Sean E. Britten

All There in the (Monster) Manual are stories based on creatures from the Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual. Over 2022 I released a different story fitting the theme every single week and I’ve now expanded to Dungeons & Dragons’ Monsters of the Multiverse and even the Pathfinder Bestiary. Could be fantasy, science fiction, horror, or something else entirely! Check them out on the main page of the website.

This Week’s Inspiration: Siren

Chatna has a secret. Buried deep in the reaches of the Mother Tree, he’s discovered an exotic sirenflower and he’s the only one who knows about it. Sirenflowers can cast illusions showing you your deepest and wildest desires but getting anywhere near one is forbidden. Yet even as the flower complicates his daily life, he finds it impossible to look away.

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Mine, Chatna thought to himself. She is all mine. Naked, she danced and writhed and tempted. Her head flung back, ebony hair falling in waves and exposing her throat. Breasts, high and firm, thrust forward tipped with nipples as dark as berries. Hips swelled and tapered into the strong muscles of her thighs. The flat plane of her stomach sloped to that gentle swell furred with dark hair. That strange, mysterious, endlessly fascinating, desperately inviting meeting place. Amora ran her fingers into the crease between her legs. The other hand gestured, trying to draw him forward.

Of course, if Chatna looked closer he could see the details were off. Sunlight probed through Amora’s tawny skin in places. Her arms and legs moved as if her elbows and knees and wrists were only suggestions. And her face never really moved, her smile frozen and no life behind her eyes. But he already knew what her face looked like and it wasn’t what interested him.

“All mine,” Chatna whispered.

No matter how tempting, Chatna couldn’t risk getting any nearer. He couldn’t look at Amora in greater detail, he certainly couldn’t touch her, no matter how badly he wanted to. That would be death, plain and simple. A beautiful and seductive death but death nonetheless. As it was, his thoughts felt hazy and distant, and some detached part of himself knew it was because of the intoxicating perfume in the air. He could never touch her, he could only watch and touch himself.

Grunting, Chatna spilled his seed on the branch underfoot. As the pleasure faded, the world around him rushed back like a bucket of cold water. He’d been more fixated than he’d realised. Walls of greenery pressed in on him on all sides. Shafts of sunlight penetrated from the upper canopy. Below, the lower reaches of the jungle descended into damp darkness. Flowers of every imaginable colour arranged themselves on strings of vines across the trunks and branches of the Mother Tree. Chatna became aware of the constant chatter and hustle of the jungle again. Already, below him, insects and tiny, probing tendrils of green emerged to consume the rich protein he’d expulsed. Chatna cleaned himself and then staggered a few steps away to urinate. Flowers and more tender shoots crowded to syphon the water. The jungle was constantly and eternally and aggressively alive, nothing ever really went to waste.

As Chatna’s concentration lapsed, Amora faded without disappearing entirely. The illusion was completely silent, it never spoke. Beneath her skin, he could see the writhing and sticky tendrils that created the sketch of a humanoid shape over which the illusionary details overlaid themselves. Around the base of the purplish tendrils, the unfurled petals of the sirenflower, thick and green and leathery, lay mostly flat across the branch supporting it. Sirenflowers pulled the images for their illusions right out of their targets’ heads. Tempting potential victims with their greatest desires. For animals, this was usually easy, food or safety or a potential mate. For humans, it could prove more complicated. Or sometimes not. Pheromones or some equivalent helped cloud their targets’ thinking if they got too close. If Chatna gave in to temptation, straying into the flower’s grasp to touch the illusionary Amora, he’d quickly become entangled in its tendrils. Those leathery petals would close around him and he’d be digested by the flower.

Guilt and shame weighed on Chatna. The sirenflower’s illusion wavered as if unsure whether to maintain its current form or to try a different tact. Amora, naked, smiling, danced and gestured. Tendrils wrapped around one another and snaked beneath her skin. If anyone saw him, saw them, Chatna didn’t know what they would do to him. Going anywhere near a sirenflower was strictly forbidden. Any found within the tribe’s territory were cut down, eradicated to the roots, and burned. That’s why he had to stray so far from their normal hunting and foraging grounds to find this one.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back again as soon as I can,” Chatna promised the deadly plant.

Chatna pulled his loincloth back into place. He wore nothing else except paint and a thin leather belt strapped diagonally across his chest. His knife and a waterskin hung off the bandolier. Streaks of colour decorated his arms and chest and face, marking his tribe and his position as a warrior-in-training.

If Chatna could have, he would have stayed longer. His absence would be noticed, however, if he remained gone. He had to get back to the village before he was missed. Backing away, he watched the image of Amora fade into nothing but a vaguely human shadow made of purplish tendrils. They unpicked themselves to a dense and gently waving mass.

A vast web of enormous branches and tree trunks stretched through, and formed the foundation of, the endless jungle. Many tribes, like Chatna’s people, lived among those branches of Mother Tree safe from the predation of the ground or the upmost canopy. Chatna’s tribe had little contact with outsiders but he knew there were other kinds of people that lived on the backs of giant turtles, or insects, or in trees that challenged mountains. But even they acknowledged Mother Tree as the largest living thing in the entire world. Her branches and trunks and leaves stretched across the entire continent from shore to shore. As Chatna returned home, he negotiated along trails of branches that were several times thicker than he was tall. Millions of other plants grew on or around Mother Tree, vines and basket ferns and flowering parasites.

Although Chatna had travelled this way and back many times by now, he was constantly wary wherever he moved. Camouflaged snakes and other predators could lie in wait to strike. Trapdoor insects nestled in the bark. Flying predators could strike through the uneven layers of leaves above. Other plants could be dangerous if stepped on or if he strayed too close. Something trumpeted and moved heavily through the jungle below. Chatna couldn’t see it but he lowered himself to a clear patch of branch and stayed still until it passed.

When Chatna rose back to his haunches, scanning, he caught a glimpse of colour and movement. Instantly, he knew he was being stalked. Tree raptors, a small pack moved among the branches.

The soles of Chatna’s feet were tough as leather. He felt little through them as he took off running across branches and around the monstrous shelves of trunks. Seeing him run, the tree raptors emerged from cover and sprinted after him. The creatures were only a little smaller than Chatna himself. They ran and sprung from branch to branch on tremendously powerful legs. Brilliant emerald and deep red feathers covered their backs and sides but their heads were naked and scaly. Curved talons dripped from their hands. Hooked teeth ran along the insides of their jaws. Their chief weapons, however, were the sickle claws that sprouted from the primary toes on each raptors’ feet. Heads lowered, they shot after Chatna with tails extended behind them for balance.

Chatna thought about drawing his knife but with three of them it was unlikely to make a difference. They coordinated with throaty barks and sibilant hisses, moving effortlessly through the plantlife. If one of them caught Chatna, they would try to hold him long enough for the others to catch up, employing those vicious teeth and claws. Then another one of the trio would make a more surgical strike, going straight for the throat and opening him up. They wouldn’t wait for him to die before they started to feed. He’d still be alive when they began to tear off and gulp down as much flesh as they could before the smell of blood and his screams lured competing predators.

Mother Tree always provided for those who were willing to keep their eyes open. Running to the end of a branch, where it began to twist and taper, Chatna leapt and launched himself at the underside of another massive branch overhead. Thick rungs of vine and knots of wood ran around the branch. Grabbing hold, Chatna swung hand over hand along the branch. A deadly fall yawned beneath him, the jungle floor disappearing into blackness. One errant movement and he would drop to his death. Behind him, the three tree raptors pulled to a stop and shrieked. While their powerful legs could run faster and leap further, they couldn’t climb in the same way as a human. Given the way every part of Mother Tree connected up to every other part, they would eventually find a path to follow if they wanted. By that time though, he’d be long gone.

Chatna scaled the side of the branch and studied his surroundings before straightening. He continued on his way back to the tribe. The encounter with the tree raptors wasn’t remarkable enough for him to still be thinking about it a few minutes later. That was the jungle, life and death at every turn. His mind returned to the sirenflower. Part of him longed to go back already. It wasn’t just the obvious lusts that it satisfied that made him feel that way, the plant’s narcotic perfume almost certainly had something to do with it. But more than that, the sirenflower was the one place where he felt like he was in control. He was master over what the sirenflower showed, and no one else knew of it.

Torches burned around the outskirts of the tribe’s village day and night. The oil burning inside them acted as a barrier for hundreds of kinds of insects and even some smaller animals. Chatna slipped past them and tried to integrate himself amongst the life of the camp so that no one would notice he’d been gone. Women weaved baskets and darned clothing. Some of the men were repairing huts while others prepped meals or carved arrows and spears. Their village was built in a bowl-shaped depression of interlocking branches with netting and bridges slung between them. Overhead, the canopy thinned enough for thick shafts of sunlight to spill through. Huts and tents and structures were set up on flat stretches of bark. Thick mats of green moss grew underfoot along with batches of ferns and discs of fungi.

Back among his people, Chatna let his guard down. No one paid him any special attention, suggesting he hadn’t been missed. Their tribe, elders, warriors, women, children, and apprentices like him, consisted of close to two hundred people and they were always busy. Suddenly, Chatna felt something slam him in the back. He jerked forward, his feet going out from under him, and he spilled across the mossy branch. Bark sloped under him and he skated almost to the edge of the branch before stopping himself. Behind him, he heard a chatter of laughter.

“Where have you been?”

Another young man of Chatna’s age, Kitra, stood over Chatna, sneering. Half a dozen others stood behind him. Tall and broad, Kitra stood with hands on hips and puffed out his well developed chest. Like Chatna, he only wore a loincloth and body paint. Behind him, the other young men wore the same while the young women had skirts and bands of cloth around their chests.

“You were meant to be gathering wood after classes,” Kitra said. “Where did you go?”

“I was-, I was out looking for wood, by myself,” Chatna replied.

“Then where is it?”

Kitra cut an impressive figure. When the boys and girls of Chatna’s tribe became teens, they were meant to cut all family ties until they completed their rituals of manhood or womanhood. Some parents went to the extent of mourning like their sons or daughters were dead, and only existed as spirits. But Kitra was the eldest son of the current chief and such a thing was hard to forget.

Chatna gathered himself onto his haunches before rising carefully. Kitra didn’t interfere, nor did any of his followers. Among them was the object of Chatna’s lusts, Amora, her face neutral. Chatna felt his own features warming as soon as he saw her, and he avoided meeting her eyes.

“You’re lazy, Chatna,” Kitra said. “Everyone has to serve their part if the whole is to survive. You do not.”

Kitra spoke like he already ran the tribe, not his father. But given he had been sneaking away from work in order to see the sirenflower, Chatna couldn’t really argue. He kept his eyes lowered.

“You have no hope of passing the rites of manhood,” Kitra said. “You’ll never be a man, always a boy.”

“We’ll see about that, Kitra. We’ll see who becomes a man first.”

Chatna’s lame response only earned a few scoffs from Kitra’s followers. Chatna risked a glance at Amora. Her face was still neutral. And beautiful. He stared a little too long. Her outfit did not leave much to the imagination but of course that only made the covered parts all the more fascinating. The sirenflower had given him an image of that but it was drawn from Chatna’s mind, not necessarily reality. Part of him tried to reassure him of that, that he wasn’t doing anything like really spying when he felt guilty. The other part didn’t want to risk breaking the fantasy.

“Maybe you should go help build the fire,” Kitra said, sneering. “Or help the women with their weaving.”

xXx

That evening, Chatna lay in his hammock in the shelter with the other male teens and unmarried men. The shelter consisted of a roof held up by beams with netting instead of walls. All of the young men had little in the way of personal possessions or privacy.

Other boys or men snored or farted or grumbled in their sleep, and the hammocks creaked. Outside, the jungle was even more alive at night than during the day. Birds and insects and animals chittered and shrieked, a constant wall of sound. Every once in a while, something screamed outside the village as it was taken by something bigger and meaner than itself. Torches and the remains of the camp’s communal bonfire kept some but not all of the night creatures at bay, at the cost of tempting a few forward. Firelights danced across the roof above Chatna’s head. He was used to the noise but he lay awake all the same, staring at the shifting patterns of light and shadow.

Not so long ago, it would have been Amora keeping Chatna awake. At some point, the object of his affections had instead shifted to the vision of her provided by the sirenflower. Like an itch running the length of his entire body, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Waves of desire and shame, and something that caused the shame to turn to excitement. He squirmed against the hammock, very aware of the feel of the material on his back and the kiss of every breeze on his skin. He couldn’t slip away in the night to go see the flower now, that would be insane. If he tried to slip past the torches on the outskirts of the village, one of those things screaming in the night would be him. He pushed the thought away with all the mental strength he could manage but he couldn’t quite push it all the way out of his mind.

Chatna slept restlessly and was shoved out of his hammock at daybreak. After breakfast, the boys’ task was wood gathering while the girls were immediately set to preparing the midday meal. Together, they left the ground of the tribe and entered the jungle to search for dry wood.

There were a dozen boys and though the gathering was meant to be part of their lessons they were allowed to split into separate groups. As usual, Chatna ended up alone. He wondered whether he might slip away to see the sirenflower. Twice in two days was risky but it kept drawing him back more and more often. Maybe if he was fast about collecting a couple of bundles he could hide one near the village and retrieve it when he returned from seeing the sirenflower so he at least had something to show for his time.

Hurrying, Chatna gathered a pile of wood in his arms. He tried to keep his senses open to danger, as always, but a couple of times he acted more rashly than he should have done. Bright green, a python slithered through the branches overhead. He didn’t see it until it could have been too late but thankfully the snake must have eaten recently. Turning one log carelessly, he had to retreat quickly to avoid being swarmed by red bugs with dangerously toxic bites.

After turning in his first armload, Chatna returned to the jungle. He’d only just started gathering his second when he heard laughing and raised voices coming from another branch. His mind was on the sirenflower but curiosity got the better of him. Taking to the nearest trunk, he climbed to the second branch. Most of the other apprentices were gathered in a mossy clearing topside. Amidst taunts and laughter, they appeared to be almost dancing in and away from something in its centre.

“Bloodroot,” Chatna whispered to himself.

Seeing the bloodroot plant, Chatna could instantly read the situation. Much like sirenflowers, all members of the tribe were told to stay clear of any bloodroot they came across, and those discovered near the tribe’s grounds would be swiftly destroyed. Unlike many jungle plants, bloodroots served no purpose except that their seeds, carefully harvested, were sometimes used as devastatingly cruel weapons of war. But taunting the semiaware plants was a common test of manhood and foolishness, two things often functionally the same, amongst young men. Kitra, as usual, led the game, daring others to get closer. Pabbo, a warrior from the tribe, was meant to be supervising the boys and should have put a stop to it. But in real terms, Pabbo was not much older than the boys in his charge even if he’d passed his rites of manhood, and instead he stood back and laughed along with them.

Only a little taller than Chatna himself, the bloodroot resembled a bramble of thorny branches that twisted from its base to the top of its height like a waterspout. Said branches looked dry and leafless, and threatening. Two apprentices crept nearer and those thorns shook as if a sudden wind had passed through the clearing, although there was no wind to be felt. The boys leapt and scampered backward.

“Chatna! There you are, how close to it can you go?” Kitra said, spotting Chatna at the edge of the branch.

Chatna shook his head. “I wouldn’t go near it.”

“Lazy and a coward.”

“You’re one to talk! I see you ordering around the others but I don’t see you doing the same!”

Kitra’s face darkened. “I already did, I went first and no one’s gotten as close as me yet.”

“According to who? You?”

“Everyone saw me get closer than them! Almost close enough to touch!”

“Well I wasn’t here, I didn’t see anything. But if we don’t go at the same time, I bet you’ll just say I didn’t get as close no matter what I do.”

“Fine, I’ll prove it.”

“Fine.”

With the others watching, Chatna and Kitra circled to opposite ends of the clearing. The bloodroot sat between them, its branches already quivering. From where he was standing, Chatna could see the skeleton tangled in the plant’s roots. The skull and ribcage of some forgotten animal half-buried in moss. When Chatna had entered the clearing, the other boys had all been laughing and taunting one another, but now the mood turned serious.

Bloodroots got their name from their method of spreading their seedlings. When a person or an animal got too close to one of the mature plants, it would lash out in an attempt to embed one of its spiked seedpods in their flesh. The seed’s roots would spread into the body, using blood and meat to feed its incredible growth. Typically, its victim, going insane with agony, would try to outrun the pain and carry the seed to a new location. Death took about a minute. When the carrier dropped, the new bloodroot would take root wherever they fell and continue to feed until the body was used up, and then it would bud new seeds and wait.

Matching one another step for step, Chatna and Kitra edged toward the bloodroot plant. Avoiding bloodroots, like so many other things, had been drilled into Chatna since before he could walk. But they said the same thing about sirenflowers, and he’d been visiting one of those over and over without any near-death experiences. Seeds rattled on the branches. Tension thickened the air. Each seedpod held multiple, wickedly curved thorns pointing off in random directions.

Kitra jolted forward, as if trying to scare Chatna with the sudden movement. Chatna only flinched and held his footing. The bloodroot shivered.

“What are you even trying to prove?” Kitra said. “Even if you get closer, it doesn’t prove there’s anything different about you!”

“Then why don’t you admit you’ve lost and walk away?”

With a sudden burst of confidence, Chatna marched up to the edge of what he estimated to be the range of the bloodroot’s branches. The other boys watching actually gasped. Chatna extended one hand, fingers splayed, in front of him. He hoped no one else was close enough to see how badly his hand shook. Unwilling to admit defeat, Kitra gradually mirrored Chatna’s movements on the other side of the plant.

“You’ve both proven yourself, boys!” Pabbo finally found his voice. “Don’t get any closer!”

Chatna ignored Pabbo and Kitra did the same. They’d known him as an apprentice less than a year ago. Moving as if pushing through water, Chatna slid forward to the point he’d tested with his outstretched arm. Heart pounding, he remained ready to hurl himself backward if he saw the branches really start to move. On the other side, Kitra matched him. No one would be willing to get close enough to verify whether one of them had a toe in front of the other.

“I’m taking another step,” Chatna said.

Nobody knew exactly how bloodroots sensed their victims. Chatna couldn’t be sure if it saw him in some way, or heard him, and if it heard him whether it understood what he was saying. Raising one foot, he leaned forward. Kitra, mostly out of Chatna’s line of sight thanks to the plant, did the same. Pabbo and the rest of the boys were silent.

With a snap that split the air, the bloodroot struck. Time almost seemed to slow for Chatna. He rocked backward on his heel and threw himself without a care as to how he landed. Bloodroot branches untwisted and sliced in all directions at once. Stiffy and reedy but vinelike, they were heavy with thorned pods. A couple of them cut right by Chatna, one to either side. He landed hard and scrambled backward, kicking and clawing at the moss.

Unfolded, the bloodroot covered much more ground than in its passive state. Branches bounced and whipped back and forth, searching. As soon as he was sure he was clear, Chatna slapped at his arms, legs, chest, everywhere, to make sure he hadn’t been hit. When he found nothing, he let out a peal of relieved laughter. Across the clearing, the others shouted, jumping and cheering.

Then, Kitra’s scream cut through all the other sounds. It was so full of bloodcurdling pain and panic that everyone else fell instantly silent. Chatna scrambled to his feet to see what was happening. Kitra also jumped to his feet, clawing at his right shoulder. Blood sheeted down his chest. He’d been struck, and one of the seedpods wedged itself under his collarbone.

As soon as it tasted blood, the bloodroot’s seedpod split open. Thin but powerful tendrils forced themselves into the wound. Snaking beneath the skin, they dug deeper. Kitra tried to get a hold on the thorny pod, cutting his fingers, but couldn’t find the purchase to tear it free. Chatna and the others froze.

Kitra turned to run. He’d become a panicked animal just like any other victim of the bloodroot, ready to spread its seedling to a new location. With loping strides, Pabbo crossed the branch first and slammed into Kitra. Bringing Kitra to the bark, he climbed on top of him, pinning one of his arms, and drew his knife. Kitra fought back unthinkingly, not recognising through his haze of agony that Pabbo was trying to help.

At that stage, there was only one way to deal with the bloodroot seedling. Roots squirmed under Kitra’s skin like a nest of snakes. Pabbo wielded his knife mercilessly. Slashing open Kitra’s chest, he revealed a woody tendril moving through the meat. Pabbo hooked his knife under it and pulled it free, avoiding the tip as he cut it in half and threw it aside. Blood made the work slippery. He ignored Kitra’s free hand as it hit and clawed at him mindlessly. With surprising calm, Pabbo cut and dug and cut. He cast bits of sprouting bloodroot aside. Separated, the pieces would wither and die. Pabbo couldn’t stop until he’d sliced out every single thread of it. By the time he’d finished, Kitra had passed out and the right side of his chest was a bloody, hacked apart mess.

xXx

Kitra would recover, but whether his spear throw would ever be the same only time would tell. Certainly, a few days later, by the time of the next trial the boys faced, he was still laying in the healing tent and barely talking. Stinking poultices were packed into the considerable wounds on his chest, battling with a hardy infection.

Already an outcast, Chatna had found himself even more ignored and derided by the other apprentices since the incident with the bloodroot. For their part, the tribe’s elders seemed to put most of the blame on Pabbo in spite of his fast reaction saving Kitra’s life. He’d been meant to be minding the boys, who were only boys after all in the eyes of the elders. But many of the others, full warriors included, blamed Chatna even though Kitra had been equally at fault.

Shifting from foot to foot, standing slightly apart from everyone else, Chatna felt heated eyes on him even now. Perhaps succeeding at the trial would change some of how they treated him. Most of the tribe massed around the clearing, across the web of branches with their huts, and the bridges slung between them. The chief and elders stood at the head of the village. Several tightly threaded wooden boxes sat at their feet.

“Apprentices, the rules of this trial are simple!” The chief’s rich voice rolled across the clearing. “Capture one of the raptors, bring it back here, and you will be allowed to accompany the warriors on their next hunt. You may even get the chance to prove yourself a man!”

The chief’s eyes seemed to settle on Chatna. Although Kitra was his son, he hadn’t intervened or insisted on any punishment for the boy so many others blamed. Chatna looked away and saw his own mother and father in the crowd. Their faces were unreadable and didn’t appear to pay him much notice at all. Chatna looked away again and accidentally locked eyes with Amora. She stood with the other girls, packed in by the tribe’s women. He hadn’t heard anything from her since Kitra was injured so he wasn’t sure what she thought of it all.

“Get ready!” the chief said.

Chatna and the other boys braced. Their lean bodies were tensed, in loincloths and body paint, with knives on their belts and sheaths holding short throwing spears hanging behind their shoulders. Some of the warriors picked up and overturned the boxes resting in front of the chief. Half a dozen tree raptors tumbled out. The tree raptors were a smaller breed than those that had chased Chatna on his way back from the sirenflower the other day, standing about knee-high. Their feathers would blend into the jungle, greyish brown with darker stripes. A brighter red marked their underbellies. Their wings were still too small to allow them to fly, claws bristling from the ends of their feathered limbs. Like their larger cousins, wicked talons curved on their feet, deadly if underestimated. Scaled heads poked out of feathered ruffs, mouths lined with hooked fangs. Each of the six raptors wore a woven collar of a different colour. This was to ensure that any raptor brought back to the tribe was really one of those released and not a random one tracked and killed by an apprentice.

Most of the raptors, as soon as they were released they fled like arrows leaving a bow. Sprinting and leaping, and disappearing into the treeline. A couple were so confused though that they spun in circles, screeching, until the warriors drove them off. The last of them ran and vanished into the jungle as well.

“Go, go!” the chief instructed the boys.

All of the boys had already decided which groups or pairs they would be hunting in. Picking their raptors, they exploded into motion. A few shouts of excitement rattled through the clearing. Some of the watching spectators cheered as well. Chatna, left on his own, took a moment to consider his options then chased after a raptor that had vanished closer to his side of the village. Folk got out of his way but they didn’t hurry about it, forcing him to sidestep and negotiate a path.

Touching the handle of his knife, Chatna slipped through ferns and vines and other plantlife. He searched for signs of damage by which to track the raptor. The throwing spears jostled in their sheath on his back. The canopy thickened, and the branches grew mossier underfoot.

Few signs showed by which to track the raptor amidst the chaos of the jungle, but that was of course part of the challenge. Scars from the creature’s talons marked the moss. A few bent leaves and branches. He hurried through a web of branches, not seeing any of the other apprentices. It took him on a strange path through the jungle. One not often travelled.

Through curtains of plantlife, Chatna spotted movement ahead. The brown-grey feathers and dark stripes. Chatna had chosen well, after sprinting what it thought was a safe distance from the humans the tree raptor had stopped to nose around and get its bearings. A fluffy bushel of feathers sprouted from its tail. Chatna could see the woven collar around its neck.

The raptor turned, alert. Its eyes shone brightly above its scaly snout. Chatna sank low, trying to become part of the jungle. His body paint blended with crisscrossing shadows and flowering vines to become camouflage on his skin. The raptor held very, very still. This was his chance. To prove he was a man, a warrior. That he deserved his place among them. Silently, he reached for one of the spears.

In a single, fluid motion, Chatna straightened, drawing the spear back, and flung forward. At the last possible moment, the raptor caught sight of the movement. Its reaction times were such that in that split-second the raptor turned and shot away like a bolt of lightning. Chatna’s spear hissed past its bushy tail and disappeared into the ferns behind it.

Chatna had no time to try another spear or to retrieve the one he’d thrown. He sprinted after the raptor across Mother’s sloping, winding branches. In and out of patches of sunlight and shadow. Now that it knew Chatna was behind it, the raptor wouldn’t slow or stop. Chatna wouldn’t stop either. Feet pounded against bark. He could feel blood warm in his moving limbs. While he felt very aware of his knife and spears, he couldn’t use either unless he got closer.

The tree raptor blended amidst the bark and plants but it chose to run instead of hiding. The two of them skirted a large pool where a depression in one of Mother’s branches formed a bowl for water to gather. It marked the edge of the tribe’s territory. Beyond it would be more unfamiliar branches, more dangers, and potentially other tribes. Chatna, blind to anything but the praise he would receive if he returned with a raptor, followed. Huge and laborious shapes rose and fell in the stagnant water, slime running from their black flanks. Storm leeches, too slow to ambush Chatna or the raptor as they raced past.

Leaping from one branch to the next, the raptor tried to lose him. But Chatna felt as slick and fast, and as surefooted as he had ever been. He sprung after it and kept chasing. Loosening another spear from his cache, he prepared for his moment. The race could not go on forever and as soon as he saw the raptor hesitate, slow for even an instant, he would strike. Before then, however, the raptor reached the butt of the branch and jolted to the right. It would have been an opportunity but too many ferns and young plants got in the way. Chatna had to battle a path through them. Cooing flowers tried to trip him, tangling his legs.

The next branch sloped into a patch of relative sun. Chatna spotted the raptor ahead of him, and in front of it was a wide thicket of bladegrass. His heart sank. If the raptor made it to the bladegrass, there would be no catching it. There was no more ideal place for a creature of its type to hide. Its feathers would blend with the grass, and it could slip between the stalks while Chatna would be sliced to ribbons if he tried to follow. Gaps perfectly sized for the raptor appeared in the thicket. Stalks rustled as if with hidden prey. Something looked slightly off about the thicket but Chatna failed to process it as he fixated on the raptor.

Chatna flung forward with the spear, all of his muscles working in concert with one another. The spear left his open hand perfectly. Its fire hardened point cut the distance between Chatna and the raptor. But at the last second, the raptor instinctively jerked to one side. Chatna’s spear hissed past the feathers on its back and struck the branch beside it, the tip breaking off and the spear bouncing over the bark. The raptor closed the last of the distance between it and the bladegrass and leapt.

Rather than slip into a gap between the saw-toothed blades of grass and disappear, the raptor appeared to hit the very edge of the closest patch and stick in midair. Immediately panicked, the raptor screeched and started to twist and turn. Recognising danger, even if he didn’t know what it was, Chatna pulled to a stop and wheeled backward in the direction of the nearest trunk.

The raptor shrieked and fought like an insect caught in a spiderweb. Chatna couldn’t see what it was suspended in but then purplish tendrils began to wrap around the animal. He recognised the fat and leathery leaves flat against the ground underfoot. A haze surrounded the field of bladegrass, which began to weaken.

Sirenflowers, a dozen of them, scattered across the branch. Chatna didn’t know it was possible for so many to grow in one place. They’d sensed the raptor coming and given it the illusion of what it needed at that very moment, a place to hide. Now, the illusion of the bladegrass faded. Tendrils wrapped around the raptor. Weakened by the plant’s perfume, the animal went limp and calm. Thick petals began to close around it. A pod formed which would dissolve and consume the raptor, about as tall as Chatna himself. The other sirenflowers remained open, tendrils waving, and their illusions started to change.

Chatna backed away a safe distance to the base of the branch. He could sense, however, a rolling wave of chemical perfume, sweet and coaxing. An unnatural calm and even joy began to fill him. The sirenflowers sought him out but with so many of them, so suddenly, the illusions at first appeared confused. Naked Amoras rose from what remained of the fading bladegrass. Purple tendrils knit themselves into humanoid forms and detail filled in around them. But part of Chatna’s mind was still on catching the raptor so some of the Amoras had red bellies or feathered arms with talons on their fingers. Mouths filled with hooked teeth.

Whether it was the perfume, or the fascination of finding so many of the flowers in the one place, all Chatna could do was watch. The sirenflowers that remained open managed to get their illusions under control. Half a dozen naked Amoras, as bronzed and supple as ever, gestured to him. Limbs moved too loosely in what were meant to be sensual dances. But then other flowers showed him other temptations. He saw a couple of feathered raptors with woven collars around their necks waiting to be captured. Others from the village surrounded them, silently cheering him on. Other girls. His mother and father stood by, smiling, and Chatna felt a surge of desire to go up and hug them. On the edge of the illusions he even saw Kitra, his chest healed, gesturing to him.

Chatna’s heart thundered against his chest, from the hunt and from the exhilaration of his discovery. The sensations created by the plants were far stronger than they’d ever been before. Lust and joy, and validation, acceptance, longing. The only thing to somewhat ruin the effect was the flower that remained closed around the tree raptor, reminding Chatna of the consequences of letting his guard down and getting too close.

The possibilities of what to do with so many flowers seemed endless. It was not fear of the danger involved but fear of being discovered that woke Chatna up. Something shrieked in the jungle and he whipped around. All the other boys he trained with would be out and hunting. They could stumble onto this patch just like he had done and find him compromised, especially if they ended up following his trail thinking it had been left by one of the raptors. No, he couldn’t enjoy the sirenflowers right now. He would have to go back and wait until everything was normal then return.

The sirenflowers abandoned the other illusions. Eight naked Amoras tried to tempt Chatna closer. The others displayed a few different girls from his village who began to undress. Chatna fixed his eyes on the closed flower and then forced himself to look away. Later, he silently promised. I’ll be back later.

Navigating back the way he’d come, Chatna skirted the pool with the two wallowing leeches. His head began to clear from the sirenflowers’ perfume. He’d have to return to the village empty handed. Disappointment didn’t really register, he was too excited by his discovery and too busy fearing it might be found by others.

Chatna moved carefully and unobtrusively in an effort to conceal the direction he was coming from, looking for other apprentices. He worried they might somehow sense the sirenflowers on him. Ahead, he saw movement. A strand of ferns rustled, shadows moving beneath them. Instinctively going still, he shrank against the branch.

A scaled head poked out between the leaves. Around its neck hung a woven collar of yellow material that clashed with the raptors’ grey feathers and red breast. Its small, flightless wings ruffled. Chatna could hardly believe it. Finding another raptor hadn’t even been in his mind, he’d assumed they’d all scattered far and wide by now.

Chatna had one spear remaining in the sheath on his back. Achingly slow, he reached over his shoulder and grasped it. The raptor appeared shockingly unworried. It stood half-in and half-out of the ferns where it had been hidden, scenting the air. Gathering himself in a crouching position, he cocked the final spear behind his shoulder. He aimed but would have to stand in order to make the throw and the tree raptor would be alerted. His heart began racing so hard again it felt like the animal should be able to hear it. The rest of the jungle fell away.

Chatna erupted into motion, rising. His arm flung forward and the spear left his hand. The raptor twisted to face him as the spear whistled perfectly into its breast.

Shortly thereafter, Chatna returned to the village with a wide grin on his face and the tree raptor’s limp body tossed over his shoulder. He’d finished the job with his knife and the raptor’s blood leaked down his back. A couple of the warriors guarding the edge of the village spotted him first.

Chatna marched into the centre of the village where most of the tribe still gathered. Recovering from their surprise, they took up a throaty cheer to celebrate. Chatna hefted the raptor over his head and then lay it at the chief’s feet.

xXx

Although tree raptors weren’t the best eating, too tough and too bitter, those captured by Chatna and several of the other young men were plucked and prepared then roasted over a fire pit that night. Everyone from the tribe was expected to take a bite and complement the meat. Chatna should have been soaking up all the praise but part of him remained distracted. Even the cheers and compliments lacked the satisfaction of the sirenflowers’ visions. Without their perfume, he felt slightly empty.

The orange glow of the fires bounced against the black walls of jungle that bordered the village. The torches warded away insects but outside constant insect and animal and plant noise sang and chittered and screamed. To enter the jungle at night was death. There was no arguing that, it was as good as leaping off a branch of Mother Tree and plunging to the jungle floor far below. But Chatna felt distracted and antsy and kept looking toward it.

“You were the only one to catch a tree raptor by yourself,” a female voice interrupted his thoughts.

Chatna turned to find Amora standing behind him. Dark eyes fixed on his face. Her tawny skin and black hair gleamed in the firelight.

“What?”

“I said you were the only one to capture a raptor by yourself, that’s very impressive,” Amora said. “You seem to do everything by yourself though. You’re always disappearing on your own into Mother’s reaches, where do you go?”

Chatna hoped his flush was not so obvious in the darkness. “Uh, I just-, I’m training myself to track, doing my chores, like everyone else.”

“I don’t know, there’s something secretive about you. Maybe you can let me in on it someday?”

Chatna didn’t know what to say. He’d admired Amora from afar for so long but this might be the longest they’d ever spoken, in spite of growing up in the same village. He’d shared so much intimacy with the sirenflower’s imagined version of her, he struggled to separate the two. But part of him still wanted to be away from there and in the sirenflower grove he’d discovered that day.

“I thought it was unfair how everyone was blaming you for what happened to Kitra,” Amora continued. “Obviously he got too close to the bloodroot, since he got struck. That wasn’t your fault, and I heard he was telling others to do it as well.”

“We both got as close as each other, I was just faster at getting out of the way.”

“Right, sure, well it was unfair.”

“Thank you, I mean, I thought so too.”

“If you complete the hunt, and finish the other trials, you could become a man before Kitra, even though his father is chief.”

“You’re right! There’s no reason I couldn’t do that.”

xXx

That night, in spite of his conversation with Amora, Chatna was thinking of the sirenflowers as he drifted off to sleep. He smelled them in his dreams. Visions of Amora bent and twisted, doubling and tripling and multiplying in endless rows. Sirenflowers opened up to him, petals peeling apart and dripping with sticky moisture.

Chatna woke before dawn, as the sky between the tallest reaches of Mother’s branches turned grey and gold. He slipped out of his hammock. Around him, the others snored. He couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t even really care if his absence was noted. After capturing one of the tree raptors and qualifying for a hunt, Chatna would receive more leeway than normal.

Evading the warriors on the edges of the village, Chatna vanished into the dawning jungle. He vaguely followed the path he’d used yesterday, up and down branches and around trunks. He moved more by instinct than by landmarks but after a while he recognised the pool of stagnant water where he’d seen the storm leeches.

Heading back to where he’d followed the raptor the day before, Chatna spotted the grove. The sirenflowers hadn’t sensed him yet. A breeze moved swiftly through the jungle and Chatna was downwind of it. Sleeping, the sirenflowers remained closed, a dozen clustered pods about as tall as he was, green, leathery petals tucked up like flowers that hadn’t budded yet with bushy leaves around their fat bases. Almost immediately, they began to open. Even the petals of the one that caught the raptor yesterday peeled apart. Thatches of purple tendrils began waving and twisting on themselves in a gathering haze.

Chatna descended to the base of the branch hosting the sirenflowers. He had a clear picture in mind of what he wanted to see. Petals laying flat, tendrils twisting into humanoid shapes, the sirenflowers began to cast their lures. Visions of Amora, her skin graced by firelight that didn’t exist, not a stitch of clothing on her body, took shape. Simultaneously, they gestured for him to come closer. They danced and ran their hands over their bodies.

“Oh, yes, yes, please,” Chatna whispered.

Looking around to make sure he hadn’t been followed, Chatna settled down to watch. His heart fluttered and breathing became short. Squatting, he felt the growing pressure of his excitement. The scent of the flowers came to him and sharpened his sense of wanting. With so many of the sirenflowers, the illusions began to interact with one another. They teased and groped, and gestured for Chatna to join them. He shuffled a little closer for a better look.

“Please, please.”

The naked Amoras played with one another. Pulling at his loincloth, Chatna wanted to be among them. People were so afraid of the sirenflowers but he’d been dealing with them for so long he must have formed a resistance. Building an immunity like some people did with venoms or poisons. It was no problem if he got a little closer.

The sirenflowers remained totally silent, they couldn’t create sounds in the way they created visual illusions. But as their perfume filled his sinuses, Chatna thought he could almost hear voices. Calling to him musically, full of longing. He straightened and strayed even closer. The breeze carried more of the flowers’ perfume. The smell was almost overpoweringly sweet, and so much stronger when there were so many of them. Some tiny, distant part of Chatna’s brain reminded him he should be cautious but he felt so calm and happy and confident. He knew these flowers, they couldn’t harm him. Nothing, in fact, could harm him.

One of the Amoras stood out from the rest. One arm covered her breasts while the other called Chatna forward. Behind her, the others played and danced. Head full of perfume, he could almost feel their warm, smooth skin, soft flesh, breasts and hips and buttocks. He needed it, he needed more.

Chatna stumbled forward as that miniscule voice in the back of his head warned him to turn back. With every step, the perfume and the sensations got stronger, more and more illusionary flesh filled his gaze, and his need became overwhelming. That one Amora gestured him right into her arms. She didn’t speak, they didn’t need words.

Chatna pressed himself into Amora. Distantly, he felt the cords of tendrils under her chest and arms wrapping themselves around him, sticking to him with glue and tiny hooks, but he was too happy to care. Closing his eyes, he kissed her. The light became dim as the sirenflower’s petals closed around the two of them, giving privacy to the young lovers, and sealing Chatna permanently inside.

======

Sean: It’s a METAPHOR for PORN ADDICTION! I’m using METAPHORS, just like a REAL AUTHOR!

Poor Chatna, but he was a bit creepy. I had in the back of my mind those AI programs I’ve heard about that supposedly can make porn of anyone you like, hence the slightly uncanny valley aspects. But actually for me the concept of the sirenflowers is probably close to twenty years old. I remember them from one of the first original novels I tried to write, not the very first but possibly the second. The Valley, as I recall it was heavily influenced by the Dark Tower series and swung wildly between unrelated action sequences and stolen bits of pretentious pop psychology. I don’t think I’ll be revisiting that one, but no concept ever truly goes to waste.

Oh, and in case it wasn’t clear or you haven’t read much more of my work, yes, this one is connected through to the setting I call the Land of Giants! Hence the “people that lived on the backs of giant turtles, or insects, or in trees that challenged mountains.” If you enjoyed this one, please check them out, tell a friend, or validate me with positive feedback! I crave validation, like any other author or creative. We’re a weak breed. Thanks for reading!