Eric Flint: Mother of Demons

But while she was among them, Nukurren had been careful to observe the proprieties. She had even learned some of the strange language spoken by the hunnakaku. For the Kiktu believed that the sub-gukuy were sacred. They called the hunnakaku the Old Ones, and believed that they were the first people created by their goddess Uk when she rained life upon the Meat. They were favored still in her eyes, the Kiktu believed, and their language was difficult to understand because it was holy. All Kiktu learned to speak it-at least, as well as was possible for gukuy.

So Nukurren listened. The hunnakaku hooted again. must not do feed reeds snails beauty

With difficulty, Nukurren translated. The speaking siphon of the hunnakaku, she knew, was fairly similar to that possessed by gukuy. But there were important differences. The hunnakaku lacked the flexible lips and the hard ridges which enabled gukuy to speak their complex languages. Instead, the hunnakaku produced a hoot which contained a single thought couched in various permutations. Dhowifa had once told her it reminded him of a verbal version of the ideograms which the prevalates in the far south used for writing.

The central concept was "feed." She understood that immediately. There was both the positive and the negative imperative which was usually present in hunnakaku hoots. The negative was at the center-a reflection, she thought, of the timid nature of the sub-gukuy. "Not feed snails," then. The positive would surround the center, as an alternative course of action. "Must feed beauty. Do feed reeds."

With sudden understanding, she stared at the body of the slaver.

"But why?" she demanded. "She was your tormentor."

Another hoot. death not end give life not life

Strangely, it made sense. The hunnakaku were plant-eaters. They viewed carnivores, including scavengers, with horror. The horror was not the product of personal fear. Because of their size, the hunnakaku had few natural enemies. (Except us, thought Nukurren.) It was due to their belief that all meat-eaters were parasites, who stole life without returning it back to what they called the "Coil of Beauty." To be eaten as meat was to be denied re-entry into the Coil, to be doomed to eternal non-existence.

Or so, at least, the Kiktu had explained it to Nukurren. And it was certainly true that, within the limits available to their fundamentally carnivorous needs as gukuy, the Kiktu attempted to follow similar precepts. It was these attempts, of course, that produced the dietary rules and restrictions which Nukurren and Dhowifa had found so irksome.

Nukurren's tentacles twitched with irritation.

"You can't expect me to bury her!"

She whistled with derision at the idea, and began to march off.

Another hoot: horror horror horror is horror horror horror

She stopped, arrested by the tone of unmistakable anguish in the voice of the hunnakaku. After a moment, she made a decision and marched to the toolkeeper's yurt. The plaintive hoots of the hunnakaku followed her.

"Give me a hoe," she commanded. Without a word, the toolkeeper disappeared inside and returned a moment later with the tool. Her mantle, Nukurren noticed with bleak amusement, glowed bright pink with apprehension.

Taking the hoe, Nukurren stalked back to the cage. She began digging a trench on one side of the trail, but as soon as she started the hooting began again. must not waste root wrong there reeds

She whistled sharply with anger. The hunnakaku withdrew fearfully from the bars, cowering in the interior of the cage. Her mantle flushed brick red. Fear, allayed by determination. She continued to hoot the same plea.

"You're as bad as the Kiktu and their damned fetishes," said Nukurren. But she abandoned the trench she had begun and waded off into the field of akafa. There, even though the reeds made the work far more difficult, she dug a new trench. Finished, she went over and grabbed the slaver's body. She was tempted to use her fork to drag the body, but she knew it would upset the hunnakaku. For some reason, the thought of causing further pain to the gentle giant was repulsive. So, ignoring her disgust at the snails which were by now crawling all over the corpse, she picked up the body of the slaver in her two great tentacles and carried it over to the trench. She lowered the body down. It was short work to hoe the soil back in.

When she was finished, she stared at the small mound in the reeds.

"You're still garbage," she said softly. "But for whatever it's worth, welcome to the Coil of Beauty. Personally, I hope you come back as a slug."

She left the reeds and went back to the cage. For a long moment, she and the hunnakaku stared at each other. She saw a creature whose basic shape was similar to her own. Bigger, of course, despite the fact that Nukurren was huge for a gukuy. The hunnakaku's peds were very short and bulky relative to its body. She lacked true tentacles. Instead, she had eight arms instead of six. The arms were bigger than a gukuy's, and clumsy-looking-they ended in a simple bifurcation, instead of the delicate triad which made gukuy arms such marvelous instruments for precise manipulation. The beak which Nukurren could see within the hunnakaku's arm-cluster was blunt and ridged, suited for chewing tough plants. Not at all like Nukurren's sharp-edged gukuy beak.

And what does she see? wondered Nukurren. A monster, I imagine.

There was no way to tell. Another wave of world-weariness rolled over her.

In truth, they are a better folk than we gukuy. But they are timid, despite their size and strength. And slow, and stupid. So we make them our slaves, when we do not butcher them outright. And now they are a dying race. The slavers catch fewer and fewer each year, and they won't breed in captivity. And if the Kiktu are destroyed by the Utuku, more slavers will come to this refuge. Kjakukun is just one of many.

She turned away.

And I am Kjakukun's flail. For three wires of copper an eightday.

On her way back to her yurt, she took some satisfaction in the fearful glances sent her way by those she encountered. As she passed Kjakukun's yurt, the caravan master stepped from between the hides which served as an entryway.

"Why did you bury her?" she asked. She seemed genuinely puzzled.

"The hunnakaku asked me to."

Orange astonishment rippled across Kjakakun's mantle.

"Why should you do its bidding? It's nothing but a slave-a sub-gukuy."

Anger boiled over, and this time Nukurren made no effort to control her mantle. Blue blazed. Despite her own impressive self-control, the caravan master could not prevent a pink flush from entering her own mantle.

And when Nukurren stepped suddenly near, the pink was replaced by scarlet terror.

"I work for you, slave-master," said Nukurren softly, "because I have to. I need the money, and-"

She did not complete the thought. Nor, even though she could have, did the caravan master.

Because only a filthy slaver would hire a pervert.

Nukurren waited, wondering if the caravan master was bold enough to sneer the words. But Kjakukun was silent.

Very wise, slave master. Very wise.

The blue faded from Nukurren's mantle.

"I work for you, Kjakukun. But I am much closer to the Kiktu in how I see the Old Ones."

The red faded from the caravan master.

"The Kiktu will kill you as quick as anyone!"

"True. Even quicker, for they would look upon me as a traitor."

Nukurren turned away, then back.

"Do not ever ask me questions, slave-master. I am your bodyguard, no more."

"I am your employer," protested Kjakukun.

Nukurren allowed a tinge of contempt to yellow her mantle, as she walked toward her yurt.

Dhowifa was in his usual place, perched on the cushions in a corner. After Nukurren entered, the two lovers stared at each other in silence.