The cataclysm t2-2

by Margaret Weis

  On one such slope a searching falcon circled near the surface, drawn by scurrying rodents among the stones. The bird spiraled downward, gliding just above the stones, then beat its wings and darted away when something moved in a place where nothing should be.

  The falcon beat away, and behind it a grotesque, recum bent figure stirred. Half buried in silt, it had seemed only a fragment of thrown rock — until it moved. It stirred, shifted a portion of itself upward, and drying mud sloughed away to reveal a large, rounded head surmounting great, knotted shoulders. It raised its head and opened puzzled eyes, peered this way and that for a moment, then pushed its huge torso upward on massive arms, and the rest of it became visible. Legs the size of tree trunks bent and flexed, and the creature paused on hands and knees to look around again, then shifted to a sitting position.

  Big, calloused hands went to its head, and it closed its eyes in momentary pain. A growl like distant thunder escaped it. Its grimace revealed teeth like yellow chisels, in a mouth that was wide and cruel.

  The jolt of pain passed, and the creature sighed, opening its eyes again. Something had happened. Something inconceivable that seemed at the edge of memory but was just beyond recall. In a muttering voice as deep as gravel in a well, it faltered with words. "Wha… what? What happen? Where?" Wincing at the effort, it tried to remember… and could not. Only a word came to memory, one significant word. A name? Yes, a name.

  His own name. Krog.

  Sore and shaking, he stood. Small, unseen things scurried away among the tumbled stones.

  KROG. "I… am Krog," he muttered. It was true. He knew that, but nothing more. His name was Krog, but what had happened to him? Where was he? And WHY?

  "Who am I?" he whispered. "Krog… what is Krog? WHO is Krog?"

  The battered landscape told him nothing. In the distance, where dawning grew, were smoke and haze. In the other direction were high mountains, but they meant nothing to him. Everywhere he looked, he saw a bleak and sundered landscape that was the only landscape he knew because he remembered no others.

  It was as though he had just been born, and abruptly he felt a terrible loneliness — a need for… something… for belonging. There must be someone somewhere, someone to care for him. Someone to teach him, to help him understand. There had to be someone.

  He turned full circle, big hooded eyes scanning the distance. Nothing moved. Nothing anywhere suggested that there was another living creature other than himself.

  "Not right," he muttered, the words a low growl that came from deep within a great chest. "Not just Krog. Not all alone. Has to be… somebody else here."

  He started walking on unsteady legs. All directions were the same, so he went the way he had been facing, with the mountains to his left and the gray, hazed morning to his right. Ahead was a caprock hill, and he headed toward it. Remembering nothing except his name, knowing nothing except that he had awakened from nowhere and was headed to a place, aware of nothing except his aching head and the driving need not to be alone, Krog went looking for someone.

  "Even the mountains are different," one of the men said, pointing with a coiled whip at the distant peaks standing against a high gray sky. "What in the names of all the gods could have done this?"

  Those nearest him shrugged and shook their heads. Men of the tribe of Shalimin — reviled by those who knew them as "the raiders," or "marauders," or, simply, "the slavers" — were men who knew the ways of the wild, not the ways of the world. The changes they saw now in that world were abrupt and massive; the night of change had been terrifying. Yet, whatever had done it, now it seemed to be past. And if sawtooth crags now stood where before had been dagger-spire peaks, if what had been meadows now were fields of strewn stone, if entire forests that had stood yesterday now lay fallen and desolate, it was not theirs to worry about.

  It was over. The world was still here, and they still walked on it, and it was time to regroup.

  "You!" one of them shouted, brandishing a whip. "Back in line and stay there!" Ahead of him, a small, terrified creature scurried back into its place in the ragged line proceed ing northward. "Gully dwarves!" He spat. "We won't show much profit from this haul, Daco."

  "Better than nothing, though," his companion said. "They can be sold for simple work. They're strong enough to tote and fetch."

  "They won't bring a copper a head." Daco sneered. "Slave buyers know about gully dwarves. They're unreliable, they're clumsy, and they can't be taught anything useful."

  "Devious, I've heard," someone added. "I wouldn't want one for a slave of my own. Always plotting and scheming. They'd be a danger to have around if they could concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two. You, there! Get on your feet and walk! Nobody said you could stop and sleep!" He turned to the flanker opposite him. "See? That's what I'm talking about. The one with the curly beard there… just like that, he was taking time out for a nap."

  The motley assemblage made its way northward across a strange and tumbled land, a dozen armed men driving several dozen gully dwarves. The little creatures — barely half the size of their captors — stumbled in an erratic double line, each bound to those in front and behind by a length of cord tied around his neck. The men surrounded them, herded them like cattle.

  The slavers had been two separate parties only days before, and each party had been successful. Good slaves for the market. Human slaves — men, women and children. Then the Cataclysm — whatever it was — had occurred. Each party had lost its captives in the ensuing chaos, and now they had nothing to show for their expeditions except these pitiful gully dwarves they had chanced across.

  Little enough to show, when they arrived at the main camp. Still, the gully dwarves were better than nothing.

  The line topped a ridge, and they looked out on yet another scene of chaos. A forest of tall conifers once had lined the narrow valley. Now, hardly a tree was standing. The valley was a patchwork maze of fallen timbers, scattered this way and that as though some giant thing had trod there and paused to scuff its feet.

  The men stared at the scene in wonder, then movement caught their eyes. "Ah," Daco breathed. "There. Look."

  Among the fallen timbers were people, a ragged line of them making their way northward. Even from the ridge top, it was obvious that they were refugees… from something. There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and among them were women and children. No more than two or three carried weapons of any sort. "Well, well." Daco grinned. "It seems our luck has just improved. That lot will bring a fine price at the pens."

  This Place was a mess. Whatever had happened was through happening, but the entire cavern was a litter of fallen stone, gravel dumps, and dust. Holding candles high, the Lady Drule and the others with her poked about, seeing what could be salvaged. There wasn't much: a few iron stew bowls, Hunch's mop-handle staff, about half of the Highbulp's prized elk antler, a few bits of fabric, a reaver's maul, a battered stew pot, a stick used for stirring… odds and ends. Most of what the clans had owned was either destroyed or lost.

  The Lady Drule shook her head sadly. "Gonna need to forage soon," she said. " 'Bout outta stuff."

  She wandered toward the entrance — or where the entrance had been — and looked at a mighty wall of fallen stone. There was no way out. The entrance was sealed.

  Behind her, a whining voice said, "So much for that."

  She turned to see the Grand Notioner, leaning on his mop handle. "Guess so," she said.

  "So what we do now?"

  "Dunno." Lady Drule shrugged. "All go find Highbulp, I guess. Let him decide."

  "Decide what?" Hunch frowned. "Highbulp dumb as a post. What bright idea he gonna have?"

  "Highbulp our glorious leader," Drule pointed out. "He think of somethin'."

  "Hmph!"

  He followed along, though, with all the rest, when the Lady Drule set out in search of the Highbulp. The last she had seen of him, he and most of the other males had been disappearing into a crack in the back of the cave.
The search began there.

  Beyond the crack was an erosion seep, a damp, winding tunnel that led away into the hill, curving beyond sight, heading generally upward. Drule started treading along it, and there was a clamor behind her. "What happen?" She turned to look.

  "Nothin'," someone said. "Somebody fall down." "Come on," the Lady Drule urged them. "Keep up."

  A smoke-hazed sun had crossed much of the sky, and the hot, searing winds from the east had changed to cool, whispering winds drifting down from the shattered peaks to the west. Time and miles were behind Krog since his awakening, but still he had found no one.

  It was as though the world were an empty place, and he the only being on it. Confusion and sheer loneliness drove him on, though his search seemed more and more hopeless.

  Then, atop a barren caprock hill, he heard voices. People — somewhere — talking among themselves. With a whimper of sheer glee, Krog searched for the source of the sounds, his eyes alight, his ears twitching. He saw no one, but after a time he heard the voices again and found where they came from. Amidst a pile of rubble was a hole in the ground, and somewhere below were voices, coming nearer. He knelt, peered into the darkness. He could see nothing. He tried to lower himself into the hole, but only his head would go in. The hole was far too small for his shoulders. He backed out, sniffling in frustration, and heard the voices again — various voices, close enough now that he could almost make out the words.

  Knowing nothing else to do, Krog lay beside the hole, listening. The sound soothed and comforted him. He was not alone after all. He sniffled again, and tears glistened in his eyes as he closed them.

  The old seep wound upward, and upward again, and the gully dwarves followed it, their candles casting weird shadows on the stone walls. It was slow going. Whatever had made the cavern shake and had sealed its entrance, had littered the tunnel with shards and slabs of broken rock. Footing was tricky, requiring more concentration than most of the Lady Drule's followers could maintain in a place with so many distractions — layers of fresh stone to be looked at and tasted, small, furry things to be noted in case there was time later for a rat hunt, and their own distorted shadows bobbing here and there.

  As a result, the journey was punctuated with thuds and bumps, trips and falls, and a running commentary up and down the line:

  "Look here! Pretty shine."

  "What that over there? Dragon?"

  "Not dragon, dummy, just bat shadow."

  "Oops!" Thud.

  "Hey, floor bouncy 1"

  "Not bouncy. You fall on me. Get off."

  "Somethin' shiny there? Nope, just Bipp's eyes."

  "Anybody bring stew?"

  "Where we goin', anyway?"

  "To find Highbulp."

  "Find Highbulp? Why?"

  "Dunno. Lady Drule say so."

  Then, from the head of the line, "Sh!"

  The Lady Drule had rounded a bend and saw light ahead. She stopped, and several of her followers bumped into her. "Sh!" she repeated.

  Behind her, around the bend, someone complained, "Hunch! Get staff off my foot!" Then, "Hunch? Hunch! Wake up, get staff off my foot!"

  There were sounds of a tussle, and the Grand Notioner's voice, "What? What goin' on?"

  The Lady Drule turned, frowning. She put a finger to her lips. "Sh!"

  This time the message was relayed back down the line, and there was silence. She turned again, peering toward the dim light ahead. The tunnel seemed to widen there, and something glistened. Raising her hand to keep the rest hushed, Drule crept forward. Another cavern was just ahead, its floor strewn with broken rock and glitters of pyrite, and the light came from overhead. She tiptoed into the open, peering around. The light was daylight and came from a hole in the ceiling. There was no sign of the Highbulp and his explorers, but among the glitters lay two or three candles, a forage pouch, and a shoe. The others had been here.

  The Lady Drule's ears perked at a sound that was like faraway thunder — or someone snoring. It came from overhead, and her eyes brightened. "Gorge?" she called softly. "Highbulp, where you?"

  "Lady Drule find Highbulp?" someone asked.

  "Must be close," someone else suggested. "Sure sounds like him snorin'."

  Drule looked up at the opening in the ceiling, then handed her candle to the one nearest her. "All wait here," she said. "Maybe they up there. I go see."

  Clambering onto a pile of fallen stone, she found handholds on the stone wall and climbed toward the light. The opening above was small — about two feet across — but it was big enough for any gully dwarf to go through.

  The Lady Drule climbed, then hoisted herself into the hole. The sound of snoring came again, very close. If that was Gorge snoring, he was outdoing himself. She had never heard even the Highbulp sleep so loudly.

  With a final pull, she raised her head above the hole and looked around. She was on a hilltop littered with stone. Fragments and grotesque shapes were all around, and a particularly ugly large boulder blocked her view on one side. She raised herself from the hole, dusted herself off, and started to climb over the boulder, then stopped in confusion. It didn't feel like stone. As she bent to look at it more closely, the snore came again, then cut off abruptly. A pair of huge yellow eyes opened directly in front of her. For an instant, Drule froze in panic, then she pivoted and tried to run… and had nowhere to go. A pair of enormous hands rose behind her, blocking her escape, and the big head with the yellow eyes came upright and gazed at her. Below the eyes, a huge mouth opened, exposing great, chisellike teeth. In horror, the Lady Drule gaped at the monster, and it grinned back, then the big mouth moved, and it spoke one word. "Mama?"

  In the cavern below, the rest of the ladies — and the few males with them — waited with growing impatience. They could no longer see the Lady Drule, and could no longer hear the snoring. There were voices somewhere above — or a voice and intermittent rumbles of thunder — but they couldn't hear what was being said.

  By threes and fives, they started wandering around the cavern, looking at the pyrite deposits, the fallen stone, anything of momentary interest. Several had nearly decided to go back down the tunnel to the lower cavern and put on a pot of stew, when the hole above darkened and Drule's voice came down. "Ever'body come up," she called.

  Hunch peered upward. "Lady Drule find others? Find what's-'is-name… th' Highbulp?"

  "Not here," she called back. "Tracks, though. Maybe we follow an' find."

  The first ones to the top glanced at the Lady Drule, started to hoist themselves out of the hole, then spotted the huge, ugly creature crouched nearby — its gaze fixed lovingly on Drule — and retreated in panic, dislodging those below them. Within seconds, there was a tumbling pile of gully dwarves on the cavern floor and nobody climbing.

  The Lady Drule appeared at the opening again, looked at them curiously. "What happen? Ever'body fall down?"

  "What that you got up there?" someone asked. "Big, ugly thing."

  "Oh." She glanced around, then looked down again. "That just Krog. Stop wastin' time! Come up."

  Several of them began climbing again. Heads reached the surface and poked out, wide eyes looking past Drule at the creature still squatting nearby.

  "That Krog?" someone asked.

  "Krog," Drule assured them.

  "What Krog?" another demanded.

  "Dunno," she shrugged. "Just Krog. That all he remember. All come on now. Got to find Highbulp."

  "Why?" several of them wondered. Then one added, "We don' like Krog. Make him go 'way."

  Drule stamped her foot impatiently, then turned and walked to Krog. "Go 'way, Krog," she said. "Shoo!"

  Obediently, the creature stood and backed away several steps.

  "More go 'way than that!" somebody called from the hole.

  "Shoo!" Drule repeated, waving her arms at Krog. "Shoo! Shoo!"

  Looking very puzzled, the creature retreated farther, then squatted on its haunches again, a smile of contentment on its face.


  It was some time before the Lady Drule got all of her people out of the hole. When she did, they crowded around her, staring at the creature she had found. She was so hemmed in that she could hardly move, and began pushing her way out of the crowd.

  " 'Nough look at Krog!" she commanded. "Come on. We gotta look for Highbulp!"

  A layer of dust had settled on the hilltop, and there were tracks all around. Three distinct sizes of footprints — gully dwarf prints, human prints twice their size, and Krog prints twice the size of the human prints.

  She showed the rest of them the tracks, then pointed. "Highbulp an' rest go that way with Talls."

  Hunch stared at the tracks, frowning. "Highbulp real dimwit to go with Talls," he declared. "Why do that?"

  "Dunno." The Lady Drule shrugged. "We go see."

  She set out northward, the rest falling in behind her. Behind them, Krog realized that they were leaving. He stood up.

  "Mama?" he rumbled. "Wait for me." He hurried to catch up with the Lady Drule, and gully dwarves scattered this way and that to avoid being stepped on.

  Drule looked back at the confusion and shook her head. "Ever'body come on!" she demanded. "No time for fool around!"

  "It not us fool around. It Krog!"

  "Make Krog go 'way."

  After they had gone a few miles, the Lady Drule gave up on getting rid of Krog. She had tried everything she could think of to make the creature "go 'way," and nothing had worked. Faced with the inevitable, she accepted it and just tried to ignore him. It was difficult. Every time she turned around, the first things she saw were enormous knees. Even worse, he insisted on calling her "mama," and kept trying to hold her hand.

  Worse yet, Krog's presence tended to discourage the others from following closely. Sometimes, when the Lady Drule looked back, they were barely in sight. Then, when the smoky sun was setting beyond the mountains to the west, she looked around and couldn't see them at all.

  On the verge of exasperation, she climbed a broken stump and peered into the brushy distance. "Now where they go?" she muttered.