by Chris Capps
wandering in sickness, sharing it between them. And they’re our problem now. Our troubles are multiplying.”
He was looking at a piece of paper he had pinned to the wall. It was the pyramid of rats, the mathematical principle Euclid had offered to explain how the Plexis had been built. Exponential growth. He stared at it now uneasily, agonizing over some mystery hidden in the future. He continued, “I don’t want them to die. I just don’t want them here. This place is ours.”
The next morning the Thakka Cluster returned. Their dead had been consumed by some mysterious ritual somewhere out of sight. And now they stood in a line of nearly a hundred in front of the Plexis’ front door. The door, rare as it was, happened to be closed that morning.
Thunfir and I were on Floor 19 making small talk shortly before the line spilled over the horizon. I sat and he stood staring out at the rising sun casting shadows on the hill.
“That’s what will be the death of us, Ebon,” Thunfir said pointing with one hand and sipping his coffee with the other. I had been drawing a thread and needle through a ripped jacket, but his gesture effectively summoned my eyes to the window. Out from it I could see the line approaching, their many mouths open from the long chant they were now singing.
“Nothing we can do,” I said, “Not unless you want to force them out.”
“I do,” Thunfir said banging his fist softly against the window so that it vibrated, “But I won’t. They fought well yesterday. And whether we needed them or not, we had a deal.”
“I made the deal,” I said.
“Given what we were working with at the time, I tend to think it was the right choice. No, I don’t doubt that it would be right to let them in. I just fear what we will become, living next to them.” Thunfir‘s voice was strained, but not without hope. He turned and stroked his rough cotton-like beard between two dirty fingers and he added, “But if there are problems, I suppose we still outnumber them.”
They were almost at the front doors to the building, so we descended to meet them. When we did, the blind Thakka Cluster matriarch was perched atop a throne litter being carried by six of her attendants on long poles. She held up her right hand and clasped her thumb to the small and ring fingers. Her other two long and slender fingers were upright, close together and standing straight. The gesture meant nothing to me, though it may have been some form of benediction to the Thakka. Her blindfold was, as always, obscuring her eyes.
With explosive gunfire tracing bullets into the sky behind them, and with the thrumming dirge of their fallen comrades still on their red and wet lips, the parade came to halt in front of the steel trellised door. Thunfir and I arrived on the other side, staring through the cage at the hundreds of armed Thakka cultists. Thunfir looked over at the entrance controller, a thin man leaning uneasily against the wall and staring into the sea of blue lines under hardened eyes.
“Open the gate,” Thunfir said in a booming voice with his palms upturned, “Let them in.” With a loud whir, the steel portcullis of the Plexis lifted and the sliding glass doors opened. Thunfir walked out, hands raised in a sign of peace to meet the Thakka Cluster. One of the Matriarch’s attendants was leaning close to her ear, whispering something into it.
“Thunfir,” the Matriarch said from her throne, “I understand why Ebon approached us without weapons. He was our prisoner. But why do you insult us in this fashion?”
“Insult you?” Thunfir said, taken aback, “No insult was intended. I approach you in friendship. We don’t need weapons around our allies, because we don’t attack them.”
“We do,” the Matriarch said lowering her hand. She let the burning bundle of leaves fall from her fingertips to the ground and the grey eyed tribesman I recognized from my first encounter with the tribe strode forward, stamping the burning bundle under bare foot.
It was Thurrus, the man whose face had first emerged from the throat of a wolf. He stared harshly at Thunfir holding a scavenged rifle from the dead army of the spider city. Handing the rifle carefully to one of his apparent subordinates, he walked up to Thunfir so that their noses nearly touched, and in a flash - struck him hard against the side of his head.
Thunfir staggered backward once, before turning back and punching Thurrus in the face. Their arms locked, hand to elbow as they struggled in odd silence. Someone from the Thakka Cluster side called out,
“Kill him, Thurrus!”
Thurrus seemed eager to oblige, driving his head forward and smashing it against Thunfir’s skull. The old frontiersman leaned backward, his woven beard trailing his massive form as he almost tumbled to the ground. He was dazed, swaying heavily on massive boots.
A line of armed Thakka cultists had marched in front of the Plexis entrance grabbing any who attempted to rush in to help Thunfir, goading them back with oozing and bladed polearms and pointed rifles. It was the look in their eyes most of all that kept us back. It was desperate, ready to die. ‘Give us any reason,’ those eyes said, ‘any reason to kill you.’
Thunfir’s hand burst forward, connecting his fist to his rival’s face so that muddy crimson now flowed freely from Thurrus’ nose, eroding the thick landscape of dirt that had accumulated. From the circle now gathering around the two, hands reached from between bodies and grabbed Thunfir’s tree trunk of an arm, hands too strong for him to rip free. He curled his lip, changing tactics to elbow his captor in the face and sent two men cascading to the ground.
More hands now emerged from the swirling chaos of the crowd, clutching Thunfir’s coat and holding him in place. Thurrus had recovered from his spill and quickly darted his hand out to smash Thunfir’s face. Again the next hand moved over and pummeled him. Thunfir, leaning backward into the hands clutching him, kicked with both feet and sent Thurrus back. More men were piling on, grabbing his hair and projecting fist after fist against his bulky torso.
He disappeared in the swirling crowd, and I looked in shock from the spectacle before us up to the Matriarch. Though blind, she knew precisely what was happening. Fulfilling some unknown sacrament, she traced her hand across her face and gently kissed her own fingertips. I could hear Thunfir’s bellowing war-cry from beneath the writhing crowd. It broke briefly, irregularly with each fist, so that he was being played much like a drum under the savage hands beating him.
And then, following some unseen signal, working as a single creature, the crowd stopped and stood around him, looking down. With the conflict over, I managed to push my way through the crowd and lean down to Thunfir.
He was blinking, opening and closing his mouth with a trembling uncertainty. His eyes were unfocused, twitching all around him and rolling back into his head. I leaned down and examined the many abrasions eating into his face. They were bad, but not enough to kill him. The real danger was the concussion he had clearly suffered. I stood, stared at the Matriarch. Her purple lips were twisted, peeled back in an inexplicable and ecstatic gratitude.
The parade filed past me, hundreds of faces blankly staring at me cradling Thunfir’s bleeding head as the dining hall swelled with their numbers. When the Matriarch reached the door, special care was taken to ensure her litter didn’t accidentally knock against the edges of the doors as the girth of her throne was carried through. Inside I could hear wails of delight as the Thakka Cluster feasted their eyes on the bounty they had won.
Thunfir’s eyes were still rolling around in his head, rattling as if something vital had been dislodged during his beating. I held his head, ignoring the blood staining my hands as I whispered to him.
“Don’t let them see you die,” I said. His eyes were still unfocused, rolling between me and the brilliant blue sky beyond, “I need you alive.”
Coughing heavily, the blood stained edges of the old man’s beard pulled upward as he looked past my head into the sky. For only a moment his eyes seemed fixated on something, focused on some unknown feature hidden in the unexplored blue of day. His bruised arm raised from the ground and he poin
ted up, past me. His mouth was moving again, cluttering sounds together in something almost resembling speech. Finally, with the smile draining from his face, he nodded with his eyes still above me. His breaths were short, sharp, and he whispered,
“Do you see it?”
“What is it?” I asked, tearing my eyes from his broken face and looking up into the blue sky above, “What do you see?” He swallowed hard, stifling a cough and spattering blood from his nose across his upper lip,
“Incredible.”
There was nothing in the sky. His eyes glazed over and he lost consciousness, slumping back against my hands and breathing shallowly. Soon a shadow was spilling over us, joined by another. Silhouetted by the sun both Crassus and Euclid arrived, looking down on our fallen tribe’s leader. A few others, partially to escape the rancorous howls and laughter erupting within the Plexis had come out to check on Thunfir.
“Help me,” I said, “Help me get him inside.”
Together six of us lifted the old man, gripping him beneath his back and letting his arms hang slack beside him. As we moved from the hot sun to the cooler doorway of the Plexis entrance, suddenly the howling congregation of the Thakka Cluster fell very silent, and very still.
I let my eyes roam the room wildly, noticing the men and
