“The third of the original siblings that live in the palaces at the edge will be called Mardhaka, like the daughter of Cirruin—the old dragon named in the autobiography of the one that came to be known as Terus the Dreamed. With the death of her father arrived the end of Terus, and therefore of the historical and ideal show of flowers one could see raining over the ruins of Zenvo. I believe such tragedy deserves an homage.”
—Notes for Cosmopoiesis, page 6.
At the cargo bay the Miners lined up in two rows, one staring at the other, with enough space for the captain, that to them was Parvov, to pace in front of them, appraising his crew.
“Listen here everybody, I want no dilly-dallying today. No silly antics, nobody… Channeling Babesi.” His eyes met Dirofil’s ostensibly innocent stare. “Mining rare dogs is paramount to our survival in the long term. Most of the crew accrues less energy than they spend on daily task. This cannot continue. We that get to exit the ship are the exception— specially we originals, as our cores have levels of maturation that those of most Splinters couldn’t dream to ever reach.”
“We know, sir. No need to drill it in.” Tuldrum protested.
“I am asking you lot to come with my brother and I in a suicide mission, Tuldrum. You need to have what’s at stake in mind to make a sound decision.”
“Sir, we are miners,” Dalvari reminded him.
“I know you are used to going out and risking your lives. But I want no more loses among the crew… or the crew’s joker.”
Dirofil raised a hand, proudly. “I’ll assume that’s me.”
“Yes. Where’s the Reaper, Dirofil?”
“The one I keep track of is far enough. It could take it maybe an hour to reach us, judging by its general cruising speed.”
Morbilliv nodded begrudgingly. “You are allowed to make a minimal use of the eye, then. Minimal, Dirofil.”
“I can also explode at will,” The Fourth Imagined added helpfully.
Morbilliv wished to loan his brother’s new toys just to sigh. The worst part about Dirofil knowing he wasn’t Parvov was that he would mock him relentlessly. The Splinters wouldn’t know, but Dirofil would have respected Parvov a teeny bit more. His was this parasitic idea that the elder deserved more respect than the younger, similar to Lyssav’s thinking in a way, but far more benevolent. Lyssav respected power and power only. It was just the fact that the older they were, the more powerful they became that caused a convergence in Dirofil’s and Lyssav’s regards for their siblings. They both also shared a soft spot for Babesi, but that was a common trait among them. The little feeble sister had no enemies, no quarrels, no big ambitions. She was innocent and pure for Dirofil, and harmless for Lyssav. To him, she was just Babesi, for whom he would do what Parvov had done for him.
He eyed Dirofil from head to talon and wondered if he would not just die, but detonate his own soul for the Fourth Imagined. Of course he would. No because Dirofil deserved it —and he did, despite treating him as a brat— but because he himself couldn’t handle to grieve for two siblings he failed to save.
“Before we part, any questions?” he finally asked, hearing the slight drumming of a Splinter’s fingers over the roof of a cage.
Dirofil raised his hand.
“Yes, about the lower deck, one of the walls…” Dirofil began, and Morbilliv immediately knew what he would ask.
“She’s load-bearing when the ship goes supine. She’s already abominable. Corgis abominate to become clusters of Corgis, with a variable number of Corgis contained in them. She’s a One-Corgi-Cluster. Does all answer the family of questions you may have related to Loretta? And yes, we named her Loretta.”
“You have a sheepdog sticking out a wall and my questions about it are the concern?”
The heavy hand of a Splinter of Morbilliv found Dirofil’s caped shoulder. “Pal, you gotta admit that there’s nothing weird about it. We are in a ship made out of refined dogs, inside a sea made out of unrefined dogs. A wall of corgite is nothing compared to the weight of their peers in nature.”
The Splinter at the other side of Dirofil decided to speak too. “Yah, and she also excels at bearing the weight of what we do to her peers. She’s the soul of the ship.”
“Thanks. I am letting you two die first,” Dirofil said, silencing the room as the Splinters shuffled their feet in place and Morbilliv grabbed his own face with one ten-fingered hand.
----------------------------------------
The panting of the Bernese dogs cocooned them as they climbed towards the Mauling layer, the group tightly packed, Dirofil trailblazing, his core a guiding light in the murk. Morbilliv followed, tendrils of soul already extended: they were useful to climb, to recover stray mining materials, and, goes without saying, to murder their enemies.
Dirofil scanned the dribbling horizon above with the eye of the Reaper. After a long dozen of minutes of searching, something was coming.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
And that something was confusing for him.
“I see a… gossamer coming. A cobweb of sorts. Over there.” He signaled to his left with an extended arm.
Morbilliv embraced the relief resulting from the threat being far enough from the Corship, but not the uncertainty that came with it. “Could you be more specific.”
“Well, it would have to be some sort of tarantula with gigantism grown in an atmosphere rife with oxygen to weave webs this big. It could wrap the Corship whole. And it’s made of dog.”
“Breeds, Dirofil!” Morbilliv shook his brother, looking at him in the eyes.
Dirofil simply shook his head. “Dog. And I am sure of that only because no other animals can be found in our world. If it helps, it’s a three-dimensional entanglement, compared to a silk net.”
“An unknown, boss?” asked Tuldrum, never letting the Mauling layer go unwatched.
With gravity, Morbilliv nodded, two huge horns moving in opposite directions. “Return to the ship, everybody. Luck is not on our side. I will stay with Dirofil and gather information on this new threat.”
“The ship is too far,” pointed out Dalvari.
“Yes, and it’s too dark…” another miner added, despite the lights of the Corship being clearly visible in the distance.
“And we have a duty to fulfill!” Tuldrum declared, his voice unwavering as he pumped the olive plates of his chest.
Morbilliv closed his eyes, counted to three, and didn’t feel the rage diminish. “We won’t be able to protect you if things get ugly. Doratev knows enough to run the Corship in Parvov’s absence. I would know.”
“Why do you refer to yourself in third person, sir Parvov?”
“Because my brother is an idiot and I may die today. I am living on loaned time, My dear Splinters.” Morbilliv changed his tone. Tendrils of soul extending from every joint of his metallic skeleton.
“He mastered our original’s technique!” said Tuldrum.
“Of course I did. This is my talent. I am Morbilliv, Battle Incarnate,” he said without looking back, climbing a staircase made out of luminous fibers of his own being as he approached his bouncy brother, who was trying to get a closer look at the incoming menace. “Parvov gave his life, gifted me his body so I could survive. The least I can do to honor this gift is to save Dirofil from his own hubris.” The Splinters perked up immediately. “You are shaped after me! Honor my form, warriors. Parvov may have ruled with an iron fist, threatened you relentlessly while rarely enacting a punishment. But disobey, and I will use an iron maiden.” The original flared the white light of his soul and the closest miner took a step back before saluting and skedaddling. “And tell no one of this truth, miners! In time, they will know by my voicebox.”
Once the Splinters were far enough Dirofil applauded absentmindedly, his gaze fixated on the ceiling of dogs. “Absolutely beautiful display of your public shaming skills.” It was coming. Cutting through the Mauling layer at a vertiginous speed. Kilometers and kilometers of dog-based threads. “Yes, I think we should return to the ship,” Dirofil shot a concerned glare to his brother and after several moments of tension they both rushed straight for the ship, following the steps of the Miners, Dirofil on all five, and Morbilliv using the tendrils of his body to pull savagely from the Berneses, dislodging them from the lattice’s structure as he grabbed onto another, letting countless dog fall into the darkness, towards the collie layer.
It broke through the layer with a hum, and flooded the sea with sky-blue light. Countless solid beams and playful curls of hairy glitter, an orgy of heavenly snakes raining over the world with the delicacy of falling feathers. The siblings were far from the epicenter of the collapse, but as more and more of the creature got revealed, the closer to being in collision course they found themselves.
“It’s shaped like a sphere or a lens, I think!” Dirofil informed, his voice unaffected by the exertion of his body, by the ceaseless pumping of his legs and arms.
Morbilliv forwent a reply, extending his tendrils further, accelerating his rush towards the Corship. Dirofil lagged behind, turning every few dozens of steps to check on the falling lattice, on how it passed though the Bernese constructs like ghostly blades, never damaging the structures, but neither being impeded by columns and beams as it descended in its slanted route towards the collie layer. “It’s not a dachshund, what other dog could be so long?” Dirofil pondered, stopping to sit and watch the beautiful spectacle from the safety of having the ship a jump away.
Morbilliv beckoned him with his palm. “Come on board, don’t play stupid games!”
“I need to learn if I want to survive once I leave the ship, Morbilliv.” Dirofil’s eyes bid goodbye to those of his brother as he focused once more on the disastrous spectacle unfurling in front of him. “Because one tide, I will, and there won’t be a safe place for me to run from things like that.”
Morbilliv’s shoulders fell and he scratched the side of the forward-jutting horn. “As you wish, brother. I trust you to hurry to the ship if that thing draws closer. I’ll tell the legsteerers to move us all further away.” Morbilliv placed Parvov’s wide hand onto the control dome of the ramp door, and it closed between them. In a way, he felt he was abandoning Dirofil. In another, that he was avoiding cutting his wings like Parvov had —metaphorically— cut Lyssav’s. As he lumbered back to the bridge, not bothering to hide the tentacles of light that came out of every hole of his armor and skeleton, he thought about the crew. How would they take the news of Parvov having been replaced so long ago, in front of their faces?
When he found a school of Splinters of Parvov blocking his way in one of the intersections of corridors, he found his answer. He wiggled his fingers without raising his hands, readying his weapons to be wielded against the subversives.
The leader of the group of misfits, that looked no different from the other five, took a step forward, facing the behemoth that wore the body of their Original. “The miners told us all. We value what you have done for our Original’s dream, boss. However, we have decided we will not work this tide. We wish to arrange a funeral, if you would be so kind to allot us the free time to do so. We will use meager amounts of energy on it.”
Morbilliv’s expression went immediately soft, and he recalled his weapons into his body. He rolled his shoulders, once, then twice.“No. You won’t arrange a funeral.”
The leader of the Splinters lowered his head and barked. “Fine. But don’t ask us for any favors.”
Morbilliv leaned forward to match his height with that of the lesser copies of his brother. “I will arrange a funeral. You are free to turn that to a ‘we’.”
The Splinters immediately parted and one even knelt. “Thank you, sir Morbilliv. We understand your reasons.”
“No, thank you all. Now, we need to relocate the ship, as danger has drawn near. I will go meditate, while I am absent, your concerns should be taken to Dirofil or, if he takes too long to come back, Doratev.” He then cracked his knuckles. “As a little aside: which of the miners told you?”
“My voicebox is locked, and so shall be theirs,” said Filbaros, stepping between his equal and the captain.
Morbilliv flicked the Splinter’s right horn. “That’s how I like you. Honor Parvov. Let him live through you.”
And nobody was happy, and nobody was calm, yet Morbilliv felt his shoulders grow lighter: grief shared may not be grief divided, but grief hidden —grief misaimed— is, as sure as the heat of fire, grief magnified.