Footprints in the Worm Garden [1of6]
Runt Has A New Pet Peeve
Runt hasn't been harmonizing with her sister for a while. But a death in the family forces a remix of roles, and she finds herself with a whole new pet peeve.
Footprints in the Worm Garden
-or-
Petting The Peeve
“Owners of dogs will have noticed that,
if you provide them with food and
water and shelter and affection,
they will think you are god.
Whereas owners of cats are
compelled to realize that,
if you provide them with food and
water and shelter and affection,
they draw the conclusion that they are gods.”
-- Christopher Hitchens
-I-
“No!” shouted The Little One. Her protest echoed through vaulting spandrels and off the sacred cathedral's stone ceiling. Intricate carvings in the walls of the cavernous space polyphonically reflected her voice.
“Decorum!” complained someone from The Caucus, followed by a low-chattering chorus of offended gasps.
Agitated, The Little One continued, “It doesn’t make sense!”
Chief Caucus Cleric replied, “Psalm 91, The laws shall be promulgated.” He held up the bound copy of her father's will as evidence, material to his claim. The gravelly, bearded, old man filed the will into the archives, slammed the vault door, then announced to The Caucus, “The ritual reading is complete. Our way, be done.”
“Our way? A mob of drongos!” said The Little One, eliciting more cries for decorum.
“Drongos!” she repeated, even louder. “Pointlessly bound to meaningless roles!”
All members of The Caucus responded with a similar smoldering silence.
“Sit down,” barked her sister. “Shut up,” she continued, slapping The Little One’s shoulder.
The Little One turned and looked up at a scowling snout, unable to remember a time when her big sister hadn’t been a total bitch. She briefly considered obeying, but instead, found herself compelled to stomp on her sister’s toes. The Little One turned and ran before her sister could even yelp. Mother called after her, but she was fast and set on putting her clan and The Caucus far behind her.
The Little One ran up a capillary leading to one of the passages heading back home. The main thoroughfare was a massive tunnel, lined with broken digging machines made of ancient woods and metals. The chiseled stone beneath her feet had been polished smooth by a millennium of foot traffic. Above her, glowbugs clung to the ceiling. Their translucent insect bodies cast a dim green light that reflected off the purple plastic sequins of her funeral gown, imbuing the path in front of her with a ghostly shimmer. As she ran, tears streamed down her face.
Her father was dead. His will, out of date. Public reading had made it law. Having been created before she had even been birthed, she found no meaning in it. Mother, Sister, and Uncle, had been accounted for, but not The Little One. And yet, the will would demand great change from her.
Father's will had expressed his desire to have a successor in their clan compete in The League. Mother would likely soon send Sister away to serve that role. The Little One wasn’t jealous, as she didn’t care for competition or physicality. However, Father loved everything about sport, insisted on constant training, and had groomed Sister for fitness in The League. And fit she was. She had grown tall and strong. Her healthy, athletic legs were impressive. She was indisputably the highest jumping flyer in Beta. With luck, her fitness would one day bring wealth and prestige to their clan. The Little One’s distress was rooted in fear she would be much less fit than her sister to whatever her new role was to be.
The cavern of Riemann-Beta Layer-715 was well into its night-cycle. Lectriks lining the cavern ceiling were off, leaving only lampposts to light The Little One’s path. She arrived at the edge of a ditch separating the thoroughfare from her neighbour’s yard. She contemplated trespassing only briefly. In the moment, time saved by taking a shortcut was worth more to her than risk of potential future consequences. She hopped over the fence, and landed in the worm garden. As she trudged a familiar path through moist dirt, a new confusing tone of guilt reverberated within. If caught this time, her father wouldn't be around to punish her.
She pulled herself up to the terrace her clan shared with their community, then gazed out over The Dirtyards. Looking east, she took in the dazzling beauty of vast hills of bioluminescent mushrooms. Their giant caps, stalks, and veils shone bio-light through night-mists. Mono-chromatic green light arced westward over the irrigation streams, ending at charred desiccation chambers. Rock walls caked with soot from the incinerators. Stained black bounds of the ceiling, intermittently outlined by blinking bugs. Beyond the farmlands, warm yellow lamplight of her village twinkled, diffused and distant in darkness. There were thousands of caverns just like it in the Riemann-Beta cave complex, but this one was her home.
The Little One turned back to her burrow, grappled over to a window, then hoisted herself and a quantity of mud into her bedchamber. In darkness, she felt out then flipped the lectrik switch, and flooded her room with light. She was startled to see her uncle nonchalantly leaning in the doorway. Sporting a puckish grin he said, “You’re getting mighty fast, Runt.”
Uncle Jowr was Father's brother. He lived far away, visiting only a few times each season. Special occasions, like harvest feasts, sporting events, and caucus gatherings. He likely gave chase after her exit from the cathedral, but had taken a different route through the tunnels. His longer legs had allowed him to arrive home first, but tightness of his ceremonial jersey around his abdomen highlighted labored breathing. His athletic days were deep in the past.
“I want to be alone Uncle Jowr.”
“Come now,” he pleaded, “-there’ll be cheesecake at the reception.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips.
Runt was still upset. She crossed her arms, frowning at his failed attempt at taste persuasion.
“I was just like you back when I was an ankle-biter,” he said, confidently recounting, “smart, hot-headed, and disagreeable.”
Runt took it as a compliment but remained firm in her stance. “Seriously Uncle.”
“Alright, Alright. Can’t say I didn’t try.” He obediently backed away. “But, can I ask your opinion?”
“Yep. So long as you leave me be.”
“Fair deal,” he said, nodding in agreement, then posed his question, “I think your mother is mad at me. Should I go back down home tonight?”
Runt didn’t want to deal with Mother and Sister by herself. “Don’t go yet.”
“Are you sure? I thought I was picking up a vibe.”
Runt rationalized her answer, “She’s upset about losing Father, that’s all. Please stay, if only for brekkie.”
“Okay. Will do. Thanks Runt. I’ll leave you be.” Walking into the hall, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “If you need me I’ll be in my wagon at the end of the lane.”
Runt brushed mud off her feet. She slunk out of her ceremonial gown, turned off the lectriks, then curled up in bed. Father’s passing ceremony had been exhausting. Wishing the sad occasion would end while dreading the future, she closed her eyes and prayed sleep would quickly come.