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Dragons notwithstanding.
‘Ease up the pace, Garelko! You will rush us to our deaths!’
Garelko’s whiskered lips stretched into a grin … that just as quickly faded. Oh, such ill-chosen words!
* * *
‘I would have preferred a simpler path,’ muttered K’rul. ‘A modest step on to the withered plain, flanked by hills, and before us the tall poles surmounted with skulls, to mark the Jhelarkan claim to the territory. A week’s journey north of that, and we find ourselves in the place we sought.’
Skillen Droe shifted slightly, his neck twisting as he looked back upon K’rul. ‘The Jheleck would not welcome me.’
‘Oh, them too? What have you done to earn their enmity? In fact, is there anyone who would actually welcome you, Skillen Droe?’
The giant winged reptile tilted his head, considering, and then said, ‘None come to mind, but I will give it more thought.’
K’rul rubbed at his neck, where the bruises remained from when his companion had lifted him into the air. He studied the scene before them, and then sighed. ‘I wonder, is it your imagination, or mine, that conjures up worlds such as this one? Or do I reveal the flaw of conceit?’
‘If such landscapes are the products of your mind, or mine, K’rul, then conceit is the least of our worries.’
In the basin before them sprawled a city, so vast it climbed every slope, with a heavy cloud of dust shrouding the entire valley. Spires towered above angular tenements and what seemed to be public buildings, monumental in a solid, belligerent style. There were causeways spanning the gaps between the spires, and a vast gridwork of canals in which clear water flowed, with ornate bridges precisely placed at intervals, linking each district.
What jarred the eye were the city’s scale and the seething press of denizens crawling upon every available surface. Not a single spire was taller than K’rul himself, and the denizens were insects. Ants, perhaps, or termites, or some other such hive-dwelling creature.
‘I foresee difficulties crossing it,’ K’rul said. ‘Without, that is, leaving ruin in our wake. I think,’ he added, ‘we’ll need the use of your wings.’
‘It is the way of such insects,’ said Droe, ‘to ignore anything and everything, until that thing in some way disturbs them. Occupied as they are with more immediate endeavours, scurrying about on their rounds. The exigencies of survival, status, cooperation and such consume their entire existence.’
K’rul considered Droe’s observations, and then grunted and said, ‘But are there malcontents among them, I wonder? Plotters seeking freedom from their daily travail: that miserable crawl from birth to death? With heavy boots and careless steps, we could be the scourge of gods down there, and from our passage cults will rise in the years to follow, as memories blur and twist. Vengeful or indifferent? All a matter of interpretation.’
‘You imagine this as more than a simple illusion of civilization, K’rul? Are these insects in possession of written records? Histories and compilations? Literature?’
‘Droe, I see sculptures, there in the central plaza. There are artisans among them. Surely, there must be poets, too? And philosophers and inventors. Historians and politicians – all the natural pairings of professionals who, in the end, prove to be sworn enemies of one another.’
‘A curious notion, K’rul,’ said Droe. ‘Philosophers and inventors as enemies of one another? I beg you, explain this.’
K’rul shrugged. ‘The inventor possesses a lust for creation, but rarely if ever thinks of unintended consequences to whatever is invented. In answering a dilemma of functionality, or pursuing the dubious reward of efficiency, changes arrive to a society, and often they prove overwhel
ming. And surely, Skillen, you need not an explanation of the hatred politicians hold for historians – which by hard experience is rightly reciprocated. The Lord of Hate had much to say on the matter, which I found it difficult to refute. Civilization is an argument between thinkers and doers, just as invention is an argument against nature.’
‘Among these insects, then, in this city, you believe there is true civilization. But my eyes, K’rul, are perhaps keener than yours. I see how they march to and fro, and each one identical to the next, barring the ones we might deem soldiers, or constabulary. If there be a queen or empress, she hides, perhaps, in the cellar of that central palace, and speaks in scents and flavours.’
‘As do you, Skillen Droe. Yet does your chosen manner of communication lack subtlety? Does it fail in the necessary intricacy to express complex thought? Someone indeed rules below, and is served by an inner court. The soldiers maintain order and enforce cooperation. The sculptures are raised, to gods, perhaps, or even heroes of the past. What leads you to doubt?’
‘It is not doubt that I feel, K’rul.’
‘Then what?’
‘I feel … belittled.’
‘Well.’ After a moment, K’rul sighed. ‘Hard to argue against that. Still, we skirt the most intriguing issue here. These realms, which we stumble upon, when our only intent is to reach a destination. At times,’ he admitted, ‘I feel as if nature sets against us obstacles, each one intended to obscure.’
‘Obscure what, precisely?’
K’rul shrugged. ‘Some banal truth, no doubt.’
‘Each and every journey I have undertaken, K’rul, insists upon a passage of time, manifest in the gradual alteration, or development, of the landscape. The eye measures the step, the step spans the distance, and the mind conjures for itself a place for it, and gives it a name. But we sentient beings, we are ones to clutter time, to crowd it or stretch it out, when in truth it is unchanging.’
K’rul eyed the winged reptile. ‘Is this how your most recent hosts deem things? Have we not also the will to bend time, as it suits us?’
