Eye of Darkness (Part Thirteen)

 

Slightly after the noon hour, they ran across a shaded pool, filled by a tiny rill running nearly invisibly through the undergrowth. After judging that it was reasonably clean, they drank their fill and decided to take a rest. As they sat there in what shade they could find from the broiling sun, Thron studied Belmok where he sat, eyes closed and stick across his knees, and concluded that, though he looked a little battered, the scholar had held up fairly well. After a while Thron broke the silence.

“So, do you think that that Leren is still hovering unseen above us? Sort of a creepy thought, seems to me.”

Belmok didn’t even open his eyes.

“I find it comforting,” he said tranquilly.

“I suppose you would,” said Thron scornfully. “You trust her. I don’t.”

Belmok cracked open one eye.

“Her?” he asked curiously.

“’Course it’s a her. You don’t see no beard, do you?”

Belmok opened both eyes.

“It might interest you to know that the Ivra are neither male nor female, Lieutenant,” he said. “The reason Leren constantly refers to us as ‘Morgs, males’ is to remind itself of our particular situation, I believe. Sex, as we know it, does not apply to that race.”

“D’you mean they’re all eunuchs?” Thron made a wry face, shuddering at the thought.

Belmok sighed.

“Not at all. Calling them eunuchs would imply that something’s been taken away from them. They simply don’t have it; they don’t need it. And yet they do multiply, albeit very slowly. And that’s a good thing, too, as they live such phenomenally long life-spans.”

“They multiply, eh?” Thron tried to wrap his mind around the idea. “How do they do it if they got no … um … well … eh?”

“I understand there is a mutual sacrifice of energy and matter that takes place. And I’m not quite sure I understand this right …” Belmok paused frowning, “But I think it has to take place in a lightning storm.”

Thron laughed.

“Well, I can understand them not wanting to do that every day. It don’t sound exactly pleasurable.”

“Perhaps not, but consider this,” said Belmok. He pointed skyward. “Leren up there is only the third generation of Ivra since the Beginnings. The lack of physical sex seems tied up with their longevity. Its grandparent – which Leren knew for many years before it passed away (and yes, they do pass away, eventually) – actually knew Mog Gammoth! It told Leren things about him!”

Thron found that his muzzle was gaping open. He shut it with a snap.

“Oh?” He said. “What sort of things?” Although the warrior tried to assume an air of skepticism, there was a tinge of awe in his voice.

Belmok smiled.

“Among other things, that he always smelled of onions and snored terribly.” His crinkled his eyes. “Not the most heroic of details, perhaps, nothing to write down and read in the Silver Book, but little details like that do make history come alive.” He sat up and stretched.

“Well, I’m ready, Lieutenant. Shall we move on? Many a mile to go before the dark falls.”

Grumbling a little, Thron got to his feet and Belmok raised himself up on his staff. They centered the grim northern peak rising above the lesser mountains once more in their sights and moved on. Every now and then Thron would cast his eyes up furtively, but of course saw nothing of their invisible companion riding in the burning blue sky above them.

The Morgs walked until well after sunset, trudging along in the afterglow as long as they could, and even into the bleak light of the rising moon, as if challenging each other to quit first. Neither did, until the Ivra manifested itself before them, seeming almost stern in its sudden appearance and brusque words.

“This one sense’s flagging energy and much weariness in the Morg males Belmok and Thron. This one strongly advises cessation of progress for a period of replenishment of energies.”

Notes

Couldn't quite find a picture of how I imagine the setting, so settled on the above.