The meeting was going badly. Quipu’s five heads were all laughing at me for my attempt to actually punish Cuzco for achieving a glorious victory.
Sharrock’s scorn too was evident in his every cold glare.
And the others-sentients I had known and regarded as friends for so many years!-treated me with a contempt that they barely bothered to disguise.
Thugor made a pacifying gesture. His words were silken, we felt them as much as we heard them. “You, my Sai-ias,” he said, “you, kind and gentle being, have always been a kisser of the arse of your enemy. Cuzco however is a hero. He showed us a way out. Through war and glory. You should celebrate him, not censure.”
“What he did was wrong,” I insisted.
“He enabled Djamrock to escape.”
“He cursed Djamrock! He will lead others to the way of death. That is not what we need,” I said, trying to keep calm, and to rein in my fury.
“Cuzco is a hero,” agreed Fiymean. “Sai-ias you are a dismal coward. You know nothing of war.”
“I know much about-”
“It’s pathetic,” said Kairi, in a shrill scornful voice, her feathers vibrating to make the sounds that the air translated. “All the things we do, and that you encourage us to do. The Days. The Temple. We demolish, we rebuild. We tell stories. The same stories. We talk about science, but we barely understand each other’s ideas, and have virtually no technology, and no way of acquiring fresh data. We talk about history, for all we have is history. There will be, for us, no more history. It is all futile. What Cuzco has done has shone a light on our world, and all we can see is shit and lies.”
“It is not futile,” I argued, in my gentlest of tones.
“Sai-ias, fuck yourself with a barbed weapon, and die in the process.”
“You turd-eating coward.”
“You pathetic fucker.”
“You’re not welcome here, you slimy sea fucking monster. Cuzco is our god.”
And so they continued; the taunting, sneering voices. I hated it so much, yet I endured the mockery patiently.
My task was all the harder because none of these creatures remembered the early years; the days of Carulha, and my two battles against him. For all the great beasts of that time had died, of Despair, or in some Ka’un battle or other. Only the Kindred remembered; and even they were starting to forget what I had truly done for this world. To this new generation, I was just a complacent fool; preaching peace and harmony to an angry lynch mob.
“Cuzco must be banished,” I insisted, “for the good of all.” And then I paused for effect, and said: “I so order it.”
But my words were like a light breeze in the midst of a hurricane; no one heeded them.
“Sai-ias,” said Quipu One, my favourite of the Quipus, and one of my oldest friends on the ship, “this is none of your affair.”
“It is my affair,” I said angrily. “You idiot Quipu, you know nothing-”
“Ah, fuck away,” said Quipu One contemptuously. “I have no more time for you.”
“Well said. Fuck away, Sai-ias,” said Quipu Two.
“Fuck away Sai-ias!” said Quipu Three.
“Cuzco is our hero now,” said Quipu Four, and his eyes gazed into the far distance, remembering the glory and the triumph of Djamrock’s demise.
“Fuck away, you black-hided beast!” said Quipu Five. “No one cares what you say, or what you think. Not any more.”
I looked at Sharrock.
“Sai-ias,” he said to me gently. “You are wrong.”
Words do not hurt me, usually.
Those words did.
Lirilla’s wings fanned my face.
“This is a cruel world,” I told her, the sweetest creature on this entire world. “But I know I am right.”
Lirilla flew away without speaking.
I found Cuzco, surrounded by acolytes in the field of green, telling his tale of victory to a mob that included Sharrock and Quipu.
I used my tentacles to hurl myself towards the crowd. I heard muttering and hissings and muttered insults. “Cuzco,” I called out.
Cuzco raised himself up, and his great wings beat and he hovered above me, baring his face whose soft features were distorted with contempt.
“You saw me fight?” he roared.
“It is Day the Fifth,” I said to him and the assembled crowd. “It is our day of music and celebration.”
“A waste,” roared Cuzco, “of fucking time.”
Laughter rocked the crowd. Sharrock stared at me sadly, his contempt merging with his pity in a toxic brew.
“We need it. It fills our days,” I said.
Cuzco pushed out his chest. And his face-or rather an illusion of a face, patterns of expression on the soft skin of the breast of his left body-bore an intrigued expression. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked. “ You created the idea of the Temple?”
“I did,” I said.
“And the Days, you created those too.”
“I did,” I admitted.
“And the whole structure of our lives. The gatherings. The cabins. The Guiding Council. That was you.”
“When I first came to the ship,” I said, “all was anarchy and-”
Cuzco laughed at me. And the crowd laughed. Even Sharrock laughed.
And in that terrible moment, I felt humiliated.
For I was, I realised, considered by all present to be a gullible fool who believed that make-believe work was better than real work. I was the one, the only one, who did not understand that glory is to be found in heroic defeat, not in meek surrender! I understood at that moment the depth and sincerity of their scorn, and of their contempt. And I found myself consumed by self-hate. Was I really this wretched creature they despised so much?
“Sharrock, ignore them. Do not laugh at me. You and I know better about what is right,” I said wretchedly. But he grinned at me too, tauntingly.
However, I stood my ground. “Cuzco, you are banished,” I said, as firmly as I was able. “That is my irrevocable decision.”
The mob began to howl and shout, drowning out my words. I continued desperately: “You must dwell on the mountain crags, but you cannot speak to anyone or be spoken to by anyone. When you are gone, all will return to normal. Our Rhythm of Days will return.”
Few could hear me for all the baying and roaring, but still I continued: “Fighting will once more be forbidden. I do not ask this, I do not beg for it, I demand it!”
“You fucking turd-sucking bog-fucking slack-cunted bitch,” said Cuzco. “Why don’t you fuck-”
My tentacle lashed out, and unfolded in an instant to double its usual length; and I swung it in a huge loop to create momentum; then I smote Cuzco with it.
The blow was powerful and as fast as thought itself, and he was knocked across the ground like a ball struck with a bat in one of the biped’s wretched games.
There was a startled silence.
Cuzco got back on his feet. He puffed up his chest again, and showed me his face; there was glee in his expression. “I’ve been waiting,” said Cuzco, “for this for a long-”
I struck again but this time Cuzco was expecting it and he rolled out of the way. And when he came out of the roll his wings unfurled and he beat them and he was in the air and he pounced down at I wasn’t there. I used my tentacles to grip the ground and fling myself upwards. And as I flew my quills emerged and I skimmed Cuzco’s body and my quills crashed against his body armour, and we both fell to the ground.
