that so valued rank, pomp and circumstance, a twisted soul such as Garth was almost automatically ignored. He carried no more interest for the people of this world than might a blob of manure left upon a cobbled road. The most they would do, if forced to recognize its existence, would be to steer around it, so as not to be soiled. Such was the way they treated Garth.
Ornth, the Tulk driving Garth’s body, found it very easy to escape the attention of the human throng. Their very presence in his vicinity he found disturbing-even more than they found him. To him, they were creatures of unrelenting filth, exposed as they were to the filth, grit and microbes of the world. They were dirty reefs of organic mud. Looking out through Garth’s eyes, he could not help but think of the trillion microbiotic things that crawled within each mass that passed by. At first, these filthy creatures waved and pawed at him when he exited the ship. But over time, they came to realize he wasn’t interested in their attentions and, as he remained unresponsive to their queries, they left him alone. This was exactly what Ornth wanted.
A day after landing, he drove Garth’s long, thin shanks down the shadow-laden streets of Lavender City. Overhead, the sky was a pleasant light blue, but down here in the streets he found the shade permanently lit with soft lamps that resembled drooping flowers. The city itself and the open sky above he could appreciate to some degree. But the people-there were far too many of them about. Crouched inside Garth’s skull, he could excrete toxins to prevent microbial infestation, but he was forced to witness it everywhere while using Garth’s eyes. For Ornth, this was a first. He’d looked through the eyes of his various mounts on many occasions before, of course. But never for so long, and certainly never in such a dingy environment as a city street.
To make matters worse, he was forced to share this crowded skull with a skald mount who refused to shut up.
Do you have the slightest idea where you are going? Garth demanded. We should go back to the hotel they offered us. We could bathe and eat there for free. Why are we leaving the area? We will become homeless vagabonds.
Silence, mount.
You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? We know nothing of this world. If we wander too far, we will be mistreated. You risk exposure by this illogical-
If you do not quiet, you will not be fed, Ornth threatened.
Ha! Then you will starve as well, companion!
Twitching and snarling with half his mouth, Ornth and Garth stumbled and muttered down one city street to another, seeking the exit from this place. At last, they reached a high wall of sheer sandstone. It loomed overhead, rising hundreds of feet to the distant sky.
Ornth turned the skald’s head upward and gaped with wide eyes at the unscalable cliff that blocked his path.
Fool! Garth crowed. We’re in a deep valley, a cleft between vast cliffs of stone. We can’t simply walk out of here. Let’s return to the hotel. I’m hungry and tired of walking.
No, Ornth insisted. We must reach the open regions of this world.
What for?
I must see the stars, measure the winds, and determine our course.
Garth wailed inside his own head, making Ornth wince with half of Garth’s face.
You are the mad-thing, Garth complained. You have no course, no goal, no hope.
Ornth took a long shoot of wood from the ground near the cobbled streets. It was a stake of some kind. Earth dribbled from the tip of it, which was discolored with moisture. Ornth selected a spot on his left arm, a region of little importance, and lifted the stake high with his right.
What are you doing?
Applying discipline, Ornth said, then he stabbed Garth’s arm with the wooden stake. Blood flowed.
Garth howled within his own mind. Mad-thing, mad-thing! He wailed.
Ornth lifted the stake again. Around him, he was oblivious to the passersby that twittered and gawked at the very strange individual in their midst.
I will plunge this stake into your appendage repeatedly. I will not experience discomfort, as I’ve blocked those receptors.
But why?
You must remain quiet, or you will be disciplined further. Do you acquiesce?
There was a moment’s hesitation. Yes, Garth said finally. If you will give me some hint of our goal.
I must find something lost. I must remember what is forgotten. I must wander until direction appears to me.
That’s it?
Ornth raised the stake again.
I will be quiet, Garth said quickly.
Satisfied, Ornth turned his glum mount around and headed toward the cobbled main streets again. He did not turn toward the hotel, however. He followed the main street relentlessly down the length of the city, until the path began to rise under his feet as it headed uphill. Eventually, the skald fell asleep from exhaustion.
Still, Ornth drove his mount uphill. Eventually, the sandals created bleeding lines where straps rubbed too long at the skald’s stressed hide. The bottom of his tough feet did not blister, however. A skald’s feet were those of a pilgrim, and were said to be as thick as folded leather.
By the time Garth reawakened and despaired inside his own head, Ornth had reached the wilderness he craved. One half of the skald’s face curved upward in a self-satisfied smile, while the other half remained twisted in grief.
The Parent’s ovipositors were aching. Her birth tracts had swollen to twice the size they’d been a month ago, and she was certain the left hind sac was going to prolapse when it finally managed to release the next jugger.
That was the problem: the juggers. She’d produced an endless parade of trachs and juggers-she’d given birth to an army of them. As the two largest of the myriad possible offspring, the Empress had specified that they all be produced by the oldest and most despised of her Parents. The smaller, easier offspring such as hests, arls, culus-shrade teams and the like, those choice assignments went to her four younger daughters.
These four coveted princesses still had the gall to complain, that was the worst of it. Their dainty bodies were a fraction of the expanse of their bloated mother’s carcass. The Parent could scarcely move any longer, and her discomfort put her into a permanently foul mood.
One day, less than a month before planetfall, the nife that had impregnated her swaggered back into her presence. “Oh my,” he said upon sweeping his orbs over her grotesque form.
She waved a tentacle at him irritably. “What do you want?”
“Juggers did this?” he asked, circling around her body and examining her from all angles.
“Of course! I’m birthing all the juggers,” the Parent snapped.
The nife, thinking her helpless upon her birthing throne, circled her and dared to approach her from behind. She was ready for that, and slapped him away with a hard, sudden blow. He was sent tumbling across the floor.
He crawled back to his feet. “There was no call for that.”
“You are a rude thing.”
“It would be best for you to remain in my good graces. I could tell the Empress of our bargain. She would space you in an instant.”
“In that case, we shall be spaced together, because she will hear your part in the deal as well.”
Sullenly, the nife paced in front of her-keeping a safe distance. “We’ve got enough juggers now, you can stop seeding them.”
The Parent almost swooned in relief. “What shall I make, then?”
“Trachs, I should think. We need more fighters, and trachs can assemble them from salvaged parts here in the ship.”
“Just trachs?” asked the Parent. “What about hests for the technical work, and arls to pilots?”
The nife shrugged. “Those tasks have already been assigned.”
The Parent made blatting noise in his direction, fluting with her foodtube. “By that, I assume you mean my
