[Original Novel] Pariah of the Little People, Part 6

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I followed a long trail of the little fellows trekking to and from the original landing site, salvaging the bits I left behind when I moved the wreckage. Also seemingly inspecting the area for clues as to how it moved. Several times I spoke to them, explaining that I moved it. They never understood me before but used to at least react to my voice.

At the edge of the crash site there arrived a strange amphibious vehicle of some sort. Carried on six articulated three wheeled treads, the body apparently watertight and able to submerge for underwater travel. The front unscrewed, then swiveled to one side. At once, a dozen little fellows in blue tunics poured out brandishing tiny rifles.

What followed was a visually confusing, tumultuous brawl. White tunics versus blue, rifles issuing faint popping sounds, their targets collapsing in a bloody heap. I gaped. What were they doing? I’ve never seen them kill each other before. “Stop” I pleaded. But they continued, indifferent to my presence.

One of the white tunics climbed a clump of grass, then blew into a horn. A moment later, six praying mantises leapt into the fray, wings rapidly beating as they descended. Like grasshoppers, not capable of true flight but something close. Each mantis bore a tiny rider, strapped to a saddle and harness system which blocked the mantis from reaching behind itself.

They were all too capable of attacking the blue tunics, though. I watched in horror as one of the insects seized a blue tunic homunculus in its powerful grasping forearms, then set about methodically eating his head. The shrieking was, thankfully, short lived.

“Stop!” This time a firm command. But it too was disregarded. How could this be happening? How were they turned against one another? The unthinkable only continued to unfold before my eyes as I sat there paralyzed with shock. Then something new emerged from the amphibious carrier.

A frog about the size of my fist, with a pair of riders on its back within a transparent bubble cockpit mounted by harness. Wires from the bubble penetrated into a wound behind the frog’s head, presumably a means of controlling it. The stubby little creature advanced on the mantis cavalry, then shot its tongue out. Quick as a flash, the rider saved only because he fell off in the process.

The grumpy looking amphibian now munched on the crushed body of the mantis, who frantically clawed at the frog’s face with its pincer arms. Much too late for that. In another three bites, it was gone. The horn sounded again, this time signaling a temporary retreat. The white tunics all fled towards the willow tree. The blue tunics hung back, presumably to secure the territory they’d captured.

Is it because of Dan? Did lasting trauma from the war cause this? Is it because I’ve been absent from their lives for too long? Perhaps fighting Tyrants on their own served to militarize them. I followed the submersible tank’s track marks back to its point of origin, a drainage pipe on the far end of the field. Next to it was a small body of water, perhaps thirty feet across. Just accumulated runoff from the road.

Even so, they put a base in it. Building these things seemed to be ingrained in them now. The only place they’ve ever been safe, in their experience, is underwater. At the bottom, perhaps four feet deep, I could just make out a cluster of interconnected glass jars and bottles lit from within.

Their base of operations from which to assault the other tribe. What else could it be? A ring of LEDs indicated what I figured for some sort of docking collar meant for the amphibious carrier. Within some of the larger jars I saw silhouettes moving about, much too large for homunculi. Frogs maybe? Like the one I’d just seen them use.

The pipe explained how they got here. It must connect to a river or stream. Or to the sewer system, from which they could get just about anywhere. I peered into the pipe and on the other end, in the darkness, saw the dim green glow of foxfire. Little shits. It hadn’t even been that long. I blink, and they’re at each others’ throats.

My rage grew when I returned to the crash site to find a second unit of mantis riders assaulting the blue tunics. A team of blues was riddling one of the mantises with bullets, its arms falling to pieces, then finally its head. The rider escaped the worst of it behind the same metal shield which prevents the mantis from removing him.

But once the insect collapsed in its death throes, the blues set upon the now helpless rider as their buddies cooperated to take down the other mantises in the same fashion. I watched anxiously as they closed in around the white tunic, brandishing jagged little knives.

“STOP!” This time with force. They didn’t listen. I raised my arms above my head as if to smash them. All of a sudden, they all stopped and looked at me. Frozen in place. Waiting expectantly to see what I’d do. It was their first acknowledgement of me since the war, but somehow I didn’t feel relieved.

My heart, pounding until then, began to slow. I lowered my arms in despair. Just couldn’t do it. No matter what. I’d already hit someone in anger. Already lied. Hurting the little fellows would be the last line. The last black mark on my heart.

Smart as they might be in certain ways, they also have a naivete about them. Like they’re just figuring out for themselves lessons that we did centuries ago. They haven’t existed for all that long, after all. They don’t know any better, I thought. And they’ll hardly learn anything from being flattened. They’d just be afraid of me after that. I don’t think I could bear it.

I thought back to how I’d found Winston. Emaciated, bruised. Beaten and neglected by someone who grew frustrated or bored with him. Forgetting that he’s just a dog. Expecting too much, forgiving too little, behaving monstrously to what at the end of the day is essentially a child.

It’s not that they can’t see me. At least I don’t think so anymore. It’s that they want to find their own way! I remembered the story the old crone once told me about why she’d created the Tyrants. I’d almost betrayed her. Betrayed myself. My stomach churned. Forgive me, crone.

I tried sweeping them away from each other. Placing stones in their path, and so on. They treated it as a temporary obstacle, each time cooperating to devise a way over or around it in order to continue fighting. They’ve got their own objectives now, independent of what I might’ve ever planned for them. At the moment, that included killing each other.

Stubborn little idiots. Yet even now, I love them. I want to do something. But what? Smash a few, alienating them further? Eat one alive in front of the rest, like a Tyrant? It would destroy me. At a loss for how to proceed and unable to watch the slaughter for even another second, I stood up and left. Resolute that it wasn’t over, that I wouldn’t stop thinking until I’d found a solution. I could do no less for her.

I brought my angst back with me. Tyler noticed. As the bell rang and we headed for the main building, he first returned my jacket, then asked what was wrong. “I don’t want to talk about it”. He looked troubled by my answer, but left it alone.

I passed Heather in the hallway. Passed might be the wrong word. As I approached she made a show of swerving to one side, giving me an almost comically wide berth. Muttering “Ew” on the way, of course.

I still looked. I’m helpless not to, she’s even more captivating in motion. I again scolded myself as though I’d committed some infidelity against Jennifer. What a fool I am, Jennifer’s undoubtedly forgotten me by now.

I spent the next period lost in my own head. Conscious only to the degree required by each lesson, the rest of my mind devoted to the problem of how to unify the two tribes. The trick, first off, will be to catch them in the middle of something. Otherwise they just hide. But then what?

Any sort of barrier I erected, I knew too well they’d soon circumvent or destroy. Nor would it do to imprison them all individually. Periodically destroying their infrastructure and weapons to make war more difficult occurred to me but I doubt the crone wanted me to sabotage them. Nor would she want them to forever remain under my control.

More like hatchlings meant to eventually leave the nest. To keep them in a state of perpetual infancy by force would be perverse. But so would regimenting their behavior with fear and pain. Why are they doing this? What happened? Perhaps that’s the key to it all. Discovering the original cause of the schism.

The teacher broke my concentration, slapping another quiz down on the table before me. I noticed a stern glance from her as she proceeded down this row of tables. I must’ve made an impression the other day. If I’d known there would be another quiz so soon I’d have paid more attention to the lesson, but it’s not as though tests have ever given me trouble.

As ever, it’s down to guessing which answer the author of the test intended. These people make it easier than ever. Most of the questions are of the “complete this sentence” variety, where there’s only one possible answer that the wording strongly implies anyway. Like what they’re really after is a rote affirmation that you agree with every aspect of their worldview.

“Where did the flood waters come from?” I thought back to the other night and couldn’t recall anywhere in Genesis which answered this. But turning the quiz over, I found another question which mentioned a shell of ice around the Earth. What? The physics of that wouldn’t work.

There I go picking at nits again. If I did that, I’d never finish the quiz. So I turned off every part of my brain which objected to the idea of a hollow ice shell enveloping the planet, then forged ahead. It was a huge relief to approach the remaining questions this way, such that I suspected it’s what I was meant to do from the start.

Then I got to a question concerning Earth’s distance from the sun. It made me writhe internally. I couldn’t give them this one. Could I? But I also didn’t want another meeting with the principal. Fear of being disciplined exerted a subtle but effective pressure on me. Like I was being wedged, gently but firmly, into a mold.

I left it blank. If asked I’d say I didn’t know and meant to come back to it later, but forgot. I’m already a liar anyway, and something about these people makes them easy to deceive without the degree of remorse I’d normally feel.

It’s not just because they’re cruel. Cruelty is typical of ogres. It’s the penchant of these specific ones to aggressively deceive themselves and anybody else who will listen, children most of all. Do they think we’re stupid?

I thought I was past the worst of it. Then I came upon the only question so far to really make me think. Wasn’t expecting that. “Why did God have to drown everyone but Noah and his family?” I sat there, reading and re-reading it. This was at least Biblical, but I’d struggled with it when I read it on my own too.

Up until that point, I’d related to much of it. The creation of smaller, simpler people in our image from clay. Striving to teach them right from wrong. Forced to leave their cloistered paradise, scattered to the winds. I could pardon the harsh punishment for disobedience, that’s one way to go. Just not what I felt the witch wanted me to do.

Mass murder, on the other hand, isn’t so easily rationalized. I could understand the frustration, but not acting on it with such profound brutality. Winston hardly ever did what I told him to, but I never decided the answer was to kill him. He was just a dog. I never so much as swatted his butt.

Throughout what I’d read so far, it described us as God’s children. If killing a disobedient dog is out of the question, how could a parent kill their disobedient children? Is that what a good parent does? I’ve gotten the belt a few times, but Dad’s never tried to murder me.

I rejected that approach outright back in the field. They’re my little buddies. I’ll never lay a finger on them with the intent to injure, so long as I live. That’s part of being their guardian. Part of being a dog’s best friend. Part of being a good parent.

To be bigger and stronger, but always gentle and patient. Using your power to shield them from harm while you teach them how to live. Not to terrorize them into obedience like the Tyrants do. It was the first thing I could really call a core principle, and that’s the precise moment it crystallized within me. The strong should help the weak. Protect and nurture them. Not control them with fear.

I remembered telling the principal on the first day that I’ve always wished for somebody stronger to protect me from the ogres. But if there’s nobody who will do that for me, then I’ll become that person for anybody weaker than I am. I can’t imagine there’s many, but I’ll find them. I’ll put myself between them and the ogres. That’s where I want to be.

It was one of those pivotal moments you later wish you’d marked on the calendar. So rarely does something influence the course of your life in a way that you’re conscious of. But to this day I can pinpoint that single question on that ridiculous quiz as the reason why everything afterwards unfolded the way it did.

The rest of my classes went by without any major upsets. All the while, I dreaded meeting with the psychologist at the day’s end. I just wanted to go home. There’s something to be said for some quiet, calm time to unwind after each day. And for somebody to talk to about the day’s events. Yet despite his initial assurances to the contrary, I got the feeling he wasn’t there just to listen and sympathize, but to steer me in a particular direction.

“I understand you’ve befriended Tyler.” I didn’t deny it and saw no reason to. “You do understand that he’s a...homosexual...don’t you?” He said it in a hushed tone. Who is it he was afraid might overhear us? I fiddled with my hands and whispered my answer. He told me to speak up, so I did. Marginally.

“I know he likes boys. I don’t see what the big deal is.” It was like I’d reached up and slapped him in the face. “The big deal”, he replied, “is that to lie with a man as you would a woman guarantees damnation. Do you understand what that means? Into the lake of fire. Eternal separation from God, wailing and gnashing of teeth, the fire which never burns out.”

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 7!}