Cousins

“In all of God’s green earth, what in the hell is this?”

“It’s highly unlikely this was in God’s original plans, Lucy.”

“Why are you so goddamn negative all the time?”

“It’s called being realistic.”

“Nothing about where we are is realistic, Damian! You seriously think this place, of all places, is a natural occurrence?”

“I’m not drawing any conclusions until I know any better. For all we know, this is a dream, and as soon as something bad is about to happen, we’ll wake up.”

“Get your head out of your ass and open your eyes!” So Damian reluctantly obliged. With an exasperated sigh, he glanced around at the seemingly contradictory environment he and Lucy found themselves in. He was trying desperately to control his heart rate and breathing because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, whatever this place was terrified him.

If this was a dream, then it scared the shit out of him.

He and Lucy were positioned at the entrance of a cavernous space consumed by contradictory flora; where verdant grass should’ve slew across the ground, vermillion granite spattered the expanse. Interspersed in-between were tufts of pitch-black trees akin to palm trees that swayed in an unfelt breeze. 

“I don’t like this, Lucy. We should probably head back the way we came.”

“No way! We’ve come this far and discovered this incredible — amazing — thing. If you could just see —,” Lucy stopped, her eyes strapped to the expansive forest, seemingly enchanted by the swaying of the trees. “Do you see how the trees move? How are they doing that? What do you think is causing that?” Damian, knowing that he shouldn’t look, felt compelled to, and he turned from the vision of red-haired Lucy to the black palms. He felt himself swaying with the trees, their movement hypnotizing to watch. 

They swayed back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

They didn’t see the black beast emerge from the treeline and pounce on them, its talons ripping out their throats and feasting upon them. 

“Tracheas are always in short supply.” The beast continued its feast.

***

Regarding the date in question (August 8th, 2042, according to our solar calendar; Day of Red Rock, according to the Klullian calendar), the journal entry of Ktuluk, the Klul’s scribe, has been translated for our convenience. The Klul hope that this document is used for the education of future generations. Every culture has its own traditions and practices and they should be tolerated, not judged. See below for the full transcript.



Day of Red Rock:

Two foreign bodies have been discovered at the western corner of Klulla. I was commanded to follow Mluk and Tlul and record everything as they retrieve the bodies. The Klullian compound is abuzz because, despite the dirty work, there will be a hefty reward as a result of our labours. 

We travel by way of mara, the only creatures that dare take the west road. It’s quite uncomfortable being wedged between the prickly horns that cover the back of the mara, but it is a necessary evil for our protection. Mluk and Tlul, as usual, are bickering over which weapon to use in the case that the foreign bodies are faking their death. 

They settle on two weapons: luuls (twin daggers with double-serrated edges) and the tulul (a long, poison-dipped sword). Both are deadly. Mluk, the taller of the two, chooses luuls, and Tlul, a stout Klul, chooses the tulul, both apt decisions for their statures. I am also armed with luuls because they are smaller and lighter, but I don’t expect to use them; Mluk and Tlul are the warriors and I, as those who will read this entry now know, am simply a scribe. 

Finally, we make it to the western corner of Klulla, our haunches aching from being saddled upon the hard shell of the mara. Luckily, it’s still light out, so we are safe for the time being; however, the sun is sinking below the black palms, so we must hurry. We are getting further away from our mara which we have secured at the furthermost western outpost, the last safe haven on the Klullian compound before venturing as far as Klulla extends, and outside of the protected territory. Of course, the foreign bodies had to have come from the most dangerous corner; terrible beasts live in this forest that even the Klul elders don’t know about. 

In total, we know of one beast: the turul. For those who are reading and are unsure of what the turul is, he is our cousin; he is raven-coloured and feather-winged like us but where we evolved to have an extra set of arms, the turul grew an extra set of wings. We are more civil, and he is more savage. The first turul was shunned from the ancient Klullian village because of his deformity. Every turul since Tal, the first retardation, harbours an innate hatred of its cousin, which is why we live secure in the Klullian compound. It is rumoured that only one turul remains, but Mluk and Tlul don’t trust these reports. 

And neither do I. Elders, I am sorry for disbelieving your reports, but it is insane to believe that only one remains. Further, you have lied to us; the scout that came back this morning with the message about the two foreign bodies in western Klulla succumbed to his wounds. You publicly declared he was healthy and well; I saw his injuries as he came limping back onto the compound. He had been attacked by the sharpened talon of the third or fourth wing of a turul. You are sending us to our death.

Mluk and Tlul are on the defensive, their respective luuls and tulul drawn; fortunately, our colouring proves effective in camouflaging us in the black palms, but the turul is also black. It is the mating season for the trees, so they are swaying back and forth, further providing us with their protection. We reach the furthest western corner of Klulla, and we see the foreign bodies for which the scout had lost his life. 

Of the two pale white figures, one has red strands sprouted on its head and the other has black spikes. From our vantage point at the treeline, there are only the two bodies laying flat and face-down. Mluk’s feathers bristle as he clicks twice with his tongue, warrior short-hand for “blood.” And he is correct. Red blood is pooled around their heads, almost indistinguishable from the red rock of the landscape. Now we know that these foreign bodies are creatures. Any beast, namely the turul, bleeds purple gunk, a thickly-flowing, poisonous substance in which the Klul dip the blade of the tulul. Groups of Klul have managed to dispel the population of the turul by going out on group hunts for the express purpose of killing them. Clearly, not enough has been done because as we venture nearer to the two creatures, we can see that their throats have been ripped out. Tlul is quick to notice the absence of their tracheas, humming with discontent. I hush him, but I hum in agreement with his discontentment. As you know, any deceased creature found in Klulla is included in the ceremony at the end of the month; we honour their deaths with a great feast. However, the creatures’ lacking tracheas does us a great disservice.

It is getting darker. We must hurry and remove their bodies quickly and quietly without alerting the turul that probably still remains in the area. It is obvious that a turul has killed the creatures; tracheas are a delicacy. Mluk and Tlul are the strongest of the three of us, so while I carry my journal, they each carry one body over their shoulder. This does leave us vulnerable but if we hurry, we may make it out alive with both bodies, and our three selves.

We are careful not to jostle the bodies anymore; bruises are not very palatable. 

Despite the limited visibility in the twilight, we make it back to the western outpost. We immediately notice the absence of our mara. Their restraints are torn from the ground and blood is everywhere. Both red and purple, so perhaps our mara managed to escape, but it’s unlikely. 

My two warrior companions draw their weapons, wary of our missing transportation, and take note of the blood spilled everywhere. Tlul grunts at me to draw my luuls and I do so, hesitantly. Turul are not unintelligent; they are thinking, logical creatures, despite their savage nature. Drawing weapons on a savage but intelligent beast is not smart. Perhaps we can communicate with the turul.

I hear a double-beated flap, characteristic of four-winged animals, and the beast lands directly in front of us, perching upon the post where our mara had been tied up. His underdeveloped arms hang loosely in front of his body and his vestigial wings rest at his side; the larger, more built wings are spread wide, the skin stretched from body to talon. His head, bearing a face that resembles ours, is cocked to the side, and his black eyes watch us intently. Mluk and Tlul have faced a turul directly before, but not I. I don’t think I’ll be making it out alive. I hope my journal survives. 

The turul is still watching us, more bird-like than Klul-like, but I can’t help but see myself in him. “What’s your name?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Mluk and Tlul look at me in horror; they are well-trained in war, but even they know that trying to negotiate with a turul is futile. “I am Ktuluk,” I say, placing a hand on my heaving chest. I am terrified.

A few seconds pass where the turul and I are just staring at each other, but then the turul pipes up, “And I am Tuluk, cousin.” Tuluk must have picked up on my confusion because he continues. “We are not the beasts you Klul say we are. We are two of a kind. So why,” Tuluk steps down off his perch and struts toward us on spindly legs. “Do you kill us?” With a gust of his greater wing, Tlul is knocked on his back, and he grunts as a crack resounds in the clearing, evidence of a broken wing. The smaller body he carries is thrown from him.

“Please, the Klul elders have led us astray by making us believe you turul are under-evolved and deformed. Please, spare me, and together we will feast on these creatures’ and my colleagues’ remains.” Mluk and Tlul are speechless; I know they are trying to figure out their next plan, but with Tlul gravely injured and Mluk on his own, they don’t stand a chance. “Please,” I step back and fall to my knees, my wings still lying limply at my back.

“Very well.” I close my eyes now, not wanting to watch Tuluk rip Mluk and Tlul’s insides out; soon, there is no more frantic humming and clicking. “Now, let’s feast, shall we?”

***

In the pale light of the moon, Tuluk and I finish feasting upon the creature’s bodies and we crunch through Mluk’s and Tlul’s cartilageal tracheas; absolutely delicious. We chat a bit, catching up, cousin to cousin, and he tells me about the entrance that the white creatures came from.

I burst out, “We should go there.”

“But why? We don’t want more of these creatures in Klulla.”

“Why not? They make for such delicious meals, and I am ravenous to try their tracheas.”

“Well, their taste is unmatched,” Tuluk sighs lustily.

“Then it’s decided.”

***

He takes me to the entrance the creatures came from, a small crack in the seemingly endless wall, and we dare to walk through. It’s tight, and our wings are scratched. We seem to walk for hours, but Tuluk sees a light getting nearer. “Ktuluk, we’re almost out!” I am getting excited. I never thought there was anything outside of Klulla. 

For a second, my companion is lost in the light to me. I call for him, but there is no answer. I shuffle hurriedly to the light and finally, emerge into a wide, lit expanse of blues, greens, and floating puffs. 

“Where,” I gasp in awe. “In the Kluhell are we?” Tuluk is a few paces ahead of me. He’s staring up at some giant placard and he points at it.

“Al-bert-uh,” Tuluk attempts to say the script scrawled on the sign.

“This has to be a dream.”