Something was wrong.

Sunk deep in his dreams, Zogrusz at first tried to ignore this vague sense of unease. But it was insistent, a nagging itch that demanded to be scratched, and with a tremendous effort he finally hoisted himself from the black womb in which he floated and clawed his way towards consciousness. As the dreamscape receded behind him and his awareness returned that irritation became a throbbing ache . . . and then, when he fully breached into the woken world, he was consumed with blinding agony.

Zogrusz groaned, rolling onto his side as he clutched at his stomach. It felt like his insides were being devoured by his own hunger. The vast reservoir that had been filled by the fearful dread of the People when he went to sleep had been almost completely drained – now just a tiny trickle still flowed from outside, and Zogrusz suspected that was all that was keeping him alive.

What had happened?

With some effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The cavern whirled, and it took a great effort of will to make the spinning stop. How long had he been asleep this time? Had the humans forgotten him?

Zogrusz climbed unsteadily to his feet. The tiered pyramid he had constructed in the center of the cavern tilted alarmingly, but then righted itself as he found his balance. Zogrusz gazed up longingly at the throne he’d set at the ziggurat’s apex, but then dismissed the idea of dragging himself up there. If he let himself rest he might never rise again.

Zogrusz gritted his fangs, his claws pressing into the palms of his clenched fists. He took a stumbling step towards the mouth of the tunnel that led outside, but then paused in surprise. He had changed again, like the last time he had woken from his sleep – he had grown larger and stronger, and he sensed a new ability. Zogrusz concentrated on the darkness choking the entrance to the tunnel and it writhed like a thing alive. Momentarily forgetting the gnawing pain inside himself, Zogrusz coaxed forth a shadowy serpent, twining it around his arm before letting it dissipate. It had felt solid, as if he’d somehow given substance to the black.

A pang like a metal spike piercing his stomach made him wince. The exploration of this new power would have to wait, because his immediate concerns were far more pressing.

The twisting tunnel passed in a blur and then he burst out of the mountain and stood swaying in the harsh sunlight. Far below him, the rows of crops and herds of animals were gone, much of the land reclaimed by forest. Blinking, he tried to focus on where the stone town had stood, but now there was just a wild tangle of trees. He saw no humans, or even wisps of smoke to suggest they still dwelled somewhere nearby.

Yet that small rivulet of worshipful dread persisted. Were there still humans squatting in the jungle who remembered him? Zogrusz began to bound down the mountain, his huge strides devouring the distance. Why should he bother with a man-disguise at this moment? The memory of how delicious the taste of blind panic had been on that long-ago day in the forest made his insides twist. He wouldn’t mind at all if someone did see him right now.

Zogrusz quickly reached where the village had been. Surprisingly, the trickle of fear remained attenuated, as if it was coming to him from very far away. His true form was now taller than the trees, and he waded into the jungle, using his great claws to pull aside the branches so he could see what the canopy had hidden. A flock of colorful birds burst from below as he did this, startling him.

Ruins. Tumbled walls veined by creepers, roots buckling the remnants of foundations. The forest had reclaimed Xochintl and was in the process of devouring its corpse.

The People were gone. They had been the first conscious beings he had encountered, and their dread had sustained him for the turning of an age. But something had happened and they had vanished.

Or had they? Zogrusz raised his gaze from the ruins and stared out over the undulating green expanse of trees. Somewhere out there someone feared him. Perhaps the People had abandoned this place but still held fast to their old beliefs, and if he followed this trail he could find them again.

With a newfound resolve, Zogrusz waded into the jungle, his perception fixed on that distant, thready, life-giving pulse.

***

The day deepened as he traveled further and further from his mountain home. Eventually, the forests thinned, then vanished entirely, replaced by grasslands pockmarked by lakes and copses of stunted trees. Great herds of animals bounded away from him as he approached, their curved horns glittering in the sun, but from the lack of shepherds he could tell that these were wild beasts. There was evidence that humans were about, however, as a road of fitted stones wended through the plains like an impossibly long snake, vanishing into the hazy distance. After following it for a while he encountered a lone wagon being pulled by shaggy, plodding creatures.

He realized there were humans on it before he saw them, as Zogrusz suddenly tasted a rush of sweet panic. It was delicious, but hardly made a dent in the emptiness inside him – as he had swelled in size, so too had his appetites. When his vast steps brought him closer, he glimpsed a tiny figure seated behind the hairy animals lashing them on frantically. Zogrusz felt a stab of guilt about causing such terror in the poor fellow, but he also greatly appreciated the sustenance. Still, he tried not to appear threatening as he passed the wagon and its driver, and he did hope that after he had disappeared over the horizon the man would come to dismiss this as just some strange vision.

It would be much harder for the next humans Zogrusz encountered to believe he had been nothing more than a figment of their imagination.

The town hemmed the road, maybe two dozen small buildings in total. A few people were scurrying about like insects after their rock had been overturned, but most were huddled inside, staring in awed dread at the monstrous giant striding across the plains. Zogrusz saw himself in their thoughts in all his scaled glory, and he had to admit he did look rather impressive. He turned towards the little village and waved, enjoying the thrill of confusion that rippled through the watchers.

He drank deep of their fear, and for a moment he almost felt sated. But he was like a bucket with a hole at the bottom – their terror briefly filled his aching emptiness, but then just as quickly it drained away, leaving him as hungry as before. The cat Rhas had been right – the panic conjured up by his presence was not nearly as filling as the worshipful dread that had previously sustained him.

He really needed to bring back the previous state of affairs.

Night settled over the plains, and the thin trickle of terror he followed strengthened slightly as he neared its source. The evidence of habitation grew more common, as the pinpricks of light scattered about suggested more towns, and the faint clamor of many minds infringed upon his thoughts. No great upwellings of fear, though – it was a moonless, cloudy night, and to the few that were outside at this time, he was but a massive shadow as he passed. Zogrusz also decided to experiment with his new power, weaving himself a shroud of darkness that would drink the faint starlight even if the clouds happened to part.

He was so lost in testing his capabilities that at first he didn’t realize he’d arrived at his destination. The city rose from the edge of the plains like a clenched fist, many buildings and a forest of thin towers girdled by a mighty wall. Beyond it spread a darker expanse than the grasslands, and it took Zogrusz a moment to realize he was staring at the sea.

This city was a thousand times larger than the village outside his mountain. Ten thousand. The abilities of architects and stonemasons had improved dramatically while he slept, and he felt a strong urge to wander among the great buildings. What inspiration could he find inside? The thought made his pulse quicken.

But he did not want to send those living in this huge bastion fleeing in panic . . . at least until he understood who still feared him within these walls. The avalanche of fear that would result if he arrived at the city in his true form would be intoxicating – and it made his mouth tendrils twitch in anticipation just thinking about it – but as the cat had warned him, he would have to continuously create larger and more terrifying spectacles if that was the path he chose to go down. So after he’d approached as close to the mighty walls as he could while remaining unseen, Zogrusz instead folded the great majesty of his form into the man-cloak he had worn before. Then when he stood upon the road leading to the city he also let the darkness he had cloaked himself with dissipate into wisps of shadows.

He’d chosen a spot that was empty of travelers, but soon after beginning the trek towards the looming walls he heard the clopping of hooves. A wagon was coming up behind him, a hunchbacked old man huddled behind a pair of horses that were rolling their eyes and tossing their heads as if something had greatly agitated them.

And Zogrusz could guess what that was.

“Ho, stranger!” called out the driver, pulling his horses to a snorting halt when he reached where Zogrusz stood in the middle of the road. He looked around, clearly expecting to find something else here.

“Hello,” Zogrusz said with a wave.

The old man squinted down at him blearily. “Did ya see anything strange here, laddie? Me horses are dancing like they caught whiff of a whole pack o’ garanth.”

Zogrusz made a show of peering into the long grass fringing the road. “No, I didn’t see any garanth.” From the old man’s thoughts he pulled the image of huge ink-black lizards with manes of curving spines.

The driver grunted. “Ya wouldn’t, they’re clever bastards. Never come this close to Amotla before, though.” He flicked a length of braided reeds across the backs of his horses, but this did little to settle the stamping beasts.

“Still,” the old man continued, “something’s got them upset. Might be you should sit in the back until we get inside the city.” He jerked his head at the wagon behind him, which Zogrusz saw was full of fruit. “Jus’ don’t go eating the melons, is all I ask.”

“Thank you,” Zogrusz said, climbing up into the back of the rickety cart and finding a spot where he could sit among the mounded green fruit.

“Welcome,” the old man said, turning back to the road after he saw that Zogrusz had settled himself. “The Burning Scrolls teach us ta care for strangers. Never know when one could be Anecoya herself in disguise.” With a crack of his whip he sent the wagon lurching forwards again, and when he spoke next he had to raise his voice to be heard over the plodding horses. “Not that ye look much like a god, I must say.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.”

“What?”

“I said that’s wonderful . . . because I don’t look like a god.”

The old man lapsed into silence at this, and Zogrusz worried that he had made a serious mistake. But after a moment the driver only shook his head. “Yer certainly a strange one.”

“Truly, you have no idea.”