Chapter Twenty-Nine of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated
Please note: This is a weekly post
Canipse had ample time to construct a story. Yet when Dorsin landed the flier – too close to the hive in Canipse’s opinion – and Tarad arrived from the fields with his arms outstretched in greeting, Canipse still hadn’t a story. He wasn’t expected. He’d no need to visit. But he couldn’t be in the base-camp, not with that zem throwing his weight and wittering on about his fear of the psi-sphere and what he did with the stones. And where else was he to go?
But now what could he say? He said nothing. He didn’t as much as acknowledge Tarad but was straight out of that flier and away to the north, crossing fields recently harvested, to…where? Canipse didn’t know, he just needed to escape. Maybe he could hide out until the Techs returned. There were caves, he’d heard it said there were caves. One the observers spoke of a cave that swallowed a river to spew it into a hidden place within an unbroken circle of sheer rock walls. Such a cave might be a rich source of stones. He’d need plentiful stones when the Techs returned.
That’s what he’d do: Find that river, find that cave.
He ran, though his path fled downhill at a precipitous pace, and he was in danger of tumbling, ricking a knee or an ankle. But the path evened out, allowing Canipse the chance to catch breath, though he cast several cautious looks back. He’d begun the day by doing wrong, bullying Dorsin to take the flier without logging it, and now he’d tripled it. What could he say if they caught him? Not that he was scared of the zem. Some of those operatives who’d supported him, chanting, demanding a return of the Techs, they’d also been afraid of the zem. And was it a wonder when word was – and it wasn’t just an idle rumour, for a miner had witnessed it – that before he was a zem, Jess had attacked a Tech with intent to kill. And he denied killing those three Techs? Oh no, the sea took them. Who believed that? He’d been sent to Colabri for correction. The only Monza that Canipse had met who didn’t deny it. After all, why would a Tech-killer worry about what the Monza thought of him? But those operatives hadn’t run scared, not the way he’d just run.
Again, he turned to check no one followed. He couldn’t allow them to catch him. They’d drag him back to the farm and return him to the base and stand him in front of that Tech-defying disrespectful zem. But he gasped in disbelief of what his eyes saw. A giant.
He wanted to run. No, better to disappear into the earth. No one had said anything about giants in this land. A Monza giant, was it? Or a Tech giant?
It took several limb-numbing moments to realise the giant was neither Tech nor Monza. The Monza hadn’t mammary growths ten times the size of the farm-sows. Unless a milk-mother as his twin would have been.
His twin…
Despite he’d refused it, that Pendoling zem had opened him to the psi-sphere. Now here she was, naked and jabbering nonsensical words. He closed his eyes, yet still he saw her, the vision burned into his mind. And where were the Techs to protect him, to ease away the sight?
Her skin was peeling. Falling away. Pulled, tugged, cut, removed. Her raw body skinned like a butchered beast.
Though it brought his head closer to that gut-wrenching vision, he reached forward…and retched. Again, and again, until nothing remained.
Tears stung and blinded him, yet again he ran. Sobs snotted his nose. Thoughts disappeared, leaving him empty, a skinful of what to do, can’t do, must do. And why didn’t the ground suck him into its guts. Thoughts returned, slammed into him, turbulent like flood water thoughts. They tore away what courage he’d had.
Then…relief. Ahead was a cave. Whether it was the one the observers spoke of he didn’t know. Yet a river, all confused with tossing like his thoughts, led into it.
His feet twisted and slipped, losing balance on the water-slicked rocks. Determined, he scrambled, ankles ricking, knees bruising, and at last found a dry place inside the cave. With his arms latched around him, he rocked – as if that could comfort him. He wanted a Tech. A Tech would help him rebuild that wall, though then he’d never see his sister again.
The light in that cave diminished. Beyond it, the now familiar noises of late day in the forest returned. He breathed deep, hoping then to regain his composure. But that composure was gone. All that was left was a weeping jellified being.
With no thoughts to mark the passing of time, awareness faded. Until a hush of voices roused him. Clearer was the rattle of rocks and the knock of wood against stone.
Those voices grew louder. Not Monza. They spoke as that Pendoling giant had spoken. More giants? Come from Pendolsphere to taunt him before they skinned him and ate him.
A quick look behind him. No escape there. He scrabbled for his stun-gun strapped at his waist. He’d never needed to use it, didn’t know how many blasts it contained. But that was irrelevant. He couldn’t escape his death, but he didn’t have to be conscious for it.
He held the weapon to his temple, hand shaking, gun slipping. To steady it, he propped it atop his ear, closed his eyes and squeezed that trigger.
*
Jess took Kookka and Antel with him to Hive Eight at the caterers’ farm. By the time they came in to land the sun’s rays were staining the sky, west to east and north to south, a vibrant magenta. He hoped the light would hold long enough for them to find the useless dud.
Beneath him, he could see the flier Dorsin had taken and failed to log. That deserved a reprimand, but he could imagine the textile operative’s dilemma: Which would be worse, the deserved rebuke from Jess or the confidence-destroying rant from Canipse. Now, with the catering overseer missing, Dorsin was probably shitting himself. As he stepped from the flier, Jess acknowledged Dorsin with a nod but otherwise left him alone.
“Which way?” he asked Tarad.
Tarad glanced to the north where the soil in the recently cleared fields was already turning to dust. They needed rain to lay the soil. The Techs would have told Guul and Canipse, as textile and catering overseers, when to expect those rains but, supposing the Techs to be ever-present, how much notice had they or their operatives taken? And where was Canipse?
Kookka returned to the flier to grab the psi-lights. “You can use this?” he asked Tarad.
Tarad could but he held back.
“Take it, I want you with us,” Jess said.
Although Tarad expressed his reluctance, Jess was the zem, and he couldn’t refuse.
Jess looked to his companions and nodded in that same direction. Together these four strode across the fields, puffing up dust clouds in their wake, and followed a path down to the perimeter.
As they approached, a party of five males emerged from the forest beyond.
“Itamakku?” Antel said.
“Banmakka?” suggested Kookka.
“Or demons from Pendol?” Jess didn’t like the look of them. If it weren’t for the nether-horns which hinted at the Itamakku hill-dow hunters, he’d think them alien spirits. “Red skins. As if they’ve been skinned.”
“Look closer,” Antel said. “Beneath that red, they’re black.”
That didn’t help much.
“Obsidians?” Kookka’s tone clearly said jest.
It was difficult to be certain with the daylight failing but Jess reckoned while they were darker than the Itamakku, darker too than the Banmakka female he had released from Poalt’s little hut, they weren’t as dark as those he’d worked with when, as a newly assigned observer, he’d previously visited this planet. But why had they covered themselves in red paste?
“Red or black,” Antel said, “they’re pigmented enough to disappear into that forest. Especially this late in the day. Which makes them skilled hunters.”
“If they’re Banmakka, understanding them could be difficult.” Jess knew from having spoken to the female that they didn’t share a language with the Itamakku, though clearly they did communicate enough to mate.
Jess held up his hands, open palms to the red-painted hunters. His companions copied. “You speak?”
A male, naked but for a massive jutting nether-horn, stepped out to close the distance between the two groups. “Itamakku-speak, god-speak, we share?” He spat into his hand and held it out to Jess.
Was he supposed to do the same? Cela-Byi could have told him. Maybe even the Techs could have clued him in, if the preevos had observed this behaviour.
He took a chance. He spat into his palm and held it out to the hunter, who grasped it and squeezed till Jess feared his bones would dislocate and his hand distort. The hunter gave an emphatic nod of his head and released Jess’s hand. Jess nodded in return.
“Now Banmakka-man and god-man speak.”
So, they were Banmakka. That might explain what the spirit-woman had said when he visited Toki-dow. Except he couldn’t remember her words, only that the skinned god was a thing of the head-hunting Banmakka.
“God-man dead. In cave. Banmakka men guard body. No one eat. You take. Your god, you eat.”
“God-men thank Banmakka men.” He had wished several fates for Canipse, but not death. “How dead?”
The Banmakka male spread his hands. He didn’t know.
“Show us?” Jess said.
“Come.”
“Zem Jess, it’s nigh on night,” Tarad tried to pull him back.
“The Banmakka know this forest the way you know your fields. And we have psi-lights.” Although he gave the order not to use them while the Banmakka were acting as guides. “To use them might be seen as an insult to their knowledge and skills.”
Hope you enjoyed reading
Continues on Monday
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crispina kemp 