Descending Road - THE RUBIGRIS ATTAR OF THE BLOOD by Dana W. Paxson

THE RUBIGRIS ATTAR OF THE BLOOD

1563 4D

Mharhthail and Fanhlhaothim and Drhoinhfigh sang; axes converged and flowered. The three of them, the true children of Anhmharh, rode the meat creatures into their underground hall. The ascension of Qaqanhialh had reached its first apex. They would sing through the tours of the cusps, making hanhorhn, grieving the rebellions, spawning their laughing ghashitaih children who would grow to join them in the hyperknotted ways of the next sun.

They had left their ship, the parhirh, behind; the threads to it drifted uneasily in the inmost blue-girded winds. To calm this rarest gusting of uncertainty, they sang the peacecall: “All will be well, all is well, all was well, the threads hold always.”

The doors to the hall closed behind them. The great gathering of the Zashinhalh began; voices coursed through the underspace in turbulent confluences, the outrushes of pent fluid meaning.

Here and there in the hall’s domed confines, their hosting creatures fed lazily on the others brought for nourishment; the phosphorescence of the ebbing life flowed into higher space, and the Zashinhalh feasted and sang light.

Drhoinhfigh‘s voice lifted across the others, spurted into recesses of the convoluted innerspace, warning them: “Our song will leak out through the crevices into the meat world.”

Hundreds of tones rang in the answer, “Let the creatures wonder. Why sentattar was bestowed on them is a mystery.”

Drhoinhfigh and Fanhlhaothim spun the response, “But they are sometimes food. If we allow them, they will break the prohibition again.” In the high seven-braidings, cycles of gammalight gestated.

The thousand sang together, “Violators. We will devour them all.” Flashes stung the tattered sevenfolds; all tasted the rubigris attar of the blood.

Now Anhmharh: “Turhnushthenh and Alhashanheh sing rebellion. We grieve them.”

Again the thousand: “And Onnhasshakh sings with them. We grieve Onnhasshakh the ancient opposer, always enemy.” The flashes assembled, hardened into knives of energy.

The voices swelled into one; the Zashinhalh were now hanhorhn. “We feast again on this meat world. The confirming word descends on us.” They fell silent; the birthing of the gammalight had begun. Here, now, was the sole place of uncertainty, for little lay hidden from them. Here, as always before, they would take their ship, gather the worldlines of this strong sun, and feed.

They waited.

The gammalight blew inward to itself and vanished. Stunned, they leaped outward into the vastnesses — what had happened? Cries rent the sheaves of hirh-space.

The threads to the parhirh drifted free in the ultrawind. “The ship is taken! The meat creatures have taken our ship!” They chorused the melody, knowing it from eternity to be true never and always. Now was the moment; they gathered in the hall and wailed.

But Drhoinhfigh forced her tiring meat creature up and out of the hall; others followed. She would prevent this. They found the creature who called herself Frintar and threatened her, and they called to the ship. One of the creatures was aboard; in his face Drhoinhfigh sensed the presence of the Kharsh. The Kharsh! This was more than she had realized. Turhnushthenh and Onnhasshakh appeared aboard the ship; she and the others argued. It was no use.

Drhoinhfigh‘s meat creature reeled with exhaustion; she led the others back to the hall, and they cried, “Sanction to Turhnushthenh and Onnhasshakh!”

The gammalight shot forth from the void, embodied, and sang to them in permuted colors. “This is the devouring of the tail. The Return. You take the path of Return. All will begin anew.”

Return! Drhoinhfigh separated from the others. No! She would remain; this world lay open to her, and she would follow Onnhasshakh. “I choose to stay,” she intoned.

But another had twined her already. It was too late. Her energy greedily embraced the other’s; their meat creatures dissolved in shreds of ash; the sheavings tore apart, and they exploded outward into the great curve of ever, speeding through the peeling crusts of ultraspace, annihilated, grieving, renewed, expectant. All was done, the ourhobhorhos curve closed, and their story would begin again, far back in time.

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


	THE RUBIGRIS ATTAR OF THE BLOOD 1563 4D Mharhthail and Fanhlhaothim and Drhoinhfigh sang; axes converged and flowered. The three of them, the true children of Anhmharh, rode the meat creatures into their underground hall. The ascension of Qaqanhialh had reached its first apex. They would sing through the tours of the cusps, making hanhorhn, grieving the rebellions, spawning their laughing ghashitaih children who would grow to join them in the hyperknotted ways of the next sun. They had left their ship, the parhirh, behind; the threads to it drifted uneasily in the inmost blue-girded winds. To calm this rarest gusting of uncertainty, they sang the peacecall: “All will be well, all is well, all was well, the threads hold always.” The doors to the hall closed behind them. The great gathering of the Zashinhalh began; voices coursed through the underspace in turbulent confluences, the outrushes of pent fluid meaning. Here and there in the hall’s domed confines, their hosting creatures fed lazily on the others brought for nourishment; the phosphorescence of the ebbing life flowed into higher space, and the Zashinhalh feasted and sang light. Drhoinhfigh‘s voice lifted across the others, spurted into recesses of the convoluted innerspace, warning them: “Our song will leak out through the crevices into the meat world.” Hundreds of tones rang in the answer, “Let the creatures wonder. Why sentattar was bestowed on them is a mystery.” Drhoinhfigh and Fanhlhaothim spun the response, “But they are sometimes food. If we allow them, they will break the prohibition again.” In the high seven-braidings, cycles of gammalight gestated. The thousand sang together, “Violators. We will devour them all.” Flashes stung the tattered sevenfolds; all tasted the rubigris attar of the blood. Now Anhmharh: “Turhnushthenh and Alhashanheh sing rebellion. We grieve them.” Again the thousand: “And Onnhasshakh sings with them. We grieve Onnhasshakh the ancient opposer, always enemy.” The flashes assembled, hardened into knives of energy. The voices swelled into one; the Zashinhalh were now hanhorhn. “We feast again on this meat world. The confirming word descends on us.” They fell silent; the birthing of the gammalight had begun. Here, now, was the sole place of uncertainty, for little lay hidden from them. Here, as always before, they would take their ship, gather the worldlines of this strong sun, and feed. They waited. The gammalight blew inward to itself and vanished. Stunned, they leaped outward into the vastnesses — what had happened? Cries rent the sheaves of hirh-space. The threads to the parhirh drifted free in the ultrawind. “The ship is taken! The meat creatures have taken our ship!” They chorused the melody, knowing it from eternity to be true never and always. Now was the moment; they gathered in the hall and wailed. But Drhoinhfigh forced her tiring meat creature up and out of the hall; others followed. She would prevent this. They found the creature who called herself Frintar and threatened her, and they called to the ship. One of the creatures was aboard; in his face Drhoinhfigh sensed the presence of the Kharsh. The Kharsh! This was more than she had realized. Turhnushthenh and Onnhasshakh appeared aboard the ship; she and the others argued. It was no use. Drhoinhfigh‘s meat creature reeled with exhaustion; she led the others back to the hall, and they cried, “Sanction to Turhnushthenh and Onnhasshakh!” The gammalight shot forth from the void, embodied, and sang to them in permuted colors. “This is the devouring of the tail. The Return. You take the path of Return. All will begin anew.” Return! Drhoinhfigh separated from the others. No! She would remain; this world lay open to her, and she would follow Onnhasshakh. “I choose to stay,” she intoned. But another had twined her already. It was too late. Her energy greedily embraced the other’s; their meat creatures dissolved in shreds of ash; the sheavings tore apart, and they exploded outward into the great curve of ever, speeding through the peeling crusts of ultraspace, annihilated, grieving, renewed, expectant. All was done, the ourhobhorhos curve closed, and their story would begin again, far back in time.