The king wanted to resist this melancholy. After all, he was the ruler of a new race. His heart should be light. But he was plagued by many frustrating questions. Questions that he feared to ask the Mother. Questions that seemed impudent to ask. Why was he burdened with so much knowledge? Why could he not be oblivious to truths like so many of his people.
The doubts that caused these questions to arise within him filled him with guilt. Oh why did the Mother choose him to be king? What did he have to give his people? If he was honest with himself, he ruled over a patch of swampland. His people were diverse and varied and full of promise, but they had nothing to aspire to. The only thing they had of value was the job of protecting the goddess who had made them.
A tall form suddenly loomed over him, silhouetted against the brightening sky. The king wasn’t startled. Its human-like eyes glowed slightly to the king’s trollish eye and he could tell by its scent that it was the First.
“She births,” said the First in his raspy voice.
“Good,” said the Troll King, his head perking up. The Great Mother gave birth but once a day, usually at the break of dawn. This was the best part of the king’s day. This was the time when he received new subjects. “Do you think this will be a good day?”
The First shrugged. “It will be as the Mother wills it.”
“I suppose,” replied the king, though he knew that wasn’t necessarily the case.
He rose from his position sitting on the thick clump of grass and stood upright. The others of his people saw him rise and stood along with him, eagerly awaiting the daily spectacle. They watched as a slimy mound rose from the brackish water in front of them. The mound was a splotchy green and glistened with the slime that coated its surface.
“Ready yourselves!” the king commanded. He waved his clawed left arm and three of his largest subjects strode forward.
These were his cullers. He had chosen them for their strength and vicious claws and for their restraint. These three could resist the hunger better than most. The biggest of them was a male with a strong human-like jaw and bulky arms. The other two were females, one a misshapen mix of troll and dwarf, the other part orc.
The Mother’s womb increased in size until it towered over them. An opening appeared in its side as the womb opened, stretching wider until it was the size of a large cave entrance. The quiet of the morning was broken by a chorus of screeches.
The first to emerge was a yowling mass of slime and fur. It darted from the entrance, trying to run past them and escape, but like most of the Mother’s newborns, it was awkward, unused to the movements and capabilities of its body. It stumbled and the largest of the king’s cullers grasped it by the neck. He lifted it into the air and wrapped his other arm around its waist. He stood behind it, keeping the bulk of his body away from its flailing limbs.
The king approached this newest creation of the Mother and sized it up. The creature was a mix of troll and swamp cat. Bristling fur covered its upper half, while its lower half was smooth and hairless. Its head was that of a cat, except for trollish beady eyes and mouth full of needlelike teeth. From the acrid smell of the slime that dripped from it, the Troll King could tell that this one was flammable.
It let out a yowling screech and twisted in the culler’s grip, trying to break free. The long retractable claws on its rear legs tore long grooves in the culler’s legs. He grunted, but did not let go. He was a fast healer and the wounds would close quickly.
The king reached out with his right arm and placed his human-like hand against the creature’s chest. He pushed through the coating of slime on its skin until his palm touched its skin. A signal passed between them and it calmed as it recognized him on an instinctual level. Yes, this one knew him as its king. But he looked into its eyes and saw very little intelligence there.
Their shared touch communicated more information to him. The king now knew that the creature had the ability to heal quickly, but it would not regenerate lost limbs and it would not self duplicate. It wasn’t a threat to the rest of his people, but the king wasn’t sure how useful it would be to his people.
“Set it down,” he commanded. The culler did so, bending and letting the creature’s feet touch the ground. The animal started but did not try to get away. “Let go of it.”
This was the deciding moment for this creature. Would it join the rest of the king’s subjects? The culler released the beast and stepped back. The creature looked up at the king, then growled and ran away, slinking into the grasses. The culler started to chase after it, but the king called out, stopping him. Though the cat-thing was not willing to obey him, it was still one of the Mother’s children. He would let it find its own way.
The king moved on to the next of the cullers. This one was the part-dwarf female. She was one of his shorter subjects at just under six feet tall and had a wispy beard on her slime coated face. She had latched onto another newborn. This one was fat and short with a pig-like head and had long streams of saliva pouring from its open mouth. It was squealing and trying to bite the culler.
It had already bitten her once. A large chunk of flesh had been torn from her muscular shoulder. Blood spurted out but the wound was quickly closing. She was one of those that could regenerate.
“It is a bad one, k-king,” she said to him.
Her voice was slurred and hard to understand because of the many rows of sharp teeth that filled her mouth. The king had spent some time with this one and knew how much she hated the sound of her own voice.
“I shall see if it is bad.” The king leaned forward and looked into the creature’s face. Human eyes looked back at him, but they were mad eyes, filled with the hunger. It seemed the culler was right, but the king tried anyway.
He stuck out his right hand. The creature flailed at him, but the culler held it tight and the claws on its stubby legs could not reach him. His palm touched the creature and he sent it a commanding message. It refused to calm down, continuing to squeal and flail.
He absorbed more information about the beast. Its slime was not flammable, a useful trait, but this creature had only a scrap of human soul and its mind was not strong enough to process its higher instincts. This one would see its kindred people as food. In addition, it had the ability to regenerate and duplicate. If it was cut in two, it would live on, becoming two identical creatures. That made it a true danger to his people.
“You were right. This one must be culled,” he announced.
“Shall I break-k its neck-ck?” she asked, then added hopefully, “C-can we eat it?”
The king thought about it and the hunger rose within him. Eating it could work. The acids in their stomachs would dissolve the creature faster than it could regenerate. But they would have to eat it all. If they left even one bone behind it could have enough regenerative energy to grow another creature.
He pushed the hunger away. “No. We must give it back to the Mother.”
“I . . . Yes, k-king,” she said, her voice disappointed.
“I shall call forth her mouth.” The king knelt at the edge of the grassy island and plunged his long clawed arm into the slime-tainted waters of the swamp. The waters were warm, the result of the Mother’s body being so close to the surface. The tip of one of his claws pierced her skin and he submitted a short prayer.
The water bulged and the king stepped back. An enormous mouth surged out of the water, and opened up, revealing a gaping maw full of rows of wicked teeth. A long tentacle-like tongue with a clawed tip rose from inside. It waved in the air menacingly.
“Feed it to her,” he told the culler.
The part-dwarf stepped forward and heaved the pig thing towards the Mother’s reaching mouth. Unfortunately, the creature was heavier than she expected. It fell short, clutching at the grass as it squealed in panic. It gathered its legs under it and tried to run, but it was useless. There was no running from a god.
The Mother’s tongue darted out and pierced the creature’s torso, spearing through its ribcage and
coming out the other side. The pig thing struggled as the Mother’s tongue hoisted it into the air and pulled it back into her open mouth. The squealing thing disappeared inside and the Mother’s maw slammed shut before sinking back into the swamp.
“What does the Mother do with it?” the culler asked as the mouth disappeared.
The king cocked his head at the part dwarf female. This one was smart. Asking questions was not a common trait of his subjects. He placed his right hand on her shoulder. “The Mother will take it apart and use it to make another. Perhaps the next one will be good.”
She nodded in acceptance and he found a smile curling the human side of his face as he turned his attention back to the work. He hoped to find more good subjects like her. With enough people like this culler, he could turn the Mother’s children into a great nation.
This dream wasn’t to happen this morning, though. Eight more of the Mother’s children were birthed. Three of them were as wild as the cat thing and were released into the swamp to fend for themselves. Two more were insane from the hunger and non responsive to the king. These ones did not have the ability to regenerate, so the king allowed the cullers to kill them and set them aside to be eaten.
Only two of the children were worthy of joining his subjects. These ones were part human and able to conquer their hunger. As all the Mother’s new children were, they were confused and frightened, but they had strong souls and recognized him as their king right away. He eagerly welcomed them into his people.
The last of the births that morning was the worst one. The king could hear the pained screeches coming from within the Mother’s womb and he had to send his cullers in after it. The creature they pulled out had been born in misery. It was barely recognizable as troll or human. Two of its limbs were tiny and shriveled. Its face was a mangled mess and half of its organs had grown on the outside of its body.
The king had stood over its trembling body and looked down on it in pity. The one eye that could see was beautiful with a green iris and it looked up at him pleadingly. He reached out and held the beating heart that bulged from its chest.
This one had a human soul. It knew who he was. Tears streamed from the king’s eyes as he called again for the Mother’s mouth. He gave the creature back to her and prayed that it would be reborn again with a stronger body.
The part dwarf culler saw the tears on his face and asked, “Why does the Mother send us so few useable ones, my k-king?”
The king thought about how to answer her question. He had to be careful. The minds of his subjects were fragile. Their faith in the Mother was one of the few things that kept them sane.
“The Mother is ancient and wise, but her children are not. We are weak. We are not wise.” He sent his arm out in a sweeping gesture taking in the swampland. “This world is given to us, but we must overcome the hunger inside us if we are to serve her. Those of us that do not survive our first day are those that could not overcome their weakness.”
She looked out at the swampland with something akin to disappointment, then turned her gray eyes on him and nodded slowly. “Why does the Mother not make us perfec-ct?”
The king blinked back at her. Of all of his people, only he and the First knew the reality of their existence. The Mother was an old god, but she was new at making children in this way. Because of this newness, she was making a lot of mistakes.
Today had been one of her bad days, but usually the Mother did better. The king’s subjects had grown from a few dozen to over a hundred in the short time since his birth. He was confident that by throwing the worst of these mistakes back to the Mother, she would learn. It might take some time, but eventually, all of her children would be perfect.
The king yearned to tell this culler the truth. She was one of the closest to perfect among his people. If not for her misshapen mouth, she would even have been beautiful. He opened his mouth to tell her, but stopped as he realized that too many of the others were listening. Over a dozen of his subjects had gathered to hear their conversation.
The king revised what he was going to say. Each of the Mother’s children had been born with an innate predisposition to serve her but, just like the king had been, they were also born with the knowledge that they were deformed. Many of them still wept at their reflections in the water. He could not acknowledge to his people that the Mother made errors. Gods were not meant to be fallible.
What he said was, “We are not meant to be perfect. The Mother does not wish for perfection. She wants only to be served.”
“But how are we to best serve the Mother if we are not perfec-ct?” the culler asked.
“We serve her by . . .” The king realized that he did not know. He looked around at all of the listeners. Their number had grown as more gathered round. They were all looking at him expectantly.
He looked to the First for help with the answer. The troll with the human eyes and mouth was the oldest of them and the smartest. Surely he would know. But the First said nothing. He only gave the king an encouraging nod.
There was only one thing for the king to do. He raised his voice and addressed all of them. “Shall I ask the Mother what she wants of us?”
“Yes!” cried several of his subjects. “Ask the Mother!”
They watched with eagerness as he knelt by the edge of the water and dipped his trollish hand through the film of slime floating at the surface. The pores of his skin opened up, releasing a chemical message into the water, then he sat back and raised his hands into the air.
“Speak with me, Mother, I plead!” he shouted. The verbal part was unnecessary. He had done that for his people’s benefit. The chemicals that he had released carried his prayer. The water stirred in response to his summons and the people hissed, excited to discover their god’s message.
What happened next was different from the rising of the Mother’s mouth or womb. A slender cylindrical form rose from the water. It was long and green and neck-like with a pulsating lump of pink tissue on top. It waved over them, then bent and descended towards the king.
A hush fell over the assembled people. This was a holy moment. Many among the people could call forth one of her mouths, but the ability to commune with the Mother’s mind was something given to the king alone.
Keeping his arms outstretched, the king bowed his head in readiness to receive the Mother’s wishes. The center of the pink flesh opened up as it approached the top of his head. Multiple rows of white fangs ringed the inside of the opening and reached for his flesh. Then it sank over him, covering his head and stopping at his shoulders.
The king did not panic as his head was enveloped and his face pierced by the teeth of the Mother’s mind. He had done this once before. There would be no need for him to breathe or see while he was communing with her and the pain was easy to ignore, knowing that his flesh would heal. He relaxed instead and opened up his mind to her.
What he felt from her right away was a vague sense of curiosity. What did her servant want of her? The Mother’s mind was unlike others. She knew so much; saw so much more than he could fathom, but she did not communicate with words. She used chemicals from within her body to give him impressions.
The king did his best to project to her what he wanted. His list of questions for her was long, mainly dealing with her wishes for the future. But within those questions was a more deep seated concern. Her children were strong, but they all had a weakness. They hated their existence. They protected the Mother and obeyed them only because they were predisposed to. Sooner or later that wouldn’t be enough. They needed something more.
Her response wasn’t what he expected. The Mother didn’t give him specific answers. After all, so many of his questions were small and petty to a being as vast as she was and she expected her king to figure such things out for himself. Instead, she presented him with a broad sweeping vision. He saw what she wanted from her children and for her children. As the king understood, he saw that he had a great work ahead of him.
Their communion las
ted most of the day. The king knelt there unmoving, his arms slack at his sides, his head consumed by the Mother. His servants, led by the First, prostrated themselves in prayer to their goddess, pleading for answers to the questions that plagued them. Finally, with a soft sucking sound, the Mother released the king and her neck-like stalk sank back into the water.
The king slowly rose and turned to face his subjects, the wounds in his face quickly healing. He understood something more clearly now. As he looked down on his people and saw their disfigured pleading faces, he knew what they needed. They needed an identity.
“I know what the Mother wants of us!” he cried, raising his arms in exultation.
“What is that, oh king?” asked the First.
He smiled at them, knowing that doing so twisted the trollish side of his face horribly. It did not matter. This was a moment for joy. “She wishes for us to live. The Mother wants us to thrive!”
“But how?” asked the half-dwarf culler. The look on her face was pained. “How c-can c-creatures like us thrive?”
The king turned to her, feeling pity wash over him at her agony. “Do you wish to have a name, culler?”
“A name?” she asked, frowning. “I am . . . just a c-culler. A servant of my k-king and the Mother.”
“Yes you are, but you are more than that.” He swept his arm out in a wide gesture, taking all of his people in. “We all are!” He focused back on the culler once more. “The Mother loves you. She wants your happiness. You have importance.”
The culler blinked in surprise at this statement. “The Mother ‘loves’ me?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “And she finds you beautiful. All of us are beautiful in the Mother’s mind.”
“But . . .” she said hesitantly as she touched her face. “Look-k at us. We are part troll. How c-can she find that beautiful?”
The Ogre Apprentice Page 16
