The Saga of Zammar the Great #13: The Mindspace

Story Recap:

The battle with the Und’kal left the city of Candahar utterly destroyed. But from its ruins came the union of unlikely parties: Lion’s Gate (a city of The Whitelands), The Dragon Empire and Kathman (a city of Indus).

Ren, Queen to the fallen kingdom of Torst, mediated the conflicts between the different parties in an attempt to restore stability in the region and begin rallying forces against the alien threat. She called for a meeting of nations to discuss the new threats.  

Soon after meeting Aythyl, Tristan allowed the young Und to “mindshare” with him. This ability allowed the alien to live through Tristan’s life as a young man in The Dragon Peak mountain range. The two, close friends now, promised to work towards peace between their races. To facilitate this, Aythyl trusted Tristan with his heartstone - a rock that would allow the two, now connected in mind, to communicate across great distances.  

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Ren rubbed her eyes and massaged her temple tiredly before picking up a cron. The golden coin from The Whitelands was lustrous and weighty. She sighed, put it back on the makeshift table she was seated at and scrutinized the other currencies laid out in front of her. The Dragon Empire had moon shaped coins, aptly named crescents. The marked pieces of papyrus paper from The Blacklands were called ran, and wooden chips marked intricately made the currency of Indus. Neither was used extensively; both nations ran primarily on an internal bartering system.

Ren was wearing the yak skin clothes she had been given at Tristan’s village, and it really was too hot for them. Her skin itched along the seams, and the tough leather scratched and rubbed against her body. She bore the discomfort without complaint. Her hand reached down to a pouch on her belt and she played with one of the Torstian coins inside. She didn’t add it to the collection in front of her.

“It’s not possible, surely.” Takahito stuttered. The man from The Dragon Empire, wearing enviously thin red robes, seemed to never to stop trembling.

“The Whitelands has never traded currency with either The Blacklands or Indus. There is no way of converting it.” General Brigadier Anderson added, his voice as impassive as ever. Over the past two weeks his impartiality had sparked much trepidation in Ren. Now she felt almost apathetic to it, and she knew that was dangerous.

“We need to make it happen to build the economy here.” Ren replied.

“Queen Ansari, I’ve already said that we should not think about the economy at all, there are more important matters. In Candahar we’ve always taken care of one another. This is a hard time, and though my people have set out to rebuild the city, we still do.” Abejide said.

“Chief Abejide, your people aren’t the only ones here anymore. This camp is growing large, and will grow larger. I don’t mean to intrude on your hospitality for too long, and I promise that we will move to found a new city. But for now, we need to stick together, and we need to set up an economy. The current system isn’t working; there is so much to be done yet most do nothing.

“Traditionally, all trade between the nations went through Torst. The moneychangers of the city had the knowledge to convert the currencies into the local Torstian coin.” Zammar said.

“There is no way to mint more of that money,” Anderson said, “now that the city is gone.” He looked at Ren with his piercing blue eyes.

“Another problem, Queen Ansari. Most of the people coming here have lost everything, they have no money to exchange anyway.” Abejide said.

Ren looked down at the currencies. Ideally, she would be rid of all of them; there was no point in so much tedious bookkeeping when the world could function with just one coin. Unfortunately, things like this were tied to tradition; it would take years for her to discontinue use of the currencies altogether.

Still, a start is something.

“Then we don’t have a choice. Let’s make a new currency.”

“A new currency? Surely no-” Takahito began.

“Yes,” Ren interrupted. “Something we can use internally. Just in this camp for now, eventually for New Torst. Everyone will start from scratch. We’ll have a group of workers minting, and then figure how to distribute it. People will have to work to earn it. The economy will probably set itself up.”

“That’s a risky move, Queen Ansari. People will be unhappy.” Abejide said.

“Yes, the ones who brought their riches with them will be. But this will give a chance for everyone else to work for the same. Abejide, haven’t you been out to the camp? Families starve while their neighbours feast. There is no way to enforce fairness without using force, and we don’t have enough men to do that.”

The biggest concern is how long we can stay here. The Und’kal will be back.

In addition to directing people that had fled their homes before they were ravaged by the aliens, Ren had asked the bird riders of Kathman to keep a constant eye out for Und’kal. For the two weeks since the battle at Candahar, none had been spotted. She was hopeful that the aliens wouldn’t return before the council of nations could take place. Until then, she had to take care of the people already here.

They had erected tents, sewn together from spare fabric, next to the ruin of Candahar. The refugee camp, which started small, had grown rapidly into a collection of people and their accompanying filth. Ren had been kept busy organizing the camp’s layout and infrastructure, as well as enforcing order. Presently, she sat in the largest tent located in the center of the camp, which she used as a command post. Like most days, she was surrounded by people – namely Anderson, Takahito, Zammar, Maria and Abejide.

“Well, that’s my idea. What do you think?” She asked into the silence.

Abejide was thoughtful for a moment. “I cannot say how much Candahar will use this currency; we mostly keep to ourselves. Almost all of the people in the camp come from The Blacklands. I think many of them will be unhappy to adopt this new currency. There is still loyalty to the pharaoh.”

“It is true, many remain loyal to the pharaoh,” Zammar added. “He is their god-king after all. Still, the queen has provided them with home and refuge. I suspect that many of the villagers will be very willing to join New Torst.”

“Maybe. I suppose we are closer to Torst than Kairo. The pharaoh’s influence has always been weaker this far from the capital.” Abejide said.

“It certainly isn’t weaker in the Dead Lands.” Anderson said.

“That’s the most contested border in the world.” Zammar replied. “Look at Candahar, the Kairan religion isn’t even followed here.”

“If people wish to remain part of The Blacklands, I can’t stop them.” Ren said. “But I think that within the camp, I mean as long as they are here, they will have to use our currency for food and services. Maybe once we get in contact with the other nations we can figure out how to convert the currencies. But I can’t do that without talking to the other leaders.”

“Your new currency will probably accomplish what you want it to, eventually.” Anderson said.

“But you don’t like it?” Ren asked.

“It does not benefit Lion’s Arch or The Golden Brigade in any way.”

“Not exceptionally so, will the brigade be okay with it?”

“They are disciplined soldiers, Queen Ansari, they will do as I say.” Anderson said.

“It may be a rough transition to the new currency, but it will work for the better in the long term.” Zammar said.

“I will support your decisions, Queen Ansari.” Abejide said.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Takahito said.

“Alright,” said Ren. “It’s decided. We’ll need to figure out the details, Abejide do you think you can find people to mint it? I was thinking we could use spare wood from the broken wall for now.”

“Yes, I’ll ask some of the trustworthy villagers I know to help.”

“Excellent, what’s next on the agenda?”

“Another village should have arrived in the camp this morning.” Abejide said.

“Ah yes, sorry Maria, but could you fetch their leader?” Ren replied.

“Yes, my Queen.” Her guide walked quickly out of the tent, limping with a wooden walking stick.

“Which village is this one?”

“One called Sampalok. They hail from the north, close to The Dead Lands.”

“Then I suppose they are pretty loyal to the pharaoh?”

“Very much so.”

“Oh great.” Ren sighed and cleared some of the paper in front of her to find the crude drawing of the campsite. “Where can we put them?”

“As always, we want to try and keep them separated from others of similar mind,” Anderson said. “Place them here, with the people from Boran next to Lion’s Gate. We will keep an eye on them. Between Candahar and us, they will be separated from Bida and Assi.”

“There were several more brawls overnight,” Abejide said. “A man from Bida is in the medical camp after he was stabbed by a soldier from Lion’s Gate. Other than that, we managed to break most of them up before they could escalate.”

“My men were ambushed in their sleep. What they did was nothing more than self defense.” Anderson said stiffly. “I suggest you control yours better.”

“They are not men of Can-”

“Enough,” Ren interrupted. “I apologize, General Anderson. We’re doing a good job of stopping the conflicts before they escalate, and I have you to thank for that, Abejide and Takahito. Your men are keeping the peace well. We need a way to stop the fighting from starting.”

“You need not accept anyone into this site that you think will disturb the order.” Anderson said.

“No, I will not abandon people to die in the desert sun.” Ren replied.

“Suit yourself, Queen Ansari. But I did warn you.”

“We just need to show them that there are more important things right now. Surely they must understand that.” Ren said, frustrated.

“My Queen, it’s been two weeks and you have yet to address the campsite as a whole. Many whisper of a so-called queen, yet the majority of these people have never seen you. They have no reason to look at the bigger picture.” Abejide said.

“I too think it is necessary that you speak to the camp soon. These people have been at war for centuries, and their hatred runs deep. These hard times will bring out the worst in people, and you need to guide them to peace.” Zammar said. The man, whose entire torso was covered in bandages, and who leaned slightly to his right, looked at Ren with sympathy. She returned his gaze, her fingers numb at the idea.

“I know.” She replied. “I’ll do it eventually…”

“The sooner the better.” Zammar said.

“My Queen,” Maria’s voice called from outside, “I have brought Jabari, leader of Sampalok.”

Ren made to stand, but a shot of pain ran through her ribs, causing her to fall back hard on her thatched chair and clutch at her chest. Zammar’s hand landed on her shoulder, pressing it calmly and encouraging her to stay seated.

Maria entered, followed by an aging and scarred man. He looked around the tent fiercely, his bloodshot eyes lingering on Zammar and Anderson. “Abejide, what the fuck’s going on here?” He spat.  

“Jabari, this is a refugee camp set up by Torst.”

“Torst? Then who let them in,” he pointed at Anderson.

“They are here under my hospitality,” Ren said.

“And who is this bitch?” He asked Abejide, without looking at Ren.

“The Queen of Torst.”

“Well I don’t give a shit. This is The Blacklands, Abejide. You fucked up big, and when the pharaoh finds out...” He started laughing.

“I’ve already sent a message to The Pharaoh, he will be coming here soon.” Abejide said calmly.

Jabari’s eyes widened and he stood stunned for a few seconds. “The Pharaoh? Coming here? To this shit fest?”

“You saw the beasts, they destroyed your home just as they destroyed mine. The pharaoh needs to know,” Abejide said. “Stay here awhile, Jabari, we can take care of each other. We need to warn the pharaoh. Maybe we’ll need to fight together, just like the old days.”

“Yeah…The pharaoh…man, what are we going to say…” The bewildered man replied before shaking his head. “Damnit Abejide, you’re in deep shit.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll let the pharaoh deal with you...”

“Then, if we can get Sampalok to set up camp here, and we need an inventory of what you’ve brought with you…” Ren pointed at her map, but the man did not even acknowledge her presence. Still in a daze, he turned and began walking out of the tent.

Maria glanced at Ren’s map, “I will take him, my Queen.” She lumbered quickly after him.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Takahito said.

“No, but he will be trouble.” Zammar replied.

Ren found herself once again massaging her temple and closing her eyes. She almost drifted to sleep, but forced herself awake.

“The Pharaoh hasn’t actually replied yet has he Abejide?”

“Not yet, but we have bigger concerns. Queen Ansari, we now have eleven villages here.” Abejide said. “Though I don’t expect any others, we also have Candahar, Lion’s Gate, Kathman and the Dragon soldiers.”

“Yes,” her voice was weak.

“And how do you plan on feeding all these people?”

“I don’t know.” She replied miserably.

***

The Und Aythyl lay on a bed of Turg and stared at the cavern ceiling. He knew that through it, and past the extensive cave system, there was an ancient human city. Of course the city was ruined now, annihilated by the initial Und’kal invasion. Torst was its name. Tristan’s knowledge told him that. Aythyl also knew of the reverence that his human friend had for the city. Yet truly, Tristan had never known its majesty. It was strange for Aythyl to find beauty in its tall walls and buildings: cathedrals and all the other kinds that comprised belief systems for humans. No, to appreciate these impractically built towers that were called “art” - that was not Und’kal.

Aythyl thought back to the people of his childhood – no, to the people of Tristan’s childhood. He remembered the face of the human known as “Elder Gyasho,” a man that had always been kind to him – no, kind to Tristan. He remembered how the villagers had gathered together on cold days and bundled up against the fire as the man told stories of “gods.”

The idea was foreign to him. In fact, it made no sense. Aythyl had lived for nineteen years of a human’s life, and not once had he laid eyes upon one of these “gods.” There was no evidence, nothing, no reason for humans to accept the idea that their lives were controlled by “gods.” When Tristan had met his Queen-mate, his love, he found that she followed different “gods.” How could both of their deities exist when each was omnipotent?

Yet there was a part of him that wanted to believe in them. He knew this was Tristan. Tristan, who had lived as an outsider in his group of humans, who had never known life outside his “village,” who had never understood why he was different, who would be led to believe that his life served a greater purpose if there indeed was a deity.

But if the purpose of existence was to serve a deity, what was the purpose of the deity’s existence?

So Aythyl clung to his rational self. Unds existed to serve the Und Prime, and in turn to serve the Und’kal, eventually by returning their essence to the Hive mind. All he did was for the betterment of his species, there was nothing else. That was known, fact, instinct even.

But to what end, and why?

He shunted the thought aside.

The room he was in was a small chamber in the side of the main cavern system that spanned beneath the mountain. Turg, the Und’kal building material, had been grown to cover all of the walls and ceiling. The long vine-like tubes completely hid all natural features of the cave in monotonous black stripes.

His bed of Turg was comfortable on his long limbs. Unds did not sleep as humans do. Instead, Aythyl lay in trance like state: busily active of mind, but resting his weary body. He was almost fully grown, despite not having lived for a full earth year. He would never live as long as a human, and would wither away within fifteen earth years. It was strange for Aythyl to think that he had lived more years as Tristan than he ever would as himself.

Unds did not fear withering. If anything, it was the ultimate goal. Naturally, they feared death. There was no way to contribute to the Und’kal race in death. Withering on the other hand, that was different.

But Aythyl thought of it now, with Tristan’s life in perspective. His friend would go on to live for many years after him. His friend would see the world as it changed, see the progression of his own species. In comparison, Aythyl felt like an insect. The idea scared him.

Stay focused. The hivemind will welcome me.

With that, Aythyl started opening his recently developed connection to The Mindspace. His aim was to seek peace between Und’kal and human, but it was a delicate task and had to be handled carefully. He was not yet fully developed, and thus unable to contribute to The Mindspace, which was the most viable method for him to get his message out. In the meantime, Aythyl needed what human’s would call “work.” He needed a way to help advance  the Und’kal species. This need was inherent, like food. But it was also practical on his part, because he could position himself better within the Und society.  

Still physically lying on his bed of Turg, Aythyl’s conscience began to drift. He exited the space of his own mind, and entered the collective Mindspace of the Und’kal.

He felt himself float into a golden sea of thought and ideas. Suddenly he was surrounded by knowledge, concepts, prospects and theories that Unds had deposited into the space. In a way, it was as if he had gained an ethereal form that allowed him to float around this endless sea and explore the little golden globes that held the ideas and discussions of other Und. Some seemed larger: more prominent, more discussed, more accepted. Others were not as significant: small entities that had recently been introduced or shunted by enough Und that their contents had been disproved already.

Of course, he wasn’t actually in a golden sea. Physically, Aythyl remained in his bed. Mentally, his mind had expanded to allow the new Mindspace, and contained his own mind separate from it. The visualization served the purpose of making the enormous Mindspace more tangible; it allowed him to explore it more easily.

In some corner of the space was The Hivemind. The vast entity was a collection of the essence of millions of Und’s conscience. It served a purposeful duty as an ever-guiding body, a presence that showed confused Unds the way, or that retained the essence of the Und’kal species within itself.

The presence of The Hivemind could be felt everywhere in The Mindspace. It comforted Aythyl greatly, strengthening his conviction to preserve and improve his species. His entire life, his singular purpose was to serve this being, and now he was reminded of it. Someday when he withered, his consciousness would join the unmoving entity, the essence of his species in the purest form, and all would be well.

Comforted, Aythyl perused the thoughts of other Und.

His ethereal form approached one of the golden globes and allowed itself to be enveloped by it. The principle idea was apparent instantly:

“Human reproduction.” Instantly, Aythyl was fed the findings of the Und group that had researched the topic, as well as their justifications. Having lived Tristan’s life, Aythyl knew about the topic in greater detail than any Und and saw several mistakes.

For discussion purposes, several anonymous Und thoughts had been deposited to the topic.

“Human mothers have displayed strong instincts to protect their offspring.”

And under this subtopic:

“This is common amongst most small human groups known as “families,” and not just relevant to mothers.

“Yes, but mothers seem to display a stronger connection to offspring. To an impractical extent. Some mothers will protect offspring at the cost of their own lives.”

“Why is this not universal amongst humans? Many offspring have no “families,” many mothers have fled before Kals without regard for offspring.”

“Additionally, at a certain age, the offspring is of age and leaves the “family” to form their own “family.”

“But this does not always happen either…”

The discussion went back and forth with similar confusion. Aythyl had felt perplexed himself, and could understand the bewilderment of his fellow Unds. He would never have understood about the individuality of humans if he had not lived life as one himself.

Under the primary topic of “human reproduction,” several other discussions had been started, including:

“Has it been confirmed that the different variations of humans can mate?”

“Do human males transfer certain traits better to offspring than females?”

“This group estimated a gestation period of one earth year. This leaves human females vulnerable for a long period of time. How can this opportunity be used in their eradication?”

“Is sterilization of human males a valid strategy for elimination of the species?”

Aythyl left the main topic, his ethereal self slowly floating away from the golden sphere. He drifted towards another and explored the contents of the primary topic:

“Modification of Kal helix to increase sensitivity of smell to humans.” Instantly, Aythyl was fed information researched by the group. “Injection of a specific helix piece from a native predator into the egg of a Kal would allow the Kal to be born with an increased sensitivity to the smell of humans.”

After perusing the discussion under this topic, Aythyl floated away to look through others:

“The addition of thirteen words to the translated human language.”

“Search for the most nutritious native animal for Kal consumption.”

“Comparison of Ghek’yal trees with those on Earth.”

“Written language and its benefits to humans.”

“Life-blood comparison of four different variations of humans.”

“Types of human weapons.”

“Potential reduction of Kal lifespan on Earth due to air composition.”

Each golden globe was of a different size, indicating the thoroughness of the contents therein and the quality of the discussion. The more he browsed his newly expanded mindspace, the more Aythyl realized that his fellow Unds did not have a very good grasp on humanity. The studies were too rational in their analyses. Aythyl had lived a human life, and had learned that humans were anything but. As such, it took a while for him to find a topic he was interested in:

“Life Blood analyses of The Great Destroyer.” The group of Unds had examined blood found at the battle of Candahar. They determined that the blood of Tristan’s mentor, Zammar, was different in significant ways to that of ordinary human beings - namely in the shape of his helix which was capped with unusual circular shapes. The group then stated that more study was required before it could be found why the man displays such an exceptional amount of strength.

The topic was bustling with discussion. Fear and confusion over “The Great Destroyer” had escalated in Und society after he singlehandedly defeated a Kal Prime.

“What effect will the Prime’s poison have on the great destroyer?” And under this subtopic:

“The Prime’s poison affects life blood.”

“The Great Destroyer’s lifeblood was shown to have regenerative properties, does this mean the poison will be ineffective?”

“Another study found that the poison was powerful enough to eventually overcome this property, but it took a long time for the small control volume.”

“Will nutrition play a part in this battle? Can we impede his recovery somehow?”

“It is not known. More study is required.”

Another subtopic:

“Can we use his helix material to strengthen Kals?”

“More study is required.”

Others:

“What is The Destroyer’s intention? Will he rally a human army? What is special about the two humans he travels with?”

“What is the difference between The Destroyer’s weapon and that of an ordinary human?”

“How many other human Destroyers are there? Do the Destroyers play the same role as a Kal Prime?”

Aythyl decided that joining the team that investigates Zammar would be beneficial to his and Tristan’s cause. With that, he ignored the rest of the discussion and severed his connection from the collective mindspace.

Entering back into his own tiny mind felt like an entire part of his being had disappeared. With the presence of The Hivemind missing, Aythyl felt his previous trepidations returning.

He stood from his slumber and walked towards the wall. There, he placed a hand on the Turg. Turg contained simple thought routines, and the physical contact allowed Aythyl to connect with it. He asked it to open, and it obeyed. An oval opening appeared as strands of turg parted ways, revealing a hidden recess in the wall. Aythyl reached in and withdrew his heartstone.

The stone, which connected him mentally with Tristan, glowed a dull purple in his hands. Holding it, he could feel turmoil and depression, coming from Tristan’s end. Aythyl attempted to connect with the stone, to send a single message: “Tristan,” through the connection. He felt no hold; his mind did not merge with Tristan’s, and the message did not go through. It was being blocked. Tristan was blocking him, blocking their connection as he had been since the battle at Candahar.

Aythyl felt another of those human emotions welling up – anguish

He is probably scared after the battle. With time, he will grow out of it. In the meantime, I must do my own part.

With that, Aythyl put the stone back in its place and commanded the Turg to hide it.   

Ren's map - refugee camp by the Arghan 

Edited: G.B