Mother of Demons Read online

  "It doesn't matter, dear one," she said softly. "I am going to die, anyway."

  She started to explain about the diseases which mantle-rupturing wounds always brought in their train. Dhowifa, the poor emotional little thing, tried to interrupt, but Nukurren plowed on. Better that he should face the truth now than to live in the fairy-tale world that truemales preferred.

  Suddenly, to her astonishment, the truemale started slapping her with his arms.

  "Will you shut up for a moment—you, you clamhead!"

  Nukurren stared at him. The azure irritation which suffused Dhowifa's mantle was not, this time, mottled by any affectionate traces of green.

  "I know about those diseases," said the truemale angrily. "Do you think I haven't been filled with anguish, worrying about it? Self-righteous fool. Snail!"

  He took a deep breath.

  "But this big white demon says—well, at least, I think that's what it's been trying to tell me—that you can be healed. When we get to where we're going."

  "And where's that?"

  Orange surprise. "Didn't you see it? We've already started up the slopes."

  He stretched out a tentacle, pointing up and ahead.

  "The Chiton."

  Nukurren twisted, looked where he was pointing. The sight was awesome.

  "We're going there? Why?"

  "Because that's where the demons live. Or come from, I'm not quite sure. That's where the ones live who it says can heal you."

  After a short silence, Dhowifa added:

  "And, if I understand it, that's where the one lives who will decide what to do with us."

  "And who is that?" She felt dread at the answer.

  "The Mother of Demons."

  Suddenly, a voice spoke in Kiktu: "How do you feel?"

  Swiveling her remaining eye, Nukurren saw that it was the large white demon who had spoken. Its Kiktu was crude, and, as Dhowifa had said, the accent was horrible—harsh, and sibilant. But Nukurren had no difficulty understanding it.

  "Better," she replied. "Very weak, but my brain is clear." She gestured at the demon's injured limb.

  "And you?"

  The demon flexed its limb—its right limb, Nukurren saw—and examined it.

  "It will heal," replied the monster. "But it is painful. You almost tore it off."

  For a moment, Nukurren and the demon stared at each other in silence. The bright blue color of its eyes was distracting. Despite Dhowifa's opinion, Nukurren automatically reacted to that color as if she were facing an enraged enemy. But, in truth, the whiteness of its hide never showed the slightest trace of blue fury. And, though the demon's shape and posture was like nothing Nukurren had ever seen, not even in her worst nightmares, there seemed something—

  A memory came to her suddenly. Long ago, shortly after Dhowifa and she had sought refuge among the Kiktu, a young Kiktu warrior had challenged her to single combat. The cause, according to the warrior—Kokokda was her name—was her outrage at Nukurren's sexual perversity. But that had been a mere pretext, Nukurren knew. The truth was that the young warrior could not resist the challenge of fighting such a fearsome-looking gukuy, especially one who was reputed to have been a great Anshac warrior.

  The combat had been swift and brutal. Kokokda had been quite good, very fast and strong, but much too full of bravado and incaution. It had not taken Nukurren long to leave the young Kiktu dazed and bleeding on the ground, even though she had been handicapped by the need not to kill or cripple her opponent. (It would have been tactless to slaughter Kokokda, given that Nukurren and Dhowifa were seeking sanctuary among her tribe.)

  Days later, after recovering sufficiently from her wounds, Kokokda had entered the yurt occupied by Nukurren and Dhowifa. For a long moment, she had stood there, saying nothing. At first, Nukurren had thought Kokokda was seeking to renew the conflict, until, from the subtleties of color and posture, she realized that the young Kiktu was simply seeking to acknowledge a worthy foe and, in the confused way of youth, to gain her victor's respect.

  Diplomacy had worked well then, and, Nukurren decided, would possibly work now also, even with a demon.

  "You fought well," she said to the white demon.

  "I fought like a fool," came the instant reply. "I'm lucky to be alive. I wouldn't be if you hadn't been outnumbered."

  It was the simple truth, of course, but Nukurren tried again to flatter the demon with reassurances of its awesome prowess and skill. She had not gotten far into her peroration when the monster's—beak?—gaped wide and began emitting ghastly noises, like a swamp haktu barking in heat.

  "I think that's the way the demons whistle when they think something's funny," whispered Dhowifa. Nukurren swiveled her eye back to examine her lover. Her arms made the gesture of skepticism. Ochre uncertainty rippled across Dhowifa's mantle.

  "Well, I'm not sure of it, but I think so. As I told you, I've been watching them. They do it a lot."

  Nukurren gazed back at the demon. The monster had ceased the hideous barking noises, but Nukurren saw that its—yes, she decided, it is a beak—was still gaping open. Within, on the top and bottom both, were a row of strange little white—stones?

  "You are the biggest and ugliest gukuy I ever saw," announced the demon. Nukurren heard Dhowifa's hiss of displeasure at the insult to his beloved, but Nukurren shared none of it. Truth, after all, was the truth. Nukurren was the biggest and ugliest gukuy she had ever met.

  "And you are also the biggest liar." A short, sudden burst of barking. "I fought like a stupid young fool, and that's the simple truth." More barking, very brief.

  "Do not be offended. I'm the biggest and ugliest"—here came a word Nukurren couldn't quite grasp— "that I know. I'm not the quickest, but I'm the strongest. I rely too much on it." (A word, again, which Nukurren couldn't make out, but she thought it was a name) "is always warning me that my overconfidence is going to get me killed." The demon flexed its injured limb, and a strange crunching motion seemed to briefly flit across the features of its bizarre face. "And sure enough, it almost did."

  A long silence followed. Nukurren tried to think of something to say, but she was feeling very weak and her mind was becoming foggy again.

  "You were very brave," said the demon suddenly. Then, a moment later, its harsh accent somehow even harsher: "Why are you a slaver?"

  "I am not," Nukurren replied.

  "You were with them, and you fought for them."

  "That is true. I was hired by the caravan master as her bodyguard. I did not like the work, but it was all I could find for Dhowifa and myself."

  "Why?"

  Nukurren hesitated, then, too tired and weak to think of a clever answer, responded with the blunt truth: "We are perverts." She heard Dhowifa hiss with displeasure, but ignored him. "We are despised and outcast because of it," she continued stolidly.

  Again, the features on the monster's face crunched, although it seemed to Nukurren, in some way too subtle for her to grasp clearly, that it crunched differently. She heard Dhowifa whisper: "I think that weird thing it does with its face is the way demons gesture." Nukurren decided Dhowifa was probably correct. Other than the colors of their mantles, gukuy used their arms to express sentiments and attitudes. But the faces of the demons were armless.

  The demon spoke. "I do not understand that word you used." Here the monster fumbled with the term, trying to reproduce it.

  "Pervert," said Nukurren slowly and clearly. Dhowifa hissed again. "I am too tired to lie, dear one," said Nukurren softly.

  "What does that word mean?" demanded the demon.

  Nukurren explained, briefly and bluntly. Dhowifa was hissing like a kettle.

  After hearing Nukurren's explanation, the monster fell silent. Nukurren examined it closely, but could see no indication of its attitude.

  I think Dhowifa's right. Their—mantles?—never change color.

  Suddenly, the monster moved away quickly, stick-pedding ahead toward the front of the caravan. Soon thereafter, a few loud and
sharp commands were uttered in some utterly strange language and the caravan came to a halt. Moments later, Nukurren saw a number of demons approaching the litter. At the forefront was the white demon and—she felt Dhowifa flinch at her side—the demonlord. Black as night, implacable.

  Seeing them side by side, Nukurren saw that the white demon was larger than the black one. Not quite as tall, but wider and more massive. The other demons—there were a total of eight in the approaching party—were considerably smaller. Four of them seemed to be flushed brown with misery. The remaining two were colored a very light brown, almost white, but not the same pale hue as the biggest demon. And as they came nearer, Nukurren suddenly realized that the strange attachments on top of their heads which she had thought to be soft armor were some kind of natural growths.

  Parasites? she wondered. Some kind of skinny worms? No, that doesn't make sense. They must be part of their bodies.

  The color of the growths varied, she saw. The growths on top of the big white demon were pale yellow, very bright. One of the other whitish demons also had yellow head growths, although the color was much darker, almost ochre. The growths on the remaining demons was dark brown, except for that on the heads of the demonlord and one other. Their growths were pure black. And there was something different about the shape of the demonlord's head growths—like thousands of tiny slender worms, also, but worms which were tightly coiled.

  The eight demons drew alongside Nukurren's litter. Now that she could see them together, standing still in clear daylight, Nukurren saw that there were other subtle differences between the demons as well. The body shapes of three of them were somehow different, and the front of their mantles, under the light armor which covered them, seemed misshapen.

  "Tell him what you told me," commanded the white demon, gesturing to the demonlord.

  "Him?" thought Nukurren, astonished. This monster was a male?

  Not possible. The white demon's Kiktu must be worse than I thought.

  But then, again: "Tell him."

  Could it be?

  "Are you a male?" Nukurren blurted to the demonlord.

  All the demons began that horrible barking noise. Nukurren decided that Dhowifa was right—they were laughing. She was relieved to see that the demonlord was laughing also, and, when the barking ceased, that its—his—beak was gaping open, with those peculiar little stones exposed. The stones in his beak, she was interested to note, were every bit as white as the ones in the white demon's beak.

  Yes, Dhowifa's right. And that must be their gesture of amusement.

  The gesture seemed even more pronounced on the part of the white demon, and then, as if the creature could read her mind, the demon said:

  "This"—it gaped its beak wider— "is our gesture of amusement. We call it a—" Here came a bizarre word.

  "Gurinu?" asked Nukurren.

  "Close enough," replied the white demon. "And I am also a male. These"—here the demon pointed to the three whose body shapes Nukurren had thought to be somehow different— "are female."

  One of the three females stepped forward. She was light brown in color. Her eyes, like the black demon and one other, were very dark brown, almost black. Her head growths, like those of the demonlord, were also pure black, although hers were very straight and long. Now that she was close, Nukurren could see that her head growths were tied back behind her head by a cord. She was almost as tall as the black and white demons, although much less massive, especially in her upper mantle.

  The female demon reached up with her tentacles—upper limbs, rather—and untied the cords which bound together the strips of lacquered yopo stems which made up her body armor. She drew the armor aside, and Nukurren could see that beneath, protruding from the light brown skin of her mantle, were two bizarre, soft-looking growths. Looking over at the male demons, Nukurren saw that no such growths protruded from their mantles.

  "There are other differences," said the female demon, in a voice which, though harsh, was much lighter in tone than that of the male demons. Her Kiktu was better than that of the black and white demons, with a less pronounced accent.

  The female demon retied her armor. "But we won't get into that now. Or else we'll waste half the day while" (here came a strange word, which Nukurren was sure was a name) "shows off."

  All the demons except the big white one began barking loudly. The big white one, to Nukurren's amazement, suddenly changed color. It was a subtle change, but there was no mistaking it—the monster was turning pink!

  Apprehension? wondered Nukurren. That doesn't make sense.

  It made even less sense when the white demon's beak slowly began to gape wide open, in the gesture of amusement.

  He's embarrassed, Nukurren suddenly realized. But, I think, not displeased.

  The white demon spoke again: "Tell him what you told me."

  To the demonlord, Nukurren repeated the explanation for her presence, and Dhowifa's, among the slavers.

  For a moment, the demonlord was silent. Then he made a peculiar jerking motion with his head and turned away. He said something to the white demon in the strange-sounding demon language, and began rapidly stick-pedding away, barking out commands. Moments later the caravan was in motion again. All of the demons left the vicinity of the litter, except the big white one and the female one who had stripped away her armor.

  "I think you just saved your life," said the white demon softly. (Here a strange word, but Nukurren was sure it was the name of the demonlord) "was beginning to have second thoughts about not killing you immediately when we captured you. Now he won't."

  Dhowifa began to speak, but Nukurren cut him off.

  "Why not?"

  The white demon did something odd with its mantle, as if quickly raising and lowering its upper torso—where its cowl would be if it had one.

  "You were not entirely with the slavers by choice. He hates slavers. We all do. And besides, he's curious."

  "About us?"

  "Yes."

  Dhowifa now spoke, very softly, in his broken Kiktu. "You is—are, not by us, offended?"

  "Offended?" asked the white demon. "Because you are"—he struggled with the unfamiliar word— "perverts?"

  Dhowifa made the gesture of assent, and it was obvious to Nukurren that the demon understood the meaning of the arm-curls.

  Again, the two demons gaped wide their beaks.

  "It means nothing to us," said the female one. She moved closer to the white demon, and reached out one of her limbs. Then, with the odd little stick-tentacles at its tip, she began slowly caressing the back of the male demon's head, under the long, soft, bright yellow head-growths.

  "My name is"—here she spoke slowly, carefully enunciating— "Ludumilaroshokavashiki, and this is Dzhenushkunutushen. We have often been lovers. More and more often, now, in preference to others." Her beak gaped. "Soon I think he will ask me to be his mate, if he can muster the courage."

  The male demon's white hide was again suffused with pink.

  "And what will you say?" asked Nukurren.

  "I will say 'yes,' " replied the female demon, very softly.

  Nukurren stared at the big white demon, Dzhenushkunutushen. The demon stared back at her.

  And suddenly, uncertainly, deep within a monster's eyes, eyes the color of insensate blue fury, Nukurren caught a glimpse of something she had never thought to find in her bleak and lonely existence.

  Chapter 8

  Once the survival of the colony was assured, Indira had began looking toward the future. Just a few days after the discovery of the maia-food, she had proposed, and the five other surviving adults had agreed, to begin a school for the children. They were faced with the fact that the technological base which they had always assumed would be the underpinning of the colony was almost gone. One of the landing boats was a wreck, not good for much beyond storage and scrap metal. The equipment on the other boat was still functioning (other than the engines, which were almost out of the complex synthetic chemical which they
used for fuel). But Hector pointed out that the batteries which powered the equipment would soon be inoperative.

  "They're nuclear batteries!" protested Adams.

  Hector shook his head. "No they ain't, Doctor. Sorry. They're just little temporary units, designed to be recharged on a regular basis on the Magellan."

  Adams began a vigorous denunciation of the incompetence of the expedition's planners, but Julius cut him off.

  "Stow it, Doctor Adams! It's water under the bridge. Spilt milk. Let's get on with the business at hand."

  Adams glared at the biologist, but he kept his mouth shut. Julius continued:

  "The way I see it, we've got to completely put out of our minds any illusions that we can maintain an advanced technological culture. We've got to face the facts. Every single piece of advanced equipment on the boat—the computers, for instance—presupposes a whole technological support base that just doesn't exist anymore. The problem with the batteries is just the tip of the iceberg."

  A sidelong glare at Adams.

  "I happen to know how the temporary batteries in the lifeboats were chosen. Everybody on the planning board wanted nuclear batteries. But nuclear batteries are big, and there was nothing as valuable as space. So the decision was made to have nuclear batteries on the mother ship alone, and use small temporary batteries on the lifeboats. It's easy to sneer at that decision now. But it was the logical decision to make at the time.

  "We're going to find the same thing is true over and over again. The minute any single component of any of the remaining equipment breaks down, that's it. There aren't any replacement parts, and we've got no way to make them. Even if we knew how, which we don't."

  A shrug. "It's one of the prices we pay for having such a technologically advanced culture. We're all specialists, by and large. Take me, for example. I know how to use the equipment in a biological lab. But I don't know how to make it. I don't even fully understand how most of it works. The same's true for all of us."

  He smiled. "Except Indira. The historian's profession hasn't changed much over the last five thousand years."