Prophets of the Ghost Ants

by Clark Thomas Carlton

  A GROWING REPUTATION

  The ghost ants were running up and down a trunk route on Jatal-dozh’s east side with their bodies illuminated by moonlight. Anand and the messenger stood in the ants’ path and antennated one for food, which offered its regurgitation. Instead of eating, Anand and the messenger stepped onto its mandible, climbed up the head and made a speedy arrival at the mound’s upper chambers.

  “This way,” said the messenger as he slipped off the ant and climbed down its leg. Anand followed him in near darkness to what was obviously once the mound’s royal residence. They pulled themselves through the portal to find a sprawling gathering. The remains of a simple but abundant feast littered the floor. Officers were seated on rugs and eating dinner off of wort leaves.

  In the distance, the women sat at their own leaves. Though it was dark, Anand could see the females had none of the restraint their men had when it came to dress. The wives were clothed in the richest spoils of war, and each was clanking with jewelry. Their pendants made them stooped, their multiple nose rings distorted their nostrils, and heavy earrings of amber and pyrite stretched their lobes to their shoulders.

  The women’s voices were coarse and shrieking, but when the handsome man-boy entered, they quieted to admire him. A few of them had naturally pale, yellowish skin, which was left unpowdered. Others enhanced their color using powders of marigold. Light skin is valued everywhere, thought Anand.

  Anand roused admiration in some of the men as well who looked on him approvingly. Clad only in a loincloth, he stood with broad shoulders, a prominent chest, and his chin held high. He bent his toes inward to accentuate the bulk of his thighs. Pleckoo was eating with the other captains, slipping food under the rag about his face. Anand bowed his head, then made the gesture of esteeming.

  “Hulkro is all powerful,” said Anand, “and blessed is his Prophet, Commander Tahn.”

  The other officers returned the greeting.

  “Have you eaten, Quegdoth?” asked Pleckoo.

  “I have taken from the gullets of the ants.”

  “Enjoy some real food,” said Pleckoo. “Be seated. Forgive our poor lights, but we are so far from foraging places.”

  Anand sat at the leaf, aware that all eyes were on him. The men were silent as he looked at the food and found an abundance of ants’ eggs as transparent as the ghost queen that laid them. There was also a sun stew of greens and some shriveled leaf-cutter mushrooms. He reached for an egg and the greens.

  “Eat a mushroom, Quegdoth,” said Pleckoo. “Don’t you like them?”

  Anand hesitated. He realized mushrooms must be a delicacy, even exotic, to some of these men.

  “I . . . I have never eaten this kind of mushroom,” said Anand. “Only the stringy kind that grow like ears on the sides of trees.”

  “Eat one and grow stronger,” said a figure in darkness at the end of the platter. “For the army of Hulkro will march on these mushrooms.” The voice was rich and loud and filled the chamber with its authority.

  Anand picked up a mushroom and bit into it. He pretended to be disgusted.

  “Not to your liking?” said the voice.

  “No, sire. I am but a humble Tjamedi of a low caste who does not always appreciate the refinements of the privileged.”

  “Quegdoth, you are a blessed son of Hulkro,” said the voice. “Soon you shall live in the upper chambers of a conquered mound and eat what you please. You will dress your women and children in finery—and your slaves and concubines, too. Come here, boy, and sit beside me.”

  Anand rose and went to the voice. “Bring me a torch,” said the figure to a slave girl. She removed one of the few from a wall. The figure rose and used the torch to examine Anand’s face.

  “How many summers have you seen?” he asked.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen! Hulkro has blessed you with many gifts, my son, many of which you demonstrated on the field today. Not the least of your gifts is this capacity for learning our language.”

  Anand looked at the man’s heavy face and then saw his great belly, which flapped over his crotch. He was one of the few Hulkrites that was overfed. His face had the smugness of a Slopeish royal but his gestures were less refined. Anand thought he saw yellowish skin through the cracks of the man’s paint.

  “Whom am I speaking with, sire?” asked Anand, his heart thumping. Was this the Prophet of the Hulkrites?

  “I am Edgeth, a second cousin of the Prophet.”

  Anand started to prostrate himself when Edgeth scoffed.

  “No need for that, Quegdoth. We prostrate ourselves before the Termite and no other. I think it is best you meet my cousin. The Prophet is in need of clever young men to lead his warriors . . . especially men from lands we wish to liberate someday.”

  “I live to serve Hulkro,” Anand said, “and should like to call myself a Hulkrite soon.”

  “Then you are. For the time being, you shall live here in Jatal-dozh. You are no longer a recruit but a warrior of the One True God. Pleckoo has asked we make you a lieutenant and will conduct your conversion ceremony in the morning. We have prepared quarters for you, Lieutenant Quegdoth.”

  Anand smiled. Promotions were rapid in this army.

  “You will find a torch there and a comely slave girl. She has been bathed and perfumed, so enjoy her. As she refuses to accept Hulkro as her god, she will not be with us after tomorrow.”

  “My deep thanks,” said Anand, but he wondered why he was offered this gift. Perhaps Edgeth, whose age and corpulence would prevent him from enjoying intercourse, would spy on Anand for the chance to live through him. Or perhaps, they want to make sure I can father children.

  “In a few days you will depart for the capital mound for an audience with Tahn the Prophet.”

  “A thousand thanks,” said Anand, bowing his head. He trembled with excitement. His only worry was that things were going a bit too well. Before crawling through the portal, Anand turned and looked at the men, bowing in respect. He saw Edgeth whispering in Pleckoo’s ear—was that suspicion he saw in their faces as they watched him crawl out? He was not sure.

  Anand was led to what had long ago been the chambers of a merchant. The rooms stank from a fresh coat of shellac and there was no furniture save the flat sack stuffed with rags that the Hulkrites used for a mattress. Still, it was far more comfortable than a bed of sand under a leaf tent. The mattress even had a blanket, albeit a crude one, of chewed egg-cloth. Under it was a very sad girl. The room was too well lit, with several torches spaced around the bedroom which confirmed Anand’s suspicions that he was being spied on through holes in a wall.

  “Please, stand,” said Anand and the girl rose, slow as the sunrise, avoiding his eyes. Her skin was yellowish with brown freckles.

  “Turn around, please,” said Anand. She did so with reluctance. Anand’s breathing increased as he saw the twin globes of her buttocks. His rapture fled when he saw the incisions at her calves. She had been hamstrung and the scars were only freshly healed. A wave of pity came over him and he slumped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You may lie down.”

  He knew it was painful for her to stand. She looked at him in disdain, then crawled over the bed with her rump held high, waiting for him to take her from behind.

  “I hope you’ll be quick,” she said.

  “Not like this. Please. I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

  “What?” she said, and turned to stare at him.

  “Please. Lie down,” he said, and she watched in astonishment as he picked up the blanket and neatly laid it over her. Once she was covered, he removed his boots and loincloth and joined her.

  “What is your name?” he whispered.

  “Durelma,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

  “Where are you from? Whisper to me.”

  “I am a Slopeite, from the mound of Palzhad.”

  He reached for her and felt her cold yet sweaty skin.

  “You have no reason to fear me,” he sai
d in Slopeish. “My name is . . . Vof.” He had almost said his real name. She might be a spy and her hamstrung condition might have been a tragic yet clever disguise.

  “You speak Slopeish, but you are not from the Slope,” she said.

  “I am from the land of Tjamed, very far to the east. A journey of a hundred days,” said Anand.

  “Why are you so less brutal?” she asked, her upper-caste arrogance returning.

  “Less brutal than whom? Slopeites are as brutal as Hulkrites. Their ruling goddess is Mantis. They war to feed her human blood. And their royals rape the common people.”

  “The gods command us to war.”

  “No, sister. Your priests command you.”

  “You don’t sound like a Hulkrite at all,” she said and turned away from him.

  Anand turned her to look in her eyes. He placed his arm over her and pulled his body, warm as summer sand, against her own. She seemed unsure at first, but then he felt her relax and accept his warmth.

  “Are you going to violate me?” she asked. She could feel his hardened sex throbbing against her.

  “No. I do not wish to violate you even though you are an idolater,” said Anand, playing the Hulkrite. “I wish no harm to any human as I wish no human to harm me. I place myself inside the bodies of others only when they permit me to do so,” he said, drawing on the Dranverites’ code.

  Durelma was stunned into quiet.

  “For my own survival, we need to look like we are making love, though,” he whispered in her ear. “I know they are watching us and testing me.”

  “What do I care if you survive?”

  “Because we can save each other. I know they plan to kill you.”

  “What? When?”

  “Tomorrow, but I know how you can save yourself.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her fist.

  “Keep crying,” he said, “till you’ve no more tears.” She found herself suddenly comforted and turned to look at him, searching his eyes and wanting to trust.

  “Were you married?” he asked.

  “I was. I watched as they killed my husband—lopped his head off, then kicked it around the room like a toy.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Not at first.”

  “Can you close your eyes, think of me as him?”

  She was quiet, blinking, lost in a memory.

  “What did he do that you liked?” Anand asked.

  “His . . . tongue,” she said and lay on her back.

  “Yes,” said Anand, smiling as he recalled his golden afternoons with Jidla. “Do you invite me to do that?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Anand slid out from under the blanket and used his tongue in a soft attack, determined to give her the tenderest experience. Her body shook as he used the raised buds at the back of his tongue on the ceiling of her vault. Only after her hands eased their grip on his hair did he move from where he was.

  “Listen to me,” he said, climbing over her, and pulling the blanket over them as he whispered. “I will stay on top of you, pretending to be inside. Act as if I am inside and cry out, as if in pain or in joy.”

  “All right,” she said.

  As Anand thrust above her, Durelma began a rhythmic crying.

  “Good,” he whispered. “Now shake your head, back and forth.”

  Anand pretended to climax and decided it was better to do it quietly than make a loud show of it.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, and kissed her cheek before rolling to her side. She looked at him, mystified.

  “Why didn’t you just—like these other demons, who . . .”

  “Because I am not a demon,” Anand whispered. “In the morning, I will tell you how to save yourself. Sleep well.”

  When the sun came up, he woke and saw Durelma’s back was turned to him. He tapped her shoulder and she flinched.

  “Listen,” he said, turning her to face him and locking her eyes. “This very morning, you must make a show of accepting the Hulkrites’ god. If your gods are as merciful as you claim, they will understand when you pretend to worship the Termite.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said, and looked away.

  “This morning, to save your life,” he whispered, “you must tell the slave master that Hulkro came to you in a dream, welcomed you into his six arms, and accepted your pledge to abandon all other idols.”

  He hurriedly tied on his loin cloth, watching as she buried her face in the mattress and cried. “Perhaps they should just take my life,” she said.

  “The world belongs to those who wait for their moment. Just say the words,” Anand said after he tied on his antennae. “‘I accept Hulkro as my one and only god.’”

  But she just shook her head, avoided making eye contact with him, then limped back to the slaves’ quarters.

  A few evenings later, an initiate was going through the conversion ritual that Anand had just completed. Although he enjoyed engaging in deceptions, he did not enjoy his guise as a worshipper of Hulkro. The Hulkrites were genocidal rapists with no capacity for mercy, but their religious ceremonies had a sweetness that was sickening.

  Anand had detested the plodding rites of the Cajorite priests but now he realized they were worthy spectacles with an impressive gravity. Slopeish sacred music was grim, but executed by skilled musicians. By contrast, the Hulkrites had simple rituals and their music was a folksy affair, composed for participation by the masses. As Anand entered the cathedral with Pleckoo and the other officers, the “Friendship” song was repeated until all were seated.

  Welcome, welcome

  Show the sign,

  Friends of Hulkro

  Are friends of mine.

  Anand made “the sign” to his neighbors, an imitation of termite antennae, made by wiggling the forefingers over the eyes. Termite antennae were short and curly, and when a worshipper made the sign, he shut his eyes to suggest the insect’s blindness to skin color.

  Anand sat on a bench in the men’s section of the reconstructed cathedral. Where a hundred idols once stood, there was now a slice of wood with a termite track to suggest Hulkro’s presence. The warriors next to Anand picked up his hands and raised them to sway as they sang.

  When the seats were filled, a warrior-preacher, The Robertsah Patezh, stood on the altar in a sheer gown that revealed his armor and weapons underneath. Anand had learned the Patezh was not a priest who interceded between men and Hulkro. His name in Hulkrish meant “The Called Upon” and he was known to be “drunk in the spirit of the Termite.” His smile was constant but looked to Anand like something false, like an object he glued to his face each day.

  “Welcome soldiers of Hulkro-uh,” sang The Called Upon. His accent was typical of the mounds to the south of Zarren-dozh, with a short vowel attached to the end of every phrase. “Joy be upon you in our holy war-uh. Joy be upon those we liberate-uh. Let us throw up our hands and praise almighty Hulkro-uh, for one who was lost is now found-uh. Praise Hulkro-uh — for she will be reborn-uh!”

  Anand turned to watch as six women carried a cocoon down the aisle and set it before the altar. A knife poked through the top and the new convert freed herself and stepped out. She was slow to rise and it pained her to stand. Anand recognized Durelma. She was sobbing as she stood before The Called Upon, who opened his arms to rock her in his embrace. The congregation sang:

  She needs Hulkro like we all do

  She surrenders to His will

  She loves Hulkro like we all do

  For Hulkro, she would kill, kill, kill.

  The Called Upon stepped away and Durelma knelt before the piece of wood. She threw up her arms and prayed aloud. “Take me, Great Termite, I give all that I am to Thee.”

  Two young men with termite wings on their backs stepped onto the altar and lowered a garment over Durelma’s shoulders. It was sewn from termite cocoons and covered with wood dust. A young warrior brought a freshly hatched termite larva to the altar. The termite was soft and white with no st
rength. Its little fat legs writhed like individual maggots. The Called Upon took the hatchling and raised it to the heavens.

  “Mighty Hulkro-uh, when we were starving and abandoned in the Dustlands, Thou gave us Thy countless daughters so that we might eat-uh. We praise Thee and consecrate this termite to Thy name-uh.” The Called Upon lowered the termite to mouth level, bit into its head, then chewed and swallowed.

  “Arise, Durelma, partake of Hulkro’s sacrifice!”

  She rose and bit into the larva, grimacing as she tasted its turpentine. As Anand knew from his own ceremony, she would immediately be plunged into a lucid drunkenness.

  “Arise, all, and welcome a new Hulkrite-uh!”

  The congregation arose, stamped their feet, and began another hymn. The larva was hurled into the crowd and torn into bits. Its lymph was smeared on faces. Its flesh was eaten and intoxicated the worshippers. Other larvae were brought in so all could eat and imbibe the spirit.

  Durelma, supported by two other women, joined the others in an endless dance around the pews. The men danced in the other direction. Anand joined the dance, and at one point, when the worshippers jammed in a corner, he brushed against Durelma and caught her eye. She did not look away from him, but nodded in a way that acknowledged a secret camaraderie.

  Afterwards, Anand left for Zarren-dozh on a train of ghost ants that traveled with speed at night. The essence of the termite he had bitten gave color and intensity to his thoughts. The primary thought was a question that buzzed in his brain like a mob of blowflies:

  How should I prepare for a meeting with Commander Tahn, Prophet of the One and Only God?

  The soldiers of the ant train were deferential to Anand and prepared his tent and food. They stopped for fresh ants at several mounds in various states of reconstruction. These other Hulkrish mounds were much the same as Jatal-dozh. The inhabitants were warriors with multiple wives and the women’s only occupation was the ordering about of sickly slaves. The outdoor slaves were hamstrung males who carried out drudgeries under overseers who snapped their whips.

  Anand had been given a helmet to wear with an amber carving of a termite at the end of a central antenna. The sight of the carving commanded respect from all who passed him and nearly everyone asked him to extend their regards to the Prophet. They proffered their chips of quartz and pyrite for the Holy War Fund, which filled several sacks.