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Beauty is Deception
Zisqe stands before the gathered tribe, Ovainn standing small behind them. Anticipation littered the air like teeth littered their bodies. Or now, some of their bodies. Zisqe had been waiting to heal before doing this, and now that the chitin had stitched up, the time had arrived.
”My family. My loves,” they start, shaking. ”I bring before you Ovainn. The first of the Bujzii,”
There was silence as the tribe stared at Ovainn, who shrank back behind Zisqe’s leg. Zisqe sighs a shaky sigh. They pat Ovainn on the head in an attempt to comfort, but it could feel how shaky its parent was.
”Ovainn can see things that aren’t there, like those who are Ruined,” Zisqe says. Scowls grow deeper. ”But they are not Ruined. They can speak full words, and they can see things that are there,”
There’s a shift in how the crowd watches them now. Suspicion ebbs a little, making way for interest to flow forth.
”I made a trip to the mountains. There I found a monster in a maw of rock. I heard Uzit’s cries coming from this maw, but saw nothing before I had to run for fear of my life. Uzit is in the mouth of the mountain, and Ovainn will be able to see them. Do not shun how they stand on the edge of the Ruined, praise it, for it will return one of us.”
A cheer tears through the icy mood. One person, up the back. But these things catch, and Joy is infectious. Soon enough, the rest of the crowd is whooping at the idea, even if they never knew Uzit.
As it dies down, someone raises their arm. Antoz, the childhood friend of Uzit. “You will not kill the monster yourself. I will come.”
Zisqe nods, ”Antoz, you speak my words. I need one more,” Zisqe says. They smile.
---
The other one that joined them was called Eves. They all spent the night together, and set out the next morning, into the jungle. They were equipped with nets, spears, rope, and baskets.
The air was no less oppressive than it was with only one person. It seemed to jump forth and stifle any attempt at conversation before it even left the head. The heat, the wet, the quiet. All that could be heard was the footsteps, and occasionally some kind of necessary communication.
The river that had held dead fish last time Zisqe took this route was now full of nothing. There was only water, slipping away. They had to eat berries and fruits and nuts. They had to drink water from a stream that had once been full of life.
Birds chirped on the last morning of the journey. They had all slept at the bottom of the first foothill, the sheer cliff. Zisqe wanted them to be fresh when they came up against the monster.
As they climbed, and left the dense jungle air, a different type of oppression overcame them. One of sombreness. Someone important may die. Zisqe gripped their spear tighter.
The cliff was rocky enough that they could climb with ease. They all followed Zisqe up, and they all knew that if Zisqe fell, so would they all, and nobody in the village would know.
But they made it to the top. There was the bird, watching them. Zisqe helped them up, one by one. ”Now, you two,” they point to Antoz and Eves, ”Stand either side of the maw. I will stay out front and lure it out. When it’s here, catch it with this net. Try to reign it in. Tie the ends together, then we’ll work together to wound it until death.”
Antoz spoke next, “What if we fail to catch it?”
”Then we try to lure it off the cliff. If it does not become dead after that, then we run that way” Zisqe says, pointing across the mountain range.
“What do I do?” Ovainn asked. Their small, high voice was an absurd contrast to the feel of the place.
Zisqe stood and picked Ovainn up. ”You stay here, and only come out when I call for you,” they said, walking over to a small crevasse in the side of the mountain.
---
From inside the crevasse, Ovainn could see nothing but stone. They heard their creator walking away. Some muffled words. A long silence followed. It was stretched, like hide on a rack. Like a wave, just as it had clawed up the shore. Just before it rushes back out to sea, taking sand with it. It was a painful silence. Every moment was a spear. Every moment of nothing that passed suggested the idea that the monster had already come. It had already eaten. It ate so quickly that nobody could react. Or maybe there was no mo-
A loud roar.
Shouts, screams. Cries. Zisqe yelling for them to ”Hold on!”. Grunts. The monster letting out a roar, shredding the air. Eating wills and moving the bones in their bodies.
There was a loud scream, cut short.
Might it have been Zisqe? Ovainn had to see. Had to know. They moved their hand out of the crevasse, palm pointing towards the sounds. Opening an eye.
And immediately retracted its hand. Zisqe was fine. Ovainn was pale as the shadow of a doubt.
The image stuck in its head. Tentacles, teeth, parts unnamed. A jaw the size of them. Ovainn had to see again. Call it morbid curiosity. The curiosity only a child can muster, with all the reasoning alongside it. Ovainn sticks its head out, and opens the Fallen Eye.
What it sees is not at all what it saw before. Gone were the tentacles. Gone was the jaw. It no longer roared.
It cried.
It was curled on the ground, the net draped gently over it. It cried. Desperate cries, fearful cries. Betrayed cries. It was a Bujzell, curled up and wailing. The rest of them were fighting nothing, ducking out of the way of things that weren’t there.
Ovainn yelled out, but Zisqe rushed in.
Antoz cheered, and Zisqe turned immediately to Ovainn. They strode over, a storm on their face. ”Ovainn! I told you, stay behind there until I tell you to get out! It’s not safe. The mons-”
Antoz screamed a scream of despair.
Zisqe whirled around to see what was going on, and caught sight of the scene.
The monster was gone. In its place lay Uzit, spear thrust all the way through it.