Lawrence Schoen - Barsk - The Elephants' Graveyard

The newer arrivals among the Fant listened to these accounts and steeled themselves for their own interrogations. They could endure. What was torture compared to the agony of having the closure of their deaths disrupted?

Jorl took no comfort in this. After another period of sleep and the arrival of the first of the day’s food troughs, he wondered if the Taxi would pick him today. After those Fant who felt like eating had done so, the troughs began to withdraw again and Jorl’s gaze followed them across the yard, searching for the squad of angry Badgers. Instead, he saw three very different figures coming across the packed snow: a slender Lutr, unequipped and underdressed for the cold in a floral sarong, shivering in-between an identical pair of Ailuros in the flat black uniforms of security.

From across the yard, the Otter appeared to be scanning each Fant from afar, searching for something in what surely were unfamiliar faces. Her eyes locked onto Jorl, and he would have sworn she smiled. He saw her lips move with a quick instruction to her guards, and the trio changed their trajectory to move further away from Jorl. They stopped at the first cluster of prisoners, lingered a while and then moved on to the next group. Again and again this continued until the Otter had gazed into the eyes and shared words with easily fifty of the Dying Fant. The Otter and her Panda escort had worked their way to the double handful of Fant closest to him and again paused to engage them.

Jorl watched the Lutr talk to the Fant, Four Eleph and two Lox. Something about her movements, her posture standing there, the way her head bobbed, felt familiar, almost comfortable. He’d never met any Lutr during his days in the Patrol, but he’d heard stories that ranged from hedonistic revels in everyday life to splurges of sybaritic sex that would make the rain blush. Looking at this one now, the way she interacted with the Dying Fant, he couldn’t imagine any of those things. He saw her smile as she chatted individually with them and the Dying Fant responded with more enthusiasm than he’d yet witnessed from them. Through all of that, her accompanying guards glared at the Fant with a mix of disgust and warning. Neither the Lox nor the Eleph paid them any heed; all focused on the Otter.

In time, she glanced toward Jorl again. He quickly averted his eyes, but too late. In his peripheral vision he saw her disengage from the others and make her way toward him, the two Pandas stalking alongside, matching her step for step. She stopped twice a trunk’s length from him, the appropriate distance for a female Lox or Eleph when encountering a single male for the first time. The realization of it jarred him enough that he turned to face her, earning him a nod of acknowledgment.

“What is your name?”

He frowned, and felt a pang of solidarity with the Dying. It simply wasn’t done, at least not to a Fant. A young woman, regardless of her race, did not walk up to a man and demand his name. He started to turn away.

“Your pardon, that was poorly done. May I start again? I am called Lirlowil. My mother’s name was … Thithlowil.”

Again he stopped. “I’m Jorl ben Tral.” He paused, and then lamely completed the rest of the greeting ritual. “Perhaps our mothers know one another.”

Lirlowil laughed, a sound like wind chimes set against a husky rasp. “It’s a pretty thought but unlikely. But now that we’re off to a better beginning, tell me something. Why are you not like these others?”

“The intent behind my destination differed from theirs, though we share similar tales of abduction.”

“Oh. No, I know about that. Horrible, but long foretold. But I meant the mark upon your brow.”

Jorl’s hand reached up of its own accord, but stopped before his fingers actually touched the aleph tattoo. “A mark given me by my people. What did you mean, when you said the abductions were foretold?”

“I must have read it somewhere. But about that mark, have you had it long? Have your people marked anyone else that way since?”

“Not long, and no, I’m the most recent. Why do you ask?”

The Otter shrugged, the movement not as fluid as Jorl expected it to be.

“It’s what I’m here for. To ask questions. You’ve met the Bear major?” She glanced at the Pandas who still flanked her but studiously pretended not to hear a word. “He wants information that only an Eleph and Lox might know, but he has no ready access to the actual people who must surely have it. So he’s been trying several different methods and hoping to get lucky. Based on what I’ve seen so far, he’s wasting his time. None of them know anything about koph. Do you?”

He should have expected it, but the question caught Jorl off guard and he stammered, saying nothing.

“You do, don’t you. But probably not for the reason I’m seeking. You know about koph because you use it, am I right? You have the look of a Speaker about you.”

He found his voice, “I didn’t know there was a look.”

“Certainly. Look closely at me, and you should see it, there in my eyes. We have much in common, Jorl ben Tral. More than you realize.”

“You’re a Speaker?”

She gave a stiff bow. “I am, have been, for a very, very long time.”

“I mean no disrespect, but you look like you’re barely out of adolescence.”

“A keen eye you have. Let’s just say I have an old soul and leave it at that.”

“But you—”

“As I was saying, the Bear major doesn’t care about Speakers. They just use koph. He wants Fant who know how to make it from scratch. All he’s ever seen is the finished, refined product that gets shipped to the rest of the Alliance.”

“You’d need to talk to a pharmer about that,” said Jorl.

“Exactly. Do you know any?”

“I … did. He’s passed.”

The Otter nodded, more impatiently than empathically, or so it seemed to Jorl.

“Sailed off?”

“No, an … accident.”

“Ah. Well then, thank you, Jorl ben Tral. I’ve waited a very long time to meet you and have this conversation. Please, excuse me now.”

She smiled, the expression never quite reaching her eyes, and turned away. The Ailuros turned with her. They had already moved to the next cluster of Dying Fant when Jorl trotted after, trunk waiving.

“Wait! What did you mean about having waited a long time?”

A Panda’s fist caught him full in the face, and its twin slammed into his stomach. He doubled over, unable to breathe and trying not to retch. He dropped to one knee on the packed snow, wishing he could move away before the next blow fell. But it didn’t come.

When he lifted his head he saw his assailant crouching on all fours, trickles of blood streaming down his face from his ears and the inner corners of his eyes. He had vomited as well, and the contents of his stomach steamed in the frigid air. The other Panda still stood alongside the Otter, but clearly wished he could help his comrade.

“I held back,” said Lirlowil. “As a kindness. Next time, I won’t. I don’t share the Bear major’s contempt for these people, and I won’t permit you to demonstrate yours. Do you understand me?”

The Ailuros on the ground managed a faint confirmation, and the one still standing also said “Yes.”

“Jorl, are you all right?”

He rubbed at the spot on his face that had taken the punch, imagining the bruise that would spring up soon enough. Resolving to scrape up some snow and create a compress, Jorl hauled himself to his feet and nodded.

“Good. Now, you have to excuse me. Time is racing away from me. But I promise, we’ll speak again soon.” She winked at him, as if they shared some secret, then turned again and moved on to engage that next group of the Dying. The uninjured Panda stayed at her side. The other collapsed there on the ground, clearly breathing but otherwise unmoving.