All afternoon I wallowed in my fruit-picking inferiority. Ankosh spoke of his previous travels in the area (I was beginning to think of Ankosh as masculine again, since I couldn’t really think of a person as an it). I questioned him again about his home world, but his memory was no clearer than before his recent Joining.
“Ankosh, you forgot how to fly after our battle with the kralsnar,” I said. “Physical damage can affect your memory, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Is it not so with humans?”
“Only if certain parts of our body are injured, something called the ‘brain’. So, anyway, do you think you crashed on this planet, like the rest of us, and the damage hurt your memory?”
“Yes, that is most likely.”
“Do you know if all of Ankosh fell in the same place? Is it possible that there is Ankosh out there somewhere else in the world?”
“That is very possible,” he said. “This is part of why Ankosh travels. Ankosh seeks Ankosh.”
The buzzing of arthropods joined the thrumming and ko ko noises. A funny chirping sound that I thought was a bird turned out to be woolly quadrupeds. Ankosh and I worked and conversed to this backdrop of noises from mostly unseen sources, which grew louder as we approached the far end of the orchard. I suspected that our presence impelled some of these creatures to wander away as we approached.
It was a very warm afternoon and I was still a bit tired from staying up a few nights before, so I opted for a siesta. I wasn’t cheating anyone, as we were being paid by the basket—my baskets would be slightly fewer than if I hadn’t rested—and I was starting to slow down quite a bit. I reclined beneath a tree and drifted off to the sounds of buzzing and ‘ko ko ko’.
I awoke what seemed like only a short time later to the sensation of something hairy brushing up against my legs. The ko ko ko sound was louder and closer. I opened one eye a tiny bit and looked down. Then I bolted upright with both eyes wide open, startling the creature at my feet, but not nearly as much as the creature startled me.
It was a chicken.
Chapter 15: The Hope
There before me, in all its brown, feathery glory: a simple, mundane, Earthly chicken. Brown feathers—the first feathers I’d seen on Wayworld.
It was a chicken! In a moment, I was on my feet with the shocked poultry in my hands, running back to the farmhouse, shouting for Stergad the entire way. I stumbled into the yard, breathless, running about until I found him coming out of a doorway. He looked at me and the chicken with a blank expression.
“Where did you get this?” I said, nearly shouting. He stared at me. I was speaking English. “Where did you get this?” Now I was speaking Shikachui. I called out to Ankosh, but he was approaching anyway. “Please translate!” I said, waving the poor chicken like a madman, its ko ko ko now registering with my anglophone brain as cluck cluck cluck. “How did Stergad get this animal?”
Ankosh turned and spoke with Stergad. Blah blah blah. Stergad spoke to Ankosh. Blah blah blah. Meanwhile, my brain was doing backflips. An Earth bird! A chicken from my homeworld! Somewhere, out there, were humans. Or at least there had been. Humans who’d brought chickens to Wayworld. D’Silva had not bring livestock.
Ankosh spoke. “Stergad bought these animals from a traveling merchant.”
“Who?! Where?! Ankosh! This animal comes from my homeworld! It means my pakren must be out there somewhere. He can help me find them! How can I find this merchant?”
Again Ankosh conversed with Stergad. As he listened to Ankosh’s questions, Stergad gently took the chicken from my grasp and dropped it into the tuskless pen. He responded to Ankosh, who translated.
“Stergad does not know where the merchant is. The merchant used to come here several times a year, but has not been here for over a year.”
We began an extended question and answer session, with me trying to ascertain more, but our employer did not know the paths of the merchant took, or where he (or she, gender did not survive the translation process). He was an all-around peddler of just about anything and had a different cart-load every time he came through. Stergad did not know the peddler’s name, but the species was called momvir[click].
After more fruitless discussion, Ankosh and I returned to the orchard to finish the days work. Once done, I raced into town, practically dragging Ankosh with me, asking others if they knew anything more about the missing momvir merchant (I dropped the ‘click’).
For the next several evenings, my spare time was spent investigating the merchant. Most everyone in the village remembered the momvir, but no one had any news of his current whereabouts. It was widely assumed that he had found more prosperous trading elsewhere, or that he had met his demise, perhaps at the hands of the kralsnar. Few people knew anything of his trade routes—he was not wont to discuss where he got his goods, and for the most part they didn’t really care too much. A few people recounted that he had mentioned one or two other places he visited, and several more said the momvir had departed Clicksville heading southeast after his last visit.
Anxiety ate at me daily, stirring up the desire to depart immediately and go find this vanished peddler. My pakren likely lived somewhere out there. Now I had evidence that humans, besides D’Silva and myself, had landed on Wayworld. I was antsy, tossing and turning on my straw mat in the stable at night, imagining a reunion with humanity. I caught myself daydreaming while at work. I barely tasted the food I ate.
But I hesitated to leave. I hadn’t earned enough to purchase my ammunition. I resolved to worked a little while longer. Already the zarke had saved my life in two confrontations with the kralsnar. Ankosh and the denizens of Clicksville agreed the kralsnar roamed, seemingly at random, throughout the entire forested area and could strike at any time.
I sold all but one of the kralsnar weapons to the metalworker. I had thought to hold on to them, as knives were useful and swords might bring a better price elsewhere. I kept the one sword, purely in vanity. I had other knives; I could part with theirs. I tossed in the scrap metal that probably didn’t have an American flag on it, which I had kept until now, in hopes that I might be wrong and that someday someone would recognize it and point me toward the Jamestown colonists.
My restlessness grew. After yet another insomniac night, I decided to see if the metalworker would accept a smaller order, as I explained to Ankosh one morning.
“It is not needed,” he responded. “Ankosh will help pay for pellets.”
“Oh, Ankosh, I can’t ask you to do that! You worked hard for your pay; you deserve to keep it.”
“There are few needs for Ankosh,” he replied. “Diggory needs pellets for journey. Diggory traveled with Ankosh to find Ankosh. Now Ankosh will travel with Diggory to find humans.”
Accepting my metamorphic friend’s assistance, I went into town to place my order with the metalworker. He said if they weren’t ready tomorrow evening, they’d be ready the next day. And of course, I did check the following evening, and accepted the portion that was complete—roughly one third. I picked up the remaining the next day. I informed Stergad that Ankosh and I would be departing in a few more days after I’d gathered some more supplies.
A few days turned into nearly a week, as I kept deciding to add things: more food, some twine and rope, and a few other odds and ends. I made a crude charcoal sketch of the momvir (I’m no artist) using Ankosh as model, shaping himself according descriptions from the denizens of Clicksville. It was a bulbous biped with no head to speak of—its eyes and mouth planted in its “torso”.
After a few brief goodbyes, Ankosh and I departed town along with Debbie one late spring morning. We followed a barely visible trail that wound faintly through wooded area surrounding the town. We had been told there was a plain beyond the woods, and a village there called Krason Fields—krason being the name of a purple flowering plant found in abundance there.
Over the next several days the predominantly orange foliage of the area began to mingle with the teal that had grown so famil
iar to me in my first seasons on Wayworld. The woods thinned and a variety of anemone trees appeared. We followed a shallow valley southwest for a few days before it led to an anemone-studded moor crisscrossed with gullies and chasms, looking as though some mighty, primordial Wayworld god has smashed the plains with a hammer. I looked to my companion.
“The people of Clicksville never mentioned anything like this,” I said to Ankosh. “Do you think we’re going the right way?”
“If the people of Clicksville were familiar with this place,” he responded, “there may not have been mentioning of it. Why is there concern in Diggory?”
“Well, these cuts in the ground will make travel across the area slow and difficult, maybe dangerous.”
“Does Diggory wish to return and try a different path?”
“I’m not sure. We may get lost along the way. Perhaps we should skirt along the edges. Maybe we’ll find some of the trail along the way.”
“That is well-thought,” said Ankosh. So we veered left and traced the edge of the shattered plain, taking the remaining portion of the day to do so. No animals stirred on the plain and the sky above was as empty. Faint wisps of mist rose from the cracks, smelling of sulfur and methane. The unpleasant smell was luckily not so strong to be a deterrent to travel, but it made sleeping on the edge of the plain undesirable (not that it bothered Ankosh), so we wandered off a little ways into the woods and camped out for the night, waking early to continue our journey.
I spotted a ruined city on the edge of the field the following day. Even from a distance, the jagged remains of walls clearly marked the site of destruction. Crumbled stones and splintered wood met us as we drew closer. I opted to forgo a closer inspection, as the land and ruins might be unstable. By the close of the second day we had reached the far side of the Shattered Plain. I looked back at the ruined land and city.
“Something bad happened here,” I said.
We were guessing our way by now. We searched the edge of the moor. The valley we had left had a small brook running through it, so we searched there for a stream. After a while we found a now-dried brook, so our best guess was this might be the way to Krason Fields. We followed the valley for the next few days. I had a growing conviction that either we had lost our way, or else the ruins on the Shattered Plain were all that was left of Krason Fields.
And then one morning there was smoke rising up in a thin, black, column over the horizon. Ankosh and I exchanged glances.
“Should we go look?” I said.
“Yes.”
We took off, quickly at first, though we slowed as a mile or two wore on. About twenty minutes later, we heard calls and cries drifting across hills. The smell of smoke met my nostrils. The cries and shouts intensified as we approached the column of smoke that soon filled a large portion of the horizon. The smoke came from the other side of the hill we faced, so we dropped low, me crawling on hands and knees and Ankosh slurping into a low-lying lizard-like shape. There wasn’t enough noise for it to be a fight, but alien as the voices were, they conveyed clearly either anger, pain, or sorrow.
Cautiously and nervously I poked my head over the ridge of the hill. The smoldering ashes and smashed remains of a village lay in the valley, littered with yellow-skinned forms that were most certainly corpses. Other figures huddled near the edge of the town, with the bestial forms of the kralsnar standing guard over them. Other kralsnar roamed the remains, sniffing and poking through cottages. The story that preceded our arrival was easy to guess. The village was raided. The villagers had either resisted or had little to interest the raiders, angering them, and now only a handful of them remained.
Ankosh whispered, “Kralsnar have captured hren. Ankosh and Diggory should help captured hren, yes?”
“We should,” I whispered back, “but I don’t know if we can. They have us outnumbered.”
“Ankosh and Diggory fought before when outnumbered by kralsnar.”
“You’re right. Do you have a plan?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Fight now. Captured hren have no more time.”
With that he sprouted pseudopods all over his body and began half-rolling, half-running down the hill, gathering stones in his gelatinous clutches as he went. I saw what he meant by saying they had no more time. The kralsnar were rearing back their deadly scythe-swords and preparing to finish off the remaining victims.
With a shout to distract the would-be executioners, I rose from my crouch and ran forward, readying my zarke as I went. Already they were turning from their victims and charging us. I dropped to one knee and fired at a crimson-skinned marauder that was dashing at me. The first few pellets kicked up dust at its feet, but the next few tore a hole in its chest.
Meanwhile, Ankosh was pelting various enemies with catapulted stones, his alien “brain” able to track multiple targets at once. I had little time to admire his marksmanship since I had plenty of targets of my own. Another fell to my shot. It struggled to regain its feet as its companion rushed forward, nearly reaching me before next shot slowed him enough for me to run further downhill toward Ankosh.
One of the wounded kralsnar was more cautious in its second approach, but not its comrade. That one rushed at me and leapt, clawed hands outstretched and grasping. I spun about, trying to bring my weapon to bear, but it was upon me too quickly. A stinging claw raked my shoulder, and its jaws swung open at my throat. I brought my other arm up to ward it off, only to have gangly teeth pierce my skin. Then a shocking impact rocked my body. I found myself on my back with the kralsnar hurled off me by a yellow blur.
One of the villagers had lunged to my defense. The attacker turned its attention on my rescuer as I took aim at the other wounded kralsnar, a burst of pellets from my zarke sending it down.
I turned to aid my rescuer, only to see its torn body fall at the feet of the kralsnar. The marauder stalked toward me on all fours, cautious still. Just as I took aim, it lunged at me again, knocking my weapon from my hand and knocking me to the ground. In a moment my knife was in my hand and the killer was upon me, raking my chest and arms with its claws as I sought desperately to deflect, slashing my knife about blindly again and again. It bit into flesh, my assailant hissing in pain (I won’t bother describing the noises I was making…). Finally the monster fell away, my knife having stabbed its soft under-throat.
Pushing myself to my feet and readying my spear, I looked about the battlefield. Ankosh was fighting at least three of the kralsnar. Two others engaged the small handful of surviving villagers who had rallied in response to our rescue attempt.
I joined their fight, jabbing my spear into the back of one marauder as its head was being clubbed by a portly villager. Two villagers fell to one swipe of a kralsnar’s sword. I turned to a kralsnar as it impaled a club-wielding villager. The kralsnar and I circled each other, I with my spear aimed constantly at the creature’s chest, it branding its weapons in slow, small circles. My heart pounded through my whole body; my gasping breaths sounded harsh in my own ears.
I lunged, thrusting out with the spear. The kralsnar knocked it aside and countered neatly with a riposte that barely missed my ribs, the shaft of the spear helping to deflect it just enough. I swung the spear about, sweeping the sword away, and jabbed sharply into my opponent’s ribs with the butt of the spear.
The kralsnar spun about, slapping me hard in the head with its tail and continued its spin, its sword circling around to cut at me. The slap threw me off balance and I stumbled to the side, unable to quite block the cut. It sliced across my right shoulder, sending me down. Desperately I sought to place my spear between my assailant and myself before it could bring its sword down in a killing stroke upon my head.
I brought the shaft in front of me, held wide in both hands, blocking the cut. The monster bore down with its considerable weight as I struggled to hold it off of me. It hissed something indiscernible and stomped down hard on my stomach. Gasping for breath and fighting the urge to vomit, I rolled sideways, throwing its weight off me and
causing it to stumble and drop its weapon.
The two of us rolled together, arms, legs, and a tail flailing about. Claws raked across my body, tearing skin and muscle. I struck feebly with my fists, unable to get enough power.
For a moment I was atop my attacker, then underneath. Somehow I slipped out and found myself grasping the kralsnar from behind. It lunged backward, throwing me back with it on top, but still I held, my arms about its neck and my legs locked around its ribs. My head hit something hard that clanged, and I knew I was on top of the dropped sword.
The warrior sank its claws into my forearms and I could not resist letting go. It thrashed about, nearly dislodging my legs as well.
My hands clawed about for purchase, and found the hilt of the sword. Desperately I swung the sword around in front of the monster, grabbing the back of the curved blade with my other hand. I squeezed it back against the throat of the kralsnar, feeling the sharp edge dig into flesh. It screeched a moment then gurgled and I felt the wet warmth of its blood pouring across my arms and hands.
I felt weak, some corner of my mind dimly aware that I was also losing blood, but I held tight, rocking the blade back and forth, trying to saw through the leathery skin of my combatant. It thrashed further, then jerked twice and fell limp. I collapsed beneath it weight.
Feeling that I might pass out, and fighting nausea, I pulled myself from under the creature. Ankosh was now in two separate chunks, each about the size of a human, one pounding a kralsnar into the ground with a stout length of wood, the other grappling one, its body a mass of snaking tentacles wrapped about the head an torso of its opponent.
I fought to stand and help my friend, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. I crawled to an overturned cart and pulled myself upright, but only for a moment, before falling to one knee. A nasty crack sounded from one kralsnar as an Ankosh smashed his club down on its skull. I pulled myself up once more, dizzy and nauseated. In horror I looked down at my blood-soaked arms and body, covered by gashes and punctures.
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