“You don’t speak Naryan,†he said. “Nor any other language I recognize.â€
“You can tell?†I said.
“It’ s my job to notice things,†he said. “Where are you from?â€
“I don’t know where it is from here,†I said. “But it is a world called Luna, or Weĉjo—â€
“Hessoa is a very old myth,.â€
Now, a lot of people don’t know about Cardo. His actions are everywhere, but his presence tends to stay hidden.
He changes things.
Sometimes people notice. Sometimes they don’t.
Little nudges, bigger tweaks, major changes in the making of universes, all to sate his unending urges.
Which, don’t get me wrong, would be just fine, if that was what they wanted. But the systematic rape of world after world—I can’t let that go.
So we’ve been hunting him. A long time.
Of course, you don’t just enter into this inner sanctum; the correct method is to go into any of several buildings on the same street where one might be expected to do extended business in private—a lawyer’s office, a bordello—and pass through, by back alley or connected basement, to the place of the meeting.
Mar 1
Tags: alligators, Destiny, Kohath, Maro, Nother, tigers, WIP, wolves, writing
Maro’s family didn’t normally get much in the way of visitors, so today was a special day, one of the kits having caught sight of the long, low canoe approaching the island.
Sometimes, they said, there would be many who arrived, to offer their trade and services, but today it was only a rather short alligator.
Though he wore a sort of beige robe that went down to his knees, he didn’t seem to be perturbed by my hosts’ nakedness as we greeted him on the shore.
“This is our man of justice,†Maro said. The alligator raised a hand in greeting. “And this is K’haiso, a traveler who has come to us.â€
The alligator lowered his hand. “A traveler from far off, it seems. You are not of any of the people of our islands. How did you come to Narya unregistered?â€
That I was an alien on this world, I had guessed; that I might be an illegal one, I had not considered. And of course the ‘man of justice’ would be concerned with this. “I didn’t—I came here unknowing, and I didn’t see how I came. Is it wrong for me to be here?â€
The gator registered surprise as I started speaking. He grabbed my arm even before I’d done speaking and pulled me away from the others, waving Maro back.
Now I say I had the planet to myself, and that was mostly true. Far from Martian habitation, there are not many of the nightmares; but they are out there, so there is still some danger.
And danger it was really… determination notwithstanding, I was still at an age vulnerable to their influence.
I still remember very clearly the first time one was on me. I was only about twelve feet tall at the time, still very young but already too large to fit into the shelter.
I couldn’t move—I just lay across the ground, my head full of darkness, unable to see anything but the gruesome images the nightmare poured into my brain.
They say the nightmares don’t go for the most cherished images—love and home are usually stronger than its corrupting influence. Instead it goes for the subtle, the day-to-day things that are always all around you but that you barely notice—the ground you walk on, the air you breathe, the clothes on your back, converted into loathsome, fetid, pustulent, ichorous…
I lost consciousness before they got me underground; they said I was lucky to wake again at all.
Karkedon is one of the biggest cities in the world—maybe even bigger than Alexandreï, depending on who’s counting.
I love cities. You put a few people together, they’ll talk and get to know each other, but put a hundred thousand people together and nobody gets to know anyone if they can help it. The mind just gives up and refuses to see other people as people; you can be more alone in a crowded city than in any solitary place.
It was morning when we reached the city. I left the ship and went up through narrow streets of pale buildings, apartment houses and storefronts of artisans and the offices where the scribes tried to keep track of it all, to the city center, where a building like any other building waited with no indication that Karkedon’s powerful were inside, plotting against the world.
Some things it is nice to be part of.
I stayed in my cabin for as much as I could on the trip back to Karkedon – at least, that was my intention. I didn’t want to have to talk about the bridge to anyone—even on a Karkedonian ship I wasn’t necessarily safe.
But then the hyena happened, lurching out of his compartment and crashing into mine, the smaller creature quite green with seasickness. I scrambled out of the way of the window where I’d been sitting and held on to him as he leaned out and was sick.
The hyena, whom I learned later was called Mikips, recovered himself and, with no other apology than a nervous laugh and a blush of embarrassment, rushed back to his own compartment.
I wish that had been the only time I would see him.
I woke up again, covered in tigers.
Maro’s arm was over my back, and he was sleeping with his cheek pressed against mine. Or rather—the absence of feline snores from his direction suggested maybe he was still awake.
I pulled in closer to him, and softly murmured his name into his ear.
“K’haiso, you should be sleeping.â€Â His voice was full of sleep itself; I wondered if maybe I had woken him up after all.
“Maro, who was Kaido?â€
His arm gripped me tighter to him, pulling me into his stripy warmth. “Our brother,†he said.
I nuzzled into his powerful arm and didn’t say anything.
He leaned in closer and I could feel his breath on the fur of my ear.
“Our brother who was lost to the sea.â€
It was sad enough to hear the words. It was worse to feel the tiger shaking against me, eyes shut, entirely unafraid of showing his tears.
“Our brother who never came home…â€
And he only held me tighter, and kissed my forehead, still trembling with the emotion.
“Sleep, wuafo,†he said, and I knew it ought to be impossible, because my tears were wetting his fur and I couldn’t make them stop. But sleep came anyway and soon enough it was morning.
The semi-secret breakfast was chiefly fried potatoes in all the usual configurations… tater tots, country potatoes, potato pancakes, hash browns, and so forth—with smaller amounts of eggs and miscellaneous breakfast fixin’s.
In my condition, though, which was better but still not optimal, I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat much, so I just took a small plate and sat next to a lunar and human talking—about the Vegan wars.
I recognized political argument, and resolved not to jump in.
I had most of the planet to myself. A million Martians, and land to provision themselves with, take up very little in the way of space, even from their perspective, I imagine.
So I travelled.
There’s not much in the way of food on those endless Martian fields, I know you’re thinking. I do have a bit of help in that regard—my knack is autotrophy, so as far as I can tell all I need to survive is light and air and water, which are a lot easier to come by than more substantial fare. They say it might be why I was able to grow so big.
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