Mother of Demons Read online

  "I think you are right, Aktako," Nukurren said. "And, even if you are not, we should not give the world the satisfaction of our surrender."

  "Wait here," she commanded them, and went back into the command circle.

  "You spoke of an ancient warrior, who taught a new people the craft of war," she said to the Mother of Demons. "What was her—his—name?"

  "Steuben. Baron Friedrich von Steuben."

  Nukurren made the gesture of negation.

  "That is too long."

  She turned to leave. "I accept, Mother of Demons. I will be your shutuppen."

  The ranks of the future army of the nashiyonu were drawn up in the center of the valley. In ragged files.

  Very ragged, thought Nukurren. But the immediate problem is that they are still separated. Tribespeople here; Pilgrims there; and the former Utuku clustered away from everyone else. Avoided by everyone else. We must put a stop to that. At once.

  She was not concerned. She had served as a trainer for the Anshac legions, whose warriors came from everywhere.

  For a moment, she pondered her course of action. In general, she had no intention of taking charge of the daily training of the warriors. Her assistants, she thought, were quite capable of that task. Nukurren's principal responsibility lay elsewhere. It would be she who would shape and develop the structure and methods of the new army, particularly its tactics.

  To be sure, the new battle leaders would be filled with grand schemes and ambitious projections. And, in truth, many of these would be worthwhile and potentially valuable. Nukurren was well aware of Ghodha's capabilities, and all she had heard regarding Kopporu led her to believe that she would make an excellent commander for the army.

  Still—officers were by nature a fanciful folk, much given to impracticalities and vaporous theory. Nukurren eyed Aktako and the other members of her cadre.

  No, no. Here lies the heart of the new army. They will make excellent trainers, as well as troop leaders. After today, I will not have to concern myself much with that task. But today—is the first day. So—

  She spoke to Aktako. "I believe it would be wise if I personally led the training today."

  Aktako made the gesture of assent. "I agree, Nukurren. It is essential that the warriors see us as a united group. Since you are the leader, the—we do not have a title yet—"

  "Shutuppen."

  Aktako groped for a moment with the unfamiliar word.

  "—the dzhu—shutuppen, then, I think it would be best if the warriors take your measure immediately."

  Nukurren eyed the other cadre. It was obvious by their stance that they were in agreement. And, she was pleased to note, it was equally obvious that Aktako was already accepted as Nukurren's second-in-command.

  Yes. They will be excellent. Better than any I have ever worked alongside.

  "Do you have practice flails and forks?" she asked. Aktako made the gesture of affirmation.

  "Good. I will need them. Bring several sets. At least four."

  A slight tinge of orange entered Rurroc's mantle.

  "You are going to start by teaching them weaponry?"

  Kokokda whistled. Dzhenushkunutushen laughed.

  "No, Rurroc," said Kokokda. "She is going to start by teaching them the most important lesson of all. I remember that lesson well."

  "So do I," said the demon. "And I'm glad, this time, to be on the other side of it."

  The Kiktu veteran and the young demon exchanged, each in their alien way, the gestures of amusement.

  "Trust us, Rurroc," said Dzhenushkunutushen. "It is a lesson much better behind you than before you."

  "Much better," agreed Kokokda.

  The lesson began very quickly. Immediately following Nukurren's first command, which was that all the battle groups would accept several Utuku members.

  The command stirred up great outrage. All praise of the much-chanted Nukurren the Valiant vanished. And, though it did not vanish, the knowledge of Nukurren's prowess was drowned under a wave of indignation. These were warriors, after all, who loved their chants but did not, at bottom, take them too seriously.

  Three Kiktu warriors were especially vociferous in their displeasure; exchanging loud quips on the subject of pitiful, decrepit, tired, over-large, old, ugly, beaten-down, one-eyed sexual deviates. At Nukurren's command, Aktako gave them practice weapons. The warriors advanced boldly upon Nukurren, expressing great contempt at the use of toys.

  Very soon thereafter, two of them limped painfully back to their battle groups. The other did not recover consciousness for some time. Whereupon she too rejoined her battle group, and took her place alongside a former Utuku. Maintaining silence throughout.

  Soon, Nukurren was comfortably into the routine. It had been many eightyweeks since she had trained recruits, but it was something one did not forget.

  You are garbage beneath my peds. You are lower than worms. You are shit. You smell like shit. You look like shit.

  As the ranks began to take ragged form, Nukurren considered the formations she would shape them into.

  No, that's a lie! You smell worse than my shit. You look worse than my shit. And my shit is the smelliest, ugliest shit in the world. Do you know why? DO YOU KNOW WHY?

  She decided she would start with the basic structure of an Anshac legion, the division of the army into cohorts of triple-eight warriors.

  BECAUSE I AM NOT NUKURREN THE VALIANT. I do not know that nukurren. THAT IS SOME OTHER NUKURREN, the nukurren of your fantasies.

  Each cohort would be led by a . . .

  I am the real nukurren.

  No. We must use an Enagulishuc term.

  I AM NUKURREN THE CRUEL. NUKURREN THE MERCILESS.

  She motioned toward Dzhenushkunutushen. The young demon trotted toward her.

  NUKURREN THE VILE.

  "What is the Enagulishuc term for cohort leader?"

  The demon's face crunched. "I don't know, Nukurren."

  I AM THE shittiest gukuy who ever walked the Meat of the Clam.

  "Find out. Discuss it with Yosephadekunula. And with Inudiratoledo, if necessary. We must have clear ranks and structure."

  "Yes, Nuk—shutuppen."

  You will learn. Oh, yes—you will learn.

  As Dzhenushkunutushen moved away, Nukurren eyed him fondly.

  You will learn to hate me. And that is good.

  He has been a good friend.

  But you will learn something which is much, much, much more important.

  And he will become a truly great warrior, if I can beat some sense into him.

  You will learn to fear me.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Aktako. The Kiktu veteran looked at her, and made a small gesture of amusement.

  You will tremble when I fart.

  Aktako will be a great help. And, I think, also a friend.

  You will turn scarlet when I come near.

  For a moment, Nukurren pondered this strange new thing which had come into her life, this friendship. This wonderful new thing. But her attention was almost immediately diverted.

  You—I mean you, snail! What is your name?

  Although the Pilgrims, as a rule, were showing themselves more willing to accept Nukurren's commands than the tribespeople, still there were some—it was important to treat all gukuy equally, after all.

  WHAT IS YOUR NAME? You are offended? You dare to turn blue? Aktako—the flails!

  She concentrated a bit on the task while she thrashed the unlucky Pilgrim, but not much.

  Are there any more worms who dream of being snails?

  Comfortably back and forth, only half her mind on what she was doing. Routine requires little concentration.

  ANY?

  To her mild surprise, there was one. A young Opoktu. Quite good, too, Nukurren thought. After the Opoktu dragged herself back into the ranks, Nukurren told Aktako to find out her name. In a few eightdays, if she proved to be as intelligent as she was skillful, they would promote her.

&nbs
p; ANY MORE?

  She resumed her consideration of the army's structure. It was Anshac practice to divide the cohorts into eight groups of eighty warriors, but Nukurren had long thought such groups were awkward. Too large to be flexible; too small to have much impact.

  Any two? Any three?

  She decided she would adopt the ummun apalatunush as the first sub-division of the cohort. She had been impressed by their performance in the battle.

  Any four? ANY FIVE?

  The formations had been large enough to operate independently, yet Ludumilaroshokavashiki and Takashimidudzhugodzhi had been able to control their maneuvers with no difficulty.

  ANY SIX?

  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.

  THE END

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