by Martin Kee
“Kendal.” He makes the flattened palm gesture again.
Eventually they stop at a creek, babbling between rocks and reeds. What appear to be small barnacles line the outer husk of the reeds, and he can even see small feelers emerging from those.
“Kendal.” The younger one says, in a voice that sounds spoken by a parrot. She points at the water. “Kendal.”
“Water,” he says. “I’m Kendal.”
She tilts her head. “Kendal.” Then brings her miniature ox over to drink. “Kendal,” she says again, almost playing with the word, twisting it into an echoing song, “Keen-keen-keen-dal-l-l-l-l.” She warbles the L like a bird, not at all an unpleasant sound, but it’s a far cry from actual communication.
“I don’t speak dolphin,” he mutters.
There’s no point in arguing about what to call the water and his thirst overrides any sense of formality. He kneels and cups the water, drinking greedily and hoping that he isn’t ingesting some nightmare microbe. The water is clean and clear, like something out of the old pictures of mountain springs he once saw—back in a time before the rust began to contaminate most of the natural wells. When he’s done, he leans back and splashes water on his face, then looks at his companions. They stare back, those small eyes studying him with birdlike alien curiosity.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” he says, stretching. But as he gets to his feet the lightheadedness hits him again. Both his companions and their animals scoot aside as he staggers, and another eruption of birdsong fills the air as he finds the mask and slaps it over his nose and mouth. “Sorry.”
“Sor-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-or-y-y-y-y-y.” She flutes back at him.
“Right.”
He isn’t really surprised that there would be a civilization at some point. His new friends clearly have weapons, clothing, the sorts of things that any post-industrial society might have. In fact, some of it is almost too familiar.
But he doesn’t expect the spires.
Even from miles away, they stretch upwards into the sky, the size of giant sequoias, their tops vanishing into the gray cloud. Small platforms and steps line the surface of them, and he can only barely make out the smoke rising from pyres through the mist. They sit far off in the distance.
The town itself could be something from a scale model ghost town, made from scrap metal and old bark. As hard as he tries, Kendal can’t find a single structure constructed of the same material. It’s a town built on top of a junkyard and taxidermy shop.
Then, in the distance, he sees the residents. Creatures lurch from doorways, holding jury-rigged limbs up to shade their eyes. Some hold spears and staves, weapons made for five or six arms, others skitter along the ground with half a dozen mismatched legs. It’s the island of bleeding misfit toys. There is no way to tell if they’ve seen him yet, but seeing them is enough.
His feet stop dead where he stands, and his head begins to shake before he even finds the words.
“No…” he utters. “Just… no…”
His two companions turn to look at him, and Kendal wonders if he can make it to the woods they passed. But just the panic of seeing the town has made his heart race, his breathing quicken. He can feel the mist-induced asthma begin to kick in, the air too thin and strange here. He sucks on the mask as he feels the strength leave his legs.
“I just… I just can’t…” He looks down at the two companions turned captors, his eyes pleading.
The younger one looks at the older and says something—
*
“Can you tell what he is saying at all?” says Bex. “I think he’s scared.
“Could be saying Jussknnnonn… but I couldn’t understand why…”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“It’s an old village to the north, very small. I grew up there,” says Vin. “Doubt it means anything though. I’m probably just hearing what I want to hear. You too.”
“Why would you say that?”
Vin only gives her a look. “You want it to be intelligent. You want it to be a…”
“I don’t need some sort of… of… surrogate to replace what I’ve lost.” She looks up at the giant creature. “Besides, one adopted pet isn’t going to make up for…” But she lets her voice trail off, and she isn’t sure if she doesn’t want to talk to Vin about it, or if the memories are just so painful she doesn’t want to relive them.
He’s moved on in the conversation anyway—and mercifully, she might add. “We’re going to have to cover it up or make it look like we at least have control over it. A feral animal let loose in the town will get us both kicked out. Probably get your friend here killed.”
“What do you propose?”
It takes them the better part of an hour to cover the giant with the various husks and skins in their packs. The first challenge of course, is just getting the dumb thing to trust them and to understand they are trying to help. But once it is on the ground, it seems to simply give up as they begin laying the husks onto its body. It isn’t until Vin pulls out the needle and grafting thread that the giant begins to protest, moaning in that big dumb voice it has. It isn’t until the needle enters its skin, that it seems to relax, twitching only when the needle goes too deep. It simply watches with those huge eyes as Vin deftly and delicately grafts the stalker husks and other found-items onto its skin.
“Do you think it feels pain?” she asks him as he works, weaving the needle through the thick hide of the creature.
“Well, even if it does, the antiseptic in the needle and thread should take care of it. Look at him.”
She looks up at the creatures head and walks over to stand at its face, pressing a hand down above its eyes and stroking it. It seems to calm somewhat, its eyes closing slightly as sweat beads along the ridge of its forehead. When Vin is done, she steps back and says, “All done! You can get up now! See? It’s fine.”
It takes the giant a moment as it sits upright, looking down at its arms and legs. With the found objects embedded along its body, it looks more like a grotesquely large scavenger thrid or a yardal. It looks at its arms, then at her, then Vin, before grunting.
“Good,” Vin says. “Let’s get home before it gets too dark.”
They take another road into town, one that winds around a low hill. She looks up at the giant as it follows them, its huge lumbering steps, its ungainly tree-trunk arms. She’s sort of amazed that it hasn’t simply crushed both of them and fled to the woods. It gives her even more reason to believe it’s some sort of youngling. It needs an adult to guide it.
“So,” Vin starts in on her as the city becomes visible. “You have any sort of plan at all as to how you’re going to get this thing past Veerh?”
“I think we’ll be able to say we found a grafted thrid in the desert. You can say you did the grafting further to help save its life.”
“Nobody—Nobody at all will believe that.” He looks back at the thing. “Its eyes are too small and too few, and have you seen its hands?” He turns to face her just before the town emerges into view. “Look kid, I can appreciate that you want to make things right and balance out your loss, but this is a long shot at best.”
“Then I’ll bribe them,” she says.
“Bribe them with what?”
“I don’t know, okay? I’ll… I’ll just sort of figure out once I start talking. You aren’t helping by pressuring me like this.”
They walk for a while longer, the gates growing larger and larger, before Vin speaks again. “How are you going to feed it?”
“I don’t know. Put it in a pasture and see what it will eat.”
“Food costs money, kid.”
She hushes him as they come within earshot of the gates. She recognizes the deputized guard from the previous night, but he isn’t looking at her. He is instead staring into the eyes of their new companion.
“Hi. We’ve come back. Can you let us in?” She looks up at him, keeping her voice as cheerfully persuasive as nerves will allow.
T
he guard continues to stare for a few more long seconds before asking, “Where did you find this?” His hands grip a spear weakly, the fingers fidgeting.
“It was lost. We’ve adopted it.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is it a… thrid of some kind?”
Bex glances at Vin, her pride only marginally hidden.
“Good for you!” she says to the guard. “I had no idea you were so well versed in your east shoreline vertebrates. Yes, yes it is. A very large one at that. You don’t see them growing this large, which was why it caught our attention right away. You don’t just see one of these things wandering alone. Usually in a pod.” She waits a moment for him to respond, but her mouth gets the better of her. “You don’t mind do you? We should probably get it some food and water. Don’t want it dying on your watch right?”
His expression slowly turns to her, and his eyes begin to focus on her as if for the first time. “You. I remember you. You were the non-resident who barged in here earlier.”
“I did, and thank you for the courtesy. I did appreciate it.”
“And you,” he says to Vin. “What’s someone your age doing out in the wilderness? What’s she done to you?”
“Oh, nothing,” Vin says, trying not to grumble. “Just out for a stroll, getting some exercise in the old joints before my body gets too old…”
“Well, I’m sorry Vin, but the town ordinance is that you can’t have something this big here. I mean, if it were a vassal city it would be a different story. But Den’k requires proper documentation…”
“Now look here,” Vin starts in. “I didn’t haul this worker animal all the way from the reservoir to have you turning it away to die at the city gates. I’m sure Den’k wouldn’t want that. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want your boss, Veerh to make you clean up the carcass.”
“Is it sick?” the guard asks.
“Not yet, but if we don’t get it hydrated and fed soon, it’ll be your name that comes up when they start asking questions. Me, I’ll be too busy doing my job.”
“Well my job is to oversee the safety of these gates,” the guard snaps.
“And my job is to patch. So let me get this in the town and start patching it.”
“Can it perform tasks?” he asks, his voice shifting between them. “I mean is it trained? I could probably allow it for a day. We’ll just say that it was on contract. But it will have to leave after that.”
“Done,” Vin says.
“What?”
“I mean yes. Yes it’s trained.”
With a groan of stressed wood and rope the gates open and the five of them enter to a town of wide curious eyes—
*
And more legs than should be.
Kendal stares from behind his makeshift helmet at the variety of legs, arms, head, torsos, and faces, trying not to shy away or strike out reflexively. They approach, prod, stare, skitter away, some on even legs, others on five or seven. One particularly large specimen approaches and holds out a stick, poking him in the shin and he grunts out of fear and surprise. It causes the crowd to scatter backwards, some disappearing into their patched-together hutches. Others walk beside him, simply staring up at his face.
Places where the older of his companions had stitched him have begun to itch, irritating the skin, and he’s pretty sure at some point the needle has actually penetrated his flesh rather than simply stitching the parts of ship hull and animal parts to his clothes. His arms look like the shell of some exotic crab and he looks out from between the hull fragments as he lumbers through the town square in his disguise.
There is a basic pattern to most living organisms. Kendal learned this back when school was still a trove of knowledge for his fertile young mind, back before it became a hostile environment. Take most animals: cats, dogs, elephants. One can find a pattern in the three mammals that make them all related, all part of a larger family. But this is completely random—there isn’t even a sense of symmetry. He sees parts of insects, feathers (from land-based birds he assumes) scales, tails, claws, shells, hooks, hands, trunks, feelers, all sewn onto the bodies of these creatures and functional. It is a town of walking nightmares.
They lead him through the town, towards what looks like a miniature barn, and he assumes before they even arrive that this is the place they will either kill or house him—maybe both and not necessarily in any order. But before they reach it, a truly hideous resident arrives, riding one of those pack animals. It rears in their path and the creature flutes a long-winded greeting. Half of its body is similar to the younger of his companions (which makes him think they all started out as a common species somehow) but the right half of its body is nothing but a row of wriggling centipede legs, each one armed with small barbs. Three of the legs grip a weapon of some sort, and it doesn’t take Kendal long to realize that it is anything but a greeting as it continues to—
*
Bark his orders from atop his orehorse.
“…And furthermore, placing this entire town at risk by introducing an unregistered pack animal—” Veerh stares up at the giant again, squinting. “Or whatever this is—into the town, you have directly violated over five laws, not least of which are the tenants of preclusion. Have you not learned anything from the poacher activity in the region, Vin?”
Vin stands his ground, staring up at the old Preserver. “If the poachers wish to raid this town simply to get at an exceptionally large thrid, let them. They’ll be as disappointed as they were when they swung by here looking for hides a month ago. We gave them a couple of limbgoats and sent them on their way.”
“This isn’t just some sort of livestock you can just bribe poachers with, Vin. This is clear violation of laws designed to protect this town. It’s my job and you are making it very difficult for me to perform it.”
Vin glances at the giant, then at Bex. “You’ve made your point, Veerh. And I’ll let you do your job, after I do mine. I’m bound by my duties as a Patcher to help this creature. Bex is a Tender. It is her duty to look after it.”
“And what of my duty?” the Preserver asks. His eyes narrow at Vin, insectile hands flexing around his saber.
“Your duty is to protect and preserve this village, Veerh. Don’t act like I am so old as to forget the tenants, and don’t assume that you can make me forget my duty as easily as you remind me of yours. I assure you the town is under no danger from this creature, and if the poachers do arrive, we’ll offer no resistance. They can have the specimen.”
He ignores the sharp glare from Bex and continues to study Veerh’s face. Finally the preserver nods briskly and urges his steed array and off to disperse the growing crowd. “Move back to your duties, folks. Just an abnormally large specimen. Nothing unusual here…”
“You’re really going to give it up to poachers?” Bex’s voice is hurt and betrayed. “You can’t do that?”
“It’s what we call bargaining, child.” Vin keeps his voice low. “And may I remind you that you had every opportunity to make your own argument. I’ve known Veerh from before he was knee-high to an orehorse, and he isn’t someone to simply be talked out of his responsibilities. And I respect him for it. You should too, because if you ever decide to become a resident of this village, he’s all that’s standing between you and the raiders that move through here.”
“So you meant it then… if the poachers do arrive…”
“Of course I didn’t. But there’s no tenant that says we can’t release the thing into the wild before the poachers arrive either. Now let’s get it into the barn before some of the other residents start to get ideas. I have some letters to write.”
Chapter 11
IF THERE is a reason why the gods would allow a creature such as this to exist, Ak’klin can’t imagine what it would be. But then, it is not for him to decide what is right in the world. That is up to the markets, barons, and Patchers who are willing to pay for the goods he sells—which they do gladly. In less than a week he has made nothing short of a small fortune, thoug
h at first it hadn’t seemed that way.
It took some convincing, talking to the limb barons and convincing them that this was worth their money. The fat traders, shrouded in smoke from their pipes couldn’t imagine a creature would even have a tooth so large. They thought it was a hoax.
“They are much bigger than you can imagine,” he had told them. Then he began to explain. A few left the room, convinced that he was simply delusional. It wasn’t until he tossed more parts onto the floor that they began to listen.
“The Ameer will be interested in this,” said the Baron of Tooth and Hair.
“We have shown him enough to convince him to grant us hunting access to the eastern plainlands.” Then, with a wink, “The Ameer knows all he needs to know, and besides, with the recent culling of the Tenders’ Guild, the request of a few poor poachers is but a small distraction.”
And so the barons exchanged their glances and nods, asking what more he had. One had even been bold enough to ask where he found it. Ak’klin is not a fool, and so he only winked. He winked as he winks now at Pim, the two of them leading the poacher troop through the thin forest and onto a stretch of desert that butts up against the high rock cliff. The area is seldom visited anymore, even by the religious. This however, is a different sort of pilgrimage, and Pim grows excited as they near the object they have sought.
The egg rests in a small recess between the rock shelves, its charred shell almost indistinguishable from the surrounding shale. But something isn’t right and he signals Pim, who then holds up a pair of hands to stop the troop behind them.
“What is it?” Pim asks.
“Someone’s gotten to it I think. Hand me the spyglass.”
Pim hands him the bone tube and Ak’klin peers through at the object. His biggest concern is that there might be a rival poacher tribe at work here, using the egg as a base of operations. It would be a logical conclusion with the ropes and flat leaves placed on top of the object. He can also see smoke. So does Pim.