Eric Flint: Mother of Demons

The apalatunush numbered eighty and six-eight, approximately No? No? Such a pity.

What is the ummun way of counting that?

I was enjoying the exercise.

A "unnunduredh," I think.

Perhaps at a later time. When you have learned to crawl.

I will have to speak to Ushulubang about this. We must decide if we will adopt the ummun way of numbering as well as their language.

Now. Let me explain the truth-naked; stripped of its shell.

Her thoughts hesitated, stumbling for a moment.

You are no longer Kiktu or Pilgrim or Opoktu or Utuku.

Yes, and I must listen to what she has to say about the Way. And Dhowifa. I must listen to him more carefully, from now on.

You are simply Nukurren's shit.

I must put all bitterness behind me. I am no longer Nukurren the mercenary. I can no longer think like Nukurren the outcast. I am the You will do what I say, when I say, where I say it, how I say it. At once. No-sooner than that!

Shutuppen. Nukurren rolled the name in her mind's arms, examining it from every side.

Do you understand?

It is a good name, she decided.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

For the first time in eightyweeks, she felt life return to her soul, in all its myriad colors.

But to the scarlet-hued warriors who watched her, pacing back and forth like a nightmare, there was nothing in her mantle.

Nothing but cold, pitiless, gray.