Frama were already beginning to settle on the bodies and I saw shapes moving through the nearby stands of brush. I wasn’t going to fight the local scavengers for the right to bury the dead. I left and retraced my steps to where I’d left Debbie. A crimson warrior was already there, leading my vedrad away by her leash. Debbie, displaying the characteristic lack of loyalty of her kind, walked alongside it without resistance. Before I could issue a challenge, the Red swung its long, eyeless head around to face me. Standing on two legs, it reached about seven feet in height and was covered in lean, rippling muscles.
“Di stand gu far,” it declared.
“Uh, I don’t know what that means,” I called back, “but that’s my vedrad you’re taking!” The only response the creature made was to hoist a scythe-like sword from its scabbard.
“Okay, that’s really scary,” I muttered. I reached for my spear, then remembered my zarke. I had seen these things fight. I was no match for the monster or its four-and-a-half foot long blade. This was no time for developing my spear skills. I drew the gun and took aim.
“Stay back or I will shoot!” I cried. Whether it understood me, I could not tell. It did not respond to the zarke aimed at it. It took two long steps and pulled back its weapon to swing.
I let loose a burst from the gun. Bright red erupted from the dark red of the creature’s chest. The warrior did not stop, but the shot threw off its swing enough that I ducked under the arch and leapt to the other side, turning and aiming. The end of the warrior’s aborted attack left it stumbling and grasping the hole in its chest. My aim was imperfect, and I saw now that the shot hit high and to the left, near the shoulder.
I shot again, missing altogether. The Red’s left arm was hanging limply. It dropped the sword and lunged at me with its right clawed hand extended and its toothy jaw wide open, a blood-curdling shriek issuing from its throat. Again I shot, an extended burst that tore into the upper chest and throat. I backpedaled, seeking desperately to avoid the stumbling lunge. The red warrior fell face-first into the lush orange vegetation of the plain. Sparing my ammunition, I finished it off with a thrust of my spear.
Debbie had run off during the fight. I found her easily, collected her and hobbled her once again. I conducted a brief search of the creature. Indeed, it had no eyes. It wore a leather X-shaped harness bearing an axe of sorts, several knives, and a few pouches of dried meat. I took the tools and the scythe-sword and, leaving the rest, beat a hasty departure to the north, directly away from the site of the battle, wasting no time in doing so. I was eager to be as far from these crimson-skinned warriors as possible.
I kept my eyes and ears alert for the next several days—listening for the sounds of battle or drumming; looking for signs of fighting. Veering north took me out of my planned path, so I was trying to adjust on the fly. I had a rough sketch of the area that showed another community near a river to the east. The river ran north and south, so finding it should be pretty easy.
At one point, I came across a small clutch of abandoned shacks. The thatched roofs had sunk long ago and some of the walls were caved in. There were large rectangular patches where the flora was short and sparse—former gardens or fields. A well that still held water. I searched through the rubbish but found nothing besides a few crudely made stone tools. I found no bodies or skeletons. I wondered if the inhabitants had died or left. Had their crops failed and they moved onto other lands? Had they been killed, kidnapped, or chased away? Perhaps by the blind red fighters?
Poking through the accumulation of rotten leaves in one corner I found shattered remains of pottery and little tuft of white that caught my eye. I pulled it out. It was a fuzzy scrap that might—just might—have been the remnant of a feather! I wasn’t really sure. There was no shaft in evidence, but there was a clump of fibers that could possibly be part of the—what is the side part of a feather called? Barbs? Vane? Whatever the name was, this might be it. I wasn’t sure. The tupa had strange fur on their cheeks that looked somewhat like feathers until I saw them more closely. I tucked it into my pack.
A few days later I found the river I was seeking—at least, I thought it was the right river. In my original directions, I would go upstream to find a village. Given my detour, however, I wasn’t sure. I went upstream. What the heck, I thought, it’s not like I’m on a schedule.
The river wound and snaked through the plains. I found an abandoned and rotting raft. A day later I found a small dilapidated hovel near the river banks with the decayed remains of fishing nets and a small stool.
Another day later and I came across cultivated fields and saw a small city on the horizon. The farmers were small and yellow with wide, frog-like mouths and huge, glossy almond-shaped eyes. I addressed them in Shikachui but met with little comprehension. They waved me on toward the city and quickly resumed working. As I got closer to the city I saw a variety of other hren: bodifos, a small cluster of wuv, and multi-armed barrel creatures which I had seen before in Black Banks. Of these, I had the best luck communicating with the wuv, as some spoke passable Soup-talk. They informed me, to mild surprise, that this was a praad city.
“So you are are their Protected?” I asked.
“That is what they call us,” one replied.
The village lacked real walls, instead being lined with wood-construction buildings, the backs of which formed a sort of wall, conjoined by low fences. They had the same burly-built guards as did Sarnin. They barred my path as I approached.
“Chisha enter city kaha vok hedra,” one stated in a commanding tone.
“I’d like to come into the city, please,” I answered.
“Chisha hedra tell us,” responded the guard without moving.
I left to find the wuv and convinced one to return with me as a translator, as I understood little of the guard’s speech.
“They want to know why are you here?” said my interpreter. I explained and she translated. The guards remained unmoved.
“They say you have no business here and should leave.”
“I have things to sell,” I suggested and offered up some of my scant possessions. Could I interest them in these hides? No. How about a selection of dried fan-finned eel? No. How about my famous povum serta? Not interested. I decided the best use of my time would be questioning the Protected, so I turned to leave. Now, however, a guard stepped forward quickly and grabbed the hilt of the red warrior’s scythe-sword.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded through my interpreter.
“South of here,” I said. I described the blind red-skinned creatures. “A group of them fought with some bodifos and killed them. One of them attacked me soon after. I killed it and took this weapon.”
The guard told me to repeat my description of the Reds. He asked for details.
“Those were kralsnar. You claim to kill one?” he asked through the wuv. Remembering what Fotis had told me about the praad being desirous of okavi weapons, I omitted my ownership and usage of the zarke.
“He had been badly wounded in the battle,” I half-lied, not telling him it was I who wounded him in a second battle, with my zarke. “I killed him with my spear.”
“Stay here,” commanded the guard, gesturing to the wuv and myself. He left us standing idle and returned some five minutes later with two more guards who demanded we follow them. I was nervous about entering the city with my prized weapon, currently stowed in a pack on Debbie’s back.
“May I leave my vedrad here?” I asked. “She is messy and hard to control in a crowd.” The first part was an exaggeration and the second pure fiction.
“Do with it as you wish,” replied the guard. I hobbled Debbie and slipped a nearby wuv a small sliver of copper to look after her. Nervously I went with the guards into the city.
Like Sarnin, the town was orderly with streets laid out in a neat grid. I didn’t get a chance to explore as I had at the other praad city, so I couldn’t be sure if this place had the same sort of zoning. The town was much smaller and less developed. T
he buildings were much smaller, on average, and nothing was made with stone or brick. Indeed, there were plenty of “buildings” that were nothing more than glorified tents. I reflected on the surrounding fields: they were not very extensive, either. The praad and their Protected here were doing all right, but not up to the standard of Sarnin.
We were conducted to the largest building (still not very large) and brought to a few more praad, one being the burly guard variety, the other a smaller, greener one. Our escorts spoke briefly to them, then left us.
The smaller praad directed the wuv to translate.
“He wants you to tell him exactly about your meeting the kralsnar,” the wuv explained. First he wants to know where it happened.” I requested a slate and drew crude maps as I did my best to recount the exact location, which was not very exact at all. The green and brown praad examined my sketches, made notes, and asked many questions. The burly brown left the room briefly, then returned, speaking to the green. The wuv told me that the brown had summoned scouts (literally, “looking-for-things-people”) to follow my directions. This told me two things. One, the praad took these kralsnar very seriously. Two, they did not waste any time.
The green asked me more questions. He wanted to know where I had come from, and where my pakren were. I did my best to answer him, leaving out any mention of the hermit, however. Then he wanted to know about the southern lands I had lived in at first. I told him nothing of the my okavi friends. Both green and brown snapped their heads sharply in my direction when I told them about Sarnin.
“You know of other praad?” demanded the green.
“Just that one city,” I answered.
“Exactly where is this city?” I realized that like the northern okavi I’d met recently, these praad had no knowledge of their southern pakren. Was this another chance to earn favor, and perhaps another valuable thank-you gift? I gave them as much detail as I could to find Sarnin. It was straight-forward, really: west along the mountains to the pass, south through the pass then south to the Ovitan River, then east to Sarnin. Cake walk.
They wanted to know all about the city itself: its size, its construction, its economic status, the make-up of its Protected. I was unable to understand many of the questions, and many of my own responses caused confusion and I had to repeat them. Brown left the room again, and came back saying he’d sent two “on-fast-animal riders” to investigate. Wow. They really didn’t waste time. A few hours later I was allowed to return to my vedrad and sent unceremoniously on my way.
Chapter 13: The Goo
“Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do,” I muttered as I stood looking back at the city and wondering where to go next. No reward. Oh well. No “thank you”, even.
I wandered about among the Protected for a while, seeking Shikachui speakers, but they were few. I asked my usual questions. The few who understood me were of no assistance. None wanted to translate very long—each seemed eager to return to his work. After a few hours, I found rumors of a village upstream, so I camped out that night and began my journey northward the next morning.
The further upstream I went the wider and more winding the river became and after several days it became a marsh. I decided to circle the marsh and see if the stream continued further up.
Fish were plentiful, and I found a crustacean like a smaller, longer version of the louster. I found numerous berries I already knew to be edible, and plenty of eggs. Bugs were annoyingly abundant, but thus far I had still not encountered anything that fed off my Earthly blood.
Stagnant pools were common, many covered in dull yellow pond-scum. One such pool was so full of a grey-green algae (or something like it) that it looked like one semi-solid gelatinous mass. In a moment of child-like ennui, I poked idly at the goo with a stick. The goo quivered and drew away. Huh. That’s kinda weird. Kinda cool. I poked again.
The goo flowed around the stick and sucked at it, pulling it from my grasp. I backed up quickly, fearing I’d discovered man-eating pond scum. The goo didn’t swallow up the stick, but flicked it away. A bulge formed in the center, rising above the nearby ground. The goo flowed into it, forming a small mound. A hollow point formed in the tip, like a small crater, facing it toward me. I got the sense it was looking at me. I was dumbstruck. Fleeing seemed like a good idea, but the mound made no move toward me—it just swayed in my direction a few times. I stepped well away from the thing, but did not run.
The goo resumed flowing upward, its tip rounding out, two protuberances forming a little way below the rounding, then extending into tentacles, which solidified to a more refined shape. Ripples moved through the entire mass as it shifted and molded itself.
I stood transfixed with surprise and wonder until I was looking at grey-green humanoid shape, with a stick-like protrusion extending above its newly formed “shoulders” and a lump gracing one newly formed “hip”. I realized in amazement that they were loosely shaped copies of my spear and my satchel. The entire mass had shaped itself into a rough replica of me.
“What the heck are you?” I murmured.
The creature opened its new mouth and emitted a sound like the wind across the opening of a bottle. “Wad da heg ar yu,” it replied.
It had spoken English! Bad English, granted, but English. It had repeated my own utterance. Poorly replicated, but amazing, nonetheless.
“Can you understand me?” I asked.
“Ganu anduh stand me?” it answered back. Mimicry, maybe? Not really English? I tilted my head and peered at it. My roughly-copied head titled back likewise. Was it a dumb animal just mimicking noises, or was it a hren trying to communicate?
“Do you speak Shikachui?” I said, switching to that language. The goo seemed to contemplate my question for several long seconds.
“There was travel where other spoke Shikachui,” said the creature in Shikachui.
“My name is Diggory,” I said. “Who are you?” There was another pause.
“This one is this.”
Huh?
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“There is not understanding,” it replied after another pause.
“What are you called?” I said. Again, a pause. The goo-man seemed to think a lot about every answer.
“There was a word spoken by bodifos. The bodifos said ankosh. There was talking with bodifos and ankosh.”
“Should I call you ankosh, then?”
“That is well done,” it replied. I took that as a ‘yes’.
“You said ‘there was travel’. Where did you learn Shikachui?” I asked.
Pause.
“There was travel many places,” it said.
“Have you been south of the mountains?”
“There are many gatherings there,” it said. “There was travel among the gatherings.”
“Did you ever go to Black Banks?” There was a long pause. Long enough, that I was about to rephrase the question when it finally answered.
“There was travel in Black Banks. There was meeting many hren. Much to learn.” Much to learn, hmm? Were the ankosh avid scholars, then? Was ankosh its name, or species?
“Are all your people ankosh, or is that your name?” I asked. This met with another long pause.
“There is not understanding. Other says ankosh. Ankosh is ankosh.”
“I am Diggory,” I explained. “Diggory is a human. Not all humans are called Diggory, only me. Are there others like you that are also called ankosh, or is it only you.”
“Ankosh is not other. Ankosh is ankosh.”
“So you are called Ankosh, and your pakren is called something else?”
“Ankosh is pakren,” it replied. “Ankosh is not other. Ankosh is ankosh.”
“Should I call you ankosh or not?”
“Ankosh is spoken well.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Ankosh it is. You can call me Diggory.”
“Diggory is a human,” Ankosh answered. “Humans are not Diggory.”
“Correct.”
“Human an
d Diggory are pakren,” it stated.
“Yes.”
“There is no joining of shokhung and shokhung. There is no joining of wuv and wuv. Is there no joining of human and Diggory?” Ankosh said.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“On this there is no understanding in Diggory,” it clarified. “Maybe in joining Ankosh is different than others.” Nope. Still no understanding.
“Have you met other humans?” I asked. “Others like me?” There was a very, very long pause.
“There is no knowing of meeting humans,” Ankosh finally replied. “Why does Diggory ask this?”
I explained, as best as I could, my search for humans. Ankosh listened, interrupting frequently to clarify some point or another. Otherwise he simply stood and listened, mimicking my posture and gestures most of the time. Given Ankosh’s gelatinous nature, I seriously doubted he was actually male in my understanding of the term, but since he had assumed a male form (mine), I couldn’t help but think of Ankosh as he, rather than it.
“Diggory is not right without pakren,” he said. “Can human live without pakren?”
“Yes,” I said, “but for most of us, a life without pakren is not good enough. Are your pakren nearby?”
“Ankosh is pakren,” he said simply.
“Are there others of your people here?”
“Ankosh is not other,” he replied. “Ankosh is pakren.”
“Are you the only Ankosh?” I asked.
“There is no understanding,” said Ankosh.
Ankosh’s displayed the most alien mindset I’d encountered. His command of Shikachui was adequate—it was not entirely a language barrier. When it came to the subject of whether there were others of his species and where, if anywhere, they were, he and I could not understand each other. Ankosh showed interest in speaking with me, so I sat down, with him countering by “melting” into a sitting position.
“How long have you been on this world?” I asked at one point.
Diggory's World (Wayworld Book 1) Page 22