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Chapter 9: Wilderness

The skies had been dark for a long time before Rigby finally arrived. Tuco supposed Etreon must not have heard his request for clothes, and so was sitting, naked and shivering near the door. He'd spent the hours since he'd moved the final stone hopelessly calling for Belphegor and then, after a long while of no response, spending time trying to become accustomed to his new, massive frame. Although it felt heavy on his bones and joints, and though he could feel the weight of his body in the pressure on his soles, moving about took practically no energy, and he found that not only could he walk and even leap easily, he could roll forward and balance on his hands with no difficulty. Experimenting, he found that he could hold his weight upside down on only one hand, and then, admittedly with some wobbling, push himself up and down. His thighs had already begun to chafe from walking, and so he developed a rolling, side-to-side kind of walk that let them step around each other, although this gait also made his newly broad shoulders sway even more, and had the unfortunate tendency to squash his sac between his thighs at random moments. Clearly, it would take some getting used to.

Once he'd tired of that, he sat down against one wall and waited, mulling over what had happened to him and what he had to do. He wished Pike were there to bounce ideas off of. When Rigby finally entered, he didn't notice Tuco at first, and his eyes went wide when he saw that all of the stones had been moved. The heaviest had left spots behind, little shapes of encrusted rock, moss, and lichen. “Incredible," he breathed, and then he turned and saw Tuco rising to a stand against the wall. His eyes widened again, and then hooded with understanding and disappointment.

“So you finished. But look at you." He sighed. “I had thought better of you, Tuco."

“It wasn't my fault," Tuco protested. “I didn't--" He stopped himself. There was no point in arguing, for he could not tell Rigby about the devil's curse, that it had nothing to do with temptation, and even if he could, he doubted Rigby would believe him. Not when every apprentice and Brother here eventually fell victim to the same fate. He sighed. “I tried. I really did."

Rigby turned back toward the door. “Come on. Let's go back. You can use those rags to cover yourself." And, saying no more, he led Tuco back through the Abbey, Tuco clutching the clothes he had once been able to wear around his waist to preserve some sense of modesty.

In the dormitory, most of the apprentices were asleep, so Tuco was able to avoid disturbing most of them, though he did catch the sounds of several hissing gasps as the more nocturnal of them caught sight of his changed form. He started to climb the ladder to his bunk, but the rungs creaked alarmingly, and then the whole bed groaned as if about about to split.

“Who is that?" Pike's voice came from the bottom bunk. He rubbed his eyes with furry paws and blinked in the darkness. “...Tuco? That can't be you."

“It's me. Another devil came. It--"

“Etreon told me you'd been changed, but I had no idea." Pike sat up. “Look at you! You're a giant. At least… sideways. You'll have to tell me about it, but perhaps in the morning?"

“All right."

“I don't think you can sleep up there, though. You'll collapse the whole thing on top of me. What do you weigh now?"

Tuco shrugged his heavy shoulders and the bulge of his traps pressed into his neck. “Etreon thought more than twenty stone, but I… I grew again after that."

Pike made a low whistle with his tongue. “Hold on a minute. I need to go talk to Rigby." He dashed away from the bed with astonishing speed, out of sight before the blanket had settled back to his pallet. Tuco took the opportunity to wrap a blanket around his waist.

A few minutes later, Pike returned. “Come with me," he said, and he led Tuco to the far corner of the dorms and through the door into the hallway with the room that Elf stayed in. “Officially these rooms are only for apprentices that have specific… conditions… that prevent them from rooming comfortably with others. But since we don't have any other place for you to sleep tonight, Rigby said you could take one for now."

He opened a door past Elf's room and led Tuco inside. “Light is here, you see?" A candle hung in a bracket on the wall, but it hung upside down. Pike swiveled it upright with one paw and its flame flickered to life. Then he stared at Tuco. “You're… incredible."

Embarrassed, Tuco rubbed at the back of his neck, which felt nothing like he remembered, huge arcs of muscle meeting near the base of his skull. His shoulder and biceps and forearm all competed for space, and left him barely able to reach it. “Grotesque?" he asked worriedly.

Pike raised his brows and then pointedly looked down at his rising pink erection. “Guess not. But I doubt any Unchanged in the whole world has ever been as brawny as you. The horns, the tongue, the cute little fangs, those were all just accessories, but you're one of us all the way now."

“It should go back to normal if I can just find the devil that did this to me and defeat him, I think. All my fat and size did after Belzebub." And Tuco related in detail the events of the day: the task, the approach of the devil, and the curse that grew him each time he attempted a more difficult feat of strength. Pike nodded all the while, but his eyes kept straying over Tuco's body, watching the bend of an arm, the shift of a leg, the twist of a hip.

“So by some measure we must call back this Lord Belphegor fellow, and then either convince him to rescind his gift or destroy him."

Tuco nodded. The lateness of the hour was beginning to weary him.

“But none of us can summon a demon or a devil on our own," Pike said.

“I might be able to. I summoned that one by mistake in Ritual. Maybe… whatever has happened to me gives me the ability to call them?"

“And surely that's how they are finding and targeting you. But you'd need to know the exact elements to summon a specific demon. They're sure to be rare and expensive if we're summoning a proper devil, and I've never even heard of a Lord Belphegor. There might be something about him in the library, but we're not allowed in. And even if we could find the name of the devil and the rite needed to summon him, it's still tremendously dangerous to summon a devil. And we have no idea how to defeat him. We'd be putting the entire Abbey in terrible danger."

“Then what am I to do?"

“Perhaps you don't need to do anything?" Pike suggested. “This change is different, but it's far from bad, don't you think? Not everyone will like it, but I find it highly pleasing, and Etreon can't stop talking about you. I think he may be smitten. And what's wrong with being stronger than a team of oxen?"

“But my body already feels… cramped and overstuffed. What if I grow again?"

“Just don't attempt any task more difficult than moving those stones. Don't… try to pick up a ship's anchor or punch down a building or jump up into the heavens or something."

Tuco considered that for a minute and shuddered at the idea of what he'd become if he tried. “It still seems risky."

“Not that risky. You're in Abyssus Abbey. What do we do all day besides learn, pray, and occasionally summon terrifying creatures from the void?"

“I suppose so," Tuco said reluctantly. “But I just can't help worrying that Lord Belphegor won't let it stop here. He did this to me for a reason. But trying to live with it is better than risking everyone's safety. You're right." He yawned. “I should sleep."

Pike stepped a little closer. “I don't suppose you'd like a little pleasure before you sleep? I'd love to feel those arms around me. Why, I daresay you could easily just hold me in the air while you rutted me." He smoothed his fingers across Tuco's chest and shivered. “With no difficulty at all."

“It sounds nice, but I'm just too tired. Besides, Etreon and I fucked earlier and I'm spent."

The rabbit-man shook his head in mock dismay. “You poor humans. No stamina at all."

Tuco settled onto the pallet on the floor. “Maybe tomorrow, eh?" he said with a yawn.

“Sure, if I can prise Etreon off of you. Good night, Tuco."

---

Tuco woke up ravenous. He hadn't slept well, either--there seemed no comfortable position for his new, bulky body. His upper back and rump were so thick now that lying on his back left space beneath his lower back, and that began to arch and ache, and his head couldn't actually reach the pillows. But if he slept on his side, his enormous shoulder got in the way. He'd have to get some extra pallets and try to arrange something more comfortable.

When he opened the door, he saw that someone--Pike, probably--had very thoughtfully left fresh clothing outside. Whatever enchantment provided fresh clothes and linens had managed to create both a tunic and a set of robes in Tuco's new size, but it hadn't accounted very well for his changed dimensions, and none of the clothes fit well. The sleeves tugged and pulled awkwardly no matter how he rearranged them, the robes kept sliding down the yoke-like arches of his traps, and the whole thing hung awkwardly off of his chest and upper back like a collapsing carnival tent. Besides which, a few minutes of wearing either tunic or robe and he was getting too warm; this new body produced heat far more than his usual skinny one did. After some deliberation, he decided to tear the sleeves off of the tunic and wear it with the chest open, tying the whole thing at the waist with the belt from the robe. It looked a little ridiculous, he decided, but it was at least comfortable, and the HMS Not Looking Ridiculous had sailed out of the harbor a long time ago now.

Clad, he passed through the hallway and entered the main dormitory. He kept his gaze low and tried not to attract any attention, but the room seemed a lot quieter than it should be this time of the morning. Whispers darted around the large room like dragonflies. He was halfway to the door before someone stepped in his path, and he looked up to see the scowling face of Walstein, flanked by two of his cronies, Erlin and Branst. His long, black hair had been tied into a braid, and his right hand was thickly wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.

“Well look what happened to the poor little devil boy," Walstein sneered. He turned to the apprentice on his right. “Couldn't hack his little chore, so got a demon to help him out. Or maybe he was just scared of getting his face shoved in. What you think, Erlin? Temptation of safety?"

Erlin was a tall, gangly youth who hovered in midair on nearly invisible, buzzing wings. A recent ritual gone wrong had left him with black, dome-like eyes and a long, segmented tail with a stinger at the end of it. No one had ever been stung by Erlin, and no one was sure what would happen if they were. Current beliefs suggested that either the stung person would die in horrible agony, or that the sting itself would tear out, killing Erlin like a bee, or both. That tail swayed dangerously back and forth, and Tuco watched it, entranced. What would it be like to have another limb one could control, he thought, and then decided he'd better not wonder lest he find out.

“Safety," Erlin agreed in his thin, reedy voice. “Or power. Maybe he thinks he can trounce you now."

“I'd like to see him try." Walstein put his left hand on Tuco's shoulder and shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back several paces. Tuco didn't dare even think about trying to resist, lest this be a new feat of strength that would provoke another growth. “All that muscle, but he's still just a mouse. You think you're stronger than me, mouse?"

“I don't know," Tuco answered mildly.

Walstein smacked his bandaged right fist into his left palm, and only a very faint twitch of his eye indicated the pain that had cost him. “This fist put a hole through the Abbey wall. The stone wall."

Tuco reached up and touched his left horn, trying to ignore the flurry of gasps around the room as his arm bulged. “And this horn put a hole in that fist. Why isn't that healed, by the way?" he asked hastily, as Walstein's face had begun to turn a threatening shade of purple. “Didn't you go see Brother Hofstaed?"

“His medicine didn't work," Walstein growled. “He doesn't know why."

“I'm sorry to hear that. I never meant to injure you."

“But we all know why, don't we?" Walstein looked to Erlin and then the rest of the room. “Because it's devil magic. He's even got a devil name. Witchywine. And he's been working with the demons. They can't move about under the Gasen, but he can and does it. Sneaking around all hours of the night, doing their dirty work. He cursed Charo, he did. We all saw it. And stabbed me with his horn. What else is he up to, eh? What happened to Brother Melvin? And why ain't anybody seen Lord Krastor in a fortnight? Cause he's doin' 'em in."

“It's not true at all, I swear to you," Tuco said. “Working with the devils? I'm just trying to survive them, same as the rest of you."

“Only you're not the same, are you, devil boy? You got them horns, and I swear on Eman's Blood something's wrong with your tongue. Since you got here, things have been happening more. You called up that demon in Ritual. We know you did it. Well?" He shoved Tuco again, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

“Hey, easy, Walstein, leave the kid alone," Pike said, pushing his way through the crowd.

Walstein leered. “Yeah we all know why you're on his side, rabbit. You been slutting it up all over this place and now you finally found a pervert who will fuck animals on the regular."

Pike flinched, and then straightened up, standing very still. His voice was as hard as ice. “I am not an animal."

The room had gone very quiet at that, and Tuco suspected that Walstein had committed some unspoken taboo. Most in the room were just as Changed as Pike, many with bestial features. Many had lost one-time friends and companions to the Change, and all of them were staring down that inevitable fate themselves.

Walstein himself seemed to sense that he had spoken unwise, for he stepped back, forcing his face into a casual grin. “Oh come on now, I was only joking. We all like Pike, don't we, fellas?" Erlin and Branst nodded, and the room relaxed a little.

“You, though," Walstein said, pointing a sausage finger at Tuco. “Don't think I won't be watching you. I wouldn't go anywhere alone anymore if I were you. It's an old building, full of demons. It's not safe. You could fall. Out a hole. In the wall." And for emphasis, he clenched his bandaged fist. Tuco breathed in as he walked past him, and could taste blood on the air. And an intense desire for vengeance.

---

He was glad of the chance to wash. He could tell he reeked of sweat after his labors yesterday, which it seemed the rain had done little to wash off. The washroom was full of other apprentices pointedly not looking at him, but when he removed his de-sleeved tunic, he heard a gasped whimper behind him and turned to see Etreon, eyes wide. The apprentice had woken up a shiny, silver color this morning, even his hair and eyes, and was nude for the baths, his erection twitching dryly in the air as he stared at Tuco.

He looked down, embarrassed. “You got even bigger," he murmured. “I had to see."

“Yes, well." Tuco surveyed his body, able to see little past his chest. He didn't dare look at himself in the mirrors yet. “Let us hope it's the last time."

He climbed up the steps to one of the wooden baths, which was already steaming with scented water, and tried to settle in, but found to his dismay that he could not fit in it comfortably. The wooden sides of the tub nearly met his lats and left little room for his arms or shoulders. So, ruefully, he climbed back out and, shivering and wet, made his way down to the tub on the end that was sized for the Abbey's larger apprentices. That at least had plenty of room, and he settled into it with a sigh. His body wasn't sore, exactly, but it was tense, and the heat of the water eased that tension out of his muscles bit by bit.

Washing himself proved an opportunity for exploration; his muscles made thick bulges and crevices that he had to learn, that were part of him now, at least for the time being. And the bulkiness of his new shape made reaching some parts difficult; he could scarcely wash his neck, and reaching any part of his back proved to be completely impossible. He struggled for a while, groping and straining to try to reach it, but where once he'd been able to reach any part of his back, now he could barely touch it at all.

He was wondering if he was just going to have to be dirty back there forever, when he heard a small voice ask, “Could I help you with that, Master Witchywine?"

He looked over to see Etreon's wistful face staring at him over the top of the tub. “Master? It's--it's Tuco, Etreon, you know that."

Etreon looked down, probably blushing, though it was impossible to tell with his silvery skin. “I know. I kind of have my own thing happening with this. There are things I've always wanted, and now here you are, and you're--" He practically squeaked the last words. “Nice to me. So could I… I mean, would you like me to wash your back for you?"

It would be almost cruel to refuse him, Tuco thought. He slid forward and let Etreon step into the tub behind him. The boy's skin was strangely gritty today, like worked stone, and his hands felt almost tiny sliding across the expanse of Tuco's back. His breaths came in uneven little pants and about halfway through, his hands suddenly tensed, both of them gripping at Tuco's back with rough fingers, and then something warm splashed onto the middle of Tuco's back. He turned his head, but couldn't see much behind him. “Did you just--"

Etreon's voice sounded panicked. “Sorry, Master W… Master Tuc… I mean, I'm so sorry, Tuco. I didn't mean to. It just happened!"

Amused, Tuco answered, “Well, no better place than with plenty of soap and water handy. Clean it up."

A pause. “Yes, Alkeides." The words sounded a little excited and breathless. The hands resumed their scrubbing of his back and when they reached down to his backside, there was a pause. “Is there anything else you want help with?"

Tuco looked down at his lathered chest and hard stomach. “I can get the rest myself, I think. Thank you, Etreon."

“All right," came a somewhat disappointed voice. “I'll see you in Ritual?"

“Of course."

Etreon used Tuco's shoulder for a handhold as he pulled himself up out of the bath. He gave Tuco a long look as he wrapped a towel about his middle to hide his erection, but he still had to exit the bathroom hunched over slightly.

Tuco finished washing up and toweled himself off as best as he was able, catching glimpses of his impossibly wide figure in the mirrors as he did so. He put his tunic back on, and as he headed to the washroom exit, thought he heard whispered voices and the slap of bare feet on stone. Something was up, he thought, and so he was on guard as he left the washroom.

It was only that alertness that warned him of Walstein's enormous fist swinging down toward him like the hammer of doom. He ducked back and felt the wind of the blow swinging past him. Walstein lurched a couple of steps past the doorway, carried by his own momentum, but pivoted and came after Tuco again, barreling at him like a charging bull, his long, black braid trailing behind him.

Tuco froze, trying to decide in an eternal second which way to bolt, and what good it could do. He doubted he could outrun Walstein; this body was clumsy and awkward, and he wasn't used to it yet. Even walking in it was uncomfortable. He twitched from right to left, trying to decide, and then it was too late: the powerful apprentice swung his hamhock of a fist down toward Tuco with enough force to send him to sleep.

Tuco reached up and caught the fist with one hand. He hadn't expected to do it; it just happened. Instinct took over, and the next thing he knew, he was gripping Walstein's powerful fist in his own smaller hand. The apprentice's weight and momentum was far more than Tuco could handle and would have knocked him to the floor, but instead he gripped, swiveled on both feet, and flung Walstein past him into the wall of the washroom. There was a sickening crunch and a chorus of sympathetic groans from the hallway. Walstein staggered back from the wall, clutching at his face, his eyes streaming. Blood flowed from under his hand, down his chin.

But Tuco's whole body had tensed, every muscle flexing. There was the sound of tearing fabric. A flood of pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. And then, in front of all the apprentices gathered in the hallway, before Walstein, who had dropped to his knees in agony, he grew.

---

“Tuco?" Pike's voice came from outside his room. “I'm coming in."

Tuco sighed and pushed himself up on one elbow as his friend entered the room. “Etreon was already here today," he said. “But I could probably go again."

“I'm not here for sex," Pike said. “Well. I mean, unless you're interested. But not only sex." He and Etreon had apparently worked out some kind of arrangement with each other to get around Tuco's limited stamina. Some days Pike would show up, and others Etreon, and Tuco was never quite certain which it was going to be, but he enjoyed them both. Pike was sassy and a little experimental and always wanting to try something different--Tuco had particularly enjoyed the time he'd lifted Pike up and fucked him against a wall--but Etreon was often wide-eyed and stammering and preferred just to explore Tuco's body or even be given commands. Still he could seldom manage more than one a day, at least for extended periods, so the two of them had worked out a schedule.

“What do you want?" He sat up, his legs folded as much as they could be in front of him.

Pike sat next to him and put a furry paw on one knee. “You need to stop doing this."

“Doing what?"

“You know what I mean. Hiding out in here. Not socializing with others. Not going to class. They're docking your pay, you know. Your family's not getting a coin."

“I know."

“But you still wait in here. You wait until everyone's in class to go wash and eat, and then you just come back here and hide out. It's not right, Tuco. It's not healthy. You'll go mad in here."

Tuco sighed. “You know why I can't risk it." He spread his arms wide. Each bulged nearly as thick as his waist had once been.

“I know, I know." Pike met his gaze. “There's a risk you'll grow again. But this place is risky. You know that. And it's not the worst thing in the world. You're a little… unusually large, but you're still very attractive. Etreon can barely say your name--well, barely say Alkeides' name--without standing to attention in his tunic."

“He does have his predilections," Tuco agreed.

“And so do I. I'm very fond of you, you know that. But you can't just lie around here for the rest of your life."

“You haven't found out anything about Belphegor?"

Pike shook his head. “We can't even find the library. The door hasn't been seen since Lord Krastor went missing. Maybe we're not going to. Maybe this is it. But you still need to come out and live… as normal a life as you get in Abyssus. Come be around people again."

“And what if Walstein attacks me again? What if something else happens? What if I'm so big I can't move?"

The rabbit-man looked around the small room. “Would that be any different than now? Tuco, there's one thing I don't think you're considering."

“What?"

“That maybe this is exactly what this Belphegor devil wants."

“What do you mean?"

“Well, he said he was going to make your life easy. Temptation of Ease, right?" Pike shrugged. “And now you lie around every day, only making an effort for food and sex and to wash yourself. Doesn't that sound like sloth to you?"

Tuco blinked. “I… that hadn't occurred to me."

“The creature made you strong, but he also made you afraid to do anything. I mean, look at this room." Pike stared around pointedly at the extra pallet that Tuco had dragged into the room, the pillows piled high so he could lie down comfortably, the blankets. Platters were stacked in one corner so Tuco could take his meals in his room without risking confrontation with another apprentice--and he'd been eating much more now that he had so much extra muscle to fuel. “You need to start leaving the room, mate. You need to start working, or ease is going to get you. I don't know what that devil has planned for you, but are you sure this isn't it?"

Tuco looked around glumly. Pike was right--he'd been doing nothing for days now, and had no plans to change until Belphegor returned. He'd tried an impromptu summoning, tried screaming the devil's name, all to no effect, but he hadn't dared do more. And he was beginning to go a bit mad with boredom, to tell the truth.

Pike said, “Look, why is sloth a sin? Because it can lead to despair, yes? Because it can make you feel like no matter what you try, no matter what you do, you can't make a difference. It can become an excuse not to try. Ever. Anything. Until you're just lying in bed waiting for all difficulties to end." Pike put a soft-furred paw on his shoulder. “This place is dangerous for all of us. You can't hide from it. Trying to avoid it only leads you into another trap of the demons. It's best to just move forward and hope for the best."

With a sigh, Tuco reached out his hand. “You're right, Pike. You're a good friend to come and tell me this. I can't keep waiting for Belphegor to act. And besides, if I go to Ritual classes I might at least learn something that might help me fight him. I'll come out. Help me up?"

Pike took his hand with a dubious expression. “I don't think I can lift you now," he began and then collapsed into a giggle as Tuco pulled him down atop himself. “Not now, you sex fiend, I've got class any--"

He was interrupted by a sharp, mechanical rap at the door. “Tuco, are you there?" Rigby's voice called out from the hallway.

“Yes, just a minute." Tuco set Pike upright again and sprang to his feet. He pulled on his altered tunic and robe combination and opened the door to Rigby's expressionless mask of a face. “Listen, I know I've been in here a long time, and I'm sorry. I'm coming out to--"

“That's just fine," Rigby said. “But Brother Gabriel has expressed concern about your inability to get along with the other apprentices. The monastery needs more garnet for rituals. You and Walstein will be accompanying me to the garnet mines to retrieve more. It will be a three-day journey, minimum, and conditions may be severe. Go and see Brother Allen for supplies and meet us in the main cloister in one hour."

Tuco blinked. “What? But--"

“He has indicated that there will be no room for negotiation." Rigby looked Tuco up and down. “I will ensure that we bring extra provisions for your… dietary needs. One hour." And with that, he closed the door.

---

“God blind me," Walstein snarled for at least the twentieth time. “This is a fucking miserable excuse for an outing."

Tuco was already weary of hearing it even if he couldn't exactly disagree. The first few hours out of the confines of the Abbey had been a joy and relief, even if he was stuck sharing it with Walstein. The sky was so big and open, and the air smelled of rain and new grass, not stone and soot and mildew. And he hadn't been aware until he left how much the ever-present sense of demons, of malice, crawling through the walls had contributed to an abiding, oppressive feeling of claustrophobia. Those exhilarating moments had lasted for less than an hour though before the chill of the mountain air started blasting through their coats.

Nothing they'd had on-hand had fit Tuco, so they'd stitched together two separate coats, and the chill leaked through all the seams and filled it from beneath. And that was before the rain started. It had rained three separate times in one afternoon, and the wool cloaks they'd brought did little to shield them against precipitation blown sideways by the wind. They traveled along the gale-swept ridges of the mountain range, and Tuco was grateful at least that his body seemed to be nearly tireless, even though all had agreed that he should carry the bulk of their provisions on his broad back. Tuco would have liked to have run the course and saved them all some time, but Walstein's strength was flagging after several hours, and he could hardly find the route without Rigby. So they plodded along, enduring the cold, the wet, and the tedium.

From here, Tuco could see across deep valleys and many peaks, but in none of them was any sign of civilization, and he began to feel hopelessly isolated and alone. Neither of his companions seemed to be faring well either. Walstein had begun the journey with an ongoing tirade of insults and abuse, but now he was too exhausted to fight, his long, stringy black hair matted to his face and shoulders. And Rigby seemed somehow to be aging with every step, his face lining with creases, sagging, and silver beginning to streak through his hair.

Finally, as the sun slumped toward the horizon, Rigby deemed it time to find a camping spot, and they half-hiked, half-slid down the rocky side of a hill to find a sheltered spot below the tree line. They located an overhang in the mountainside where they were protected from rain and wind in three directions, and Rigby managed to rummage up firewood and generate a little heat and light for them all.

“When I get back to the Abbey," Walstein growled as he tried to pat out the lumps beneath his thin bedroll, “I am going to make your life hell, Witchywine."

“You do and you'll be back out here sooner than you'd like," Rigby warned, stoking the fire. He'd tried to position it so that the smoke would roll up and over the cliff rather than choking them, but there was a constant hiss as raindrops pelted it. “The only reason you two are out here is because you cannot get along."

Walstein spat into the fire. “It's a sin to get along with demons. And what's happening with you anyway, Rigby? You look a hundred years old."

He was not exaggerating. The lines in Rigby's face had deepened and spread, and his flesh sagged. He moved stiffly, with a hunch, and the silver in his hair had lightened to a solid white. Even his voice had begun to quaver and crack when he spoke. “I do not require sustenance to get through the day as I did when I was made of flesh," he said, stepping back from the fire. “But I do begin to wind down, especially when traveling long distances or engaged in tasks of considerable effort."

Tuco nestled up to the fire, hoping to dry out his wet clothes a little. “Wind down? Like a clock, you mean? How do you wind up again? Do you need help?"

“I would find assistance with that task… distasteful," Rigby said with a shudder. “I usually manage on my own, in my quarters, as experience has taught me that others find the procedure unsettling. Out here, there is little privacy to be found. Still, I may as well tend to the task now. You may look away if you like."

Walstein snorted, “Whatever," and hunched over the fire, rubbing his meaty hands together, but Tuco turned to watch Rigby with no small level of curiosity.

“What happens if you don't do it?" he asked.

“What happens to anyone else. I grow very old and cease to function."

“If that happens, could you be wound up again and brought back to life? Or would you die?"

Rigby gave him a hard stare. “Now, how could I be expected to know that?" He reached up and placed both hands on his head, his right on the back of his head, his left on his forehead, and then, without pause, he twisted his whole head anti-clockwise. Tuco winced, expecting a crack, or for the clockwork man to drop to the ground, lifeless or paralyzed, but instead, Rigby's entire head rotated all the way around, as if on a wheel, the back of his head facing them. Small wonder others found this disturbing to see--a head should not be twisted around that way. But Rigby's arms kept moving, twisting his head again, his expressionless face circling by as he wound his head around and around on his neck. As he worked, the white bled out of his hair, the wiry tangles of his beard and eyebrows neatening and shortening. The hunch straightened out of his back, his bony arms fleshed out with muscle, and each time his face slid by, the flesh was tighter, the wrinkles smoothed out.

“That's amazing!" Tuco said, and ignored a belabored groan from Walstein. “How many times do you have to do that to get… back where you were?"

“One full turn for a full turn of the seasons," Rigby answered.

“So each twist is a year. How young can you go?"

“I have not tested this. One assumes that beyond a certain age, one would forget how to continue, or lack the motility of limbs to perform the function." By now he appeared hale and strong, in his thirties at least, but he kept turning. “Seldom do I regress myself very young, as it draws too much attention, and I find myself motivated by a certain… youthful impropriety that ill befits one with my responsibilities. But as rigorous travel makes strenuous demands on my internal works, today I will risk a little adolescent impetuosity." He stood, and his body now looked lean and strong, and he carried himself with a youthful vigor that Tuco had not seen before.

“Oh, I see," Tuco said. “All those times when you showed up looking such a different age, now it--"

“Quiet," Rigby interrupted him, holding up a hand. “Both of you. Be still. Did you hear that?"

Tuco shook his head, and Walstein grunted, “Hear what?"

Rigby lifted a hand and peered out into the fading light. For a moment, all was very quiet. There was only the crackle of the fire and the roar of the wind. And then Tuco heard what had captured Rigby's attention: a loud crashing and thumping, as of several large creatures moving through the underbrush. Rigby abruptly dropped to a crouch and motioned the two of them over.

On his hands and knees, Tuco crept over to Rigby and peered down the mountainside toward the sounds, Walstein close on his heels. Down the slope, he saw nearly a score of enormous creatures trampling through the bushes. They walked upright, like humans, but there the resemblance ended. Each stood at least twelve feet tall by Tuco's estimation, and they were massively muscled, far more than he. He might be beyond the limits of what a typical human could carry on one frame, but these creatures were built for power--their shoulders wider, their huge, pillar-like arms reaching nearly to the ground, their chests barrels. Their legs seemed short for their bodies, and their backs and shoulders were hunched, giving them a stooped, swaying walk. Their bodies were thickly matted with light grey hair, and between their shoulders were small, dome-like heads with beady eyes, out-thrust lower jaws, and huge, yellow tusks.

“What are they?" Tuco whispered. “Trolls?"

“Ogres," Rigby whispered back. “A whole herd of them." He pointed to the smaller ones--children, Tuco supposed, scampering around their parents' legs and tussling with each other. “They were supposed to have been cleared out of this area, but I suppose they've wandered back. We had better exercise caution. I need no sleep, so I will remain on watch tonight."

Walstein curled his upper lip as though comparing his own tusks. “They don't seem so dangerous."

“They enjoy the taste of man-flesh when they can get it."

Tuco shrank down into the grass. “That's horrible. Won't they spot us?"

Rigby's mouth was a flat line. “They'll have seen the smoke and smelled the fire. But they do not love it. It's the best way to keep them at bay. Go back to the fire and remain motionless. And pray for a rainless night."

---

Their prayers were answered, but Tuco slept fitfully all the same, waking up multiple times from dreams of one of those enormous, man-shaped things snuffling at him from the darkness, once even with its mouth around his lower leg. And twice Walstein woke him in the middle of the night with kicks that set him screaming in alarm, terrified that he was waking to an attack. He roused finally to a cold, dewy morning and Rigby sizzling up dried pork and eggs over the dying embers of the fire.

After a very salty breakfast and more petty jibes from Walstein, they wrapped themselves in damp cloaks, Tuco shouldered their pack, and they set off again, just in time for another dreary early morning rainshower. The journey was harder that day. The wet had got into Tuco's boots, and what had been gentle rubbing against his toes was turning into, he was certain, a series of blisters. His muscles might be stronger, but his feet and joints were not dealing with his increased weight any more easily, and he felt bone-sore and chafed. The only small blessing was that Walstein was apparently too tired to jab at him much, and though twice he attempted to give Tuco an ill-timed shoulder aside, he quickly learned that Tuco was now much, much heavier than him and had a lower center of gravity, and he bounced off of Tuco as though running into a wall.

The ogre herd had seemingly moved on, and had left a trail that no one could fail to follow, heading off to the north. Rigby led them east, promising they could expect to arrive around midday. Sure enough, before the sun was above them, he led them down a more well-traveled track into a valley, and below were the signs of a settlement or camp, with a road that had borne many carts leading southward.

“The miners have little love for the Changed," Rigby warned them. “They suspect us all of being infernal agents. But they are accustomed to me. You may accompany me as I speak to the foreman, but remain silent, and do not touch anything."

Once they had agreed, he headed into the settlement, which was little more than a few canvas tents collected around an opening in the side of the mountain, which was barred with a heavy iron gate. A weary-looking, bearded man came to the gate when Rigby called, eyeing them all warily. “Ye run outta stones so quick?"

“Times are what they are," Rigby answered. “All know the end approaches. If we are to forestay it, there must be study."

The bearded man scowled at Tuco and Walstein. “Ye're far younger than ye ought to be. Nigh a boy. I remember ye with white in yer beard last we spoke. I don't like it. And ye brought a couple o' monsters with ye this time. Thinkin' ta fear me into a more generous spirit?"

“It is the Apocalypse and concern for your soul that should prompt your generosity. These two are here on punishment for fighting."

The man shrank back from the barred gate a little ways. “Their victims live?"

“They fought each other. Unacceptable among apprentices. Not when all our thoughts must be bent toward the serenity of the divine and averting the destruction of the world."

The man spat and sidled closer to the bars again. “Ye bring the chits?"

From his belt, Rigby untied a small pouch and passed it over. “Your miners can abstain from the blessings of communion for another three months without fear of judgment from the divine. It is a great service you provide to the world."

“Aye," the man said doubtfully, and thrust his hairy mitt through the bars of the grate to take the bag. “I'll be round quick with your stones. Er… yield's been low of late."

“A world ended will have no need of garnet. A world saved will need less of it. We hope our arrangement may near its end, but that does not reduce the need at present. Hence the Abbey's generosity with its indulgences."

“Aye." The man sounded unhappy, but he disappeared into the darkness.

Walstein snorted. “He don't want to give you the stones, eh? With what we can do, we could bust in and take them. The Abbey needs it for God's work, dunnit? And them, what do they need it for? Getting rich."

“Feeding their families," Rigby said mildly. “And overlooking the fact that stealing from these men would be an inarguably evil act, it would make them more likely to arm themselves against us in the future. Or, at worst, to abandon the mine, and then the Abbey would have no source for garnets at all. Unless you fancy taking up mining yourself."

Tuco imagined trying to tear away the iron grate and what that might do to his already overmuscled body. The foreman had called him a monster. He supposed that was how he looked now, his limbs swollen with power, long horns curving up from his temples. It was an unwelcome reminder that he had already left humanity behind, perhaps forever, and he thought of what Pike had told him, up on the roof of the Abbey, as they looked out over the world. It no longer belonged to any of them. It belonged to the Unchanged.

After a long time, during which Walstein stumped off and flopped down under a tree to rest, the man returned with a light-looking pouch, which he handed to Rigby. Rigby hefted it, one brow arched in question.

“Times be what they are," the bearded man mumbled, not meeting his gaze. “Veins are running low, and we all got families to feed."

“Indeed," Rigby said, but he didn't question further, and they turned to go.

As they walked away, the man called toward their backs, “Next time, leave the devils where ye come from." Walstein turned on him with a drooling snarl, and the man paled and disappeared from the gate. The sound of running footsteps echoed down the passage.

---

They hiked for the rest of the day, and now that they were returning to the Abbey, Walstein's mood seemed worse than ever. He kept deliberately tripping Tuco, timing his malice until just the moment when Tuco's mind had begun to wander, and then deftly jutting one boot-clad foot around Tuco's ankle. Each time sent Tuco stumbling, and usually sprawling forward on his chest. The heels of his hands had been skinned bloody and stained by earth, and twice now their provisions had gone spilling across the ground and needed to be repacked. Rigby looked back several times, but each time, Walstein had been careful to trip Tuco only when their guide was farther ahead or turned away.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?" Tuco finally asked, after the third time he'd been tripped, only to have the question parroted back to him in mocking tones.

“Walstein," Rigby said in a stern voice.

“What?" Walstein asked, badly feigning innocence. “It ain't my fault he can barely waddle along with those stupid legs." Rigby said nothing, but he met Tuco's eyes with something like understanding in them for the first time.

They stopped for the night not far from where they'd camped the night before. Rigby had aged significantly by that point--there was grey throughout his beard and hair, but he declined to wind himself up again, saying that they'd likely be back to the Abbey before evening the next day. They had a fire roaring when they fell asleep, but in the black of night a fierce rainstorm put it out, and they could do little but huddle under their cloaks and try to endure until morning.

Dawn brought little respite. The rain had stopped, but a dark thunderhead was approaching from the north. “We had better make for the Abbey as quickly as we are able," Rigby warned. “Storms in these mountains can be deadly."

Wearily, Tuco got to his feet and agreed that, as threatening as it could be, nothing sounded more inviting now than the shelter of a stone roof over his head, a fresh-cooked meal, and a warm fire. He rummaged around for his possessions, all of which were soaked. For anyone else, he supposed, they would have been very heavy.

“Where is Walstein?" Rigby asked sharply.

Tuco looked around, his vision still bleary, cold water running from his hair into his eyes. The apprentice was nowhere to be seen. There was a divot in the ground where he'd been sleeping, but he was gone. “Why would he run off on his own?"

They stumbled around the area, looking for him, and Tuco was just about to call when he spotted Walstein sitting on a rock a little way down the mountainside, staring into the distance, his bedroll sitting beside. Tuco waved Rigby over and headed down to the spot. “What are you looking at?" he asked loudly, and halfway through Walstein put a finger to his lips and pointed. Down the mountainside, almost camouflaged by their matted grey hair, the herd of ogres lay clustered together. Most of them were sleeping, a pile of blood-brown bones from some hooved and horned creature off to one side. They lay with long arms around each other, heads resting against each other's sides, lazy and comfortable. The young ones were up already, making small roaring noises at each other and running around the sleeping adults, who made half-hearted swats at them if they got too noisy too close, or when one of them started biting.

“Are you well?" Tuco asked, puzzled.

Walstein nodded and kept staring. There was something sad, wistful, in his expression.

Curiously, Tuco slid his tongue into the cold morning air. He could taste the coming storm and the wet ash of the remnants of their fire. Walstein smelled terrible--unwashed and rank--but his desire floated around him like a perfume. He was envious of the creatures down the hill. Envious of what they had. Companionship. A home. Belonging.

Tuco leaned back and looked at Walstein in surprise. “It's not wrong to want that, you know."

Fear and startlement flashed in the apprentice's dark eyes, and then resentment. “What do you know of it? You couldn't understand."

“No. I suppose I couldn't." In truth, he was baffled. If Walstein wanted companionship, why wasn't he just nicer to everyone? Why did he belittle and bully everyone? Why did he act out of anger every chance he got, try to make everyone as miserable as he was? He could have had that with his brothers, with the other apprentices. Tuco sighed. “But I don't have to understand. It's normal to want to be accepted. To be close to other people."

Walstein turned on him, eyes narrowed. “Why do you keep on trying to be nice to me? Why don't you fight back? Why do you keep acting like this? Don't you know it won't work with someone like me?"

Tuco shrugged. “I wasn't brought up to fight. It's not how I was raised, I suppose."

“Well, I was. You don't fight to get ahead, you get nothing. You get beat down. That's the way the real world is. Not this safe, soft thing you grew up in."

“Or them?" Tuco pointed down at the ogres.

Walstein bared his tusks. “They'd eat you in a heartbeat."

“Perhaps. But not each other. That's why you're looking, isn't it?"

The apprentice snorted and said nothing.

Tuco pulled his cloak more tightly around him. “It's good that you want that. You could be like them, you know. You don't have to be the way you were brought up. You could change. If you wanted to."

“What are you saying?" Walstein turned back to him, frowning, his brow thick with thought. He thrust his lower jaw forward, biting his upper lip with his tusks.

“Just that--" Tuco stopped and stared. Walstein's brow continued to grow thicker and thicker, his jaw jutting out even farther. His tusks were beginning to grow up his upper lip.

“What?" Walstein asked, lisping the word. “What are you looking at--oh, God, my boots. I hiked too far this trip. My boots are killing me." He leaned over and tugged at his right boot, pulling hard. “Ugh! I can't get it off!" His hands seemed to expand, fingers growing sausage-thick, and then he wrenched the boot from his foot in one violent motion, spreading wool-stockinged toes in the air. But it was too late for the other--as Walstein moaned, drool streaming from his widening jaw, the edges of his boot bulged, and then the leather pulled away from the stitching, his broadening foot bursting into the open air.

His eyes were wide, but streaks of yellow were beginning to swirl through his brown irises. He pointed one huge finger at Tuco, the nail thickening into a horny yellow claw. “You!" he spluttered. “You did this to me! Stop it!"

Tuco stumbled backward, holding up his arms. “But I'm not doing anything! It must be a demon!"

The apprentice got to his feet, which had begun to tear out of his socks, revealing massive toes already beginning to coat with light grey hair. “There aren't any demons around here, idiot! We're not in the Abbey! There's only you! You with your--aggh!" He groaned, clutching at his clothes, which had grown too tight around his swelling frame. His arms were long, already far longer than any human's should be, and they barreled with powerful muscle that made Tuco look small by comparison. With a roar, he pulled his cloak and tunic apart from his upper body, the fabric tearing like tissue.

He stood upright, panting in the wind, his chest thickening with layer after layer of brawn, his shoulders cracking and popping as they broadened. Coarse grey hairs were sprouting all over them, matting as they grew, covering him with a thatch of fur. He looked down at himself with a confused expression. His toes spread across the ground, and he leaned down and tore away his pants as well. When he stood upright again, he had grown to almost twice Tuco's height, and his body was still expanding. His nostrils flared as he huffed, looking around. “What… what happen?" he mumbled past his tusks. “What you do to… to…"

“To Walstein?" Tuco asked, and his voice cracked with pity.

The beast snorted, still growing taller, until Tuco felt like a child next to him. His enormous arms nearly reached the ground. “No. Not Wahseen. Am… stoobid name." He looked from left to right, and then down at the rags of his old clothes on the ground. He picked them up with a hand that could have crushed Tuco like an egg and inspected them, sniffed at them, then made a face of disgust and dropped them. His shoulders and traps continued to swell, until his dome-like head was dwarfed by them. He looked down at Tuco again, a spark of bewilderment in his eyes, and then the intelligence seemed to go out of them entirely.

He leaned down and sniffed at Tuco. His mouth was so wide he could have bitten Tuco in half if he'd chosen to. They eat man-flesh when they can get it.

Trembling, Tuco pointed down the mountainside. “You can go down there." With a start and a grunt, the ogre that had once been his enemy followed his finger. “You can go be with them. Like you wanted."

The ogre made a low, rumbling growl, staring down the mountain. He turned back to Tuco and opened a wide mouth full of yellow teeth. A viscous stream of drool poured from his lips. Then he turned and loped down the mountainside, his wide shoulders swaying, the only remnant of his humanity the long, black braid that still grew from his scalp.

Tuco let out a breath and sat, shaking on the rock where Walstein had been sitting. He watched the ogre lumber toward the sleeping group. They roused, and then with some alarm several of them shepherded the young ones away. The largest of the herd rushed up to Walstein, looming over him, beating their chests and roaring, but he bent down low in a posture of supplication. The adults circled him for some time, pushing and swatting at him, and sometimes sniffing at his sides, his mouth, his backside, but after a while they seemed satisfied and settled down.

“What did you do to him?" Rigby asked, startling Tuco. “And how?"

“I didn't do anything!" Tuco said. “I only… I told him he could be like them if he wanted. And then he changed. I didn't mean like that! I meant that he could have friends. A community! But he… turned into one of those. I swear to you I didn't do it!"

“He was right, what he said," Rigby said coldly. “There are no demons up here. There was only you."

“I--" Tuco began, and then gasped. Something odd had moved at the base of his spine. He held still for a moment, waiting, and then just when he was about to speak again, it moved again. “Oh. Oh God," he groaned, and fell forward onto hands and knees. It felt as though something was being pulled out of him, or extending. He could feel the peculiar twitch and stretch of new muscle, the brush of his clothing against skin where there had been no skin, and then an aching pressure. Too uncomfortable to care about his modesty, he shoved his undergarments down, lifting up his tunic to ease the pressure. Something long and pink, like an unjointed finger, curled into the open air. As he watched, it extended outward, and he could feel it growing, feel the new, long bones developing, the itch as muscle fleshed out.

Rigby backed away with an expression of shock, both hands raised, but Tuco could hardly pay attention. The appendage continued to extend, stretching outward, longer than his arm, as thick as his forearm near the base, but tapering out to a point perhaps five feet from where it began. It curled and flicked seemingly of its own accord. He could feel the cold of the morning air on it. Tentatively, he reached out and touched it, and could feel the stroke of his finger along its smooth surface. As he stared, the end throbbed and itched, and then end formed a wide spade--two flat lobes flaring to either side of the tip, narrowing to a point.

He gaped at it as it drifted gently back and forth behind him, and looked up at Rigby, feeling oddly light, as if the world was getting farther and farther away from him. “I--I have a tail," he said.

The clockwork man's expression was hard and merciless. “A devil's tail," he said. “And I--"

But Tuco didn't hear what he said next, because he tilted sideways and the whole world went away.