io9 is proud to present fiction fromLIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE.
Once a month, we feature a story from LIGHTSPEEDs current issue.
This months selection is A Saint Between the Teeth by Sloane Leong.
Illustration: Warmtail (Shutterstock)
you’re free to read the story below orlisten to the podcaston LIGHTSPEEDs website.
His sensitive finger pads drift glacier-slow across the tablets surface, reading the minuscule cuneiform stark against his setae.
The First Egg saw to this, giving us our alliance with the telph.
Graphic: Adamant Press
Are you all right, brother-scholar?
one of the other scholars asks from a neighboring study cell.
The nymphs before Kharatet are quiet but have balled up in distress, mostly submerged in the shallow stream.
They dont need to witness this.
Kharatet waves off an approaching ulmun in frustration then remembers his manners and contracts his feathered gills.
Its nothing, elder, really.
Leave them to me.
Nothing, indeed, the elder scholar bites out, growing muffled as he returns to his tablet.
it’s crucial that you begin your pilgrimage.
No more excuses, Kharatet.
Kharatet can feel someone moving closer, rousing the nymphs to exit the study chamber.
Then his stomach unclenches, so quickly it leaves him lightheaded and gasping.
The poetry will have to wait.
His elder sister Mhuretaj.
Her touch stills across his shoulder, caught on the bony prominences no healthy ulmun should have.
Youre almost ten winters old.
you’re gonna wanna eat.
Youve lasted longer than I on salt mites and moon louse, if that makes you feel better.
The current is strong enough to tug at his malnourished body, pluck at the vestiges of his strength.
No, Im fine.
I can go until next winter, Kharatet says.
He drags his claws through the water as if his hunger hadnt just toppled him over completely.
In a whisper, he adds, Im not ready.
Mhuretaj hisses out a sigh and slides her arm beneath his, lifting him from the water.
Theyve had this conversation before and she has relented twice already.
Kharatet can sense there will be no refusing her demand this time.
Youre not supposed to be ready, she says, leading them down a cave toward the dwelling quarters.
If you were, I would think you a monster.
Panic starts to prickle at Kharatets spine but hes too feeble to react to it.
J-just leave me in the stream.
Id rather feed on cave mould than eat one of the telph.
I dont understand how you’re able to do it.
How any of our family can!
Mhuretaj stiffens beside him, her meager pace halting.
He has insulted her.
He could not sway her any more than she could him.
His gills press against his neck as a backwash of doubt flows up over his conviction.
How could something he found so unnatural and cruel be so inconsequential to everyone else?
Could it simply be a flaw of his?
He liked to think his creed had been founded around an innate sense of virtue and respect for life.
His existence required a brutality he could not stomach
Dont be a fool.
This is what we have, whats been agreed to by both our people.
Were past being martyrs for our nature, Mhuretaj murmurs.
If youd still rather starve after that then .
Yes, I understand, Kharatet says, feeling both relief and a great growing hollowness.
Tomorrow then, he says, trying to scrape together some amount of conviction in his voice.
Ill meet with them tomorrow.
The next wake cycle, Kharatet rouses to Mhuretaj shuffling around her room.
Invigorating warmth has suffused him, a stark contrast to the icy stream in the archivist quarters.
Did you even sleep?
he asks, padding over to a nearby pool and submerging himself.
Hmm, what else do you need .
Mhuretaj says absently before disappearing into her sleeping chamber.
Her home is naturally decorated with clusters of mineral straws and boxwork that swallows the ceilings and walls.
He finds it disturbs and muffles the flow of sound and air, leaving him disconcerted.
Here, youll need these, Mhuretaj says.
Youll need it to withstand the light and weather up above.
Mhuretaj draws it tighter around her brother, knots it beneath his throat.
What if they thought he was trying to ingratiate himself with them?
What if his clothing was distasteful in some way?
She slides something heavy and hard-edged into his palm.
A crystal the size of an egg, constructed of harsh, uneven little cubes; payment for transport.
Thats all you need.
Kharatet wrinkles his muzzle in affirmation.
When the waters rise, which is rare, blocking the small entry hole will take only a moment.
They slither easily through, limbs compressing to their sides, ribs folding up to fit the necessary width.
They pass through community living quarters, twitching their gills so that they pop in brief greetings to passersby.
Now they feel like jaws waiting for a meal.
Is this all of what the telph will see of him?
Fangs, a throat, his shameless appetite?
When you get to the top, there will be a small hut, she says.
When he chatters his teeth soundlessly in confusion, she clarifies, A dwelling made of wood.
An envoy will be waiting for you there and will take you to the telphs village.
Youll be fine, Mhuretaj says, squeezing his tail with her own.
This path is old and well tread.
New sound now, the reverberation against stone giving way as it funnels out into nothing.
Around a corner, molten heat spills against his skin, burning him.
The overhead, the outside.
His body buckles into a spiral to protect itself.
Its all too much, too much noise betraying too much life, too much texture.
Time dilates with his fright.
How did any of his brethren tolerate this place?
A crunching close by, a predators approach.
Rising, he touches what he finally understands to be a second fabric over him.
Are you all right?
a voice asks, its accent filled with plosive air and clicking.
Kharatet, relieved at being able to recognize this strangers language, shivers his gills in confirmation.
Something roots around in his cloaks pocket and withdraws the smooth ritual stone.
What a lovely color.
This will be fine for the fare.
Up you go, then.
A color, another facet of the world his nature did not give credence to.
Was this the envoy he was meant to meet?
Kharatet tries to speak but this rough handling is his minds limit.
Dont worry, ulmun, the stranger says.
Ill turn the half-day walk into a quarter for you.
Wet warmth cocoons Kharatet as he wakes from cold, dark sleep.
He shifts and splashes, feels the walls of the narrow hot pool hes been immersed in.
The wretched cries of flying things.
The beinga telph, he knows nowhauling him out of the basket, carrying him like an immobile nymph.
He hisses in distaste.
Oh, youre awake then, visitor?
Something slips between the curtains, touching something to the back of his hand.
Ive never seen a ulmun in such a sickly state.
I didnt realize anyone was here!
My apologies I
Drink now, dear one.
We can speak after Im sure you wont faint again.
How embarrassing, splashing around while his host was watching, not introducing himself.
The sensation of it sliding down his throat, the instant relief expanding in his belly makes him whimper.
It heats him from the inside out, pooling in his stomach and expanding outwards like liquid light.
Oh, is all he can manage, a syllable teetering on the edge of a relieved croon.
That good, ah?
the telph says from behind the curtain, amused.
Or perhaps youre just too starved to tell the difference in quality.
Kharatet slugs the rest of the liquid back and nearly passes out from a vibrating rush of energy.
you must tell me what that is!
Ive never tasted such a thing!
Its me, of course.
What else would you eat?
My, you must be quite young if youve never .
The rest of the telphs words do not pierce the sudden froth of shock that whites out Kharatets attention.
Hed drunk their blood.
Hed resolved not to partake in this odious ritual and yet hed gobbled the offering down without thought!
But of course, why else did he come here?
Oh no, have I lost you again?
the telph asks, touching his brow.
No, no, Im well.
Im here, he says feebly, lowering himself into the water up to his eyes.
I didnt mean to do that.
And all without proper introduction.
Or why Im really here.
Hunger makes us all clumsy.
Do you think you could manage more?
Or should we wait and see what of me it’s possible for you to keep down?
The shout fills the room, which, from the traveling echo, Kharatet now realizes is quite large.
I didnt come here for a meal.
I came here to understand .
to understand why you acquiesce to such a one-sided arrangement.
And Ive come here to .
To die, his mind supplies but his mouth refuses to shape the words.
I see, the telph says slowly as if measuring the veracity of his statements.
I find it hard to believe you dont know anything of this tradition.
Of course I know all about it, he hisses, tone somewhere between exasperated and petulant.
But I dont understand why you do it.
I want to know from your own tongue, not from the voice of a ulmun or a tablet.
The telph clicks its claspers in worry.
You dont have much time left.
But I need to know.
His behavior, it seems, doesnt go unnoticed.
Anul stops, drops a claw onto Kharatets arm to stop him.
Before we go further, would you like to touch me?
Ive some idea, Kharatet says shortly.
He lifts his hand to his shoulder to guess at Anuls height.
I can hear you.
pulse echoes in your body.
How the wind and sounds strike against you as well.
It all gives me a general shape.
Impressive, Anul says, pacifying.
But touch would give you more clarity, no?
Kharatet cant argue that; he nods.
Something shuffs to the ground, some garment Anul was wearing, too light for him to notice.
Impressive, he echoes, though this with a little more unease.
No, more than impressive.
Im surprised you were able to cart me all the way from the ulmun caves to your village.
We dont all have this body bang out, Anul says, his palps clapping laughter.
The crop you felt in my stomach is something only monks carry.
For ulmun, specifically.
Otherwise, the telph are quite a lissome people.
And they could carry a good ten of you easily.
The crop; what the monks cultivated in their bellies specifically for the ulmun to feed on.
What a weight it was to carry.
What incredible strength needed to bear such a burden.
And hed touched this warm, life-giving body so easily.
Like it was nothing.
When Anul lifts the heavy drape from the entryway, it is not what he expects.
Another confused beat of silence.
What exactly am I meant to understand here?
My work, Anul says, gesturing as if it were obvious.
I get to do whatever I like as a monk.
Well, after seeing to my duties, of course.
Currently, Im interested in recording what I see of the green world.
Those sculptures are my impressions of plant life Ive observed.
Fascinating how they change and die, the forms they take upon their return.
My mentors say I have a knack for exaggerating them into interesting forms.
And before this it was cooking, with lessons from some of our finest gastronomes.
Before that, dance and before that, poetry.
Kharatet perks up at the last subject but then flattens his gills in irritation.
I thought you were going to tell me why it is youve taken on this sacrificial role.
As a monk, I can do whatever I like under the tutelage of any I wish.
Id say its quite a fine life I have.
Isnt that what youre concerned with?
That the density of pleasure Ive known balances out my death?
Most telph work as scavengers and brooders, cooks and builders.
Not the most entertaining work.
He smooths a hand down his arm, shining his shell.
Well, of course I understand you believe what youre doing is right.
That other telph think its right.
Ah ah, I know what Im doing is right.
Maybe a day or two if youre fortunate?
I only mean your life is but a blink compared to mine.
And the brevity of my life makes it lesser?
To take your nourishment.
Thats a fine way to say it, Kharatet says shrilly.
Im not going to eat you.
Perhaps you oughta read more of the experience.
From the perspective of the telph, not just ulmun.
Ive read all your holy doctrine as Ive read mine, Kharatet says sharply.
I cant believe that this is the only way for my people to live.
For yours not to.
You act as if there is no benefit to me.
Any benefit weve made to entice you into this sick tradition is a farce.
The ulmun have preyed on the telph for as long as weve had words and further back still.
I cant think of anything more natural.
Im not going to feed on you, Kharatet grits out.
Its not right, no matter what you believe.
Kharatet regards Anul with his nose, his skin, and finds the telphs poise unbreakable.
Because I dont want you to die.
I dont want to take a life just to keep mine going temporarily!
But I am going to die.
Quite soon, actually.
Im one of the eldest monks in our order.
And by rights, Ive the luxury of choosing how.
Not a choice we telph often get.
But what about your .
You cant tell me you want it all to stop.
That you dont desire to continue making things?
I do enjoy it.
But my joy in my hobbies is less important than your life.
Kharatet spits out a short burst of offended air.
how do you know Im worthy?
he asks with no lack of smugness.
What if Ive hurt others and been cruel?
What if I destroy things?
What if thats what I plan to continue doing?
Your worthiness and nature, none of you is of any consequence to me.
The gift here is me being able to continue a life that is equal to mine.
But not your life.
What about having children?
I know you telph love having large families.
But this, Anul gestures between Kharatet and himself.
This I can do alone.
And continuing a life is quite a different gift than creating a new one.
One could say its incomparable.
Kharatet paces, lashing his tail.
You know the ulmun have been doing this since the gods created us.
Weve made the whole process pretty now.
Easy, even, for us.
Clawed out a holy story that feels good to our fingers.
How do you know youve not been tricked into doing this?
That lies have not stripped you of your will?
Some of my brother-monks have withdrawn from being nourishers.
Some do want something other than this and they are never compelled to stay.
Anuls voice grows quiet, thin as his own skin.
But not I.
Kharatet growls and itches madly at his drying skin beneath the reedy cloak.
what if this is all just a story weve told youtold ourselvesto soften the blow of your death?
To ease our consciousness of .
You act as if Ive never considered it, Anul says with an irritated click.
After all, we are your only source of nourishment.
Id say your word cant help but be quite biased, indeed.
But youve also adapted to us.
Given us a provision in exchange.
He flaps his feathery gills, disturbed at his own ignorance.
Ive never been in danger so there has been no need for it.
Its not something to protect you.
Its something for us.
That is to say, your prey.
Kharatet gags in disgust.
Dont use that word!
Im not a predator!
Nor am I prey, not anymore.
Hed read of this so-called sensation, the euphoria the venom induced.
Lies, he assumed, to persuade the telph to give themselves up.
Suspicion pins Kharatets gills to the sides of his head.
How would you know the sensation?
Upon initiating into the order, were given a small phial of venom.
Thats how we decide if we want to pursue this path.
Anuls voice softens to trickle.
It is unlike anything Ive known.
It melts our minds from our bodies, grants us wingless flight.
The forged dreams of the eaten, carved by secondary claws.
Doors, thrown open.
And if it is only dreams?
Wild, envenomed fantasies?
Anuls body sags, his exoskeleton creaking, joint against joint.
Even if its unpleasant or nothing at all .
Im still helping keep you alive, no?
Like the bee is drawn to the flower, even the blooms that eat it.
Kharatets skin prickles and numbs, his ears grow muffled by his own pulse.
The floor gives way beneath his feet.
Youve been fooled, Anul, there is no kind way for me to say it.
No, no way at all
A different room vibrates into being around Kharatet as he wakes.
Larger than Anuls studio, made of denser material as well.
He shifts again and this time takes note of something restraining his waist and legs.
Anul presses a hand to his shoulder, keeping him sitting.
I dont trust your legs anymore.
why am I bound?
For your own safety.
But that is of no importance at the moment.
Tell me: did you come here only to hurl insults at me and my people before dying?
Then tell me why.
If you simply didnt realize the injustice of it .
And are we as guileless and gullible as you thought?
The sting in Anuls words doesnt miss.
You cant fault me for wanting to know how we could do this to you.
I thought maybe you were different in some way.
Different in a way that made it easier.
And its not easier?
Kharatet dips his head.
If it were, if we were simpler, crueler perhaps, would you take nourishment then?
No, he says, but the firmness in his voice is false.
Not your private quarters.
The temples feeding chamber, Anul says.
Ive decided youre not in any fit state to decide whether you want to live or not.
The lack of Nourishment has made you erratic and dispirited.
In this situation, we simply cannot rely on your irrational judgements.
How dare you call me irrational!
I am an ulmun scholar, trained by learned elders whove seen hundreds of your generations pass!
And youyoure nothing more than a child playing at holiness!
Kharatet, you will eat.
You will eat and live and I will receive the honor I am due.
Immediately his mouth overflows with saliva and venom as Anul forces his jaws shut around his arm.
Tears of horror because there is no fighting what his body so painfully demands.
Digesting Anul would take him a handful of years, perhaps even more.
He wouldnt feel the clutches of starvation for a decade at least.
He wouldnt feel
He wouldnt
But there is nothing sacred in the temple today.
Kharatet watches his body from a distance, lost in a feeding frenzy fugue.
The telph sounds beatific, singing a hymn of chitters and whistles, melodies only a telph could make.
Anul only stumbles in his song when Kharatet tears too roughly at his flesh, jerking his voice off-kilter.
The air is filled with the smell of old peat and loam and honey.
He runs a finger around the inside of his mouth, flinching at ragged cuts in his gums.
He hadnt salved Anul, softened him for consumption.
Had it hurt more, being devoured like this?
Had his faith broken on the final bite?
Or had he gone with a righteous smile, smug all the way down his throat?
Between his teeth, the saint sours.
Kharatet wails on the altar until the other monks arrive, hushing him with throat-caught hums.
You look well, brother, Mhuretaj tells him as she passes by with freshly hewn stone for writing.
Pausing, she adds, Im pleased and I hope you are, too.
You are worth any and every telph, my dear.
The most Kharatet can make himself answer is with a flick of his gills.
His voice sits behind a driftwood dam, building up with a bitter detritus.
He feels Mhuretaj depart for her duties and the space between them fills with a toxic plume of resentment.
What were any of them truly worth?
Brood mothers lay a clutch of freshly-hatched nymphs before him for their daily reading.
They are quite young, young enough that they have no language, only bleats to voice their discomfort.
They likely wont understand todays reading but it doesnt matter; tradition commands and the ulmun obey.
Kharatet draws a new limestone tablet from the shelves and places it on his lap.
His stomach bulges against the tablet, forcing it farther from his body.
By fingerpad, he begins to read glyph by glyph.
Their helpless bleats and the splashing droplets fill his skull to brimming.
All thought since he has left Anul has taken on the same foamy quality of meaninglessness.
They, too, would grow and eat their Anuls happily, year after year, life after life.
Little predators in the making.
The tablet slips from his lap as he stands, chipping as it clacks loudly onto the ground.
A scholar snaps at him from an adjacent study cell but he cannot make out the words.
Come here, little one.
Gingerly, as though Kharatet were touching the telphs soft belly, he lifts a nymph to his face.
It whimpers but this time nothing in him flinches.
Do you want to see something truly holy?
Through her work, she engages with visceral futurities and fantasies through a radical, kaleidoscopic lens.
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