Kelfor- the Orthomancers

by Gillian Andrews

  My planet is a stunning place, really. Deep blue sky, hard beaten earth in the north, then the Abaloss Rift circumnavigating a huge segment of the planet, effectively separating the north from the south. Beyond that come the Plains of Teygar where there are no water plumes to help the plants grow. There is very little animal life.

  It doesn’t rain on my planet. Almost all the water we have is thrust out of subterranean lakes by violent forces. There are massive faults in the crust of Hethor. We call them rifts, and in the northern hemisphere they give rise to plumes or crests of water, depending on how long they are. Sometimes water can be ejected up to a hundred miles above the planet. I know, because Fimbrian explained it all to me, just as his father explained it to him. His father had experienced and survived an eruption of the Abaloss Rift. The Abaloss Rift can’t be seen from the city, though we can make out the plumes of water that belch upward from it.

  My own great-great-great-grandfather was on the last journey the Rath intruders took to try to reach the South Pole. They didn’t go themselves, of course. Their terrifying lackeys, the Vessans, were sent to dominate the whole planet. They didn’t get far. We Inmuri were happy they hadn’t. They may have conquered us but they couldn’t overcome our planet. They never found our secret way across the Abaloss Rift. When they tried to get to the South Pole, they lost quite a few of the Vessans trying. We lost all our Inmuri, too, of course. They were severely punished for failing to find the route. My ancestor never came back. But we Inmuri celebrated that. We couldn’t let them get to the South Pole. It is one of the dictates of the timeworn, and now I know why: Kelfor. My predecessor must have happily given his life for that.

  The Raths are not all-knowing, even though they think they are. Now they are content to stay in their domes and slowly eliminate our people by making us work until we drop.

  The Raths are not like us. They are sturdier and slightly larger. Their bulk is nearer the ground. They have four short stocky legs which give them a slightly pyramidal appearance. Their neck is long and thick, culminating in a smaller head. Their skull projects forward like an animal’s snout and their eyes are set laterally. They weigh much more than we do, which is intimidating, but they cannot move as fast or as far in the heat. They would need their shuttles to get them around the planet, but those lie rotting in the sand.

  They come from a planet with much higher gravity than ours. Their gravity has built them to be bigger, slower creatures. They are bulky and cumbersome. To us they appear ungainly.

  We are lighter on our feet and faster than they are, but that wasn’t any use to us when they decided they needed our diamonds and our carbon nanographite. Our gentle way of life was no match for them.

  It is said that the Raths who arrived on Hethor were only the forerunners of what was supposed to be a big invasion.

  But those first ones ... the seven families, or the seven ‘karths’ as they are now known here, discovered just how many diamonds there are deep inside our planet. More diamonds than there are on their own planet Maraz, which is the next orbit out from our suns. Maraz is colder, larger and heavier than Hethor and it does not have so many natural resources. We have diamonds and carbon nanographite, gallium and tantalum too. They needed our supplies for their weapons, for their industries.

  According to lore, the members of the seven families or karths began to think. They talked amongst themselves. There were plenty of diamonds for the seven families. Plenty to make them all very rich. But what would happen if many more families came to Hethor? They would all get diamonds. The price of diamonds would drop. Nobody would get rich.

  So – all those generations ago – they decided to keep Hethor to themselves. They mined just enough to buy out the space industry on Maraz, and then they made sure no other ships ever came here. Now they are the ones that run the Maraz Empire too, though they rarely leave Hethor.

  Each Rath karth built a dome to mark the center of its estate. All the domes were situated close to each other, along the Nyka Rift, where the water crests can be used for agriculture and evaporative cooling. They called the new city of buildings Astakarth, dividing it into seven areas, one belonging to each dome or karth. Each karth was given a name: Dolak, Herruk, Istak, Kaltuk, Kassak, Lumak and Ziruk. I live in the Istak karth.

  Then they closed Hethor off from all but the seven families, formed the Council of Seven to rule it and became the leaders of their homeworld through the importation of diamonds and carbon nanographite. They built a tube which goes from the surface of our planet up to a platform in space, twenty miles above our heads. It works on some sort of combination of compressors and vacuum pumps, and it means that they can get cargo up to the space platform. No shuttles come down to the surface of our planet any longer.

  When they first came, they brought the Vessans as their enforcers. The Vessans were huge, vicious fighters with a rather reptilian look about them. They had smooth ridges on their scalps and across their noses. There are none left now. I don’t know what happened to them.

  When the Raths found the Inmuri unwilling to serve them, they applied their knowledge of genetics to the problem. Over the following two hundred years they experimented on adapting the Inmuri genes, grafting and manipulating cells until they found how to mark the skin in the patterns they wanted, how to make the soul fiercely loyal, how to ensure total obedience. Then they sat back. They had created the Scoriats, their perfect worker class. They had become omnipotent, on both worlds.

  That was almost a thousand years ago. Since then our numbers, the numbers of the real Inmuri, have been dwindling. The Scoriats are not permitted to reproduce and the few girls left in the Inmuri compounds to reproduce naturally are not enough to make up for the large numbers of us killed at work. Between the domes and the mines as many as ten percent of us can die in just one bad year. We are literally being decimated. That is why, in recent years, the Raths stopped taking so many of the younger girls. They need Scoriats, but they need their Inmuri slave workers even more. Who else would pull their diamonds out of the ground? Who else would keep their domes cool? I have heard Veta talking to my mother about it many times.

  Finally I see a long, low group of buildings gradually appear on the horizon. They are uninviting and grey. I squirm, trying to trick the hands on my arms, trying to give myself a chance to get away. Their hold is iron tight. I stumble, but they hold me up. The buildings get closer and closer. The sound of my heart gets louder and louder.

  I am about to be thrown away, tossed onto a sand pile of girls whose only point in life is to feed the ranks of the Scoriats. My only hope of escape will be to give birth to one of the shunned, like Zivan has.

  For if the born child is imperfect – one of the shunned – then both mother and child are ejected from the Xenokarth and left to fend for themselves. Which means stealing, for they get neither work nor aid from Raths, Scoriats or even fellow Inmuri. They are even more isolated than the girls inside the Xenokarth.

  I give another, weaker, struggle, and the two Scoriats by my side glare down at me. They care nothing for another Inmuri who is about to be ruined. Their job, after all, is to ruin Inmuri. That was why they sleep in comfortable barracks, instead of cobbs. That is why they are given good and sufficient food.

  And I am to be the mother of such as these.

  I will kill myself first.

  The second time I consider it, the answer distills into decision. Even though I can hear my mother telling me not to give up so easily, I know I cannot face such a life as the one I am being dragged along to.

  I make up my mind. The faint idea which had come to me in the dome hardens into resolution. I will have to put an end to all this myself. The only question now is how and when.

  One thing is for sure; it will not be now. There is no possibility of self-harm under such rigid control. I will have to wait. Wait until I am given a few moments alone.

  They march me up to the large double gate, and the accompanying squadron of Scoriat trackers turns as
ide at the gate, forming up again facing back in the direction of Astakarth.

  My two captors pound at the gate, and, when it finally opens, hand me over to the small group of people on the other side. There are five of them in the reception committee.

  My arms are held as before. One person walks in front of me, and two behind. We make our way across a courtyard, then into a white, sterile reception area. Lining the whole of one wall is a cell, steel bars separating it from the rest of the room. I am thrust inside this, and then the door swings to. My captors leave. I am locked in. In prison for the first time.

  I am given no food, no water.

  After some time two uniformed men come into the cell, locking it carefully first after them. They begin to check me over.

  My hair is examined. Then my teeth. They lift and flex my arms. They peer into my mouth, then my ears. I twist and turn, trying to avoid such indignities. It makes no difference. Finally I am tied to rings set into the wall. I am palpated all over, with firm, professional fingers. When they leave, they leave me tied.

  There is no window in the cell, but I can see that it is getting dark outside through the small window in the reception area. Am I to be left here all night? I could damage myself if untied, but that option has been taken away. Perhaps I will die from discomfort? At that moment it seems quite possible.

  I have just about given up hope when they return. They free me from the wall-set rings and give me a bowl of soup to drink. They stand over me as I gulp it down and then lead me firmly to a latrine outside the cell. I am deposited onto the seat and held firmly in place. I hate them at that moment.

  One of them looks down at me with disdain. “This is your only chance of evacuation. You will be tethered to the wall again for the night. If you don’t comply, you will simply soil yourself.” He gives me a shake. “Is that what you would prefer?”

  It isn’t. I bite my lip and try to suppress the humiliation of having to relieve myself in front of them. When I finish, they pull me roughly to my feet. I am allowed to adjust my clothes and then led back into the cell. I am tied back to the rings.

  “Why is there nobody else here?” I ask.

  The taller of them gives a sharp laugh. “You are in the isolation ward. This is where we make sure you are not diseased. You will be here for a month or two.” He laughs at the expression on my face. “You will get used to it. They all do.”

  Tears are running down my cheeks. I miss my mother more than I could ever have thought possible. She has only been dead for a few hours, but it seems like a decade.

  The two orderlies leave me to my thoughts. The cell is carefully locked. Then they leave the whole reception room, locking that as well. They don’t bother to leave the lights on.

  I move the bindings on my arms. They clink in the gloom. It is an improvement. I need to hear sound. Pins and needles start to prickle along my arms, finally turning into an unrelenting pain which makes me sob out loud.

  The hours pass. There isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t ache.

  All I can think about is my hands, my arms. I twist and turn, but it does no good. My arms have turned into wooden blocks.

  I know they can’t leave me like this all night. I’m pretty sure my hands will drop off if they do. Surely they can’t want that? No, they can’t. I don’t understand why they are doing this to me, but I know that, until I am of no further use to them, they will keep me in one piece.

  When the cell door opens a little later and the light comes on, I look up hopefully. Perhaps the Scoriats are back to set me free?

  No. They are escorting a visitor into my small cell. I hear the newcomer give a deep, satisfied grunt.

  I take one peek at the newcomer and my heart threatens to stop.

  I have no idea who ... what this thing is, but it is staring at me with eyes that want to consume me, its head slightly on one side, considering me.

  I freeze. My arms no longer hurt. I am in a blind panic.

  For the first time in my life I learn what being prey feels like.

  Because the ... the thing looking at me is a predator.

  And I am definitely prey. Every single part of my body is telling me to get out, but I can’t move. I don’t think I could even if I weren’t chained up. I am paralyzed. Except for my heart. My heart is racing, doing its level best to abandon my body.

  The thing is huge ... half as much again as a Scoriat. It is heavily built but supple. I see the strong muscles all over its body. It could outrun me in a second.

  It is two-legged, like me. It stands upright, like me. But this vile combination of genes cannot be a person, however much it may have the general shape of one.

  It walks up to me until its face is close up to mine. The menace is terrifying.

  The face is far larger than a Scoriat’s. The skull is bare of hair. The eyes are large and rather cloudy. Under the eyes is a flat nose and under this is the most enormous mouth I have ever seen on any creature. The whole of its lower mandible is mouth. The jaws take up more than half of its face.

  It opens its mouth.

  I scream. It is like looking into a shark’s mouth. It has two rows of spiked sharp teeth which run right around the ‘U’ shaped jaw. Right the way around from one ear to the other. It could tear my throat out with one snap of those jaws.

  And it wants to. It brings its open teeth closer and closer around my neck, where I am hanging, until its mouth is covering my throat. All I can see is teeth. Each one is the size of a large candle flame, honed to a lethal point on many a bone.

  I close my eyes. I am panting now. I am simply an animal, petrified for its life. I know this ... thing ... is going to kill me.

  There is a sharp-voiced instruction from behind it.

  I open my eyes again. And stare. A Rath is standing behind the thing. A real Rath. I have only seen them in the distance before. Never this close up.

  This Rath is one of the most important. It has eight diamond necklaces fastened around its long neck. That means that it is in its eighth decade of life. They add one necklace for each decade. Eight is old. Venerable, to them. It may even be one of the Council of Seven.

  The Rath is speaking coldly to the thing which has its teeth around my neck. The thing is growling under its breath. It doesn’t want to, but it draws its face slightly back from my neck. Now I can see the slaver from its mouth dripping down onto the floor.

  “This is a Thrall,” the Rath tells me calmly. “The prototype, in fact. You are lucky. You have been chosen to participate in our trials.”

  I dare not reply. The thing is still within inches of my neck. Now it is sniffing at me. The nostrils on that flat nose are widening and flaring. It takes in my scent in gulps of air. It makes contented sounds. The nostrils flare again.

  “I am pleased to say that he likes you. You will be added to the Thrall Program.” The Rath turns away.

  I force my eyelids open and look into the face of the Thrall. It is examining my face. Its mouth is now closed, but it is licking its lips. Its eyes seem even cloudier than before.

  “Come, Graven!” The Rath is leaving now, nodding briefly to the two gaolers, who are both bowing deeply to it as it passes. The engraved golden brooches on the top of its four feet shine as it moves majestically away. The brown brocade of its cape is embellished in gold and copper, embroidered in the geometric patterned stars of the Istak karth.

  The Thrall twists its head in the Rath’s direction. It seems unable to do anything else. I get the impression it would like to disobey, but it cannot.

  It begins to turn away, but just when I dare to think I am to be allowed to live, it whips its massive head back. It smells me again, from my chin up to each eye, taking its time.

  I am surprised when it speaks. I have such an impression of bestiality that I have been thinking of this thing as an animal. It is not. It is humanoid, but of a savageness I have never seen before.

  “Soon,” it hisses to me. Promises me. “You smell ...” there is a small
pause as it breathes up more of my scent, “... good.” It smiles.

  I turn my head away to avoid staring into all those rows of teeth. I feel sick now.

  It doesn’t let me get away. It moves its head to follow my movement, so I cannot help but look into its eyes. It smiles again.

  “Soon.”

  I shiver, but it is gone. It moves so fast that it catches up with the Rath in five strides. But I know ... know ... that I shall see it again. I know that it will come for me. The words it spoke are a promise it will not break. I am shivering all over. I have seen how I shall die, and it will not be a good death. I know what it was promising me. I suppose prey always knows.

  One day, those teeth will bury themselves in my neck.

  Whatever the Rath may be planning, the promise the Thrall made me was for death. They say there are worse things. Right now I find that hard to believe.

  There is a pause. Neither of the guards moves for almost a half minute. They want to make sure the Rath has really gone. Finally they straighten up. They glance at the exit then at each other.

  One bustles over to me. “There. You are to be congratulated. To be so favored. To be chosen. What an honor!”

  I close my eyes to eliminate the sight of him. The binding around my hands no longer bothers me. I no longer feel the pain. My fear has blotted everything out. When I open them again they have left. I am alone again.

  It takes time for me to calm my heart down. Time to feel the pain again. Somehow the discomfort edges into the panic in my mind and makes itself known to me. I hang my head. It is hard to take in everything which has happened in one short day.

  I think back to this same time the night before. My mother talking to me in her quiet, low voice. How I wish I could hear her again! The ache in my heart feels heavy to bear.

  To make myself survive the night, I begin to try to remember everything she said to me. There are stars just visible in the dark patch of sky shown through the bars on the window outside the cell, but I can’t see which they are. My mouth begins to work the words, with some difficulty, because I am very thirsty. The soup was salty; it has left me longing for water.