A time before the tooth.

            “Ch’loi?”  It was the voice of the Great Primary.  The voice of the benefactor.  The voice of the Fire-maker’s .. originator.  There was no cast for “Father.”  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’Loi struggled with the concept.  ‘Kin’ it understood.  It had many kin.  This was a type of kin.  A special type with special privileges and bonding rituals.  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi had never been held and gripped as the benefactor had held it, like a restraint..yet with gentleness.  As if the benefactor was giving something instead of taking.  Sharing.  Not in the harvester way.  Not the way the hive took a harvester’s bounty from its crop.  Not with a frenzy of pain but with…  Again the wall of silence.  The Harvester-now-known-as-Ch’loi wished for the words of the Fire-maker.  New words that brought back old meanings.  There were no fires of ideas and concepts without words.

            “Ch’loi?” the voice said again.  “Can you hear me?  I thought you said…”

            A new voice, the primary of the physicians, “it will take some time, the hardware, if you will, is sound, the mind must learn to use it.  Make new connections from the brain to the…”

            Without thinking the Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi cast, “Not thee.”  A sound frightened it!  It jumped, or tried to.  Something held it down.  It strained, it was so weak.

            “Good Yah have mercy!  The bonds..!”

            “Will hold, Sire.  Amazing!  So quickly!  Truly a beautiful piece of engineering!”

            “Ch’loi, you must not be afraid.  I am with you.”  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi ceased struggling.  “Your eyes are… not ready yet.  Much of your body is different now.  How do you feel?”

            It wanted to slash, “No!” but its arms were held fast. 

            “How do you feel?  Tell me, are you in pain?”

            It wanted to chop.

            “Use words, Ch’loi.  You have them now.”

            “Hoort.”  The sound made it jump again.  It was so loud!  So close!  It happened when she cast!

            “How much, Ch’loi, how much do you hurt?  Is it bad?  Would you like to sleep instead?”  Strain.  “I feel your arm trying to answer, use your mouth.  Learn to use it.  It will take practice.  Is it bad, the hurt?  Do you want to sleep?”

            “No.”  Only a little jump.  “Not ..thleep.”  It felt now the organ that made the sound.  It moved and was ..filled with something, something new and flexible and it could feel itself, touch things.  The Harvester-called-Ch’loi explored this little cave with the flexible organ and realized, “Not tooth!”

            “Yes, we took that out.  It wasn’t a part of you, not what you were, what you were meant to be.”

            “How..trink?”

            “You will learn, you will learn how to drink and eat!  Do you remember eating?  There will be many things to learn, to discover.  Most can wait till your strong.  But tell me, Ch’loi, what do you remember?  Do you remember a time before this was done to you?  Before the tooth?”

            “No.  Tooth alway.  Need alway.”

            “You don’t remember a home?  A mother or a father?  You don’t remember where you came from?  What you were?”

            “No.  Tooth alway.  Need alway.”

            “You don’t remember a time before the tooth, a time when you were.. a little girl?”

       

KotC: Book 2: A Girl Named Son: Chp 1: Traveling with Strangers

            “Are you well, Mr. Din Allorowro Vela D’Pomani D’Moro?” Amisbhake came up beside him on the rail of the skiff.

            “I am well enough, Sir.  Overjoyed to be free of the Docks if somewhat…ill at ease to find myself once again putting out into the Sea again.  And please, if we are going to be companions on this journey of several months, I am going to need you to call me just ‘Kurga’.”

            “You are ashamed of your family’s history?”

            “No.  Quite the opposite actually, I believe I bring shame to it.  It is better for them if everyone just thinks Kurga has failed, not the ignoble son of a great house has failed.”

            “I see.  You feel the weight of people’s expectations for you.  That can be a heavy burden.”

            “You have no idea,” Kurga said, then amended, “or do you?  I’m sorry, I really don’t know anything about you…or your rather silent companion.  Where is she?”

            “Resting.”

            “She seems rather frail.  This is not a journey for the weak you know.”

            The great, hulking Tigra bodyguard raised one eyebrow, “She is stronger than she appears.  How much did you know about Ch’Voga when you sailed from here with him?  Did you know his family?  His past?  His burdens?”

            “Not really, no.  I met him in a dockside café.  We both wanted to go east.  He had a contact with a boat but no money.  I had a contact with money but no boat.  That was all I needed to know.  I took him to be another child of privilege on a summer project of social justice.”

            “It would seem then, you are developing the habit of traveling with strangers.”

            “Well,” Kurga raised his waterskin, “Here’s to bad habits with better outcomes!”  He took a drink, wiping his muzzle with the back of his hand, his mother would be appalled, especially if she knew how much liquor he had added to the water.  Maybe this musclehead was right, he really was developing a lot of bad habits.  “Well, then Mr. Amisbhake, let us not tempt fate.  Tell me a little about yourself.”

            “What would you like to know?”

            “You said you work for the Viceroy?”

            “I serve him.”

            “Well, what’s it like being a bodyguard of a near-king?”

            “I am not his bodyguard.  Others do that work.”

            “Oh, I had assumed from your.. you’re not a..?  Well then how big are..?”  The eyebrow went up again and Kurga regrouped and restarted before he heard about another of his bad habits, “So what is it you do for the Viceroy?”
            “I sit on his council.”

            “You’re an advisor?”

            “I am.”

            “Well, fancy that.”

            “Yes.  Fancy that.”

            “Must be… interesting.”

            “It can be.”

            “Probably took a lot of schooling.”

            “A lifetime.”

            “Hm.”

            “Yes.”  The sand hissed under the boat.  The rigging creaked.

            “Why is she named, ‘Son’?” Kurga blurted.

            The Tigra smiled, “I was wondering when you would get around to asking me that.”

           

Monotooth Drone sketchy

i haven't yet given up y'all.  Though i've hit a few roadblocks of late.  Have to pick my way through the rubble and see if and/or what God has in mind for this tale.

Meanwhile, here's a lil' something that squeezed out of my pencil today.

Thanks mums.

A reprint of my old Rabbit Trail... for me mum.  And for all mums ever'where.
Best.  Gift.  Evah!

Lord Willin' and the creek don't blub...

So Novella one of the King of the Cockroaches is complete.  i'm in the process of piecing together all the writings and sketches into a rough draft of sorts, a prototype to hand to my crash-test sweeties who don't get their readings from the fancy thinkin' box.  Novella two is firmly started... in my head.  But don't worry, this convoluted journey of Ch'loi's doesn't end here.  She won't let me stop now.  Even if no one else cares, i want to see what happens to her next.  Especially knowing what her plan is.  So pray for me, the forces arrayed against both her and i are myriad and mighty, but the God i serve is mightier still.

KotC: Book 1: the Disciple: Epilogue

He entered the tent and took in the scene.  Phinehas sat like a toad on his divan, jeweled warts sparkling in the lamp light.  The cloying stench of incense nearly made him sneeze and the brothel/bilge/stable smell of the docks where his days were consigned was a fresh breeze by comparison.  Phinehas had guests he saw through the smoke haze and darkness, a young girl and her hulking Panthera Tigra bodyguard.  “You called for me, Master?”

“Ah, Kurga!  Here you are, and not a moment too punctual.  I’ve nearly exhausted my anecdotes of the Sand Sea trying to entertain our guests in your lassitude.  Sit!”  Kurga sat where he was, right on the floor, knowing he would not be offered a chair.  “These lovely people have some questions for you, you will be polite.”  The usual threat of violence if he failed to be ‘polite’ was left off, probably for the delicate company’s sake.

“How may I be of service to my Lord’s guests?”  He did not look at them.  He only looked at the table, eye level before him and its bounty of foods and glistening crystal glasses of cool wine.

The bodyguard spoke, “Are you the Kurga who accompanied Ch’Voga on his missionary journey into the Sand Sea in the cycle of Aven in the time of T’wend?”

An invisible fist squeezed Kurga’s heart at the mention of Ch’Voga’s name.  “Yes.”

“Would you be willing to guide a second expedition as far as the caravanserai where he purchased Ketra the slave girl?”

“Ha!” Phinehas barked.  “It is most fortunate for you that he is my property and you cannot have the ill fate of being led on an expedition arranged by this son of a motherless goat!  All who trusted in him before lie with the ancestors a’waiting their turn to whip him in hell!  And the lucre put in his porous paws found its way to other’s coffers and this leaky vessel was foolish enough to return destitute and begging for mercy!  Mercy?!  The only mercy here is for you my esteemed guests as I will not release him to be your executioners as well.”

There was a whispered conversation between the girl and the bodyguard.  “How much?” the bodyguard then asked.

“Ten lifetimes would not be enough to pay me back!”

“Would forty?”

These people spoke Phinehas’ language.  The merchant was stunned.  He had expected them to haggle and had set his first price far above his actual asking price.  They had countered by quadrupling his wildest expectations.  Robbed of any basis for further negotiating, the deal was set.  Kurga should have laughed.  Phinehas who had just come into a king’s ransom could not enjoy any of it for wondering how much more he could have had.  Two things checked Kurga’s mirth however.

One was the shock.  It was a king’s ransom!  And it had been paid for him!  Why?  He was nothing but a disgruntled slave and a failed businessman.  All his schemes, all his plans, all his designs had led him to a lifetime of servitude to a tyrant with no chance or hope of freedom save in death.  And now he walked out of the tent into the light of the brilliant sunshine for the first time as a free man!  It was madness!  Who would do such a thing?  Who was this girl?

And that was the second thing; the eyes of the girl.  They were eerie, chilling as clear blue ice, older than a glacier yet as new as last night’s frost. 

And they were fixed on him.  The bodyguard led them to an outdoor café where Kurga was treated to the first meal he had eaten which was not rice and muddy water in longer than he could remember.  He temporarily forgot the girl’s eyes while he made an ass of himself stuffing his face.  He was ashamed of himself but not enough to quell a burp after polishing off thirds.  The bodyguard had eaten nothing but vegetables (how does one get so big on vegetables?) and the girl had eaten nothing, merely sipping her tomato juice through a straw.  He looked at her closer, around the eyes the dark brown fur said she was Eastern, Mwang-Tai.  He should know.  He’d seen enough of them when Jacques and he finally made it across the Sea, but there was something different about her.  Something that also made her look old, older than the hills in a body that obviously marked her as late teens.  Her direct stare for instance.

“Who are you?” he asked wiping his mouth on his filthy sleeve.

“I am Amisbhake,” the bodyguard introduced himself, “servant of Chofa, the Viceroy most high and guardian keeper of the Paschimi Goh’cranna.  This.. is Ch’Loi.”

The Fate of Ch'loi

The Harvester-called-Ch’loi remained motionless and listened.  The Need was as nearly still as it had ever known.  Its hearing was remarkably acute.  It had always thought the Need made its hearing sharper but that was apparently only true in the painful sense.  Now, it registered sounds and conversations all over the building in which it lay.  One voice above all however drew its full attention.

“How is he?” Chofa asked the primary of the physicians.

“Stable, my lord, healing itself at an unimaginable rate.  All we really need do at this point is feed it.”

“A matter of self-preservation as well, I reckon.”

“Indeed, Lord Amisbhake.  The creature…”

“My son.”

“Apologies, my lord!  It..he..Ch’loi’s body is a highly efficient machine, utilizing very little of its intake and storing the vast majority, yet its augmented appetite is nigh insatiable.  It-he is always starving, as it were.  Always hungry.  Yet is always in possession of plenty.”

“How is that possible?”

“It seems it was designed to store the food product…”

“’Food product.’  Ha.  There’s a delicate term for people’s guts.”

“Peace Amisbhake, let her speak, continue lord surgeon.”

“The ichor if it please the Lord Counselor then, is stored with astounding efficiency but it is nearly unable to access it except in times of most dire need, and even then entirely involuntarily.”

“The food he stores is for another,” Chofa said.

“So it would seem.  We are removing nearly as much ichor as we pump in and then re-using it.”

“Recycling?  Feeding him his own stomach contents?” Amisbhake asked.

“Crop contents in actuality but indeed.  It’s a truly fascinating design.  A marvel of applied bioengineering that is completely lost today and we are most fortunate to study.”

A new voice spoke, “Which could mean a boon in the elimination of the Monotooth scourge altogether, could it not doctor?”

“It certainly could go a long way, Lord C’yashi.”

“I’m not interested in killing him,” Chofa interrupted, “I want to save him.”

“Save him, Milord?”

“Lord Surgeon, if Ch’loi is willing, I wish to heal him.  I wish to make him.. a person again.”