Diggory's World (Wayworld Book 1)

by T. Daniel Sheppeard

  I stared at it sank in. Me, in a “up wagon”, dropping to the ground. No—kwe wasn’t ‘high’ or ‘up’—it was ‘sky’. Me, in a “sky wagon”, dropping to the ground. Me, meeting the tupa. He knew. He knew I’d come from the sky. How did he know I came from the sky? I looked at the shokhung, then the tupa.

  “Uman wa kwe. Uman shangamo,” the words came out as a whisper. (Human in sky; human drop.)

  “Vom, vom,” said Thashingi. (Yes, yes.) A thought dawned on me.

  “Shokhung wa kwe na? Shokhung shangamo na?” (Shokhung in sky? Shokhung fall?) The shokhung puffed out his cheeks again.

  “Vom,” he said. “Shokhung shangamo.” (Yes, shokhung fall.) “Umang wa kwe shangamo. Shokhung wa kwe shangamo. Thupa wa kwe shangamo. Umang ka bori nga?” (Human fall from sky, shokhung fall from sky, tupa fall from sky.)

  We had all fallen from the sky. All of us were aliens on Wayworld.

  I pointed at the first stars of the evening, twinkling in the east, waving my hand in the stroking motion of the tupa. “Uman homi homi,” I said. (Humans are there.)

  Wuheka bowed his head low, his face fur drooping, and waved toward the stars. “Tupa homi homi.” (Tupa there.) Thashingi pointed likewise. “Shokhung khomi khomi”. (Shokhung there.)

  We had all come from the stars.

  Chapter 6: The Realization

  I had a thousand questions that I had no idea how to ask. How long had they been here? Why did these star-faring races live so primitively? I knew why I did, but what about them? Were they stranded in the same manner? I did not know how to say ‘stranded’, ‘primitive’, or even ‘how’ or ‘why’.

  Could they help me get home? Of course not—surely they were as stuck as I was. Presumably.

  Now what? With every new thing I learned, I knew less about this world—about any world. Humanity was not alone in the cosmos. Faster-than-light travel was possible, if dangerous. Wayworld was inhabited by at least two intelligent species, now three, none of us native to the world.

  Judging from their village, the tupa had clearly been here for a while, for decades, at least. They had children and grandchildren on this world. I knew less about the shokhung. But at some point, the two races had met, and long enough ago that they had learned to communicate and established trade.

  I absorbed this realization. The others wandered off a while. Wuheka quietly approached and sat down.

  “Uman paigofa na?” I did not know the exact meaning of paigofa, but I’d heard adults saying it to children when they had stumbled. He was asking if I was alright.

  “Ka bori,” I replied (don’t know). Pause. “Vomka.” (Maybe.) “Tupa bori uman shangamo na?” (Tupa know human fall?)

  “Vom. Uman hren. Hren shangamo.” There it was. Hren. Human is/has hren. Hren fall. Maybe hren wasn’t speech. Maybe it was ‘alien’. Perhaps uman and tupa had/were hren, because we were aliens.

  “Shokhung hren na na?” I asked. (‘Shokhung have/are hren, right?)

  “Vom, vom,” he replied. (Yes, yes.)

  We stayed up late talking—that is, the shokhung and tupa spoke a great deal to each other and tried to communicate with me. I ascertained only one thing: the shokhung wanted my sky wagon. In exchange, they would help me. How? The words eluded me, but as far as I could tell, they wanted to ‘pour out’ my pakren, since the word they used, muafi, was demonstrated by Thashingi opening a stoppered bottle and pouring the contents into my hand.

  So this pakren the tupa carried on about was some sort of liquid? And maybe I had it, maybe I didn’t. Good grief—it wasn’t blood, was it? No, blood was something else—I couldn’t remember the word, but someone had told me when they had cut their hand ( tupa blood is deep maroon, in case you’re wondering.) After a while, the meeting ended, the shokhung left for their camp, and the tupa and I went to sleep.

  Negotiations continued in the morning. Where was my sky wagon? I tried to indicate that the augie was useless—the best I could do was broken. It did not seem to matter to them. There was no way I could give them directions. I was to go with them. The very idea made me nervous. The tupa village was hardly home, but I had grown accustomed to the safety and security. A roof and walls. Friends, of a sort.

  Some of the tupa would go with us. They would give me… stuff. They would ‘pour out’ the pakren. Maybe. I needed more information, but without understanding them better, I wouldn’t be able to get more. The tupa seemed very enthusiastic about the idea They had treated me well and befriended me when there was no profit in it for them. I trusted them. I agreed to take them to Augie Field.

  Even before lunch we were preparing for the journey. Shuvo and Chuicha would accompany three of the shokhung, plus myself, westward back to where I met the tupa. They prepared a wagon, drawn by two of the shokhung’s beast of burden, the mongmoth, and an assortment of tools. The shokhung worked through lunch, snacking on fruit and handfuls of nuts. At mid-afternoon, they announced we were leaving. The tupa said their goodbyes, as did I, while the shokhung loped about impatiently. They had an air of a very direct and busy people. The three that were traveling with us were Thashingi, Murima, and Akhufar.

  We made good time on the evening’s journey. The mongmoth moved more quickly than their bulk had led me to expect, and propelled by their prodigious muscles, the wagon effectively ignored the bumps and hollows in the road. Both tupa and shokhung showed better endurance and kept up a better pace than I did. I was sorely tempted to climb into the wagon for a while, but the bouncing and shuttering it endured under the speed of the mongmoth made me reconsider. We traveled until dark before making camp.

  At dinner, I struck on a theory on why certain foods had been withheld from me. Most of the food was shared among all of us, but there was food that the shokhung ate that the tupa did not, and vice versa. None of the foods that either species avoided were offered to me. The likely answer was that I was offered foods that were deemed safe for humans by virtue of their safety for both races. Some of the nuts favored by the shokhung were ones I had eaten before. They had not been offered to me, but I helped myself and no one argued.

  We paused briefly the next morning for the shokhung to harvest some small melon-like fruit that grew on vines on the roadside. The tupa and I gathered firewood. Then we returned to the road. At lunch both species partook of the melons, but they smelled like spoiled milk to me, so I declined.

  In the afternoon, Shuvo tried to engage me in conversation

  “Uman asa dorbal na?” he asked. (Human have dorbal?)

  “Vohe dorbal dorbal na?” I replied. (What is dorbal?)

  “Uman chui lifi tupa kua dorbal. Dorbal e lifi na?” (Human say child tupa as dorbal. Dorbal is child?)

  “Kaha.” (No.)

  He paused. “Uman asa lifi na?” (Human have child?) I wasn’t sure if he was asking about humans in general, or me specifically.

  I waved my hand in the air, hoping it would indicate generality. “Uman asa lifi.” (Humans have children.) I motioned at myself. “Uman ka asa lifi.” He digested this a second.

  “Uman asa miva na?” (Human have female?)

  I repeated my contrast of humans in general (yes) and myself (no).

  After a while he asked me: “Vome vome uman na?” pointing at me. I was puzzled. Did he ask me what humans were called?

  “Uman vome uman.” (Human called human.)

  Shuvo responded with the chuffing tupa laughter. Then he pointed to himself and each of his comrades, me included, saying in turn: “Tupa, tupa, shokhung, shokhung, shokhung, uman.” Then he repeated the pointing, this time with names: “Shuvo, Chuicha, Akhufa, Thashingi, Murima,” he paused and motioned at me, his cheek fur stretching forward expectantly.

  Ah! “Uman vome Diggs,” I said. (Human called Diggs.)

  Shuvo said, “Uman asa lifi. Diggs ka asa lifi. Uman asa miva. Diggs ka asa miva. Na?” (Humans have children. Diggs does not. Humans have females. Diggs does not.)

  “Vom.” (Yes.)

  I wanted to ask Shuvo ab
out their homeworld, but that was well beyond my grasp of the language. I asked him any question that would come to my mind. I tried to engage the shokhung as well, but they weren’t very talkative.

  We set no watch at night, just as tupa had not done so on our trip to the village. Everyone bedded down and went to sleep. The tupa woke at night and ate, as usual; the shokhung did not. They ate only one or two full meals a day, but snacked frequently.

  Our trip to Augie Field was uneventful. The biggest scare was finding two telak in a field, stalking waybeasts. They were distant, however, and though one cast a baleful glance at our rattling ensemble, they did not leave their predations.

  Our biggest problem was fording the river. As we approached the path from the road to my old camp, the shokhung and tupa searched up and down stream for a shallow place to cross. I had crossed at the creek, but the brush and undergrowth there was too dense for easy passage of the wagon and the mongmoth. For a few hours they searched and I took advantage of the time to do some fishing with a net I had procured as part of my deal with the shokhung. I caught an assortment fish, and along with a little bit of pepper dill, I had dinner ready by the time everyone returned. We made camp instead of trying to ford in the waning sunlight.

  The following morning we traveled to the best fording place they’d found. The mongmoth were tall enough that they could wade across with their heads held up, but they couldn’t pull the wagon that way. The took the beasts across the river and connected them via block and tackle to the wagon. The shokhung handled the animals, the tupa enlisted to pull guide ropes so that the wagon did not get lost floating downstream,. The opposite bank was quite steep, and hauling the wagon up the slope took some time. I was not looking forward to making the return trip with a loaded wagon.

  Moving through the fields was far slower than the road. The wagon was sturdy and the beasts strong, but even so, we could only go so fast. It was not until early evening that my erstwhile home came into view. I approached it with a twinge of nostalgia. Here I had struggled and suffered. Here I had tried to kill myself. Here I had wept over the anguish and loneliness of knowing I’d never see another human. And yet… Here I had built a life for myself from virtually nothing. Here, for the first time in my life, I had lived by my wits, my resourcefulness, and my muscle. Here I had done what I never would have imagined I would ever have been able to do.

  Augie Field had changed only a little in my absence. The remaining sticks and stones of my hut were more wildly scattered than they had been. I peered into the augie. The seat had been shredded, and the presence of sticks, leaves, and fur suggested something had nested here a while. There was a mildew smell about it.

  The shokhung jabbered excitedly about the vehicle, and immediately began climbing about on it, poking, tapping, even smelling. They were a very tactile species: always feeling and stroking things. The tupa examined it with an interest that was far more curious than mercenary. They also explored the area around. The shokhung turned their attention away from my augie and towards the chimney trees. They took turns climbing up them in a truly ape-like fashion, causing the trunk to bend deeply, while another would catch the nectar in a wide-mouthed jug. Having nothing else to do, I helped the third shokhung by holding another jug. We harvested from many of the trees in the field, then strained out the bugs and covered the mouths of the jugs with cloth. Night fell and we made camp. I faded to sleep to the noises and smells of Augie Field and dreamed of a time when it was home.

  After breakfast the next morning the shokhung set about dismantling the augie. They had an assortment of wrenches, hammers, and saws, some of which were obviously products of an industrialized world. The tupa milled about aimlessly, content to watch or rest. Not wanting to get in anyone’s way, I grabbed my newly minted bone-knife spear and my nets, and wandered down to the creek. The lousters and fan-finned eels had not changed their habits, and I was able to bring a sizable amount of food back with me. I also found eggs and some vegetables.

  I returned to the camp to find the shokhung had made substantial progress. Again I prepared a meal, this time with help from the tupa. The shokhung showed more appreciation of boiled eggs than the tupa had, and ate the louster with noticeable enthusiasm. After lunch they continued their work, and by nightfall had broken my former home down into pieces small enough to manage loading onto the wagon.

  The next morning, we began our return journey. I was a little melancholy as I surveyed the field. No evidence I’d lived there remained. The hut wreckage had been salvaged or scattered, and the augie was in unrecognizable pieces, bundled together, on the mongmoth-drawn wagon. Aguie Field was no more. My first home on Wayworld had vanished.

  We came to the river. The wagon was unyoked from the mongmoth, unloaded, and then slowly lowered down the bank using ropes and pulleys. The bundled augie components parts were carried across the river by two shokhung riding on a mongmoth, held high over their heads. This alone took some time. Lastly, the wagon was brought across, then reloaded. As tired as we were, the shokhung were eager to continue our journey. We traveled straight through until dinner.

  The next morning I went hunting with my spear and throwing stick as the others prepared breakfast. I killed a bird-like quadruped, perhaps a smaller cousin of the waygriffins that had stolen my haunch of telak. I was returning to the camp, when a rustle in the ferns caught my attention. I turned to investigate. To my terror and surprise, the domed face and horned shell of a thornwolf thrust out of the growth.

  I had only a brief moment to think. Running was futile. I tossed my catch at it, hoping it would go for the easy meal, but still it galloped toward me. I barely had time to plant the butt of my spear in the ground, bracing it with my foot, and pointing the tip at the organic locomotive bearing down on me.

  The spear buckled and bent like a bow as the thornwolf bore into it. The tip glanced off the creature’s shell, and the bent shaft sprang out from its braced position, popping up and smacking me in the shin, nearly causing me to loose my grip. I shouted in surprise and pain. The thornwolf was diverted off its path, if only by a little.

  It turned about, clawed feet digging chunks of lichen off the ground, and bolted at me again. I deflected its charge with the shaft of the spear. It lunged in again, this time gouging my thigh with its thorny projections. I stabbed at the neck with my spear, but the jointed carapace neatly deflected my attack. I jabbed again as it turned around, aiming at the joints in the shell, but without luck. It grazed me again with its thorny hide. The beast ran out further and turned around, charging at me from a distance. I tried to leap out of the way, but the monster caught my legs and they spun out from underneath me, knocking me to the ground. Small black eyes peered at me, deep-set in bony ridges; the shark-like mouth opened wide as the creature hurled itself at me.

  For a second time, I brought the shaft of my spear up, jamming it into a thornwolf’s jaws to stop it from clamping them down on my face. My new shaft was sturdier than the old, but still it cracked and bent dangerously as the toothy maw slammed into it, knocking me back down as I tried to rise. It drew its head back to clear the obstruction, but I pushed the shaft back with it, keeping it lodged in. My leg stung where it was gashed, and wouldn’t push properly. My right hand slipped from its grip. The spear shaft slipped and crushed into my ribs. Instinctively, I snapped my arm down, hugging the spear up against my body.

  Now the thornwolf’s face was inches from mine, a malevolent eye glaring at me. The beast chomped on the spear as though it was chewing on me. I jabbed my thumb into the angry black orb of its eye, fear overriding my disgust. The bony ridges that surrounded the socket provided good cover against snapping teeth or raking claws, but my hand fit neatly between them.

  The grey-green monster hissed as it reared away. It crouched down before me, as though plotting its next avenue of attack. I thrust my spear at its face. It bobbed its head so that the weapon glanced off its shell. I retreated a step, keeping the spearhead between us. It snapped repeatedly at
the tip, barely catching it on the third or fourth attempt. In response, I leaned into the spear, trying to thrust it into the (hopefully) softer tissue of the mouth—surely it didn’t have a carapace-lined mouth!

  My tactic did not give me the results it did with the telak, but I pierced something in there. I leaned in earnestly, thrusting deeply. The thornwolf’s head dipped down, pushed to the ground with my weight and its pain. The monster shook its body about, eventually slamming into me, dislodging my spear and myself. It shook its head, growled and looked up at me just in time for a sledgehammer, swung by the hairy hand of a shokhung, to slam into the side of the thornwolf’s head, accompanied by a sickening, wet crunch.

  The thornwolf staggered away, stumbling, a large crack in the shell above the eye. The shokhung heaved the hammer a second time, smashing the head down to the ground. I plunged forward, aiming the spear into the widened wound, crunching broken bits and shell, and stabbing into soft flesh underneath. My rescuer whaled away with the hammer, delivering smaller cracks to the body, and hammering away at each wound repeatedly, as I dug my spear as deeply as I could into the creature’s head. It thrashed and wiggled, but could not escape our dual assault. At last it became still.

  The others ran up as Thashingi and I brushed ourselves off. They examined both myself and the shokhung for injuries. I could barely stand for the pain in my leg. Thashingi suffered only minor abrasions. I was given into the care of the tupa, while the others took to the carcass with hammers and knives, peeling it like a monstrous canine crab. The tupa inserted their necks under my arm and help me return to the wagon. They cleared out some space on the wagon and had me lie down on a mat. They poured an alcoholic concoction on the cuts, causing me to inhale sharply from the sting. One soaked a cloth in water and gently cleaned the cuts and punctures. I was given something to drink and left alone for a while.