furrowing, and released his hold on Galah.

"Forgive me," said Galah. "I did not mean to bring it up. I wish you could speak clearly, that you might explain how this life became yours."

Enki just sighed. "Ruhh."

Galah shifted a bit in Enki's lap, and the bear grunted softly. Galah became aware of something poking him in the behind, and suddenly realized what it was. He pulled away a bit, but Enki wrapped his huge arms around Galah once more and held him there. Rather than going away, the bulge beneath him seemed to be growing.

"Enki...?"

"Ruhhhhhh?" Enki said playfully.

Before Galah could get out another word, Enki's paw was rubbing against the jackal's sheath. Galah flinched slightly, nervous about Enki's claws, but Enki kept them away, rubbing Galah with the flat, leathery pawpads alone. Unwittingly, the jackal's cock was stirring. Galah gasped softly, then let a slow breath out. "Enki..."

The huge bear bent his head down and nibbled delicately on Galah's ear. The huge fangs moved with surprising tenderness, stimulating the thin, sensitive flesh. Enki's long tongue flicked out and traced the inside of Galah's ear, and the huge paw closed over Galah's sheath and began stroking more firmly. Galah moaned and tilted his head, and the bear took the invitation and began to nibble on the jackal's neck. That was an intense feeling, the gentle nibblings from such deadly-sharp teeth, bearing down only enough to send shivers down Galah's spine.

"Wait, Enki...if we do this..."

Enki gently gripped Galah's muzzle, holding it shut. "Garrhh. Shuhhup."

Galah nodded, and the bear uncurled his paw. Holding the jackal in place, Enki began to ravish him in earnest, teeth and long tongue dragging over his shoulders, gnawing gently. Enki's tongue flicked against Galah's nipple, and the jackal yipped quietly. Enki's claws raked across Galah's chest, straddling the threshold between pleasurable stimulation and pain. Galah tilted back his head to meet Enki's muzzle in a hungry kiss, their tongues briefly entangling, all wet warmth and smoothness. Beneath him, Enki's hardness prodded the jackal's rump. Galah found his own cock fully drawn and erect; he could not help it.

The bear seemed to be interested in every inch and surface of Galah, and did not hesitate to explore them. Galah found himself manhandled and turned over as Enki's snuffling muzzle and curious tongue traced over all of the jackal's body, sampling his fur and scars, his hardened nipples, his pawpads and footpads, even licking under his tail and over his ballsac. Enki's tongue finally coiled and slid in an almost serpentine way over his shaft, tickling at the head and making Galah moan involuntarily. Enki's huge, pink cock was not far from Galah's face, a good eight inches of erect bearflesh. I've never been with a bear, thought the jackal, and wondered why he hadn't tried it sooner.

And then Enki took Galah's cock into his muzzle, and the feeling of that banished all thoughts from the jackal's mind. The sensations were heavenly, that long tongue wrapping around and milking his hardness, the back-and-forth within the bear's mouth. Even the sharp fangs, which gently rubbed against his cock from time to time, provided a certain pleasure. Enki worked Galah's cock with great devotion, sucking firmly each time his lips receded only to push his face back onto it. Galah could feel his knot beginning to bulge, his hips jerking, his slippery precum leaking out.

Galah took Enki's cock in hand and began to stroke it, and Enki groaned deeply. Determined to return the favor, Galah swallowed the huge member as much as he could, almost gagging from the size. The taste of Enki was like nothing he'd ever had before, and Galah had sampled many a species. Wild was the only word that sufficiently described it. There was something feral and deep about the taste of the bear's cock, something so basic it defied proper words. This was the taste of the wilderness, the jungle, the night, madness itself. It was a madness Galah gratefully gave himself unto.

They rocked back and forth, hips thrusting, thick musky lust suffusing the already moist air of that secret place, caught in endless cycle of lust. The bear was leaking an enormous amount of pre into Galah's muzzle, enough that Galah almost mistook it for his climax. But that was still to come; the bear was still thrusting, his heavy body swaying with the effort, while he frantically suckled the jackal's cock, whimpering as he did so. The bear's claws curled tightly, pricking Galah's hide, crossing into outright pain, almost drawing blood, nearly opening the scars that had so carefully healed, but Galah didn't care. He thrusted harder and harder until the sensations burst into ecstacy in his loins and his cum spurted out into the bear's muzzle. His control was gone; he jerked again and again, emptying load after load.

Enki suddenly opened his muzzle wide to roar savagely, and in the same instant the bear's huge cock erupted in Galah's muzzle, firing a flood of thick, hot cum into Galah's throat. The bellow seemed loud enough to shake the very mountains in the distance. "RYAAHHHHH!!"

The roar echoed throughout the jungle, diminishing just as their shivering, thrashing climaxes ebbed and gave way to dull bliss.

Galah didn't think he would be up for any further romps like that after such a climax, but incredibly enough, after the rest of an hour, he found himself eager for more, and Enki was all too glad to oblige. Perhaps the company of beasts made him a beast as well. The sex carried on for hours upon hours, until the pair collapsed in a tired, satiated daze of overwhelming pleasure. By the end there was barely any conscious thought left in Galah's mind, only sensations and raw, primal emotions and the feel of Enki's fur and tongue and cock.

As they rested in their secret little place behind the waterfall, Galah nestled into the still-damp fur of Enki's chest. The feeling of simple comfort combined with the afterglow of such wild fun filled Galah with a warmth he had not felt in a long while. There had been no time to rest and savor the moment with Luwak; that time they had made love urgently, knowing the imminent peril that the morning would bring. Here, even though he knew it could not last forever, Galah could at least pretend it would. He was not normally one for such flights of fancy, but it was only upon stopping did he realize already how tired he was of running.

Yet who had chosen this life for him? It was not the Adi's fault, nor was it Luwak's. He alone had cast his fate, and now he was walking that road. Perhaps now that his trail had grown cold, Baji and the other trackers would give up and return to Anagari. Galah doubted it, though. Even if the trackers longed to give up the chase, Bharis probably would not let him slip through his fingers so easily. The young tiger was vengeful, and prone to grudges.

Enki was snoring softly, having dozed off while Galah silently ruminated. The bear was so warm, and his broad chest was so soft and wonderful. Galah nuzzled the fur, which looked darker now that all the grime had been washed from his body. Except for one area in the middle of Enki's chest, which was sort of cream-colored...

Galah blinked. There was a cream-colored mark on Enki's chest...and it was shaped like a V. The jackal opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was no need to awaken Enki just yet. They would have time to plan their next move. Things were not over just yet, but the last piece of the puzzle had just tumbled into place for Galah. The bitterness of the truth felt like a cold weight in Galah's stomach, but the jackal rested against the great bear and closed his eyes. Time enough for troubles later. This was a good moment in a lifetime of worries, and Galah was not about to let the moment get away from him.

Together, by the glow of light shining through the curtains of mist and water, they slept.

Over a dinner of roasted fish in the ruins of the temple, Galah spoke. "Enki...do you trust me?"

"Ruhh."

"I have a plan, but you must do all that I say and not be afraid, no matter how frightful it may seem."

The great bear shifted a bit and looked at Galah questioningly, but nodded. "Ruh...?"

"Are there wild govi-beasts in these jungles? Do you know of what kind I speak?" Galah gestured with his hands. "They are fat and slow and of simple minds, and they eat only leaves. The ghati often prey upon the govi."

Sudden comprehension dawned on Enki's wild face. "RUHH! Ushwa-ungmff!"

"Yes, it is as you say...I think. Bring me a male govi that is old and ready to fall. I must sacrifice it, and I would not kill a youngling or a mother. We must both cover ourselves in its blood, so that it appears we were both in a terrible battle -- the battle I was sent to wage against you."

Enki nodded slowly. It seemed he did not entirely grasp the point of such an action, and that was fine. Galah did not expect Enki to understand, nor was it truly necessary.

"I know it is an ugly and disrespectful thing to do with the blood of a creature, but I have a purpose," said Galah. "When this is done and you are ready, I will give you a bit of the dhathuri-powder, and you will sleep for a little while."

Enki shook his head violently. "NUH! Nuh nuh NUHHH!"

Galah blinked. "You fear the dhathuri?"

Enki nodded, and tried to explain, but his nervous mutterings were nigh-incoherent. The jackal could not make head or tail of what the bear said.

"Wait, Enki. Hear me out. I would not harm you or let harm come to you. Surely you believe that. Now that I know you and your plight, now that we have grown close, I would defend you to my last breath. But you must let me do this; it is for your own good, to put an end to your troubles and those of the village."

The bear's claws flexed and his brow furrowed, but after a moment's deliberation, Enki nodded. The bear reached out his paw, and the jackal put his hand in Enki's palm. Enki's claws closed over Galah's hand and squeezed tight.

Enki went out and found a suitable old govi, and Galah symbolically asked its forgiveness and then gave it a quick, merciful demise. He covered himself and Enki both in the lizard's blood and then draped the net over Enki, and let the bear get a good whiff of the powder. And so Enki fell into a deep sleep and took on the appearance of a lifeless, slain beast. The jackal rolled him with great effort into the hemp netting, and began the long trek through the jungle with Enki's inert form in tow.

The next morning, after the jubilation was over and the chief had sent the villagers to their huts, Galah and the chief moved Enki's form onto the woven carrier. The carrier had thick branches that stuck out on all sides, serving as handles of a sort. The chief took hold of the handles in the front, and Galah took the ones in the back. Together they hefted Enki up. Galah noticed that the chief, for an old man, had lifted his end of the carrier with ease.

"His strength comes from your bloodline, doesn't it?" asked Galah casually.

The chief had no reply. He simply started walking, and Galah kept up with him. They marched into the jungle, following a different path from the one Galah had taken to hunt Enki. This path took them downwards along a gentle slope, into a leafy ravine. The chief waited until they were well far from the village to speak, and when he finally spoke, Galah did not interrupt.

"In the time of my grandfather's grandfather," said the chief, "there was a season of heavy rains and terrible floods, and much of the village's good land was lost. Many horrible years of famine followed, and the village chief of the time laid down a new rule, one that was designed to preserve the future of the village: no couples were to have more than four children. It was the only way to make certain that we would always have enough to feed everyone. Eventually Arbhala opened trade with Anagari, and the village prospered once again. Yet the law had been in place for so long that it became a sacred law, and even though we no longer needed it, we felt it was proper to preserve it. You understand the need to respect the past, do you not, Galah?

"Enki -- or rather, the boy who would become known as Enki -- was not our fifth child; rather, he was our third. When my wife became with child for the fifth time, we knew what we had to do. If a villager breaks a sacred law, he is punished harshly; if a village chief breaks a sacred law, however, it might throw the village into chaos. We were not so heartless as to cast out a defenseless cub, however. At a mere four years of age, Enki already showed great strength and cunning. We believed that if we set him loose, there would be a strong chance of his survival. It was a terrible pain to us to have to do what we did, but I am the village chief, Galah -- I must uphold the law, or it means nothing. I gave Enki a little taste of the dhathuri, and took him far out into the jungle while the boy was senseless. I left him with food and a waterskin, and a bone-knife, and beseeched the gods that watch over us all to protect him. I told the village that the poor boy had been dragged off by a pack of ghati during a hunting expedition, and no one dared question my grief. When our fifth child was born the village hailed it as a blessing, perhaps even a reincarnation of the one we lost, and we said nothing. We bore the burden silently, Galah. You may think me a monster if you care to, but understand that I have suffered a thousandfold in silence for my decision. It broke my wife's heart, and she went to her grave cursing me and my folly. Even Enki's siblings do not know he is the great demon of our village. I took your coming as a sign from the gods that my redemption was near."

Galah stopped abruptly. The chief was unprepared for the stop and nearly stumbled, almost losing grip of Enki's carrier.

"You are the sorriest fool I have ever met," Galah growled in a low, furious tone. "I should not be surprised at your feeble-minded way of seeing things. Even now you twist truth to suit your selfish interests. It is only because you are the leader of this village and these people need you that you are spared my wrath. You have not redeemed yourself, not in the least. What do you think this is? Do you think we are simply going to take Enki far from your village, and abandon him once again?"

"What choice do we have?"

"For your village's sake, I will preserve your disgraceful little secret. However, I will not let you simply leave Enki. You will face him and look into his eyes when he awakens, or so help me, I will kill you. And if you are wise, you will repeal your foolish law while you are still the chief, so that this travesty will not be repeated by tomorrow's generations."

"I do not have to answer to you," growled the chief softly. For a fleeting instant, Galah saw in the chief a flicker of the ferocity that ran so rampant in Enki. But it faded quickly from the chief's face, tempered by age and sorrow and weariness. "But I will consider it. Come, we must make haste."

They came to a circle of ancient, overgrown stones, and paused to rest a moment. The stones were cracked and split by vines, and many had fallen. The designs upon the stones were very similar to those of the temple ruins, and Galah guessed they were of the same age. Glimmers of morning light shone through the canopy above, illuminating motes in the air.

"I brought him here," the chief said softly, his ursine face tight. "I left him here. Here, Galah...in this forbidden place, where my ancestors once made bloody sacrifices. Here stood the altar of the wild god Enki."

Galah drew his sword and aimed it right at the chief. "And now you will wait here, for your village's demon to awaken."

"How dare you --"

"ENOUGH!" barked Galah. "DO NOT TEST ME!"

The jackal's outburst was enough to frighten the chief into silence. The elder bear's hands clenched into thick, frustrated fists, but he said no more and stood his ground.

They waited. The sun drew towards its zenith, and the jungle became warm, the air heavy. Enki began to stir, and Galah went to him, quickly cutting open the netting and disentangling him from it. Enki moaned and opened his eyes, the pupils wide and unfocused. The great beast squinted and uttered an inarticulate grunt of annoyance.

"Enki, I am here," whispered Galah. "Do not be afraid...you are safe. Be calm."

"Garrhhhhh?" Enki said dazedly. "Garrah? Whuffuf?"

"It is done," said Galah. "You are free...but before you go, there is someone here to see you."

Enki turned his head slowly...and then sat bolt-upright the moment he caught sight of the chief. The sudden movement nearly threw Galah off-balance. The chief took a step back, his eyes widening. Enki blinked at the chief, his mouth struggling to form a long-forgotten word. "Dhhh...daaahh...DA!"

"My son...forgive me..." the chief buried his face in his hands, trembling. "I am so sorry..."

"DA! DAADAHHHH!!" Enki reared up, then lunged at his father. The chief recoiled, and even Galah flinched, momentarily fearing the worst. But there was no swipe of the mighty paw, no blood spilt. Enki enfolded his shaggy arms around the chief and hugged him close to his huge frame, the great beast bursting into tears. Enki's chest heaved as he cried out his father's name inarticulately, and it was not long before the chief was weeping as well.

Galah sheathed his sword, and let out a deep breath. Father and son embraced, their bitter roles forgotten.

"Chief. You must promise you will visit Enki from time to time, and be kind to him. We both know he cannot return to your village, but...perhaps this is all he needs."

"I swear to it, Galah," the chief said in a humbled, choked voice.

"And Enki...you must swear you will not harrow your birthplace any longer. Your days of running with the ghati are done...you can find a gentler life."

"Arrshwrrrrhh," said Enki softly, his tone sounding vaguely affirmative. Galah wasn't entirely sure how much Enki comprehended here, but he hoped it was enough.

"Good," said the jackal. "Then I take my leave now."

"Wait," said the chief. "Where will you go? The danger may have passed, but you are still a fugitive. Adi Bharis has placed a bounty upon your head. Why not stay with us? Perhaps you could live here in the jungle, with Enki...no one would search for you in a demon-haunted jungle."

"And keep him company?" Galah smiled. "It is indeed tempting. Perhaps I shall return here, when my journey is done. But for now I have someone else to find, someone far away who waits for me. And to protect your village and Enki, I can tell you no more than that."

The chief nodded mutely. Enki turned his head to regard Galah, and it seemed the great beast did indeed understand all of what had been said. Enki had a look of sad acceptance on his face, his thick, fuzzy brow furrowed. Father and son let go of one another for a moment, and Enki lumbered over to Galah and swept the jackal up in a bone-creaking hug.

"I shall miss you, my friend," whispered Galah, quiet enough that the chief could not hear. "My lover."

"Garrah..." said Enki in a husky, low voice, tenderly licking Galah's face. "Luvooh."

Galah nuzzled Enki's face, then gently disengaged himself. The great beast was very reluctant to let Galah go, but eventually he set the jackal down and padded back to his father's side.

"Galah," said the chief. "Stop by the village before you leave, and ask them for a new cloak...they wish to reward you, and you need one, after all. And the mask of Enki in my hut...take it with you. I do not wish to keep it any longer. I am forever indebted to you for all you have done...I pray your journey go well."

Enki glanced at his father, and then imitated him, bowing clumsily. "Jurrhgowarrrhh."

"Goodbye, chief. Goodbye, Enki." Galah took one last lingering look at them, silently hoping that things would go well once he was gone. There was still a nagging feeling in his heart that nothing was certain. Part of him very much wanted to stay and care for Enki. He had not felt such a powerful concern for anyone since Bharis's younger days. The chance to steer another's life towards good, to teach him, to love him...

No. He had done a great deal already. Now it was time to trust in providence. Galah solemnly raised his hand in farewell, and the two bears before him did the same. It was interesting: father and son looked so much more alike now than before.

Galah turned and began the long trek out of the jungle. Luwak was still waiting for him somewhere, far to the west, in some unknown city that smelled of palm and spice and dreams.