Kitabı oku: «Priestess Itfut», sayfa 2

The Glamrocks

Matilda regained consciousness and found herself tied to a pole. She was not so much tied to it as firmly wound with rawhide straps, her legs dangling above the ground. The figures in the gray hooded robes circled the pole in a ring mumbling some kind of mantra.

Mana-veda, mana-sana, mana-una, mana-mana.

Mana-oma, ata-mana, mana-okha, mana-dana.

From time to time they would stop, turn to the center of the circle and shout out.

“Synthetic maid! Eat heo!” Then they would resume their sinister circle dance.

“Mana-oga, makha-mana, mana-osha, mana-shana.”

The ground around the pole was desert-like and stony. Not far from the pillar a large fire burned, and a little further off, Matilda could make out primitive-looking buildings. The sky glowed with a dim, gray light but there was no sun. The overall picture was completely colorless, like a black and white film. Against this background, Matilda’s vivid figure looked like an alien from some distant world. As the reader may recall, Matilda had turquoise hair, and a blue painted face and she was wearing a dark-green jumpsuit, pink platforms and a bow of the same color attached to her lower back.

The unfortunate diva was in a state of shock. She could not understand where she was or what was happening. Even worldly-wise priestess Itfut would no doubt have paled finding herself in such a situation. What was the poor thing to feel, as one accustomed to pampering, home comforts and universal adoration? In other circumstances, she would have complained in her usual manner: “Everything is horrible, very, very ho-o-rrible!” But this was not the time to be capricious. For some reason there was only one thought going through her mind at that moment and oddly enough that thought was ‘now my bow will get squashed.’ This was very strange indeed taking into account what had happened to her and what awaited her now.

Meanwhile, the savages, who had spent plenty of time in a circle mumbling began arguing amongst themselves over what to do next with their captive. Some cried, “We’ll f’y heo!“

Others, “No, b’ew heo!”

They appeared either not to be able to pronounce the letter ‘r’, or not to want to because it wasn’t just that they spoke with an uvular ‘r’; they swallowed the sound instead. Far from being comical, this created a creepy effect.

They continued arguing huddled in a group before splitting into two groups which started yelling at each other.

“F’y!”

“B’ew!”

The argument eventually escalated into a messy brawl.

The savages (or whoever else they were, as their faces were all the same, gray, genderless, lifeless and waxlike), were fighting not for life but for death. They had no weapons, but they made use of the stones lying at their feet. Soon, they were no longer standing but rolling around in the dust tearing their robes to shreds. It turned out that they had no hair.

Matilda observed the wild medley with horror and understood that even if they all killed each other, bound to the post unable to move her arms or legs, she stood no chance. She wanted to scream but there was a lump in her throat, and anyway, what was the point? There was not anyone else from whom she could expect help. This was not a dream.

Who knows how long the mindless mayhem would have continued had it not been for a powerful, deep sound like a trumpet. As if waking up, the gray numbskulls picked themselves up reluctantly and still staggering a little managed to arrange themselves in a circle around the pole. Dirty, their clothes in tatters, they once again started stamping their feet in the same circle dance, murmuring what might have been spells or mantras.

Sometime later, as if on cue, they stopped, turned to the center of the circle and angrily shouted in one voice as if they had come to agreement.

“B’ew heo!”

And having spoken these words as one, they began running about. Some threw logs into the flames of the fire. Others dragged a huge cauldron that had appeared as if out of nowhere. A third group leapt closer to Matilda, stuck out their tongues, and stared right at her, shaking their heads and mumbling. They shook and they mumbled and then they shouted.

“Synthetic maid!” All the others joined in unanimously. “Eat heo! Eat!”

Then, mumbling, baring their teeth and sticking out their tongues, they untied their victim and dragged her towards with fire.

It made for a truly surreal scene. Nothing like this could ever happen in reality. A girl with a doll-like appearance and a pink bow… treated with such foul intent… No, it was all too unreal. And yet, it was actually happening.

In this moment, Matilda, who was scared to death just seconds before, suddenly regained her self-control as sometimes happens to a person who, condemned to death, finally has nothing to lose and realizes that things cannot get any worse. Gathering all her strength, Matilda began to shout.

“Get lost, you fools! Get your filthy hands off my bow!”

She cried out instinctively not understanding why she should shout these phrases specifically or why she should be concerned about a thing so trifling, when she was about to breathe her last. All she felt was an intense desire to be left alone. She also noticed that this desire was accompanied by an unusually wearying feeling in the area of her lower back. Whether the sensation arose because of the bow or for some other reason, Matilda was suddenly aware that the feeling was giving her an inexplicable power over the gray breed.

They stopped dead in their tracks and stared at her in complete amazement. Matilda freed herself from their clutches and even managed to push some of them away. She knew intuitively that she must not run, so she froze in expectation of what might happen next. ‘Anything but run,’ thought the diva, who was ready for whatever might happen next, experiencing the same weary feeling in her back.

“Get away from me, you freaks!”

The freaks did in fact start to back off, making sounds of astonishment.

“Did she say the lette’?”

“Is she allowed?”

“Is she mana?”

“Does she have full?”

“She can say the lette’!”

The gray ones huddled together whispering occasionally casting glances at the diva who tried as best she could to assume a posture of pride and dignity. Then, they gathered round Matilda nonetheless keeping a wary distance. One of them took a step forward and asked, “Who are you?”

Matilda answered more calmly, realizing that the immediate threat had passed, at least for now.

“I’m a glamorous diva-a-a! And who are you, freaks?”

Then she stopped short, as if forgetting for a moment where she was, and all about the freaks, who she probably should not be insulting considering that they had almost boiled her alive. ‘Where am I?’ was the huge question that naturally followed. The freaks, meanwhile, paid no attention and began shouting again.

“The synthetic maid!”

“She can say the lette’!”

“Why are you calling me synthetic maid?” asked Matilda.

They silently exchanged glances. The question clearly confused them.

“We don’t know.”

“Ok, and who are you?”

“We glam’ocks!” The grays clamored and interrupted one another. “We ‘ead gibb’ish! We ain’t allowed to ‘ead the lette’!

It’s aboo! It’s aboo!”

“I see,” said Matilda. “You are glamrocks and you read gibberish.”

“Full! Full!” They shouted noisily. “She can say ou' name! She can!”

It would appear that the alien stranger’s ability to freely pronounce the letter ‘r’ and experience no terrible consequence as a result had made a huge impression on the savages. The grays discussed it amongst themselves again, after which, one of them stepped forward with a question.

“A you mana?”

“I’m Matilda, get it?” said the diva.

“Mana-tida! Mana-tida!” shouted the glamrocks. Matilda’s answer caused them to become terribly excited again.

“Why don’t you pronounce the letter?” she asked.

“We ain’t allowed! Not allowed! It’s aboo!” they shouted. “A c’ash will happen!”

“But I say the letter and I don’t have a crash.”

“You mana! Mana-tida!”

“You see! And you wanted to brew me and eat me. Do you know what would have happened if you had?” Matilda was beginning to live into the role assigned to her. “There would have been a total crash!”

On hearing these words, the wretches raised a howl clearly filled with reverential awe.

“Who taught you to read gibberish? And what do you need it for?”

“The Glamo'c taught us! Mana-glamo’c! Theah! Theah!” The grays began gesticulating in an animated fashion and pointing in the direction of the buildings.

“We have to ‘ead gibb’ish, so that we will be full.We must not say the lette’. We not allowed to fight. We not allowed to eat each othe’. It’s aboo! We have to ‘ead gibb’ish.”

“Right, but you are allowed to eat me?”

“Not ou’ own. You not one of us.”

“That’s not true. I am one of you!” said Matilda, thinking on her feet. In situations like this, you tend to think on your feet quite well. “I am your mana!”

Before the glamrocks had time to react, the same trumpet noise sounded from afar. The sound was evidently a kind of signal for them because the savages became alarmed and started shouting.

“Sac’ed hlevjun! We must take heo to sac’ed hlevjun!”

“What hlevjun is that?” Matilda asked.

“The glamo'c is there! Mana-glamo’c! We’ll show you! Let’s go!”

Matilda was gripped with anxiety. If this glamorc was their leader then he might well have his own ideas about who was or wasn’t the real mana. And then the process of cooking and subsequently eating the synthetic maid might be resumed with renewed appetite.

Matilda had no choice. She had not the slightest idea where she could run to. She had to go with them. So, the entire procession set off in the direction of the buildings.

The Dead Head

The glamrocks walked in silence encircling Matilda in a tight crowd but still keeping some distance from her. It was a strange sight. The gray figures with their wax faces and among them a blue blonde wearing a pink bow. It was a truly phantasmagorical procession consisting of a living doll surrounded by mannequins.

You would never say of Matilda that she was just a barbie doll. Some people are pretty, and others are beautiful. It is the difference between form and content. Matilda was one of those people who just have something about them.

But the main thing distinguishing her from the overall picture was not so much her colorful silhouette against the ‘black and white cinema’ background, so much as her life-force. Everything else including the gray figures was not so much dead as lifeless if one could put it that way. The other world probably looked much like this – not that different from our own – it was just different because it was ‘on the other side’. The question is, on the other side of what?

That question remains unanswered for now. Matilda was not concerned about the physics of such phenomena right in this moment. Her mind was filled with anxious thoughts about what would happen next. By virtue of some fated coincidence, she had ended up in a foreign world and it was not yet clear how she might escape. She could see nothing on which to pin any hope. What should she expect from her sinister companions? She dared not imagine.

The glamrocks’ faces expressed grim determination to find out for themselves something that could cost Matilda her life. Although the glamrocks were not touching Matilda, they looked at her with suspicion. One of those walking in front turned around, stuck out his tongue and cried out, “Synthetic maid!”, no doubt out of habit. But then he got a slap. The maid was supposed to be left untouched until it had finally been determined who she really was: ‘mana’ or simply an edible maid.

Matilda’s situation was aggravated by the fact that she was desperate to go to the toilet. ‘At least I only want a number one for now’, she thought. ‘But there’s the thing. How to go about it? What sex are they, I wonder?’ She had not observed any outward indication of gender. And then she was struck by a terrible thought. They might not only eat her but abuse her body to their hearts’ content, who knows in what awful ways.

She trotted along hurriedly in her platform shoes and stubbed her toe against a rock. The poor girl would have given anything to be back in her own world again. ‘I’ll never be capricious again.’ she thought. ‘I’ll be obedient in everything. I’ll never take off my wonderful bow ever again. I’ll do anything, just send me back!’

Remembering the bow, she experienced again that same weird feeling in her back. It was not clear why, but it seemed to give her strength and for some reason caused Matilda to feel that she had the ability to control events. It was as if she could choose what came into being and what did not.

She suddenly realized that she was separate from everything that surrounded her and all that was happening to her. She was the reality in which she found herself. She existed of herself, independently just as reality did. Matilda suddenly understood, not with her mind but with all her being, that here, she had ended up in a book and she was supposed to wander through the pages playing out the plot.

It was like a movie, which you watch as you immerse yourself in a fictional reality. If you concede and give yourself over to what is happening, you have no other choice than to play the role assigned to you. But what if Matilda chose not to? What if she remained separate and the movie separate from her?

’Can this really be my reality?’ thought Matilda. ‘No, this is not my reality. Something is wrong. This kind of thing happens in dreams, but this is not a dream. Although what difference does it make, for God’s sake? Everything will be all right with me, whatever happens. I don’t know how, but I know I’ll be ok. I have no other choice. What other option is there? That’s what I’ve decided, period!’

Immediately after this thought, something happened. To her surprise, Matilda noticed a slanting black strip flash from the sky down to the ground as if some unknown force had turned the page on reality. The gray ones seemed to pay no attention to it and continued their same grim procession as if nothing had happened. Matilda, however, suddenly felt much better and was confident that from now on everything would be all right.

Meanwhile, they reached the buildings they had been heading towards. It was not a town or a village but something quite odd. Everywhere, there were simple, cubic houses with smooth, gray walls made from a material Matilda did not recognize. The houses were interspersed with empty recesses with the same cubic frame. And there were stairways everywhere, some leading up to the rooftops, others down into pits, and still others twisting senselessly and disappearing into nowhere. The fanciful intertwining of cubic structures and niches along with the many stairways created an absurd scene.

By an indirect route, crossing from one stairway to another, they exited onto what looked to be the only open space, a square, in the middle of which stood a construction, no less strange than anything else in this peculiar place. The construction was a black monolith with an oval perimeter enclosed by protruding columns, which bent gently upwards to form a ribbed dome.

By all appearances, this was the very same ‘sacred hlevjun’ although its sinister form was more reminiscent of a spaceship. The glamrocks could not have built such a structure themselves, or the rest of the city for that matter.

In the same moment that the procession approached the megalith, the construction produced a startlingly powerful trumpet sound in a low tone, which permeated the surrounding space. As soon as the sound reached the glamrocks’ ears, they began to fuss and rushed inside. Matilda followed them with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

The megalith had the same form inside as it did on the outside. The black pillars that extended outwards from the walls rose smoothly upwards into a high dome. A green glow emanated somewhere from a niche near the floor. The floor was black and as smooth as a mirror. The place was empty except for a single element at the center which looked to be a rectangular-shaped altar or plinth made of the same material as the floor. A head was growing up out of the plinth, bald and gray like the glamrocks.

The head writhed with grimaces not making a sound. The glamrocks surrounded the altar, shoved Matilda inside the circle, fell to their knees and with raised hands began making invocations.

“Glamo’c! Mana-glamo’c!”

Without changing its expression from a grimace, the head spoke in a low bass tone.

“Read gibberish. You must not read the letter. I am mana. I can. But you can’t.

Mana-veda, mana-sana, mana-una, mana-mana.

Mana-oma, ata-mana, mana-okha, mana-dana.”

The glamrocks muttered the mantra obediently repeating the words the head spoke.

“Mana-oga, makha-mana, mana-osha, mana-shana,” continued the glamorck (obviously, this was him). “Read gibberish.Then you will be full. Don’t do the things that aren’t allowed, otherwise there’ll be a crash!“

The savages put their heads in their hands and groaned.

“Aboo! It’s aboo!”

“Who is mana here?” asked the head. “Who do you need to kiss around here?”

“Glamo’c! Mana-glamo’c!” they responded and began rubbing their faces along the floor, mercilessly squashing their noses.

“Praise me!” the glamorc shouted ominously, accompanying the words with horrible grimacing and sending out a monotonous murmur. “О-a-oo-khomm, о-a-oo-homm.”

“О-a-oo-khomm!” the glamrocks repeated.

They droned on for a while longer following the head’s lead but then gradually became quiet and turned their gaze to the maid inside the circle. Matilda stood completely at a loss not knowing what to do with herself. They clearly expected her to do something. It was time to take urgent action and as she correctly surmised, it had to be something extraordinary as her authority had diminished rapidly in the presence of the glamorc.

She was also desperate for the toilet. Matilda could not understand what kind of head this was, whether it was alive, and if so, why it was growing out of the monolith. As she watched, it continued to mumble and grimace. Then Matilda spotted something mechanical about the head. It was periodically repeating the same movements over and over again in a cycle.

She had nothing to lose. It was now or never. If she did not take the situation into her own hands this very second, she was finished. Without further hesitation, Matilda climbed up onto the altar, undid the zipper on her jumpsuit, crouched down and relieved herself right on top of the talking head.

The glamrocks stared at her completely dumbfounded, a look of indescribable horror appearing on their faces, formerly devoid of any facial expression. They observed the entire spectacle without making a single sound. Having completed the sacrilege, the diva rose and calmly zipped herself back up again. In that moment, the head began sending out sparks, then it twitched and with a fading mumble stalled, completely paralyzed in a pitiful grimace.

Matilda understood now. Standing on the plinth, she gave the savages a triumphant look. Their glamorc was defeated. After an initial pause, Matilda asked them the sacred question they had already heard before.

“Who is mana here?”

“Mana-tida! Mana-tida!” the glamrocks cried out. The sound of their voices faded and then again, they cried. “You are our new mana!”

In this instant, the glamrocks fell to their knees wiping their faces across the floor as before. Matilda climbed down from the plinth and began to give orders.

“Stop! Get up! Really, get up, I tell you!”

The glamrocks rose to their feet and surrounded her still keeping a respectful distance. The diva was finally herself again and asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

“…’ead gibb’ish! …’ead gibb’ish!” the gray ones shouted. The dead head did not seem to interest them anymore. They stared in awe at their new mana ready to follow any order she might give them.

Matilda stopped and thought for a moment. She had just escaped a terrible fate, finding a way out of what she had assumed to be a hopeless situation. She had never experienced anything like this ever in her life before, and naturally, could never have imagined herself capable of coping with such a crisis. But events were developing so rapidly, she did not have time to be surprised or celebrate.

As before, Matilda faced a multitude of unresolved questions: what was the head? What was this building, this town? Who built it all and why? What was this world in which she found herself? Whoever the architects were, it definitely was not the glamrocks. Judging from what she had seen, the head was an electrical mechanism that served as a means of shackling these primitive people. Now the head was broken but the source of energy that had fed it was clearly still active as the monolith continued to emit its green glow.

The main thing was to work out what on earth Matilda was going to do next. If these people were primitive, there was no telling what they might come up with. That meant she had to occupy their minds with something resembling a ritual, otherwise they might become disobedient to her. Having considered the circumstances, clever Matilda (and she was undoubtedly very clever) decided to start by establishing some kind of bond with the gray ones.