The Stars Are Legion(44)

Casamir follows my look. “Moths,” she says. “There’s proper lights farther on. Closer to town. Come up. You’ll need to help me get that friend of yours up.”

I call down at Das Muni, “Tie yourself up in the end of that rope and hold on! We’ll pull you up.”

From this height, surrounded in the brighter light of the moths, I can’t see Das Muni at all. I squint and ask Casamir, “How do you safely get down there without getting eaten?”

“You just pause along the way,” she says. “Let your eyes adjust. Plus, I bring snacks.”

“Snacks?”

“For the meaties.”

“The meaties? Recycler monsters?”

“Recycler?” Casamir repeats the word a few times, as if trying to get a taste for it. “Yes,” she says.

I yell back down at Das Muni, “Are you secure? I can’t see you.” I tug on the rope and feel resistance. “Das Muni?”

I hear a squeal. I jerk on the rope again. “Help me,” I tell Casamir.

She takes the rope behind me, and together we pull. “Das Muni!” I yell.

More squealing. I hear “Meatmoth!”

I pull faster. She isn’t heavy, but my muscles are already spent. I hear a roar: the fearful cry of those terrible recycler monsters. My skin prickles.

The pulling takes an age. Das Muni’s squealing continues, high and warbling. I can see the top of her head.

I release the rope with my good hand and reach for Das Muni’s arm.

She turns her head up to me, and in the light of the moths, I can see her clearly for the first time.

Das Muni’s face is flat and angular, and though it is smeared in heavy grit, I can see that her eyes are enormous, twice as large as anyone’s I’ve seen. Her cowl has fallen off her head, and I can see her hair is stringy white, but she is not old. Her skin, though paler than mine and Casamir’s, is unmarked. Her ears stick out from her narrow little head like great leaves, nearly as large as her small hands. She is skinny and pallid and clearly unlike anyone else I’ve seen in this world, even Casamir, who is squat and round and broad in the face, freckled though it is.

I jerk my hand away. It’s an unconscious movement, but it happens, and she sees it. Her expression is so sorrowful, my heart clenches. I grab her wrist. I turn my face away from her as she heaves herself up. Casamir helps, and between the two of us, we get her into the corridor.

Another roar sounds from below us. Das Muni grabs me and holds tight. She is a hot, bony mess of a thing and I find myself thinking of insects.

“You’re all right,” I say, but I can see in her face that she knows I don’t believe that.





“I NEVER THOUGHT I’D NEED ANYONE’S HELP TO COMPLETE THE CONVERSION OF THE MOKSHI TO A FREE WORLD. BUT INDEPENDENCE IS ONE OF THE GREATEST DELUSIONS OF YOUTH.”

—LORD MOKSHI, ANNALS OF THE LEGION





19


ZAN


Casamir picks up a lantern from the floor and shakes it. The moths inside flutter, emitting soft light. I see that the lantern is made of bone and organic green mesh.

“This way,” Casamir says.

Das Muni and I follow Casamir through the low tunnel.

“It opens up here,” Casamir says. “Stay close to me. Stay in the light.”

“Why?” I say.

“It’s dangerous outside the light,” Casamir says.

I move toward her. Das Muni’s fingers dig into my flesh. Her nails are long and ragged.

“Creatures?” I say. “Like the monsters down there?”

“Huh?” Casamir says. “No, it’s just that the walls aren’t as solid in the dark.”

“What?” I say, because I think I’ve misheard her.

“Just stay close,” Casamir says.

“Where are you going?” I say. “We need to go up to the next level. I fell a long way. There could be dozens of levels between me and the surface.”

“Yes, yes,” Casamir says. “Let me take you to the conclave first. They can help.”

“I say I need—”

“What you need is the help of the conclave of engineers,” Casamir says. “They’ll know more about the . . . levels. You put your case to them. They’ll listen.”

“You won’t?”

“Oh, I’m happy to listen,” Casamir says. “I love stories.”

“You don’t believe a word of what I’m saying.”

Casamir sighs. She turns, holding the flickering lamp aloft. She is cleaner than Das Muni and me, and now, outside of the recycling pit, I’m becoming aware of my own stink. I see that my hands are filthy, the grime worked into the seams of my skin.

“A lot of people get thrown away,” she says, “for whatever reason. Whatever story you need to tell yourself about what happened—”

“There was an attack,” I say, “the Bhavajas have taken over the whole world. The Katazyrnas are—”

“I haven’t heard of either of those families,” Casamir says.

“But the Katazyrnas rule the whole world,” I say.

“Not my piece of it,” Casamir says, “and not any piece of it I know. We’ll get this worked out in the conclave. Are you hungry? I have apples.”