Descending Road - ALLASHANI DOES JEDDIN by Dana W. Paxson

ALLASHANI DOES JEDDIN

1529 4D

“Jeddin,” she said. “Not again.” She watched the boy turn and trot away down the deserted understreet, not once looking back at her or at Jeddin‘s body in the cubby behind her. How did these little children get so deep in death’s acquaintance?

This one wasn’t one of hers. He had a family of his own, but something was missing. His arms had come around her, tight, needy, when she had given him the cleansing kiss: ah, his mother was gone, whether dead or drug-wasted, it didn’t matter.

She turned back to the body. This was the work of the Zashinhalh. What a mess. When she took her own, and fed, she always made sure that things were cleaned up afterwards.

But Jeddin! How could any of the Zashinalh have fed on him, so filled with sentattar as he was? It broke their strictest laws.

She stooped, reached, lofted Jeddin‘s corpse to her shoulders, and stood up. This would take a long time. She found an empty stair downward, and lugged the body down to a narrow steel door. She edged through the doorway into the deepest maze of her rooms, far from the inhabited parts of the City above.

Here the stone corridors were rough, narrow. Gouged in their walls at uneven intervals were depressions the height and breadth of a tall human. A few of the depressions were webbed over with a silvery-beige sheen of silky strands.

She stood Jeddin‘s body upright in one of the empty niches with one hand, and placed her other hand under her mouth. Her belly worked, tightened, creating living polymers, and she urged from her mouth a pale spew of sticky, yellowish strands. With quick fingers she wove these across the body, pinning it in the niche at the head, chest, thighs and knees, weaving the sticking strands from one side of the niche to the other.

Next, the generatives. Her belly tensed again, contracted. She brought up thicker, heavier strands of blue-pearled fluid. With both hands she gathered and guided it in sheets around Jeddin‘s body, smoothing it deftly, turning the corpse into a shining cocoon of silvery bluish-white, with only one small opening at its mouth. She placed the heaviest layers over the gap in Jeddin‘s belly. From her handiwork now rose the fresh aromas of violet, manure and nutmeg.

Weariness gripped her; she sweated. The generatives always consumed most of her store of energy, and there was still one step left. She drew close to the mouth-hole and whispered, “Jeddin, it is time for a long rest.” Up came the last thick waters of power from her gut. She placed her mouth on the slack mouth of Jeddin‘s corpse and applied the long slow kiss of life. Its work would take years, so much had been ripped from him. If only she could stay and bring him back now, but there were too many others.

Exhausted, she sealed his mouth, and fell away. It was time now to feed herself. There would be plenty at this hour, sleeping drug-laden in the Sobi understreets, spirit-drained, lifeless. She made her way from her catacombs, smoothed the perspiration-streaked folds of her deep-blue bodysuit, and began painfully, step by step, to ascend the stairs.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	ALLASHANI DOES JEDDIN 1529 4D “Jeddin,” she said. “Not again.” She watched the boy turn and trot away down the deserted understreet, not once looking back at her or at Jeddin‘s body in the cubby behind her. How did these little children get so deep in death’s acquaintance? This one wasn’t one of hers. He had a family of his own, but something was missing. His arms had come around her, tight, needy, when she had given him the cleansing kiss: ah, his mother was gone, whether dead or drug-wasted, it didn’t matter. She turned back to the body. This was the work of the Zashinhalh. What a mess. When she took her own, and fed, she always made sure that things were cleaned up afterwards. But Jeddin! How could any of the Zashinalh have fed on him, so filled with sentattar as he was? It broke their strictest laws. She stooped, reached, lofted Jeddin‘s corpse to her shoulders, and stood up. This would take a long time. She found an empty stair downward, and lugged the body down to a narrow steel door. She edged through the doorway into the deepest maze of her rooms, far from the inhabited parts of the City above. Here the stone corridors were rough, narrow. Gouged in their walls at uneven intervals were depressions the height and breadth of a tall human. A few of the depressions were webbed over with a silvery-beige sheen of silky strands. She stood Jeddin‘s body upright in one of the empty niches with one hand, and placed her other hand under her mouth. Her belly worked, tightened, creating living polymers, and she urged from her mouth a pale spew of sticky, yellowish strands. With quick fingers she wove these across the body, pinning it in the niche at the head, chest, thighs and knees, weaving the sticking strands from one side of the niche to the other. Next, the generatives. Her belly tensed again, contracted. She brought up thicker, heavier strands of blue-pearled fluid. With both hands she gathered and guided it in sheets around Jeddin‘s body, smoothing it deftly, turning the corpse into a shining cocoon of silvery bluish-white, with only one small opening at its mouth. She placed the heaviest layers over the gap in Jeddin‘s belly. From her handiwork now rose the fresh aromas of violet, manure and nutmeg. Weariness gripped her; she sweated. The generatives always consumed most of her store of energy, and there was still one step left. She drew close to the mouth-hole and whispered, “Jeddin, it is time for a long rest.” Up came the last thick waters of power from her gut. She placed her mouth on the slack mouth of Jeddin‘s corpse and applied the long slow kiss of life. Its work would take years, so much had been ripped from him. If only she could stay and bring him back now, but there were too many others. Exhausted, she sealed his mouth, and fell away. It was time now to feed herself. There would be plenty at this hour, sleeping drug-laden in the Sobi understreets, spirit-drained, lifeless. She made her way from her catacombs, smoothed the perspiration-streaked folds of her deep-blue bodysuit, and began painfully, step by step, to ascend the stairs.