Карин Тидбек - Jagannath

Thank you, said Mother. Obstruction has been removed. Guidance system recalibrating.

“It was Ziz, I think,” said Rak. “He was dead.”

Yes. He was performing maintenance when he expired.

“Aren’t there any more pilots?”

You can be my pilot.

“But I’m female,” Rak said.

That is all right. Your brain gives me sufficient processing power for calculating a new itinerary.

“What?”

You don’t have to do anything. Just sit here with me.

Rak watched as Mother changed course, climbing the wall of the canyon and up onto a soft yellow expanse: grassland, whispered. The sky sat heavy and blue over the grass. Mother slowed down, her mouthpieces scooping up plants from the ground.

Angular silhouettes stood against the horizon.

“What is that?” said Rak.

Cities, Mother replied. Your ancestors used to live there. But then the cities died, and they came to me. We entered an agreement. You would keep me company, and in exchange I would protect you until the world was a better place.

“Where are we going?”

Looking for a mate. I need fresh genetic material. My system is not completely self-sufficient.

“Oh.” Rak’s mouth fell open. “Are there… more of you?”

Of sorts. There are none like me, but I have cousins that roam the steppes. A sigh. None of them are good company. Not like my children.

Mother trundled over the grassland, eating and eating. Rak panicked the first time the sun disappeared, until Mother wrapped the hammock tight around her and told her to look up. Rak quieted at the sight of the glowing band laid across the sky. Other suns, Mother said, but Rak could not grasp it. She settled for thinking of it like lights in the ceiling of a great room.

They passed more of the cities: jagged spires and broken domes, bright surfaces criss-crossed with cracks and curling green. Occasionally flocks of other living creatures ran across the grass. Mother would name them all. Each time a new animal appeared Rak asked if that was her mate. The answer was always no.

“Are you feeling better?” Rak said eventually.

No. A sighing sound. I am sorry. My system is degraded past the point of repair.

“What does that mean?”

Goodbye, my daughter. Please use the exit with green lights.

Something shot up Rak’s nostril through the tube. A sting of pain blossomed inside her forehead, and she tore the tube out. A thin stream of blood trailed from her nose. She wiped at it with her arm. A shudder shook the hammock. The luminescence in the walls faded. It was suddenly very quiet.

“Mother?” Rak said into the gloom. Outside, something was different. She peered out through one of the eyes. The world wasn’t moving.

“Mother!” Rak put the tube in her nose again, but it fell out and lay limp in her lap. She slid out of the hammock, standing up on stiff legs. The hatch to Mother’s brain was still open. Rak pulled herself up into the little space. It was pitch dark and still. No pulse moved through the walls.

Rak left Mother’s head and started down the long corridors, down toward the Nursery and the Belly. She scooped some mucus from the wall to eat, but it tasted rank. It was getting darker. Only the growths around the round plate between the Head and the rest of the body were still glowing brightly. They had changed to green.

In the Nursery, Papa was lying on his cot, chest rising and falling faintly.

“There you are,” he said when Rak approached. “You were gone for so long.”

“What happened?” said Rak.

Papa shook his head. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.”

“Mother isn’t moving,” said Rak. “I found Her head, and She talked to me, and I helped Her find her way to food, but she says she can’t be repaired, and now she’s not moving. I don’t know what to do.”

Papa closed his eyes. “Our Mother is dead,” he whispered. “And we will go with Her.”

He turned away, spreading his arms against the wall, hugging the tangle of cabling and flesh. Rak left him there.

In the Belly, the air was thick and rancid. The peristaltic engine was still. Rak’s feet slapping against the floor made a very loud noise. Around the chamber, workers were lying along the walls, half-melted into Mother’s flesh. The Leg accesses along the walls were all open; here and there an arm or a head poked out. Hap lay close to the entrance, resting on her side. Her body was gaunt, her ribs fully visible through the skin. She had begun sinking into the floor; Rak could still see part of her face. Her eyes were half-closed, as if she were just very tired.

Rak backed out into the corridor, turning back toward the Head. The sphincters were all relaxing, sending the foul air from the Belly toward her, forcing her to crawl forward. The last of the luminescence faded. She crawled in darkness until she saw a green shimmer up ahead. The round plate was still there. It swung aside at her touch.

The air coming in was cold and sharp, painful on the skin, but fresh. Rak breathed in deep. The hot air from Mother’s insides streamed out above her in a cloud. The sun hung low on the horizon, its light far more blinding than Mother’s eyes had seen it. One hand in front of her eyes, Rak swung her legs out over the rim of the opening and cried out in surprise when her feet landed on grass. The myriad blades prickled the soles of her feet. She sat there, gripping at the grass with her toes, eyes squeezed shut. When the light was less painful, she opened her eyes a little and stood up.

The aperture opened out between two of Mother’s jointed legs. They rested on the grass, each leg thicker around than Rak could reach with her arms. Beyond them, she could glimpse more legs to either side .She looked up. Behind her, the wall of Mother’s body rose up, more than twice Rak’s own height. Beyond the top there was sky, a blue nothing, not flat like seen through Mother’s eyes but deep and endless. In front of her, the grassland, stretching on and on. Rak held on to the massive leg next to her. Her stomach clenched, and she bent over and spat bile. There was a hot lump in her chest that wouldn’t go away. She spat again and kneeled on the grass.

“Mother,” she whispered in the thin air. She leaned against the leg. It was cold and smooth. “Mother, please.” She crawled in under Mother’s legs, curling up against Her body, breathing in Her familiar musk. A sweet hint of rot lurked below. The knot in Rak’s chest forced itself up through her throat in a howl.

Rak eventually fell asleep. She dreamed of legs sprouting from her sides, her body elongating and dividing into sections, taking a sinuous shape. She ran over the grass, legs in perfect unison, muscles and vertebrae stretching and becoming powerful. The sky was no longer terrible. Warm light caressed the length of her scales.

A pattering noise in the distance woke her up. Rak stretched and rubbed her eyes. Her cheeks were crusted with salt. She scratched at her side. An itching line of nubs ran along her ribs. Beside her, Mother’s body no longer smelled of musk; the smell of rot was stronger. She crawled out onto the grass and rose to her feet. The sky had darkened, and a pale orb hung in the void, painting the landscape in stark grey and white. Mother lay quiet, stretched out into the distance. Rak saw now that Mother’s carapace was grey and pitted, some of the many legs cracked or missing.

In the bleak light, a long shape on many legs approached. When it came close, Rak saw it was much smaller than Mother – perhaps three or four times Rak’s length. She stood very still. The other paused a few feet away. It reared up, forebody and legs waving back and forth. Its mandibles clattered. Something about its movement caused a warm stirring in Rak’s belly. After a while, it turned around, depositing a gelatinous sac on the ground. It slowly backed away.