Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Chapter 237 Weeping Woodlands II

The Weeping Woodlands was one long thicket of graveyard trees. It was the only scale of vegetation, natural, in the Badlands. The other plantations were of course [Ambiance Pouches] owned by those who could afford it—and even then it didn't show on the maps.

This made it harder for Deathlies to locate and Rob the dwellers. It further drove home the treasurable property of maps to Bonelanders. It was rumored a [Highland map] existed: a tablet of pure conviction that exposed all territories of the wilderness, even the artificial ones. As soon as it was manifested, it appeared as a new dot on this parchment.

Like Israfel's Andorran Hammer, this map was said to be one of the relics of the Old world. It was all tale, no one had wielded it. But in a kingdom of robbers and woodmen, the far-fetched is the most guaranteed to be believed.

The more unimaginable the treasure, the better.

Pirates and thieves tripped to taverns popular for wine and whores, but also for the stories. Stories of gold that could buy the east, and loot a thousand leagues under the sea. Stories that would just about send them to their deaths. As for this [Highland map], it was like a master key of sorts, to unlocking the terrain of the desert. Any Skullrider who would own it would exceed the Triumvirate; would know exactly the moment any new camp orificed in the stretch, and could trail the travel of any merchant caravan on the silk roads—and all this by staring comfortably in his own tent.

However, since this map was as available as the last [Utopian Survivor], Zaftig and Grone—who had sought this treasure map ferociously—had no chance to become despots. The three Skullriders governed their territories in tolerated peace.

"So this is the only forest in the Badlands?" Rafel shifted in the litter high on the camel's back as Ravenna unfolded from his body to offer back to their Guide. They had just broken through the first spangle of rustbrown trees. Her voice echoed up the sparse canopy. No birds in sight. "—and it's called the weeping woodlands?"

The Guide, on his own camel at their left, rested his head downward, saying nothing as they continued onward. The woodlands got thicker the deeper into the cacti forest they went. It smelled of aloe vera and myrrh. The only response Ravenna got was from Khalifa, whose own ride: a mutant hybrid of giraffe and ox, stubbed at the scorched earth next to the lumbering camels.

Dementa's female bodyguard didn't need to come this far. But she did. Rafel wondered why. Cora had an inkling. Aya Naamah knew for sure.

Khalifa didn't loosen her Hijab veils as she said, "in case you haven't noticed, the Bonelanders are very backward in name-giving. They are only inventive in despoiling carriages to roadkill machines and turning bikes in corrupt, bloodthirsty shit."

"Oh, I noticed." Ravenna laughed. "I mean, who calls their child Grone!"

More laughter rumbled into the air.

Now, thinking of it, Rafel mused. . .

Zaftig? Dementa? Visha! The Crone? Even their gods had terrible names. In Titans Landing, their gods had real sexy names like Deliliah, Zephyr, Parvati, Ilona, Phillipa, Andreas, fucking class! Here, their names just sounded either like cannibal growls or syllabus hard enough to inspire fear.

All the previous information on the [Highland map] had come from Khalifa, who was gracious enough to provide. Aside from the list of horrible names, she was the only one who had an actual fucking name. And it was quite a lovely one.

"Khalifa."

It sounded like sun splashing a nice beach.

Without thinking, he voiced out aloud what he was contemplating, as their throng threaded by a square of short baobabs.

"Why are you with Dementa?"

Khalifa sat straighter in her mutated ox. It was a move that almost went unnoticed. Almost.

"Why?" she asked.

"Strike a tree." She said.

Rafel looked unsure for a bit, but turned. And he struck a tree.

It vibrated, making a rattling sobbing sound.

"What the fuck!"

He reared back and struck out again.

This time he caught another tree by a withering branch he had intentionally chosen. It was on a spot above the main shoot. He watched in disbelief as the graft shivered like a flogged person, and then wailed—again like one. The sound echoed long. And if Rafel wasn't in the present domicile of the happening, then he would've certainly said it was a child moaning on the other side of the forest.

Only it wasn't.

"Gods be damned! The fuckin' trees cry?" Ravenna intercepted.

"That they do." Khalifa licked her bottom lip.

"How much weirder is this place gonna get?"

The words were just departing the lips of Corazón when. . .

Skrraaatttt!

The earth ripped out from under them, in the front, about ten paces off. Khalifa was the most forward of the group and fastly pulled on eye reins of her gigantic ox. The animal reared up with a loud bray like a horse abruptly smacked on its ass. It stomped the ground and stopped moving, causing the other camels behind to do the same. Her reflexes were sharp.

Skrat! Skrattt!

The prickling noise persisted as more holes opened in the ground. The first thing to pop out of one was a head. Unmistakably, it belonged to a male. A human male. Humanoid, more like.

It was bald, but no from razors. Misshapen, but not from injury. Elongated. Red, and not from blood. Long limbs followed the big skulls out of the holes. Then came fingers and feet that were webbed into each other. And eyes total milk. They did not see shit.

These alien-adapted men were born this way. This awful, masochistic way. The parts of their bodies meant to be incorporated for survival on the surface had been changed: stretched, bent, spangled, to cater, rather, for survival beneath.

"Is it just me or do those men look like huge moles?" Ravenna clutched Cora's left hand.

Four of the reddish creatures stood, bent forward like cavemen—but with sharper teeth.

Their milk eyes were going nowhere.

Rafel took one look at the oblong heads and jumped off the camel like it was but a steed. He landed so coolly it was like he'd rehearsed it. Without looking back to Khalifa or their Guide, he said gently,

"The Mole-men, I presume?"