Heights of the Depths

by Peter David

  She fancied that she could pick out her father’s voice among the war cries that were being shouted. She had no way of knowing for sure; she might well have been imagining it. There was no doubt in her mind, though, that her father was there amongst the other warriors. He was, after all, a leader, and what else does a leader do if not lead his people, even if it’s on a direct path to damnation? A leader who had killed Pavan’s parents, and Akasha, and arranged for Pavan’s kidnapping. In the grand scheme of things, the fact that he was ready to dispatch his own daughter seemed the most minor of his crimes. Pavan, his parents, Akasha, they had all been minding their own business, trying to live their lives as best they could before Seramali had disrupted them or deprived them of those same lives. Demali had deliberately thrust herself into Seramali’s plans and brought his wrath upon her.

  Knowing that somehow didn’t make her feel any better.

  She remained crouched upon her Zeffer. Her Zeffer. She had been upon the thing only for a few minutes and she was already thinking of it in possessive terms. How perverse was fate, that her father had done her the greatest service of her life in endeavoring to dispatch her. Had he not done so, she would not have literally fallen into this incredible good fortune. Still, he had always taught her that vast good and vast evil go hand in hand; one would lead invariably to the other, like a mighty circle. “Those from great heights will be cast into great depths, while those below will be lifted on high.” That was what he had said countless times, or words to that effect.

  In his attempt to hurl her to the depths, he had raised her on high. It seemed only right that she return the favor. And however inadvertently, he had provided her the means to do so.

  The last of the Zeffers had passed overhead. They were alone now. Except she knew that as long as her Zeffer—her Zeffer—was alive, she would never again have to worry about being alone. Which was yet another reason for her to take immediate steps to make sure that the Zeffer remained alive.

  That meant finding Pavan immediately.

  “Down,” she urged the Zeffer. “Down to the low lands. Let us make our presence known. Let us draw close enough so that Pavan will be able to see us, and so that we can hear him. And I suspect that he will do the rest.”

  ii.

  Arren Kinklash had had great hopes for the Ocular as potential allies when it came to both defensive and offensive capabilities. What had not occurred to him was that they would be magnificent means of transport.

  The youth and vigor of Berola and Turkin were simply beyond all reasonable measure. They ran steadily and with no apparent indication of tiring, each huge stride of their legs consuming such distance that miles would hurtle by at incomprehensible speeds. From time to time they would need to rest, of course. And they were going through the food that he had brought along alarmingly quickly. “I’m so hungry,” Turkin had said at one point, “that I could eat a whores.” Then, by great good fortune, they came across a couple of whores who were wandering around, apparently separated from their herd. The Ocular ate them, and seemed—at least for a time—satisfied with that.

  During the brief times that they rested, Arren would speak to them of their lives before their lives had fallen apart. They were resilient, these young Ocular, but the cold fury that still burned within them was always there, just below the surface. Arren was relieved that the Ocular had no particular grievance against the Mandraques; he would not have liked his chances in pitched battle with the giants. “Should an opportunity for combat arise,” he said, “I very much suspect that you will enjoy it.”

  “Should that indeed occur,” said Turkin, “I will imagine that I am faced with the gods themselves—the ones who chose the fates for our loved ones—and take joy as I smash all of them beneath my feet and crush them in my mighty hands.”

  “I admire your spirit,” said Arren. He glanced at the female. “And you—?”

  “I will take no joy in destroying anyone,” said Berola. “There is no joy left to us anymore. There is only the hope that vengeance can be exacted on behalf of those we have lost.”

  “I share your hope.”

  She looked at him disdainfully. He found it somewhat unsettling, having a single large eye looking at him with that much scorn. “Do not think for a moment that you are fooling either of us. You do not share our hope. You have your goals that you wish to accomplish, and we are simply a means to an end. By the same token, we see you as an outlet for our anger. We serve each other’s needs, and are nothing more than that. So let us not pretend that we are going to become friends or appreciative of each other’s innermost feelings. We are allies until it serves our respective needs not to be. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly,” said Arren.

  Much of the rest of their trip passed in silence, until that silence was eventually broken by an exclamation of shock.

  Arren had actually been dozing while astride Turkin’s back when he was jerked awake by Turkin’s skidding to a halt and a gasp of, “Oh my gods!” The abrupt action was enough to cause Arren to drop off his perch and hit the ground. He had his sword half-drawn before he fully registered that there was no one attacking them.

  He saw that the Ocular were looking skyward. The lenses over their eyes were functioning exactly as they were intended to do, shielding them against the intensity of the sun. At first Arren could not understand what it was that had so captivated their interest. There was nothing but clouds in the—

  “Oh my gods,” he said, echoing the sentiments.

  They were not clouds. They were alive. They were Zeffers.

  Arren had seen them from time to time throughout his life, drifting along lazily. And the last time, of course, was the most significant: the Zeffer that had departed with his sister.

  These were far more than he had ever seen together; perhaps more than anyone had. And seeing them up there, drifting along, uncaring of anything Arren might think or say or do, underscored for Arren the difficulty of his situation. How was he supposed to impose his will on such creatures when they were so far above him, in every way, that to them he was of no greater significance than an insect?

  The same thoughts were clearly occurring to the Ocular. “How are we possibly supposed to assert our will over creatures like that?” said Berola, making no attempt to keep the awe from her voice. “How could we even get to them?”

  “Jump,” said Arren. “Jump quickly. Jump as high as you possibly can, and perhaps you can grab hold of their tentacles and climb up.”

  They stared at him.

  “I was making a jest,” he said.

  Berola looked confused. Turkin just looked relieved.

  “They are going in the direction whence we came,” said Berola. “Now what? We retrace our steps? Try to—?”

  “The plan hasn’t changed,” Arren said firmly. He pointed at the mountains that loomed in the near distance ahead of them. “We are almost to our goal. It doesn’t matter where the Zeffers are going. Our business is with the Serabim. They, not the Zeffers, can tell us where my sister has gone.”

  “But if the Zeffers took her there—wherever ‘there’ is—then we’ll need one to get us there, won’t we?”

  “One thing at a time,” said Arren. “First we need to—”

  “Look!” Berola cried out, pointing.

  Another Zeffer had floated into view. But it was smaller than the ones they had seen earlier, and was flying much lower. Not remotely low enough for them to get to it, but not as high as the clouds. It was heading in a totally different direction from the others. There was a single rider visible upon it, looking puny in comparison, but nevertheless firmly in control.

  “Change of plan,” said Arren. “We follow that.”

  “You realize we still can’t jump up to it, right?” said Berola sarcastically.

  “Of course. But it has to come down sometime. And when it does, we are going to be there waiting.”

  Porto

  “Stay back!” Eutok shouted, and then
he waved his axe threateningly and bellowed, “Stay back! Or let he who would be the first to die come at me!”

  They attacked en masse.

  Eutok struck first, his axe cleaving the skull of the nearest Piri, truncating its scream. He yanked the axe clear and swung it at another, and still another. Karsen deftly wielded the Minosaur horn as effectively as if it were a short sword, slicing and gouging and driving the Piri back. One came up behind him and he lashed out with his powerful hooves, crushing the Piri’s head against the wall. The tunnel reverberated with the sounds of smashing and screeching and still there seemed to be no end to them. For every one that they managed to kill, another three seemed to appear to take their place.

  Karsen cried out. One of the Piri had gotten near enough to sink its teeth into his leg. He grabbed it and yanked it clear, slamming it against the nearest wall, causing blood from the Piri to splatter all over it.

  Then Eutok let out a howl of fury. A Piri had ducked under the sweep of his axe and leaped upon him. He tried to grab at it and then another Piri jumped upon him from behind and another and still another. He staggered, trying to tear them away from him, but they were holding on too tightly.

  “Eutok!” Karsen shouted, and he tried to get to the Trull, and suddenly he tripped over a Piri who had thrown himself directly under Karsen’s hooves. Karsen went down and before he could fight his way back to standing, a Piri landed upon his back. He tried to reach back and grab his assailant, but then another was grabbing his arm, trying to sink its teeth into him. Karsen twisted his arm around and grabbed it by the throat, squeezing as hard as he could. The Piri’s throat crunched beneath his fingers and he tossed it aside, but then two more were grabbing his arm, immobilizing it.

  That was when a high pitched voice cried out, “Wait!”

  It was one of the Piri who had clambered atop Eutok. He had frozen exactly where he was, and he was sniffing at Eutok like an animal inspecting its prey. The other Piri had likewise stopped their assault. For a long moment everyone was paralyzed, and then the Piri whose shout had brought everything to a halt pointed at Eutok and said, “He has been with a Piri.”

  The other Piri exchanged confused looks. “What do you mean—?”

  said one.

  “He has been. With. A Piri. A highborn, from the smell of it. Her scent is all over him. He reeks of her. He has not been with her for some time, but her scent lingers.”

  Not sure if he was perceiving a possible out or was just incredibly desperate, Karsen called out, “Yes! He was with Clarinda. Clarinda of the Piri.”

  Instantly the Piri backed away from him, staring at him in shock and amazement. They remained upon Karsen, pinning him to the ground, but he did not attempt to struggle. “He was her lover!” Karsen said.

  “Shut up, Karsen!”

  “He told me all about her. He told me of his love for her. And…”

  His mind raced. “She was taken! Taken away! Kidnapped from the arms of her loving mother!”

  This prompted alarmed murmurs. “We had not heard of this!” “Did you hear?” “Who would dare?” “They must die! Whoever did this—”

  “They will die,” Karsen said, grabbing back their attention. “I can assure you of that. Eutok there is going to take the Truller car further back in the tunnels, and he is going to use it to get to her and bring her back!”

  “Is this true?” said one of the Piri.

  The answer, of course, was that it was not. Eutok glared fixedly at Karsen for a long moment, and then said with a growl, “Aye. It’s true.” He did not sound terribly convincing, but apparently it was sufficient to fool the Piri.

  The Piri who had identified Eutok as being Clarinda’s lover—and who apparently was the one in charge—spread wide his arms and declared, “Very well. I, Wojim of the Porto tribe of the Piri, declare that you are free to go. Go and rescue Clarinda, the daughter of our mistress. Let her know that the Porto tribe of Piri have drank many a feast in her name, and she is revered by all.”

  Even though he knew he was asking for trouble, Eutok could not help but say, “I had the impression that the Piri would be appalled by my being with one of your own.”

  “We are,” said Wojim, and there were nods from the others. “But I do not feel it is our place to question the choices of a highborn such as Clarinda. And if she is in distress and you can rescue her, then who are we to destroy you simply because we may find your involvement with her to be repulsive?”

  “Well…thank you,” said Eutok, clearly unsure how he was supposed to react to that.

  “We are grateful to you,” said Karsen. “To all of you. And I can promise you that Clarinda will be reunited with her mother, and we will make certain to let her know that you were instrumental in—”

  Wojim looked in amusement at Karsen. “What do you mean, ‘we?’ The Trull is to be set free. You, we’re going to eat.”

  “No!” shouted Eutok, and he tried to get to Karsen, but there was far too much of a mass of Piri between him and the Laocoon. And suddenly his arms were pinned by Piri who had come up from behind him and immobilized him. He struggled furiously. Any one of them, even any five of them, would have been unable to do anything against him. But the crowd of them upon him, with more piling on every moment, made it as hopeless as trying to fight against an incoming tide.

  Karsen saw the faces leering down at him, the burning red eyes all the more terrifying as they contrasted against the pale skin, and the lips drawn back exposing those horrific fangs. This is how it ends, then. This is how it finally ends. What a stupid way to die, and I never do find Jepp. My mother was right. Maybe that’s the most horrific thing of all. That my mother was right. She warned me that my feelings for Jepp would bring me to nothing but disaster, and now here she was proven right. I can practically hear her voice now, saying…

  “Get off my son, you bastards!’

  One of the Piri who had been atop him twisted around to see who had spoken, and the next thing he knew, his head had been crushed, driven straight down and into his shoulders.

  He slumped over and visible directly behind him was Zerena Foux. She was wielding a club that had a huge red splotch on it. The aged Mandraque, Rafe Kestor, was right behind her, waving his sword threateningly, shouting, “Who first? Who desires to be the first to meet with disaster at the hands of my flashing blade?”

  Mingo Minkopolis was right behind him. “I don’t think blades can have hands, Rafe,” he said in his typically imperious tone, but then he glanced around and saw the stray bones of Minosaurs scattered around the caves. When he realized what they were, a frightening growl issued from his throat. “I told you, Zerena. I told you Porto was heavily populated with Minosaurs.”

  “The operative word being ‘was,’” said Zerena.

  “You…monsters,” snarled Mingo. “You dared kill my people? You dared?”

  “And we’ll dare far more than that!” said Wojim. “We’ll feast for many cycles, my people! Take them! Take them a—!”

  Something amorphous dropped from overhead and enveloped Wojim. He staggered, clawing at nothing, and he tried to scream. It was a reflex and it was a mistake; the blob seeped in through his mouth.

  “Gant!” Karsen could not believe it. It did not seem remotely possible that the Bottom Feeders had simply shown up out of nowhere.

  There was a bizarre popping sound like a cork exploding from a bottle, except in reverse. Within seconds, as the other Piri looked on in stunned shock, the blob vanished entirely within Wojim. Wojim shook his head back and forth a few times and then his eyes focused on what was in front of him.

  “All of you, back away immediately and let us pass unmolested. If you do not,” said Gant, having taken full control of Wojim’s body, “then he dies.”

  The Piri looked at each other, seemed to shrug in unison, and one of them said, “Go ahead. More for us.” There were nods of agreement and then, again in unison, the Piri charged.

  With a roar of fury, Mingo plowed through
the nearest group of Piri, sending them scattering in all directions. Zerena swung her club, batting Piri aside, and Karsen almost got his own head knocked off as he clambered to his hooves. “Mother, how in the hell—?”

  “Not now!” she shouted over the howling of the Piri as she and the other Bottom Feeders started wading through the Piri onslaught.

  “But—”

  “Not now!”

  “Fine!” He turned and saw that the Piri was still coming nowhere near Eutok. Instead Eutok, seeing that Karsen and his clan were under assault, was preparing to leap into the fray with his axe. Realizing that would be a waste of resources, he shouted, “Eutok! The hotstars! Get them to the Truller! Hurry!”

  Eutok hesitated, then nodded and darted down the tunnel.

  The Bottom Feeders converged upon one another. The most berserk of them all was Mingo. Karsen had never seen the Minosaur so crazed. He was not fighting in anything approaching an elegant manner. Instead he was running this way and that, slamming full bore with his head into anyone and anything that got close to him. Piri would jump in front of him and scream defiance, and his response was to gore them with his horns before throwing their lifeless carcasses to either side.

  Rafe Kestor, never the most reliable of individuals when it came to maintaining his concentration, remained focused on his whereabouts this time. He utilized his sword with remarkable dexterity, cutting through the Piri who endeavored to get near him.

  But there were more Piri, and still more, and even though the floor was running thick with Piri blood, there seemed to be no diminishment of their forces as they continued to attack.

  “Fall back! This way!” shouted Karsen. “This way!”

  The others did as he instructed, Mingo clearing the way with another furious charge. The Minosaur alternated between trampling the Piri and continuing to gore them, while the rest of the Bottom Feeders followed closely behind.