current

Trust in Anuk

by Deborah Walker

Logan’s little ones passed the age of the first torsion, unchanged. She was concerned for them. The great twisting, the pain that brings the child into the first stage of adulthood had passed them by. They played like larvae in larvae bodies, but their minds grew older. The other females whispered as she passed by.

Logan resolved to seek out their father. With a steady pulse of her muscles she moved an elegant path to the centre of village. The memory trails were rich here and complicated. The pheromones of the other villagers coalesced in the air and formed a textured pattern of remembrance. It was difficult to discern an individual’s pattern here, and she spent many minutes crawling and remembering.

For the shell people memory and thought were constructed by the sharing of chemicals. In the silver sheen which lubricated their muscles they left a shadow of their past which was read by all the villagers and created their shared consciousness. Memory faded within a day or two without this constant communion.

At last she found the pattern of Mica, her children’s father.

I should have expected him to be at the feeding area. Mica loves his food.

As she followed the trail she rebound his love for her, remembering their time together and the joy they had shared when they became parents.

Ah, she thought, Mica has decided to become female.

This was not unexpected. Once mating was completed the male often resumed the female body.

Mica is preparing for the next mating season, she will soon experience motherhood. But I must remain female until my children are mature.

Mica was feeding. She looked content in the shaded copse. The moist and delicate skin of the shell people made then susceptible to the harsh rays of the sun. A sad sight, indeed, to find a villager desiccated by the heat.

A great grey vine arched over this feeding ground, forming a dappled canopy of welcome shadows. Fragments of the metallic vine seeds blew in the wind, a shimmering ballet, dusting Mica in a silver sheen.

The wind intermingled the pheromones of Mica and Logan. Through this rich and fragrant perfume Logan and Mica remembered the history of their shared past. In this way, this twin organic resource the shell people created their essence. The scent of the shell people conveyed a shared history; their sheen conveyed their emotions and an echo of their being.

“I have sought you, Mica, and I am pleased to greet you.”

Mica took a moment longer to absorb the memories of Logan hanging in the air.

“Logan, my love. How are the babies?”

“Ah, Mica. I am so worried. They have not torted; although the days for that are past.”

“Their shells remain facing their tails? The shells have not rotated? Not even partway?” Mica’s olfactory antennae quivered in concern. “How old are they now?”

“They are approaching their third month.”

“Then, there is time still. You always worry too much,” Mica moved to Logan and rubbed an affectionate antenna over her face.

“Perhaps I do,” Logan was floating on a sweet wave of remembered affection. “When they are torted I will seek you again, Mica. I will be the father this time.”

“I will look forward to it.”

They moved in the courtship dance. Two females performing the mating ritual in a cloud of glittering vine seeds. Their hearts sang with the joy of their absurdity. The sheen of their bodies intermingled and their memories grew stronger.

“Stop. We must stop,” giggled Logan. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but fun,” said Mica and she circled around Logan one more time. “The pattern of your shell looks beautiful.”

“Save it until I’m male,” shouted Logan.

They rest under the shade of the vine, their primary antennae intertwined.

“So, do you think that all will be well?”

“Yes, I do. But, my love, I can see that you’re worried. You should seek the Priest. She’ll ease your mind.”

“Ah. I had forgotten about her. Yes I will do it. You are so clever, Mica, and attractive.”

“Save it until you’re male,” said Mica. And they rested for an hour sheltered in their affection.

When the burning sun had relented a little Logan refreshed herself with water. She bathed until her skin gleamed and then she took leave of Mica.

“I will return to you soon, my love.”

“May Anuk make it so,” said Mica and she returned to her feeding.

Logan made her way back to her children. Her memory of them was fresh and she found their scent easily. Shared memory was retained for a day or so, she would cherish the memory of Mica for a few more days.

“Mama, Mama, we missed you when you were away,” said Straw.

The children crawled around and on top of her, like water gliding off a leaf.

“Did you forget me, while I was gone?”

“Oh no, Mama.” said Tay. “But don’t go away again or we might.”

“What did you do when we you were gone?” said Blue, the impetuous one.

“Aunty Sand wasn’t kind to me when you were gone,” said Boysen.

“I’m sure she was,” said Logan. “Aunty Sand loves you all very much.”

“But I only love her one hundred and I love you one million,” said Boysen.

“But Mama, where did you go?” said Blue.

“I went to see you father.”

“Can we see him too?”

“Yes. He will be glad of it.”

Logan busied herself preparing her children’s meal. As always they all called out for different things.

“Mama, can we eat bubble bark?”

“No, tiger root, tiger root.”

“Mama doesn’t like tiger root.”

They squabbled amongst themselves.

“Go and play,” she shouted. And they moved off, laughing and fighting. As she softened the tiger root with her sharp tooth-like denticles she watched them play on the spiralling tendril tree, its branches looping and twisting. They crawled higher and higher, and sometimes they fell, with a soft “Plop” onto the springy bed of underlying moss. They laughed and started to climb again, with the boundless courage of the young.

I will miss them when they tort, she thought. After they have torted they will move off and forget me. Perhaps they will even travel to another village. I think Blue might leave us all. She has a wild nature; she is full of wild emotions. Still, natures alter after the great change. Logan gathered some bubble bark. Time moves, and memory fades, and that is how it should be.

After they had eaten, she told them of the day’s events and listened to their minor triumphs and disasters with a great seriousness. They fell to sleep under the protection of the moss bush. They would be safe now; there were no predators for the shell people on this land.

She readied herself for the visit to the temple, purifying her skin by scraping a great skein of ash bark across her body, and dust bathing to show the correct humility.

The temple was on the outskirts of the village, she read the memories of the villagers as she travelled. She moved closer to the temple and the trails became harsher. Many villagers visited the temple when they were troubled. Without the pheromone reinforcement the trails were weak, but the path to the temple was layered with feeling.

She could read the emotions, but not the specific events. Her mind was bursting with pain, sorrow, jealousy and the occasional dart of joy. Here though was a great feeling of excitement and pride, the temple bought blessing as well as sorrow. She thought for a moment that she read the emotions of her daughter, Blue. She had not known that her daughter visited the temple.

She had dirt bathed to honour Anuk. The gritted dust irritated her delicate skin, but it began to rain. The hallowed water washed away the troubling memory trials, and washed her skin clean again.

The temple was a great spiral rising from a sparkling field of twine weed plants, the building itself was a representation of the Shell Goddess Anuk. Time had worked on the stone walls washing away the many of the carvings. Here and there the twin stories of creation and destruction remained. Coiling around the temple, Logan could see the carvings of Anuk in her many guises, but always, in her essence accepting the efforts of her children.

In her implacable and indifferent manner Time had worn away the top of the building, slicing off the top of the shell, silencing the stories. At the front of the building where the head of Anuk might emerge was a great stone door. The door was open, as it always was.

Who could have built such a wonderful thing, thought Logan.

Logan’s people lived in accord with the land, utilising the things that grow. But others, long ago, had shunned this natural order and torn the very rocks from the mountain to build a prayer to Anuk.

Inside the temple the strange patterning continued. The walls was decorated with carved spirals, rotating from the left and from the right. A left spiral, denoted what? Some other way of looking at the world, some other thoughts? Different people, living elsewhere, with their shell’s curling in the wrong direction?

Anuk accepts all, thought Logan. Visiting the temple was troubling.

Logan made her way to the priest, who sat on a carved platform. As she neared the priest she read the emotions of his weariness, he was troubled by all the sadness he had to endure. She felt uneasy in the presence of such a manifestation of Anuk; the great Shelled Goddess, and her followers; the Fellowship of the Spiral.

Then she moved along a flit of joy and a rich trail of innocence, there were some very young children in the temple, perhaps only a day or two old. She looked over to the far reach of the temple. There she could see the Fellowship readying themselves for a naming ceremony. The temple sang with the perceptions of the joyous larvae; and with the pride and pleasure of their parents.

Logan felt her heart easing, despite its strange and troubling images, the temple was indeed the place of Anuk; a home to joy as well as to trouble.

“I have come clothed in the earth and in my humility, present myself to the child of Anuk.”

“Welcome, Logan. Move closer. Be at ease.”

She started to recall the memories of her past with the priest whose name was Black Leaf. She recalled him teaching her about Anuk as a little child; the memory of her joining ceremony to Mica. There was nothing to fear in the temple of Anuk. She smiled at the memory of his good humour and small jokes at the joining ceremony. And she remembered, with a bitter sweet smile, his kindness when she and all her sisters had grieved for her mother.

“I see that the rain has released you from the burden of humility. Your humility is making muddy puddles on my temple floor.”

“I am sorry, Black Leaf.”

“No matter. You are in small need of more pain at this moment. Tell me, what troubles you?”

“My children have not passed into the time of adulthood. They remain innocent and their shells are unchanged.”

“Logan, I see that there is still time for the passage. You must trust in Anuk.”

“But what will happen if they don’t mature. Black Leaf, I am so worried. This pain will shrivel my heart.”

“Life is full of pain. You must trust.”

Logan looked at the fearful statue of Ishtan, the Dark Slug. Followers of the Ishtan were said to be cruel and attracted to the dark path.

“Who can help me, if Anuk cannot?”

Black Leaf followed her gaze to the statue of the Dark One.

“Anuk does not forbid worship of the Ishtan. But I do not believe that it is your nature. Do not travel along a false path; be true to your spirit.”

“If Anuk will not help me, then I will do it.”

Logan trembled at the thought. In her years of the living in the village, she had never crossed paths with anyone who followed the way of Ishtan.

“What must I do? Must I leave the village and seek out strangers?” she looked at Black Leaf, her primary antennae reaching out to him.

“Come, my friend. Sit with me a while and reflect on the worship of Anuk; before you follow the other path.”

The moved into an alcove decorated with a mass of spirals. Behind the alcove, in a special niche, rested Anuk’s Shell. An artefact from the old times, it stored the prayers of the villagers in a mechanism now lost to them. The sacred shell stored and contained the pheromone memories of the villagers’ prayers. When needed, this sacred memory could be released to the faithful. Black Leaf took the shell in his primary antennae and activated the mechanism, releasing wave after wave of pheromones.

Logan experienced the waves of worship, lifting her into a dream-like state. Tiny prayers to Anuk from children, wishing for a toy; the thanks of a mother for the safe ascension of her babies through the tunnel of birth; a request for more food in the time of hunger.

And throughout, the silence presence of Anuk, accepting all.

The remembrances became darker; a father crying for his lost child, denying Anuk; an old one unable to accept the inevitable passage into dark. Loss, anger, grief, denial, choosing and rejecting, the memories swirled into a cacophony.

And there, there, was what she sought. A child, worried, untorted, crying out her anguish to Anuk.

She severed the connection, and moved her antennae to stare at Black Leaf

“It has happened before?”

“Yes.”

“I thought my babies were the only ones.”

“Many things happen in life, we understand very little,” said Black Leaf; his primary antennae rubbed the sacred Shell. “Only Anuk knows all. One day she will re-enter this life, and we will wash in her memories and become complete. But for now we must worship her and seek her comfort.”

“But the other child, the un-torted one. What happened to her?”

“If you wish to find out, you must visit the story-teller. She will have memory for you.”

The story-teller was a strange and solitary creature, who lived on the outskirts of the village.

“I must do it.”

“Yes,” said Black Leaf. “I believe you must. Usually I visit the story-teller and transmit her memories to the villagers. Her presence will be troubling to you. But in this case I think that it will be wise if you go.” With an air of regret he kissed the Shell of Anuk and placed it gently back into its niche.

“It is your path, stay safe and do not turn your thoughts to Ishtan.” He thought for a moment. “And give my love to the story-teller. Her name is Rasp. Tell her that Black Leaf remembers her always.”

Black Leaf left her, and moved to greet the villagers in the farthest reach of the temple. The little children, scurried around him, and he smiled as he entered their memories.

Logan left the temple and sought out the overgrown path to the story-teller’s dwelling. The light was fading now, and she welcomed the cool of the night. She was filled with hope after Black Leaf’s revelations. To know that others had undergone the same worries as her was a great comfort.

She had not moved along this path before, and it was barren of memory trails; few visited the story-teller. It was disconcerting to think of a life lived alone.

How lonely she must be, thought Logan. She stopped to gather some bright starberries as a gift for the story-teller.

The twilight sang with the voices of the moon crickets,

It is so peaceful here. Quite lovely in its way, thought Logan and she moved onwards; her powerful muscles, contracting and pushing her forward.

She passed a monument from the olden times. The black marble rock was carved into a symmetrical shape, a tree with a bisecting branch. But unlike the twisting tendril trees which looped and spiralled in a joyous profusion around the village, the stature was straight. Hard lines. The strangeness of its form fascinated her.

Why did the builders insist on creating such unnatural shapes? wondered Logan. What could be their meaning?

Her curiosity engaged she stopped for a moment to climb over the artefact and examine its curious carvings. She moved over it easily, leaving a trail of silver lustre. But apart from its visual sense there was no meaning to be read here.

The monument was panelled with outlandish carvings of strange beings. They stood without shells. Instead of resting on the ground they stood upright with no means of support.

I suppose they could be followers of Ishtan, they have no shells. She shuddered at such an unnatural representation. She felt the truth of the Black Leaf’s words. The path of Ishtan was not for her.

She moved on, until she reached the crag where the story-teller made her home.

“Hello,” called Logan. “I have need of you. I’ve bought you some starberries.”

“Stay back,” a voice from within the crag announced. “Rest on the platform but do not read my trails until I tell you to.”

Logan moved onto the platform, avoiding the silvery trails of the story-teller’s memories.

The story teller emerged from the crag, holding in her primary antennae an artefact. In the shell people’s land artefacts were very rare. The only other one Logan had seen was Anuk’s Shell.

This artefact was an embellished metal box, held swinging from Rasp’s antennae. A pungent herb smouldered inside the artefact, releasing clouds of aromatic scent.

“Sorry about the smell,” said the story-teller. “My name is Rasp.”

“I’m Logan. Black Leaf told me that you could help me, he sends his love to you.”

Logan was surprised at Rasp’s appearance. She had imagined someone older, decaying into the shell, but Rasp was her own age. The story-teller was shrouded in material, as if wrapped in a leaf, but the leaf was soft and unlike any Logan had ever seen before.

“Thank you for the greeting and the welcome message,” said Rasp, waving the artefact and releasing clouds of the smoke. “Tell me your story and I will tell you mine. But, by Anuk, it is good to see you again.”

Logan didn’t remember Rasp. “Put down the herbs and we can remember our past together.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that yet. You’ll see why later. Don’t be worried; I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Logan hesitated.

Rasp is very strange, she thought. But I have to speak to her to find out about my little ones.

Yet, there was something reassuring about the story-teller. A wisp of memory echoed in Logan’s mind. It was elusive, and it faded into the smoky air. Logan twitched her antennae and started her story.

“My children are unchanged; although it is passed the time for their torsion. Their shells remain facing the tail. I worry for them. The others mock me. I find it hard to be a mother. I like it better when I am male. When I have raised this brood I will take my male body.”

“Female and male both have their roles,” said Rasp.

Expressing thought without the emotion was so difficult. Logan needed to read the memory trails of Rasp, and let the story-teller read her love and pain. Words were not enough to convey thought.

“I can’t talk to you properly in this way. My story came out wrong,” said Logan. “I love my little ones so much, but I need help. Anuk has comforted me, but the children remain unchanged. I fear for them. When we opened Anuk’s Shell, we shared the memory of another child, and Black Leaf told me you could help. And I am here. And I bought you berries.”

Rasp took a starberry and placed it delicately in her maw. “Thank you, Logan, these are my favourites.” Yet again, she swayed the obscuring smoke at Logan.

“I am sorry for your pain. I will sing my story now. May Anuk help you to accept what cannot be changed.”

Rasp’s voice was low and melodic. In the gathering twilight, the sound of the moon crickets seemed to intensify, providing a backtone to the strange story.

“Pumice and Sand were brothers who lived together in the ancient, water paradise of our ancestors. Food was plentiful, starberries ripened all year, ready to be pulled from the bush. The land was bathed in a gentle rain, and the arrogant sun rarely revealed her face…

In this glorious land Pumice has formed a mating bond with the beautiful female Leaf. They are happy, for a time, and eggs gather inside of Leaf.

Sand has formed no bond, although many females admire him.

One day, when Pumice is out gathering berries, Leaf tries to seduce Sand.

“Why is it that you take no female? Come, and lie with me. I have need of you. Your brother is gone, he will not know.”

But Sand rejects her advances.

“My heart is full of love for Anuk. Only the Goddess can complete me. Say no more of this. I pray to Anuk that my brother never learns of your betrayal.”

When Pumice returns Leaf, angry that she has been rejected, accuses Sand of trying to seduce her.

But Pumice looks into his brother’s heart and sees his innocence.

Pumice’s anger is like the withering sun, it burns away his reason, and he tries to kill his wife who flees. Pumice and Sand follow her and Leaf cries out in fear.

Anuk forgives all, even her children who have turned to the Dark One. She looks down and takes pity on Leaf.

Anuk creates a river full of biting animals between Leaf and the brothers. Her husband cannot reach her and Leaf is safe.

Pumice returns home, and his anger begins to fade. But Sand stands by the river and watches Leaf for many hours. Across the river of snarling and snapping animals, he watches her.

After a time he takes a sharpened flint and slices his ommatophore. He throws them to the river and they are swallowed by a biting creature. Blinded, he makes his slow way home.

Time moves and many days pass. Leaf lives alone. She births her eggs and makes the birthing channel alone. She tries to forget the brothers, but she cannot. She greets the villagers on the other side of the village but she cannot sing new songs.”

“How can this be?” said Logan, interrupting the story. “How can she remember the brothers if many days have past?”

“Wait, my friend. Wait until the end.”

“Pumice cares for his blinded brother. But every day is agony for Pumice. He knows that his children will never meet their father, and despite all, he still loves Leaf. Every day he cries out to Anuk.

Sand is also full of pain and guilt, though he has done no wrong. He adds his prayers to his brother and their voices cry out to Anuk.

Anuk sees that her children suffer, and she wants to comfort them. She visits the world, for this was when the world was young and could stand the touch of God.

As the memory of Anuk washes over her all her children, they become part of her being. They remembers the Goddess’ life; the formation of the world; and the life before.

They cleanse themselves in Anuk’s great love for all her children, even the children that like Leaf, have strayed from her path, and have started to move along the path of her brother, Ishtan. She takes the pain of Pumice and Leaf and Sand and washes it in her strange memories.

Anuk, in her mercy, reaches out her mind and twists the shells of Leaf and Pumice. They begin to forget their pain and this is the origin of our torsion.

But blinded Sand cannot bear to leave Anuk. He begs her:

“Let me stay with you, Anuk. Let me swim in your mind forever, as you have been forever in my heart.”

Anuk’s mind has resonated within Sand. He wants to rest within the spiral of her great slow thoughts, for all time.

Anuk is pleased, she re-grows his wounded eyes and speaks to Sand.

“From this time, Sand, you shall bear my mark. The ommatophore grows with a spiralling pattern. Your shell will not be torted and your memory shall remain unbroken. For of all my people you have sought a different path. Unexpected though it was, I cherish you. You will be the memory for my children.”

And Anuk departed this land.”

The song of Rasp was complete; she laid down the artefact and the smoke began to dissipate. Rasp moved close to Logan, who sat so quietly, in the dark.

“How can this be?” whispered Logan. “Where are these people? Do Pumice and Leaf and Sand hide in the crag?”

Logan was greatly troubled and she feared that Rasp was a follower of Ishtan. Perhaps Black Leaf had set her along the long, dark path.

“They are dead, long dead, over two thousand years.”

“But the dead don’t speak,” said Logan. “How could they? They lie still in the shell until they are reclaimed.”

“My story is knowledge. Remembrance without the person present.”

“That is heresy.”

“No, it is the old way.”

Rasp lifted off her covering and showed herself to Logan. She was untorted, like a child, in her adult body.

“But that cannot be. Are you a follower of Ishtan?”

The smoke from the artefact had dissipated now and the scents of Rasp and Logan began to swirl and mingle. Age old memories re-surfaced.

“Sister,” said Rasp, “my dear, sweet Logan berry.”

“Ah, how I have missed you, Rasp berry,” said Logan remembering the strong bond of their childhood affection.

And they danced together, in the night. A sweet dance of innocence and shared love. The dance they had taken as young children, when they had played in the same world.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Rasp. “It’s not wrong, it’s just different. Occasionally a child is born who remains untorted. This may be the fate of your children. And if so they will be able to remember without the memory scent, without the memory trail.”

“It is so,” said Logan and she felt a hundred stories, swelling through her mind.

“Why don’t you return with me?” said Logan. “Share your wonderful gift with the villagers.”

“No, I cannot,” said Rasp. “Don’t you recall my story? We are all cherished by Anuk. She loves all her children. She is all remembering and all loving. She is Anuk. She wishes the villagers to live a simple life without memories of grievances. Our villages, and the many like them have lived in peace without violence.”

“What do you speak of?” asked Logan.

Rasp, breathed deeply and then released a new scent into the air. A cascade of images flooded through Logan. Antennae torn; strange artefacts of metal, tearing flesh; blood; and the burning sun shrivelling the bodies of the shell people.

“So much horror, said Logan. “Poor Rasp berry. Do you live with this constantly?”

“Yes, it is the other side of my gift; beauty and horror. If I came to the village, my scent would overwhelm the villagers, they would have new knowledge and old horror. What you have now is innocence. Anuk is indeed a wise Goddess. I worship her, and accept her wishes.”

“But Rasp, how do you live all alone? I wish you could return with me.”

“It is a good life. I have travelled in my youth and collected the stories from the other villages. Sometimes novices visit me. And sometimes, my love, my old friends have need of me and come and see me. That is the happiest time of all.” Rasp twisted a loving antennae around Logan.

“And this will happen to my babies?”

“Possibly. If Anuk wishes. Do they have Sand’s mark?”

“Blue has a twisting pattern round her ommatophores, but none of the others do.”

“Ah, she will visit me soon, I think. The others will tort normally. You always worry too much, Logan.”

“But Blue will be like you?”

“Go now my sister, and trust in Anuk.”

Logan returned to the village. In the morning she told her children the story of their Aunt. In her heart she cherished the memory of her sister, for a day or two.

Rasp returned to the edge of the village every day. She could not enter the village, but Anuk is good. She waited with quiet patience, waited for little Blue to find her. Blue, her sister’s child, who would learn her stories and who would never forget them.

Deborah Walker has recently quit her job as a medical museum curator to try her hand at writing. She has also had stories accepted by Sonar 4 and Arkham Tales.