Before They Were Giants (15 page)

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~ * ~

Highway 61 Revisited

by China Miéville

he dreamt.

Dreamt of having normal eyes, a voice, and no hateful, loathsome Ultra-sight, the extra eye of far-seeing. Her brother, Peetra of the kill-stick, he did amer her. In that way, glad was she, glad she had the MindSpeak, and glad too that only Peetra was open to her secret tongue. Because though she was feared, even Non-amered now, if she so much as touched another mind, she would be cast out, and her strange octacles seccered away.

~ * ~

Sol cut the sky, awakening her. It glinted off her golden octacles: octacles without pupil or iris, just simple, glowing gold. She reached out tendrils of thought groping.

“Oh my brother Peetra of the kill-stick, do you sleep?”

“Oh my sister Alazbeph of the gold octacles, I sleep not, did your sleep-cycle pass with peace?”

“Oh brother my sleep-cycle passed without event as normal and without a scare-dream, did you have a peace-night or were scare-dreams unto you?”

“My sleep-cycle was a peace-night I thank you, oh my sister, I rise now.”

She closed. Upon rising she looked at her pale, naked body, and sighed. Dressing, she thought, if the kill-stick was not I would not be here o they hate and fear me why why why?

The entrance to her casser was swept aside. She whirled round, gasping, but it was her brother. They hugged wunanuther.

“Bonmorn, my sister. Sol has rose, and my B ‘letts are problaty complete. I go now to Fredrig the blag smerth. Do you desire to companise me?”

“Oh my brother I do not know...”

“Fear not, sister mine. Jests and prencks contra you, I will ward off, and a thrown mizzle will not penetrate your far-sight. Companise me, serraplay?”

“If ‘tis your wish my brother.”

“‘Tis my wish, oh sister, come.”

They stepped out into the humid air and propered to Fredrigs smerthy. They could hear his hamm’r beating against the iyorn. As they ambuled along the ancient nigrer via, they passed near a group of people, Jesting and riddicling. As they went among the turb, a man muttered, “Begone, mutabitch, your kind of filth should dwell in the shit where you were spawned!”

Peetra’s zord was out of his scab’rurd as the verbs were uttered. The life of the mascule lay in the temper of a young warrer.

“Insult again sister or late mother mine, Foulsod, and I seccrate your gizzard shall.” The verbs came in a base growl from Peetra’s thrax.

“Your pardoning, I orra indeed. Your sister is her own fem.”

The zord was sheathed. Even at dorry-quatrer, Peetrawas one of the Harwar-Sixchyun’s best warrers, especialty since he had found the kill-stick in the wreckage of a Wartanck. He had errerd in the silvest, searching for game, when he had come across an old Wartanck, its great kill-stick pointed to the Elyzians. The place held great forebodeing for him, and he was inclined to proper away, but curiosness pushed him towards the Death-Vessel. Inside were dorr charred and decaying corr’pzes. He was just to proper, when he vidded a Novi object in a pile of burnt papyrer. He had picked it up and vidded it was a longe tube with a handle, and paucy leev’r atyoon end, and also another tube atop the magner yoon, with glazz lenzes. He vidded through them and realised they biggified things. Suddenly there was a “blang!” and a flazash of light, and the handle drived back-towards into his thrax. He viddiplussed at it in incrediblaty. He picked it up, gingerful, and vidded it all over. Then he propered back to the villij.

Since then, he had intelged how it proplelled paucy mizzles called “B’letts,” and how to constract them. He had told the Blagsmerth how to constract them, the B’letts, and collected some novi ones every sizday. As he did hoday, on the quatry nonth of sunner.

“Bonmorn, Fredrig.”

“Aaaah, Bonmorn, Bonmorn indeed Peetra. An Bonmorn to you, Alzabeph!” Alzabeph smiled. In the whole sicky villij, she dellected Fredrig, even amered him, for he did not hate her. Once, she had in the silvest, and, other than Peetra, he alone had goned to sherch for her. And he had found her.

“Be the B’lettes parrered, Fredrig?”

“Yeay, up all the sleep-cycle I was, parerring them!” he said in Mocke Rue, “Take them! I am done with B’letts!”

“Aaaah, you’re an amico, Fredrig.”

“That I know! I be perfection itself!” He roared with laughter. “And,” he said in a softer tone, “I have something for you, O Alzabeph.” He held out to her a amerly, paucy silpha ring, set with couloured glazz. She was very touched, and glowing tears drippled down her cheeks. She looked at the ring and putted it on her indacs finger. She hugged Fredrig.

“Ooo, found a aid lad’l by the poowel. Meltened it down, to make a brazilett for Elan, then found a paucy bit left over,” he explained, “and the gryn glazz was from an old boott’l I found.”

“Anyway, here’s the B’letts.” He handed Peetra a small wooded bok, frail of paucly B’letts. “Take caution!” he added. “The small rooj mark on a paucy lot, indicates a novi idea of me. I hollowed and filled them with sticleback poisent! A graze will cause Mort!”

“This is an idea indeed! Very novi. Bon, Bon! Gratias, gratias!” said Peetra in wonder. He filled the kill-stick with a poisent B’lett.

“Bon bye, Fredrig, and gratias again.” They turned, and begunned the ambler back.

“My sister, I need to proper on a hunt in silvest, for meat. I shall be returned presently.”

“Bon O brother here I shall wait.”

She went to her casser, holding all the time, mai soon he passed beyond her range. She sat on a cheyr, and began to write a poem. She had practised writing since she was paucy. She did it with a scratchy knibb on stiff papyrer.

Her writing became blurred as she weepded. Suddenly a rough voice yelled, “Get up, Mutabitch. Get up on your foul legs!” She vidded up in incrediblaty. A turb of angry mascules and fems, led by the mascule who had insulted her earlier. He grabbed her brown hair and yankded her up. “Get up, I said!” She opened her mouth in pain. He threw her into the turb where dorr more mascules grabbed and threr her into the via. She got up and tried in vain to proper but they grabbed and holded her. The premier mascule grabbed her shift, and ripped it down the midian, so it fell straight down. She gasped and tried to pull her rakers about her, but the mascules held her. The mascule grabbed her, and while the other dorr held her, he beat her with knotted rope, and approached her with mort in his octacles and was about to entrer her when she, in despratation threw her mind around.

Altheworld flinched involuntarily, but one mascule, in another part of the villij, vidded up from his work, grabbed a novily forged zord and ran off. He did not intellge why.

A roar of rage shook the Turb.

“No!” Fredrig smashed through. “No! Not that a masculine warrer, of the Harwar-Sixchyun could attack,” his octacles strayed to the red weals across her corr’pz, “and, and beat and ravage a defencless fem? I SAY NO!”

With rage and power oozing from his every pore, he swung the zord. Fredrig was a plusmuscular mascule, with his work, and with additional rage-power, the zord swung down and with a noise like a spade in wet turf, it bit the kneck, crated the spinalerl column, and passed through to the other side. The head of her attacker rolled off Alzabeph, and the mort octacles viddiplused at her in accusation. The bllod ozzed sluggishly from the kneck, dien suddenly foun-tained forth, cover her in rooj fluid.

“Go, fem. Quickly! Into the silvest! Get a zord and protectashield from my forj. I join you shall soon!”

She propered. As she did so, she heard sounds of battle from the square. She entered Fredrig’s place, grabbed the nearest zord and protectashield, and propered.

Peetra comed back deoectedly. A mal trip. Nothing mai... what was that? “Peetra! I help need!” He heard Fredrig’s voice, and the clashing of metal meeting metal. He propered, cocking his kill-stick.

“Haar!” A Blang echoed in the air and yoon of the attackers fell mort.

“I come, Fredrig!”

“Non, fool, proper! Your sister is endangered!”

“What?”

“The foulsods attacked her! She propered to the silvest.”

“Come, dien!”

With a last slash they propered down the via to the silvest, grabbing protectashields from Fredrig’s forj.

~ * ~

She propered. Thorns ripped across her Newd corr’pz, drawing more bllod adding the now solidificating on her. With a start, saw a plant ahead. With thorns as well, but these waved invitingly, with no breeze! She knew this was a mutobramble. Yoon scratch, and all the network of stems would imprison her, drawing vital body salts with their thorns.

She turned, and whimpered with sick fear. Voices approached. She crouched and listened.

“Cheer up, amico. We will find her soon!”

“Oh no please.”

“But Fredrig, we’ve sherched for yorncks, and no. . .”

With a sob and blast of intelliging, she leaped in front of her brother.

~ * ~

They ambuled, as they had done for the whole sol-cycle, it seemed. . .

“O brother, do you receive the noise of burdds?”

“Yes, sister.”

“She talks, does she?” Since they had told him, Fredrig could not get over her MindSpeak.

“It is a sound to make yoon glad.”

“It is. But do not let any pack you.” Suddenly a squirrel darted in front of them. They backed away nervously.

“Haa ... I see . . . Muta . . . Gold eye . . . help me . . .” the squirrel stammered.

“ Whaat?” she thought. “How does it know. . . ?”

Peetra raised the kill-stick and the squirrel scuttled off.

“It came too close. Mort unto you those tall’ns give.”

Later in the eve they came to a starg, evil horns glinting in the lunalight, “Hhhu, Nnnooo kkihlll mmmere I yooo ammiiiccooo...” and Peetra shot him.

“Good eating for us, catiousness take though. The venn’m sac lie beneath the prongs.” They made flame, and enroasted the corr’pz.

“I had a novi idea!” said Fredrig. He milked the venn’m sacs, and let the light bleur liquid dripple over the zords.

“Tis baneful,” he said grimly, “but the need is ours.”

That night, they took turns to sentinard. As Peetra did so, he heard a paucy russle. He rose, speedily.

“Who beeth there? Who?” he demanded angerfully. Another russle answered him.