crispina kemp

Chapter Twenty-Four of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated

Please note: This is a weekly post

The flier hovered over the fly-port. No sign of Canipse lurking, waiting, spying. Not that Jess would have aborted his return to base, but he preferred not to encounter him yet. He wanted to speak with Kookka before anything else, but Kookka was on fly duty. What now to do to fill the time until his return? Well, for a start he could land the flier. He brought it down slowly, to settle precisely in the centre of its pad.

He had a visitor, a red suited textile worker standing out against the grey walls of Hive One.

The pull-screen door was down. Armar not in? But no, gentle harp music coupled with laughter rippled across the base’s barren centre – from Hive Four. That would be Armar and Joel, musician and poet naturally partnered. Jess envied them their companionship on a day when Kookka wasn’t available for him.

“Dorsin?” Jess greeted his visitor. “You’re a day early. I’ve scheduled the start of the training for tomorrow. You’ll have good company, several of my observers aren’t yet proficient.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to see you about. It’s our textiles farm, Hive Seven.”

“I know it, I’ve visited.” He swallowed the rising lump that threatened to choke him. He had told Cela-Byi he couldn’t bring her back to their base, that it would be dangerous for her. She’d accepted that, confusing his base with the hill-top farm. But that was good. That would keep her away from Poalt. But where was she to go?

“I have a cave. I share it with my spirit-kin, the Byi.”

A dragon’s cave? Horror and care for her filled him. Seeing his reaction, she laughed. “Only small ones, biters, not stranglers. We’re kin, they won’t hurt me.”

Her kin, not his. But that was good. Although he had held her, pressing bodies till not a gasp could get between them, wanting, urgent, demanding to be skin-to-skin and to slip in, yet when she’d said about the dragon’s cave he had happily parted from her, his hard-cocked fast-maturing part obediently collapsing. But that situation couldn’t last.

Now he asked Dorsin, “What is it about the farm?”

“It’s…it’s not the farm. Eulal and Niapse are able workers. Our overseer, Guul, never complains of them. It’s the domestic, Poalt.”

To be rid of the prickles racing down his back, Jess straightened to his full height. Poalt had been within sighting distance of Cela-Byi. His hands rose, as in prayer fashion. To pray to whom? Cela-Byi’s star-spirits? He forced his hands down, relaxed by his sides. “What has Poalt done?”

“I heard Guul telling Canipse – the catering overseer, you know him?”

Jess was the zem, overseer of the entire clutch, it was his duty to know everyone. And Canipse had made his presence known. He nodded to Dorsin, to encourage him to say on, fighting the urge to ball his fingers into fists. He had to work to calm his breathing too, for surely he sounded like a water-bull ready to charge.

“Poalt is Azal’s operative, but Azal…” Dorsin twitched a shoulder “Azal wasn’t there when Guul was saying, and I’m in the next hive to the overseers, I couldn’t help but hear.”

“And what was Guul saying?” As soon as Dorsin confirmed his fears he’d be straight back out with that flier and Poalt would be dead. Dead? That wasn’t something a Monza knew how to do, not deliberately anyway. Yet of late, thoughts of killing Canipse had increasingly blossomed. In the absence of the Techs?

“Guul says that Poalt has built a new hive. Small, he says, like one sleeper small. And since early yesterday morning, he’s kept a female Sanki in there. Tied up in there. Her screams alerted Eulal and Niapse, but Guul says Poalt has gagged her now.”

Jess gritted his teeth and wagged his head in exasperated disbelief. Yet that was coupled with his relief. By the timing, that female Sanki wasn’t Cela-Byi. Another then. Not an Itamakku from Toki-dow either, since he’d have heard about that. From a hill-dow? As with the hunter-warriors he had encountered. Or maybe even the Banmakka, head-hunters, apparently with a hunting range to north of the Itamakku. That did seem likely with where that farm was situated.

He thanked Dorsin for bringing this news. But why hadn’t Canipse mentioned it? No matter. Jess was the zem, he must sort it. “We’ll see you in the morning for training.”

And how long might it take to have all his observers plus the eager Dorsin aloft and flying? But it made no difference how many of the clutch were able. They’d still have only three fliers.

“Beautiful music, apologies to interrupt,” he said at the open door to Hive Four. He scanned inside. “No Shelek?”

“Obs duty,” Joel and Armar chorused.

“Ah.” That meant he’d have a flier out beyond Hive Eight, covering the hill-dows. “Might I come in?”

“You’re zem, you’re in.” Joel nudged Armar to shuffle along the deeply padded sofa-seat.

Jess sat.

“What’s it about?” Armar asked.

“Poalt, the domestic across at Hive Seven. Apparently he has himself a female. That’s bad enough, but he has her tied and gagged – he’s keeping her in a hut. She might be one of Shelek’s skein. Or she might belong to the Banmakka, a more northerly range. In which case everyone at that farm’s in danger. They’re head-hunters – and they like to skin their prey.”

And what was he to do? Armar asked him the same question.

Jess flopped his head back, eyes staring blankly at the hive’s vaulted ceiling. Sometimes being a zem meant doing things you’d rather not. He bit his lip until it drew pain, then sat up again. “I need obs to come with me. And in case of trouble, stun-guns. And I’d suggest anything else we can find to use in defence. But Canipse has this same information, and if Canipse can stir up a shit-pit, we know that’s what Canipse will do. So, we must leave enough obs here on base. Kookka, Shelek and Miax are currently out on duty, but you’ll have them when they return. Would you say you need more?”

“We’ll have the operatives here,” Armar said. “That’s plenty. You really do anticipate trouble?”

“I hope not. But only a fool would underestimate Canipse. At the very least he’ll take the opportunity to agitate. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but since we’ve been Tech-less there’s a growing dissatisfaction amongst the operatives.”

“Bristling,” Armar agreed. “Easily irritated. That wouldn’t be possible if we still had Techs.”

“Music soothes,” Joel quickly put in.

“From what I’ve seen,” Jess said, “Canipse’s favoured buddies prefer games of chance. Anyway, that’s Joel, Zeke, Saker and Brib with me. If you’re up for it, Joel.”

Armar rose from the shared seat. “What do you intend to do?”

Jess grimaced, sighed and huffed. He didn’t need this, neither Canipse’s quibbles nor Poalt’s abducted female. It wasn’t a situation he’d ever encountered. He doubted the Techs had encountered that latter either, unless it was on Urgula Teth. “That female has to be returned to her skein, whether Itamakku or Banmakka. And I’m thinking Poalt’s not going to allow it.”

“Banmakka? Where’d you get that name from?” Armar asked, now heading with Jess back to Hive One, harp in hand. “You’ve had more contact.”

“Doomed. But I shall resist. The safety of this clutch is my sole concern.”

To be continued next week

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Chapter Twenty-Three of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated

Please note: This is a weekly post

Canipse jumped in front of Zem Jess. “Wait a bit, wait.” He could see where the zem was headed, and he needed to catch him before he disappeared off again for yet another day. The zem looked displeased to be waylaid, but that was neither cooked nor raw. He needn’t think because there were no Techs on base that Canipse wouldn’t write his reports.

Zem Jess wasn’t pleased at being stopped. “What is it this time? We’ve serviced your farm these past two days. The harvest has been fetched, needed supplies delivered.”

Canipse had noticed that about the zem: In the absence of the Techs, the zem was increasingly bad tempered. Not only that but Canipse would swear he was changing – his appearance, his face, even his voice, there was something…bestial…about him. Was he changing into one of those monkeys they saw swinging in the trees? Not that Canipse went far enough from base to see them, but his operatives said.

Canipse said, “I’m wondering when you plan to fetch our clutch a new Tech, at least one? It’s not just me wondering. Other overseers, many of the operatives. Only, we’re reliant on you now that we’ve no Techs. You and your observers are the only fliers.”

Zem Jess looked beyond Canipse, towards the fly-port, clearly impatient to step into a flier and be gone to wherever he was going. Not to the farms. “And how do you propose I fetch a new Tech? From where?”

Dearly would Canipse like to form fists and beat the brashness out of the zem. Instead, Canipse held his hands tight in front of him. “Well, from one of the other clutches, of course.”

“From Clutches Seven or Eight, do you think?” the zem asked in such a sarky voice.

“If those are the nearest,” Canipse snarked back. Truly, that zem needed a bop on the bonce. Canipse’s fists tightened.

“You know the distance?” The zem looked down at him.

And that was another thing, Canipse was sure he hadn’t been that tall when they first settled in camp.

“If Clutches Seven and Eight were close,” the zem said, leaning in – threatening; Canipse would have to include this in his report, “the Techs based there would already know of our plight and would have flown a replacement out to us, even though it would leave them short. That they haven’t, surely should tell you that these clutches are situated too far away.”

Canipse stepped back. He hadn’t realised distance would be a factor. “But the fliers…I thought…they cross galaxies, don’t they.”

“Not our little fliers, no.” And now the zem was laughing at him. “Maybe you weren’t fully awake at the landing. But if you had been you’d have noticed the difference between the transporter, the landers, and our fliers. It would take a lander to reach the nearest clutch. Now, I have a dow to check on.”

Zem Jess stepped around him and continued his way to the fly-port. Canipse watched, a deep frown developing.

He was disinclined to believe the zem. Something about him, and that something had intensified since the loss of the Techs. What if he wasn’t telling the truth about those fliers? What if he was purposely keeping the clutch Tech-less?

Hadn’t Zem Jess said about needing more personnel able to handle those fliers? He’d even said he would train those who volunteered. What if he volunteered? Then he could issue himself with a flier and head out to Clutch Seven or Eight. He’d no idea where those basecamps were located but he could discover it. He was sure.

*

Jess didn’t immediately lift from the fly-port. He wasn’t able to access the psi-sphere while a white fury whirled through him. Perhaps he exaggerated, it wasn’t a fury. Yet it was more than a minor disquiet. He reached out for the practices the Fire-keepers had taught him on Colabri. Sit back, relax the shoulders, close the eyes, bring into focus pleasant memories. Cela-Byi. Holding his hand. Pulling him along that trail and into the forest. Her smell. Her taste. The weight of her as her body pressed against his…

But Canipse again broke into his thoughts to reignite the agitation. And now he knew its source: The mention of Clutches Seven and Eight. He remembered the allocations during the briefing. Clutch Seven, Zem Danipe, who didn’t like Jess as much as Jess didn’t like him. And Clutch Eight, Zem Ezen who had lost Kookka to him. No, even if it were possible to take a flier that distance, he would not.

Again, he worked through the steps to settle his unease, to enable him to enter the psi-sphere.

*

Cela-Byi sat cross-legged within the star-seat’s fenced enclosure at the back of Byi-house, not even raised on a stump like Cela-Kuci. She imagined her mother scorning her: Child-headed to think once she’d done the headman’s bidding she’d be a spirit-woman more elevated than Cela-Kuci. She was not. And why not? Because her hardship and labour had all been for nothing, she had returned with neither star-spirit Kija nor with his message. She was a failure, a disgrace, an empty seedcase harbouring empty promises. The spirits ought to take her and roll her in boar-shit – or so Cela-Kuci had said on Cela-Byi’s empty return. But she grinned, that was about to change.

Those twinkling lights moving, making no obvious patterns, those weren’t a swarm of big biting flies as first she’d thought, her hands brought up to bat them away. She’d seen them before, atop that god-hill where the giant had said only gods and spirits dwelt.

“What is it?” Cela-Kuci lifted her chin, a look across at her.

Cela-Byi ignored her, a leap to her feet and already flying between Byi- and Naba-houses, praying, praying to Kija that she wasn’t mistaken. “It’s star-spirit Kija,” she threw back over her shoulder. “He comes.”

Maybe Cela-Kuci didn’t understand, still sitting as if rooted on her star-seat.

But what of it. If the spirit-woman didn’t want to be amongst the first to greet star-spirit Kija, so be it, that was her slip into the pits, smaller, smaller, tiny-winey, gone.

That muddling maze of glittering specks, like seeds blown and caught in the sun, settled on the far side of the dow. Cela-Byi was certain now who and what it was. That the lights had come to ground between Kerbi- and Kija-house proved her right.

But despite her speed, the men of Wael-house had already formed a protective bristle across the gap between the houses.

“Let me through, let me through,” Cela-Byi shouted before they could prick and prod with their sharp sticks. “He’s not here to harm us.”

The lights dimmed and were gone. In their place was a symmetrical shape of uniform grey. Cela-Byi could see now it was more of a box than a flat stretched hide; she’d not noticed that when seen at the god-hill. The people of the dow murmured and gasped. But the sunny-haired deer-clad figure that emerged from the grey shape was no surprise to Cela-Byi. Some of her neighbours dipped down on their knees. Most did not.

Anji-Tiki-ta, the headman, had speedily sat himself atop the steps to Wael-house; he beckoned Cela-Byi over. She looked at him, then to the star-spirit. Back and forth. She stood firm, she’d been hiding from the headman since her return. In the face of her refusal, he spoke loudly above the intervening crowd. “Is this who you met on top the gods’ hill?”

Cela-Byi nodded vigorously. “Star-spirit Kija. And I was bringing him here but—”

“No buts.” Anji-Tiki-ta shifted his weight, the shells that hung from his arms and knees clattered discordantly. “You didn’t bring him.”

“I come of my own volition,” star-spirit Kija said.

Cela-Byi felt her face split into an unseemly grin. Around her, those still standing dropped to their knees else fell to their faces in awe and obeisance to him. Only Cela-Byi and Anji-Tiki-ta remained unmoved. And Cela-Kuci who had lately arrived between the houses.

Anji-Tiki-ta looked to Cela-Byi with a nod to say she should speak to the spirit. That wasn’t easy while her growing grin had control of her mouth. However, she managed to ask the question she’d been sent to the god-hill to ask, “Why are you here?”

“I want to know why you imagine your gods as skinned. It offends us.”

This wasn’t what Cela-Byi had expected. And neither anyone else. Uneasy silence hammered upon them. It thieved Cela-Byi’s breath. Cold poured upon her followed by heat. She glanced round at the spirit-woman. But Cela-Kuci, her face fiercely aglow, looked equally mazed. Anji-Tiki-ta, the headman, threw wide his arms, though Cela-Byi didn’t know why. Yet his men sprang into action. Apparently a signal. They surrounded the deer-yellow star-spirit, spears at threatening angles.

Star-spirit Kija held wide his hands and frowned. “What have I said? Why has it upset you?”

Spirit-woman Cela-Kuci, who unlike the others hadn’t sunk to her knees, declared him no star-spirit. “No Itamakku spirit,” she qualified. “He speaks drivel.”

Despite it would place her in danger, Cela-Byi pushed through the Wael-men with their spears to stand beside the Kija-spirit. Her mother, a lone voice amongst the gathered dow, begged her not to be a slug-wit.

“It was Cela-Kuci who first named this star-spirit as Kija.” Cela-Byi said. “And now she speaks out against him? I say our spirit-woman’s tongue has taken a wrong turn.”

“To believe we paint our gods as skinned?” Cela-Kuci sneered at her. “Skinned is for food. Do we eat gods?”

“Yet the guardian spirit of the god-hill stands astride the path with her skin peeling.” Clearly the spirit-woman hadn’t encountered the giant.

Cela-Kuci snarled. “And that, I say, as with yon demon, is the work of those head-hunting northern Banmakka people.” She turned to the headman. “Are you demon-held to invite this false spirit into our dow? Order your men to bind him so I can work my sorcery against him. As to that little one, she’s not to be trusted.”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” star-spirit Kija said aside to her.

She agreed. “It wasn’t wise. Best you go before Anji-Tiki has you bound.”

“And you? Will they skin you for food?” His tightly screwed face displayed his distaste.

Cela-Byi didn’t answer but yelled “Halt and hold” at the men of Wael-house with their spears. She sounded steady and sturdy but inside she was frantic and shaking.

“Cela-Kuci has desires other than those of Toki-dow,” she said. “You must see that. She desires me not to stand on her shoulders. She’s shown her mark in what she says of the gods of the god-hill. Now I say this is star-spirit Kija, and he comes for me. For me to leave with him. And if you disallow it, he’ll drop you all into dangerous slumber.”

Where she’d gathered those words, Cela-Byi didn’t know. And maybe it did little to delay the attack but it spurred star-spirit Kija to grab her wrist and pelt with her back to the grey-sided box. Cela-Byi didn’t ask what the odd structure was but leapt straight into it.

“Sit! Quick.” He nodded to a large central stub which she thought was a moss-covered tree-stump, being that colour.

It gave a little beneath her weight and firmed around her. No tree-stump this but something fully unknown to her. What’s more, the sides of the box weren’t grey as she’d seen them, nor solid, but seemed not to be there at all.

The box rose into the air, her and the star-spirit inside it. A shriek escaped her. Nausea filled her and lodged in her chest. What was happening? She didn’t know but if she survived it she’d have a good story to tell. She kept her eyes open despite rather she’d close them.

To be continued next Monday

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