RJM Corbet
Deus Pascus Corvus
Please read previous post 'The Kradok' first ...
The Kradok shook its head and moaned, and then it began to howl and strain against the ropes that held it.
“What is it?” Sorac asked.
“Man’s ancestor, perhaps,” Toache shrugged.
The Kradok struggled uselessly and then lay back in the mud with its head raised in agony and its suffering eyes fixed upon Toache’s face, seeing the golden aura round his head.
“I will give it a draught, to make it sleep,” Toache said.
He fetched a small flask. He poured some of the greenish liquid into a cup. He mixed it with some water and then he knelt down by the creature’s head and held the cup to its thick lips.
“You do understand me,” Toache directed his thoughts at the Kradok. “Drink. I wish you no harm. It will take away the pain.”
The Kradok obeyed him. Almost at once its straining neck muscles relaxed. Its head fell back and in a few minutes it was sleeping. Toache waited until he was sure the draught had taken effect and then he looked up.
“I have given it enough to kill two men. It will sleep for a quite a long time.”
“Make sure those ropes are strong enough,” Tyl said to Sorac.
“It knows the jungle,” Toache said. “That river is dangerous. This creature may be our best chance. Those waters are death.”
“Sleep now, Toache,” Sorac said. “I’ll stand guard for an hour or two then wake you.”
“Nay, H’zaan. I cannot sleep,” Toache replied.
The Kradok lay unconscious. Tyl made some tea and they talked for a while until at last Toache’s eyes dulled and he stumbled out to sleep in the other tent, out of the smoke. Tyl put an arm around Sorac’s waist.
“It’s securely tied and drugged,” she said. “Sleep now. I’ll wake you if it moves an inch.”
“You’re wonderful,” he said.
“Careful. I’m not.”
She sat near the fire while Sorac slept.
The forest dripped. The heavy flowing river made a sloshing sound. The night wrapped her around as she looked into the glowing coals. Her eyes moved to the Kradok: unconscious, filthy, in the mud -- and then back to Sorac.
She looked at his face in the light of the fire. He has no cunning, she thought: no guile.
The tent flap was open. She stood in the open doorway of the fire-tent and looked up into the night. The rain had eased for a while. She looked up through the dark encircling trees. Slow rain clouds opened a bright tunnel to the moon.
She thought of her father. She tried to imagine the blue world he had described. Blue? Wet leaves dripped in the jungle. The thick green river sloshed against its banks. The pale moon cast frozen light through the hole in the clouds.
Sorac woke.
Tyl was sitting on the ground with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She was able to sit still for hours. It was something most forest people learned young. Her eyes were open. There was a stack of wood within easy reach drying by the fire. The Kradok lay outside. Rain dripped and trickled down around the tent. But they were mostly dry, in the flicker and shadow of fire’s light.
“How long did you let me sleep?” Sorac asked her.
“‘Tis now about a quarter before dawn,” she replied.
He rolled up onto an elbow. She moved to cradle his head in her lap, like a child. She stroked the hair on his forehead. He pushed aside the blanket and stood up. He stood over her and looked down into the fire. He squatted down beside her and she put her hand on his knee.
They looked at each other. One of her green eyes seemed to move like the sea; the other was hard and realistic. His brown eyes seemed to laugh. But only one eye laughed; the other was fixed and difficult. Their eyes mixed.
Outside, wet branches spattered onto vines in the dark.
Fire illumined their bodies and faces in warm shadows and valleys.
“Maybe,” she said.
“What?”
“Maybe -- I don’t know.”
He reached for her and she responded to him. They fell back down on the bed.
Later they lay covered with his blanket. She cradled her head in his arm.
“Tell me about your mother,” he said.
“She left when I was very young.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “She had to go. My father will not speak of her. But you know him. He reveals himself to no-one. He lives … somewhere … within himself.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know? What do you mean?” she asked.
“Do you miss her?”
“I don’t know. I just remember her as pure, with shining eyes,” she said.
“What about your father then?”
“What about my father, then? His life is much too serious for love. Sometimes I wonder if others see him as some sort of fallen god.” She kissed his neck. “I don’t know, maybe you’re just like him.” She rolled her body against him. “But I do know I stand my best chance with you -- anywhere."
“You’re so certain?”
The forest knew the dawn had come, though outside their tent the trees still held a screen of night. He turned his head to make sure the Kradok was still sleeping.
“I can’t help hoping it never wakes,” she said.
“I know,” he agreed.
Just at that moment the creature moved. Tyl sprang up with a cry and got dressed. Sorac also got dressed. But the Kradok was still asleep. He put the kettle on the fire.
The whole thing suddenly seemed to her a turgid and contorted dream -- the mira bats, the spiders and the serpents and the insects, the hot, humid shadow world of jungle -- and now the Kradok. It was a trick of the elements, a deception of light and shadow, a dream from which she must soon wake. Yet there was: him.
She said, “Why is it you that has to do this?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
His ancestors stretched back more than 200 generations of Kings of Aazyr. Tyl’s Erlotian ancestry was as long, and as noble. Toache lumbered into the fire tent. Tyl passed him a steaming mug of tea. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder around the fire, drinking tea in the early morning. Toache stepped out to examine the Kradok. He seemed satisfied with its condition.
“He will wake soon.” Toache sipped from his mug. “We’ll have to feed him, or he’s going to want to eat us again. And then we have to get him trained.”
Sorac made a deliberate effort to relax the muscles of his face: “Care to repeat that?”
“It won't take long, H’zaan. But he has to learn to trust us first.”
"He? And of course you have the menu planned?" said Sorac, with exaggerated patience.
“He's going to have to bait his own trap,” Toache replied.
The Kradok shook its head and moaned, and then it began to howl and strain against the ropes that held it.
“What is it?” Sorac asked.
“Man’s ancestor, perhaps,” Toache shrugged.
The Kradok struggled uselessly and then lay back in the mud with its head raised in agony and its suffering eyes fixed upon Toache’s face, seeing the golden aura round his head.
“I will give it a draught, to make it sleep,” Toache said.
He fetched a small flask. He poured some of the greenish liquid into a cup. He mixed it with some water and then he knelt down by the creature’s head and held the cup to its thick lips.
“You do understand me,” Toache directed his thoughts at the Kradok. “Drink. I wish you no harm. It will take away the pain.”
The Kradok obeyed him. Almost at once its straining neck muscles relaxed. Its head fell back and in a few minutes it was sleeping. Toache waited until he was sure the draught had taken effect and then he looked up.
“I have given it enough to kill two men. It will sleep for a quite a long time.”
“Make sure those ropes are strong enough,” Tyl said to Sorac.
“It knows the jungle,” Toache said. “That river is dangerous. This creature may be our best chance. Those waters are death.”
“Sleep now, Toache,” Sorac said. “I’ll stand guard for an hour or two then wake you.”
“Nay, H’zaan. I cannot sleep,” Toache replied.
The Kradok lay unconscious. Tyl made some tea and they talked for a while until at last Toache’s eyes dulled and he stumbled out to sleep in the other tent, out of the smoke. Tyl put an arm around Sorac’s waist.
“It’s securely tied and drugged,” she said. “Sleep now. I’ll wake you if it moves an inch.”
“You’re wonderful,” he said.
“Careful. I’m not.”
She sat near the fire while Sorac slept.
The forest dripped. The heavy flowing river made a sloshing sound. The night wrapped her around as she looked into the glowing coals. Her eyes moved to the Kradok: unconscious, filthy, in the mud -- and then back to Sorac.
She looked at his face in the light of the fire. He has no cunning, she thought: no guile.
The tent flap was open. She stood in the open doorway of the fire-tent and looked up into the night. The rain had eased for a while. She looked up through the dark encircling trees. Slow rain clouds opened a bright tunnel to the moon.
She thought of her father. She tried to imagine the blue world he had described. Blue? Wet leaves dripped in the jungle. The thick green river sloshed against its banks. The pale moon cast frozen light through the hole in the clouds.
+
Sorac woke.
Tyl was sitting on the ground with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She was able to sit still for hours. It was something most forest people learned young. Her eyes were open. There was a stack of wood within easy reach drying by the fire. The Kradok lay outside. Rain dripped and trickled down around the tent. But they were mostly dry, in the flicker and shadow of fire’s light.
“How long did you let me sleep?” Sorac asked her.
“‘Tis now about a quarter before dawn,” she replied.
He rolled up onto an elbow. She moved to cradle his head in her lap, like a child. She stroked the hair on his forehead. He pushed aside the blanket and stood up. He stood over her and looked down into the fire. He squatted down beside her and she put her hand on his knee.
They looked at each other. One of her green eyes seemed to move like the sea; the other was hard and realistic. His brown eyes seemed to laugh. But only one eye laughed; the other was fixed and difficult. Their eyes mixed.
Outside, wet branches spattered onto vines in the dark.
Fire illumined their bodies and faces in warm shadows and valleys.
“Maybe,” she said.
“What?”
“Maybe -- I don’t know.”
He reached for her and she responded to him. They fell back down on the bed.
Later they lay covered with his blanket. She cradled her head in his arm.
“Tell me about your mother,” he said.
“She left when I was very young.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “She had to go. My father will not speak of her. But you know him. He reveals himself to no-one. He lives … somewhere … within himself.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know? What do you mean?” she asked.
“Do you miss her?”
“I don’t know. I just remember her as pure, with shining eyes,” she said.
“What about your father then?”
“What about my father, then? His life is much too serious for love. Sometimes I wonder if others see him as some sort of fallen god.” She kissed his neck. “I don’t know, maybe you’re just like him.” She rolled her body against him. “But I do know I stand my best chance with you -- anywhere."
“You’re so certain?”
The forest knew the dawn had come, though outside their tent the trees still held a screen of night. He turned his head to make sure the Kradok was still sleeping.
“I can’t help hoping it never wakes,” she said.
“I know,” he agreed.
Just at that moment the creature moved. Tyl sprang up with a cry and got dressed. Sorac also got dressed. But the Kradok was still asleep. He put the kettle on the fire.
The whole thing suddenly seemed to her a turgid and contorted dream -- the mira bats, the spiders and the serpents and the insects, the hot, humid shadow world of jungle -- and now the Kradok. It was a trick of the elements, a deception of light and shadow, a dream from which she must soon wake. Yet there was: him.
She said, “Why is it you that has to do this?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
His ancestors stretched back more than 200 generations of Kings of Aazyr. Tyl’s Erlotian ancestry was as long, and as noble. Toache lumbered into the fire tent. Tyl passed him a steaming mug of tea. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder around the fire, drinking tea in the early morning. Toache stepped out to examine the Kradok. He seemed satisfied with its condition.
“He will wake soon.” Toache sipped from his mug. “We’ll have to feed him, or he’s going to want to eat us again. And then we have to get him trained.”
Sorac made a deliberate effort to relax the muscles of his face: “Care to repeat that?”
“It won't take long, H’zaan. But he has to learn to trust us first.”
"He? And of course you have the menu planned?" said Sorac, with exaggerated patience.
“He's going to have to bait his own trap,” Toache replied.
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