Then he hovered as low as he could above the Tower. I saw the shape of the gardens around it; the shrubs on the craggy rock. The Tower was huge; larger than many cities. It was so near, and yet so untouchable.
“Watch,” said Cuzco, and he released the boulders in his rear claws and they dropped down out of the sky and they
Bounced.
Rattling like pebbles on a roof-yet there was no roof, just air-before sliding off in a downwards arc and splashing into the sea.
“Force shield goes all around,” I said.
“No way in,” agreed Cuzco.
“No way to escape,” I agreed.
“I believe, nevertheless,” said Cuzco sombrely, “that I may have found a way to leave this place.”
And my heart raced. “Tell me,” I said.
Sai-ias
It was Day the Third of my nine hundred and eighty-four thousand four hundred and twenty second cycle of the Rhythm of Days, and Sharrock approached me by the lake side.
And for the first time in many cycles, he spoke to me.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I am.”
“It seems then you thrive,” said Sharrock, “upon the misfortunes of others.”
I made no comment; yet I could not comprehend how he could say such a thing to me.
“I have been planning,” said Sharrock, “how we might escape this wretched vessel.” And he smiled; but it was not a pleasant smile.
“There is no way,” I said.
“So I have concluded,” Sharrock said, grimly.
“Best-”
“-to accept the way things are. Acceptance is all. Yes, I know your lies, Sai-ias. I have also been considering ways to attack the Ka’un.”
“Many have tried and failed.”
“How? Tell me all.”
I sighed. “There is little point. Trust me on this: I have been here for many years. The problem is that we do not know who the Ka’un are, nor how to get at them in the Tower where they dwell.”
“Have you yourself tried?” Sharrock’s tone was taunting; I wondered at his game.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I swam across many years ago. The way was blocked. Cuzco attempted to storm it with a flock of aerials, that did not succeed. It cannot be done.”
“Indeed, that tallies with all I know and have been advised,” said Sharrock, his mood strangely buoyant.
“So what is it?” I asked. “Why are you speaking to me now?”
“Oh, there is news,” Sharrock said. And there was a smug look in his eyes; I feared the worst.
“What is it?”
“Cuzco,” he told me, “has issued a challenge to Djamrock.”
The news shocked me. “What cause?”
“No cause. They fight at dawn.”
And Sharrock’s features were lit with elation; for he knew already that my calm and ordered equilibrium was about to be destroyed.
Two giant sentients were at war with each other, with no valid cause.
Thus, bloody and pointless anarchy had returned to our world.
We were in our cabin, the night before the combat. Fray was sombre; Lirilla was distressed; Doro was a pool of turbulent water; Quipu was appalled at what was occurring, just as I was. And Cuzco himself was in arrogant and bombastic mood.
“On my planet, before we became gods to the other sentient species, we were hunted,” said Cuzco, with a pride that repelled me. “The biped Mahonosi feared us and slew us. The four-legged Karal feared us, and slew us. We were born in blood, we fought each living day. And we survived. And we evolved. And we grew mightier and mightier.”
“Evolved? From idiot, into total fucking idiot?” snapped Quipu One.
“Good point,” said Quipu Two.
“Where is it decreed,” said Cuzco, “that we should not fight?”
“This creature is so arrogant!” said Quipu Three.
“Such duels are foolish, and dangerous,” I told Cuzco, “They serve no purpose, and damage us all!”
“Those words are true,” said Quipu Four, and his fifth and first heads nodded in agreement.
Cuzco snorted his contempt at me, and at the bobbing-headed agreeing-with-himselves Quipus.
“I need,” roared Cuzco, “to taste blood and feel fear. Without that, I do not-”
“YOU CANNOT DO THIS!” I screamed at Cuzco, and they all stared at me, for I do not usually scream.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Cuzco said, in tones of utter scorn.
“Why? Because I’m not a blood-crazed warrior?”
“War is in my soul. It defines me.”
“War is a form of madness,” I told him. “Do not give in to it.”
“Oh let him do what he likes,” said Quipu One, and his other heads hissed.
“It’shisfuneral,” Doro taunted.
Lirilla howled; not a song, a howl. I had never heard such a noise from her before; it sent a shudder down my central spine.
Fray brooded, silent, conflicted; she knew the joy of war too, but this was all too much for her.
“Please,” I implored Cuzco.
“It will be a glorious combat,” Cuzco said, and steam emerged from his neck and skull; and I knew we had lost him.
It was Day the Fourth. But no poems were to be recited this day.
We gathered at the foot of the White Mountains. Cuzco’s scales were orange and scarlet and shone in the bright sunlight. Djamrock descended out of the clouds, his four wings flapping loudly. Djamrock had three heads, each of them fearsomely fanged and armoured. He was twice the size of Cuzco, and Cuzco was a giant even amongst the giant sentients.
No one had ever before dared to challenge Djamrock. But, from time to time, he had savaged unwary predators and herbivores and ripped them limb from limb. Eventually they healed; but the shock of Djamrock’s violence always left a lasting damage in the souls of those he attacked.
We accept the evil of the Ka’un; but when our own kind turn on us, it more profoundly hurts.
We formed a circle around the fighters. Sharrock caught my eye; and the ghastly smile on his face repelled me. His naked torso was glistening with sweat; his red skin was darker in hue, a sure sign that he was agitated and surging with adrenalin.
And I could feel terror descend upon me. Violence is a character aberration that perturbs and disgusts my soul, and so I truly did not want to be here. For I am the child of a pacific species. We never fought, we never went to war, and, until the Ka’un, no other creatures had ever warred against us-not since we became sentient, many aeons ago.
And yet, even so, I could not resist the mood of the day. The energy! The sheer exhilaration of being in the presence of the blood-lust of all my fellow sentients!
The combat began.
The two beasts leaped and flapped wings savagely, and hovered in the air above us.
I cannot bear to describe the scene, and yet I must; for the images are seared upon my mind and the pain of that day lives as a reproach in my soul.
At first, for the first twenty or more minutes, I did not directly observe the two beasts in their bloody combat; I merely watched the watchers. It shocked me deeply. The screaming, the drooling, the roaring of rage, the obscenities uttered, the lust for the dealing of death that consumed all those who beheld!
A thousand and more different species all united in hate and loathing! Polypods and bipeds on the land, gathered in a vast crowd around the combatants; and sea-dwellers peering up from the lake, and swamp-dwellers staring up from their boggy homes at the aerial part of the battle. Only the sessiles were unable to witness the duel, for understandable reasons. Even the sentient plants were savouring what they saw of the spectacle-jeering and shedding leaves and spitting spores as they savoured the carnage.
As she watched, Fray snorted and scratched the ground with her powerful hooves; clearly a large part of her wished she could be part of this legendary fight.
As for Quipu, he was in a frenzy; his heads whipping from side to side, a crazed look to him that I had never seen before. He was the dearest friend of Cuzco and, despite the cruel words that often passed between them, they felt a huge affection for each other. And yet, as Cuzco bled, he roared, all five of his heads roared, in brutal exultation.