Liquid Imagination

The Emperor's Nose

By Paul Malone

Narrated by Bob Eccles

Ylando G Salavidoro swings the mallet, strikes the chisel, chips away at another tree, another sculpture, another despairing face of the Vyerth. The clock-clock-clock sound echoes throughout the forest, an arboreal cenotaph to the civilisation he destroyed.

He's not alone in the forest. An elephantine creature lumbers about in the gloom, like a blimpish phantom in purgatory. The creature's enormous eyes are forever lost in the faces of the Vyerth. Ylando G Salavidoro calls the creature Ruperto Loolootschki because Ruperto has taken to backing his big rump up against each new sculpture and pooping great dung balls. They steam like herbaceous smelling salts under the wooden noses of the Vyerth. But the Vyerth never awaken. Ylando G Salavidoro has carved their pupils hollow so no matter where he stands they watch him. He sometimes finds himself holding his breath waiting for the Vyerth to smile. "You are far, far gone, my friend," he tells himself at such times.

The planet's sentient inhabitants (Ylando G Salavidoro calls them 'the people of the flowering rock') don't venture into the forest. They're frightened of all those harrowed wooden faces. And Ylando G Salavidoro is a most disturbing sight: he's far taller than them; he's stooped like a bent stock, as if apologetic for his height; he's given up wearing clothes because they fell in tatters long ago; he smears mud on his body for warmth; twigs and other forest debris are entangled in his frizzle-frazzle hair. Ylando G Salavidoro talks to himself. Sometimes he cries and rants. Sometimes he curses Ruperto when Ruperto plants another steaming dung pile at the bottom of his latest sculpture.

From the edge of the forest, the people of the flowering rock sometimes hear Ruperto's angry trumpet when he flies into another elephantine rage. Then Ruperto charges about, tears up the undergrowth, madly throttles saplings with his trunk, farts loudly, frightening birds, tosses logs with his tusks, even storms after Ylando G Salavidoro. Then Ylando G Salavidoro has to run.

Ylando G Salavidoro remembers when Ruperto first roamed into the forest. He was a young bull separated from his herd. Ruperto wasn't mad then like he is now. For a beast of many tonnes without natural predators, Ruperto had bumbled into the forest as timid as a field mouse, his big ears twitching, his trunk looping about, nostrils flaring, sniffing cautiously. And then his eyes had fixed on a carved face of the Vyerth. Somehow those wooden eyes transfixed Ruperto. That was long ago. Ruperto hadn't ventured from the forest since.

It's because of Ruperto's foul temper that Ylando G Salavidoro has made a safe nest for himself high up in a very strong tree. He uses palm leaves the size of bed sheets to cover himself at night. It's peaceful in his nest. He can see the stars. There is no moon here. That's why he chose this planet. He can't stand the sight of moons. He's long forgotten the starship that took him here. It lies neglected in the clearing it made when it landed. Creepers have covered it since.

Out in the grasslands the people of the flowering rock live in their city of stone. They're not so unlike Ylando G Salavidoro. Well, they are shorter. And their skin is precisely the colour of the rock: a yellow ochre, mottled amber.

Not far from the city there is a rock. Before it sits a woman. Her name is Nyora (the strong). Like all her people, she was named according to the flower that blossomed in front of the rock when she emerged from the rock's dark crevice. She, like all her people, refers to the rock as "Mother".

The flower that is budding in front of the rock now is not the Nyora. She doesn't recognise it. No one does. It is black. Her people fear the flower. There is talk that the flower is Nyalla (death). But, as is the custom of the people of the flowering rock, Nyora was chosen to raise the child as her own. She cannot abandon it. So she waits.

In the middle of the day a bright light appears in the sky not far from the city of stone. It grows ever brighter. As it descends, the deafening roar of thrusters shatters the arcadian peace. Officially it's known as a minerals exploration ship. Company jargon refers to it as a commodities hunter. It lands. A ramp lowers. A dozen droids, like a pack of mechanical wolves, bound down the ramp, red laser lights beaming from their heads, scanning. Behind them, in their protective suits, weapons in hand, come the commodities hunters.

Night falls. It begins to rain. It's the start of the wet season. Out in the forest Ylando G Salavidoro slumbers in his nest, rain seeping through his palm leaf blanket. At some point his quivering eyelids shoot open and he screams. This happens most nights. In his head a billion Vyerth lives are crushed under an enormous mallet. He is wielding it. Only this night the Vyerth don't scream. Instead they look up at him with pleading alien eyes, their mouths agape.

Ylando G Salavidoro wipes the rain from his face and remembers how he stood at the bridge in one of the Vyerth's fearsome destroyer class starships. It hovered in orbit around the Vyerth's moon. He had propped a portrait of the Vyerth's tyrannical Emperor, Ghwee Ku Far the 42nd, in an easel beside him at the bridge. He could've scanned the emperor's image in, but that wouldn't be art. He carved freehand, guiding the starship's cannons as he would a chisel. He remembers what he was thinking back then--when people saw Emperor Ghwee Ku Far the 42nd's face on the moon, they would think of the magnificent Ylando G Salavidoro--the greatest artist in the galaxy, perhaps even the universe. He feels his face flush despite the rain when he remembers how he even proudly wore his paint-splattered apron and goofy beret.

But this evening it's the sound of thrusters, not screams, that he dreamt coming from the Vyerth's mouths. That is what he'd heard this afternoon--thrusters.

#

Down by the flowering rock, Nyora sits in the rain all night, alone, saturated, trembling, her gaze fixed on where she knows the black flower grows. It's almost time.

Dawn comes. Nyora has fallen asleep. She wakes when she hears the clamour around her. Then she screams. The droids have surrounded the flowering rock. The commodities hunters have attached silver bolts to its surface. One of the commodities hunters holds a strange silver disc in his hand. He presses a button on it. The silver bolts begin to hum. The ground trembles, and the rock--like a starship buried for eons--tears itself from the ground. Gradually it rises into the air.

"No!" Nyora cries.

One of the droids turns on Nyora and fires a blue laser. She crumples to the ground. The commodities hunters don't seem to notice or care. Instead they form an entourage beside the flowering rock, guiding it back to their ship. Soon after, the ship fires its thrusters and soars back into space.

When the people of the flowering rock discover what has happened, their despairing wails reach the forest. Ylando G. Salavidoro stops chipping his latest sculpture to listen. For a few moments a semblance of clarity--the forsaken spirit of his younger days--returns to his otherwise feverish face. Something has happened to the people of the flowering rock.

The wailing grows more intense. Ylando G Salavidoro's face pales. There is a black hole directly beneath his navel. Some days it wants to suck in everything so he cannot even breathe. If it swallows him, he fractures into incoherent packets of consciousness. Terrified, he fights to find the light. The Vyerth are in there too. He wants to save them but he can't even save himself. At some point, as if by divine intervention, he returns. Usually Ruperto is standing before him, gently brushing his face with his trunk, looking at him with his sad watery eyes.

The wails from the stone city stir the black hole beneath Ylando G Salavidoro's navel now, its gravity increasing. He brings his hands to his ears. "No!" he whispers. "Please, it was an accident."

#

Alone, her expression resolute, tears fresh on her cheeks, Nyora walks into the forest. She wraps her arms around herself as if she were cold, and not because she's trying to hold herself together. "Ylando G Salavidoro?" she says, her voice quavering. His name curls off her alien tongue. It sounds more like an incantation than a name. It's the way she says it--with reverence. She finds him with his back to her, frantically chipping away at a tree, the rudimentary shape of a nose emerging from the raw timber. "Ylando G Salavidoro?" she says, this time louder, as if wary of startling him.

Ylando G Salavidoro spins around, his chisel held out as if it were a knife. "Huh?"

She falls to her knees. "Please, Ylando G Salavidoro. You must help us. Our mother has been stolen. She was carrying my child."

Ylando G Salavidoro stares at Nyora. His heart thumps inside his chest as if someone were trying to break their way out. He's not a fighter. He's an artist. A lunatic artist. Right now he's also a shit-scared lunatic artist. He has no reason to fear her. She's supposed to fear him. But his illogical heart pounds all the more, and he starts stumbling backwards towards his nest.

Nyora gets to her feet. Her chameleonic eyes, now leafy green, bore into him. "Please!"

"Shoo!" he says, waving the chisel.

A low growl comes from deep in Nyora's throat. Her nose twitches as if she were fighting back a snarl. "You will help us."

"Look at me," he says. "I'm an artist, not a warrior."

"You have a ship like the ones who stole our mother. We must follow them. Get her back."

"I'm not flying anywhere, now bugger off and leave me alone," Ylando G Salavidoro says. He's taken one step too many, sinking into a pile of steaming dung.

Nyora lunges, swipes the chisel from his hand, knocks him off his feet. Standing over him she presses her foot into his chest. "Help me, Ylando G Salavidoro!"

"Ow! Get your foot off my--Aarghhh!"

Soon after, with creepers falling from the silvery hull like unfurling ribbons, Ylando G Salavidoro's starship, with Nyora as navigator, rises above the forest canopy and thunders off into space.

Inside, Nyora closes her eyes and points into space. "This way!"

Ylando G Salavidoro raises his hands. "You heard her, Ship--this way!"

#

Against all probability, they find the commodities hunter. Ylando G Salavidoro hails it.

"You're the Ylando G Salavidoro?" comes Captain Terronce's reply.

"Err..." Ylando G Salavidoro glances at Nyora. His hand is trembling. He has slipped in and out of lunacy the entire journey. Each time he has returned from that black hole in his centre, he has found Nyora sitting across from him at the bridge, staring out the view port, seemingly unaware of his psychosis, her eyes mirroring the blackness of space. He needs to hold together now. Nyora reaches out and holds his hand. Her touch is hard--like stone, yet there is warmth. He doesn't pull away. "Yes, that's me," he says.

"Holy fuckerooly!" There was a pause. Muffled voices. "Alright, come aboard, my man."

They stand in the receiving bay. It's cold. Ylando G Salavidoro, for the first time in a very long while, becomes aware of his filth and nakedness. The commodities hunters stand around, grinning at him.

"The man who destroyed the Vyerth!" Captain Terronce says, reaching out and shaking Ylando G Salavidoro's hand. He looks too young to be a captain. Four parallel scars--like the slash of a claw--trace the side of his face. He grins when Ylando G Salavidoro stares at it. "Respect, my man," Captain Terronce says, holding up "V for victory" fingers. "The Vyerth needed killing. Fuckers thought they were somebody. You showed 'em!" The other crew cheer agreement.

They're all too young, Ylando G Salavidoro thinks. That's the way they're recruited--readily moulded, no questions asked.

"How'd you pull it off?" Captain Terronce says.

"It was an accident. Their emperor told me to do it."

"An accident?" Captain Terronce laughs, shakes his head. "You carved their emperor's face into their friggin moon. You must've known?"

"The emperor commissioned me. I'm an artist, not a scientist."

Now all the crew are hooting and laughing. Captain Terronce is bent over slapping his knees. "Man, you're something!" Nyora stares at the men, her face twitching, her fingers tense as if ready to strike.

Ylando G Salavidoro catches himself nervously scratching his balls. "It was his nose that did it."

Captain Terronce straightens up, wipes his teary eyes. "His nose?"

"It was too big. That's what spun their moon out of orbit, made it collide."

Captain Terronce's eyes widen. "His friggin nose! You hear that, men. The emperor's friggin nose! "Ylando G Salavidoro manages a weak smile. Perhaps he can play this. But the sardonic sparkle in Captain Terronce's eyes grows cold when his gaze falls on Nyora. "So what brings you here, my man?"

Ylando G Salavidoro sweeps his palm towards Nyora. "You took her people's sacred rock. Without it her people cannot survive."

Captain Terronce raises his eyebrows. "A friggin rock?"

"She's our mother!" Nyora says, her voice wavering. "She's carrying my child."

"Your child?"

"We are all born from her."

Captain Terronce's brows knot. "You telling me the rock is pregnant?"

Nyora nods.

"Now this I gotta see."

They're led through dark gangways, hardened arteries drained of life, to a storage cell, one of millions. Captain Terronce opens it. Turns on the lights. The rock sits on the cold steel floor. "I don't see any kid in here," he says.

Nyora walks inside and kneels before the rock. The crew fall in behind her. Ylando G Salavidoro stands at the door, the vortex in his stomach beginning to churn. He can't take this. She shouldn't have made him come. Captain Terronce will probably kill them both when he notices his hero is raving mad.

For a time nothing happens. Captain Terronce grows edgy. "Look, the party's friggin over, you hear me?" he says, glaring at the back of Nyora's head. "I ain't got time for this shit!"

Ylando G Salavidoro's mind is reeling back. His thumb is hard on the trigger, cannon blazing, the emperor's nose emerging like a leviathan mountain, moon detritus clouding space like a stellar nebula. The Vyerth commander stands at the bridge, his earlier expression of contempt replaced by awe. And Ylando G Salavidoro blazes away, biting his bottom lip, sweating under his beret, his entire being centred in the cannon's blast. The great Ylando G Salavidoro! Carving his name into history!

Captain Terronce steps close behind Nyora. "You friggin listening?"

A menacing growl comes from Nyora's throat.

Captain Terronce pulls out his sidearm and points it at her. "That's it, freak! Time you made tracks."

A strange noise comes from the rock. It's the sound of pressure building. The rock cracks. The crew leap back, sidearms drawn. From out of the crack a small hand appears, then an arm, and then the head of a baby boy, his skin the colour of the rock, sparkling eyes wide open, crawling, smiling, making happy gurgling noises. Nyora outstretches her arms. The baby boy giggles and crawls into them.

Captain Terrance is goggle-eyed. "Well, fuck me! That's something—ay, men?"

Ylando G Salavidoro clears his throat. "So could we have the rock back?"

"No friggin way, my hero friend. This is the most amazing find ever."

"But you heard her, you saw her baby. These people are born from the rock. You can't take it. You'd be stealing their future generations."

Captain Terronce slaps him on the shoulder. "Don't go playing soft with me, my friend--slayer of billions!" He comes close and whispers. "You got something going on with her? Is that it? You're friggin out there, man! You hear me? She doesn't have the equipment. You like oral? Is that it? Listen, you can join us if you like. We'll show you a good time. The things we fuckin do! You've got no fuckin idea. You hearing me?"

Ylando G Salavidoro hears. It's the noise of solar winds, the vortex in his centre sucking him in. It makes a moaning noise--the sound of the Vyerth's eternal despair. Captain Terronce's heart is black like the hole in Ylando G Salavidoro's stomach.

"Well, big man? You in? We could do with a guy like you around, right, men?"

The baby begins to cry. Nyora brings him to her breast, strokes his head, cradles him protectively.

Captain Terronce watches, his lips curling in disgust. "Hell, we can't have that around here."

Ylando G Salavidoro is sucked back into that dark vortex. Nyora, Captain Terronce, the baby, the crew, everything flies about like shattered glass. At some point he is aware of his voice--he's howling as if he were a wolf. "What the fuck?" he hears Captain Terronce say. A fist slams into his face. He tastes blood. The solar winds are roaring. His body disperses. For eternity, it seems, he is suspended in dread.

#

The people of the flowering rock come rushing from the stone city when the star ship lands. They cheer when Nyora steps out and holds up her baby. But their cheers die when they hear the news--their mother is lost forever.

Ylando G Salavidoro, his nose bent out of shape, moaning, muttering incoherently, stumbles back into the forest. Ruperto is waiting for him, moping about, his watery eyes watching him, his trunk hanging limply. "Go away! Just go!" Ylando G Salavidoro says when Ruperto ambles along behind him. Ruperto lifts his trunk and trumpets a sorrowful note in Ylando G Salavidoro's ear. The constant drizzle builds to a heavy rain.

Time passes. Sheltering himself from the incessant rain, Ylando G Salavidoro has tapped new depths of misery. Sure, he'd saved the baby boy, but like the Vyerth, these people were doomed. To distract himself he climbs down from his nest, his chisel in hand. Time to sculpt another face. But below, Ruperto starts charging about the forest, trumpeting loudly. "Damn it!" Ylando G Salavidoro shouts. "How can I work with that noise?"

Ylando G Salavidoro storms out of the forest, his chisel still in hand. He finds himself wandering down to the hole in the ground where the flowering rock had been. The people of the flowering rock have since kept vigil, as if waiting for a miracle. Some prostrate themselves on the ground around the hole. Others dance in a circle beating drums. Ylando G Salavidoro looks at them and shakes his head. It's a wretched sight.

Nyora is amidst them, carrying her baby boy. She comes over to Ylando G Salavidoro, the trace of a smile on her face. "Ylando G Salavidoro is still here, I see?"

"Where else should I be?"

The baby boy grins. He already has a tooth. With startling agility, he stretches out and snatches Ylando G Salavidoro's chisel. Ylando G Salavidoro tries to grab it back, but the baby boy squeals in delight and throws it. The chisel lands in the middle of the hole. The people of the flowering rock stop dancing. With everyone's gaze on him, Ylando G Salavidoro goes to fetch his chisel. When he bends down to pick it up, an idea, with all the potency of a revelation, strikes him--he must sculpt a memorial for these people. The great tragedy must not go unrecorded. He will show the universe--despite his reputation, Ylando G Salavidoro is a man of great compassion.

He turns and raises his arms. "I will sculpt a great tower. On it will be all your faces. A memorial to your people. It will stand for millennia. You will not be forgotten. I'll carve my name at the bottom, as witness."

The people of the flowering rock agree. Using ropes and rafts of loose logs, they haul massive boulders from all over the grasslands. Ylando G Salavidoro joins in. He feels good. The pushing and pulling, the sweat and exhaustion, working with these strange rock people makes him forget himself a little.

Eventually the boulders are placed around the hole. Ylando G Salavidoro stands proudly before the people of the flowering rock. "We've got to stack them," he says, "one by one."

Nyora stares at Ylando G Salavidoro. He wonders what she thinks of him--she has seen how crazy he can get. Her baby boy gazes at him too, grinning, scrunching his nose, gurgling happily. Ylando G Salavidoro grins back. "Right!" he says, clapping his hands. "Let's get to it."

Working in silence, the people of the flowering rock haul the boulders into the hole. Ylando G Salavidoro watches them. It must have taken millions of years of evolution to get them this far. In a few short years they would be extinct. But right now there is life. They work in unity. In that unity he sees something deeper--hope that arises from love.

Ylando G Salavidoro becomes mesmerised watching them. They haul the boulders this way then that; shift one boulder in front of the other, angle one just so; place logs on the lower boulders and roll several others on top. Eventually they stop and sit down and gaze at the assembly of boulders. Ylando G Salavidoro toys with his chisel and stares too. There is something infinitely pleasing about the way they are positioned. The sun shines on the rock. The minerals in the grain sparkle. Ylando G Salavidoro had wanted to carve faces. He was certain when the idea had hit him. Now his idea seems vain. The more he looks, the more he understands--the sculpture is already complete.

Nyora's baby is looking up at him, his nose running, grinning that toothless grin. He's uprooted a white flower. Because of all the rains the ground is soft and the flower still has its roots intact. The baby boy points the flower at the rock. The skin on the nape of Ylando G Salavidoro's neck prickles. "Well, why not?" he says. He takes the baby boy from Nyora and carries him to the rocks. There, with the people of the flowering rock watching, Ylando G Salavidoro digs a hole in the earth, takes the flower from the baby boy's hand and plants it in the ground.

One of the women stands up, comes forward and sits before the flower. Slowly she closes her eyes. The baby boy giggles; Ylando G Salavidoro steps back, his skin prickling all over; the people of the flowering rock close their eyes too.

Three days later the child of the white flower emerges. Her name is life.

#

Ylando G Salavidoro stretches out in his nest and gazes up at the sun. He is happier than he has been in a long time. "Saved the world, my good man!" he says to himself for the umpteenth time. At his centre though, the dark place remains. He supposes it is the Vyerth. They can never be brought back.

Ruperto is trumpeting below. Ylando G Salavidoro closes his eyes.

"Ylando G Salavidoro?" a voice shouts up. It is Nyora.

Ylando G Salavidoro climbs down. Nyora has a length of rope in her hand. On one end there is a noose. "Ever tried to tame him?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"It's time he left, Ylando G Salavidoro."

Ylando G Salavidoro frowns. "Clearly he doesn't want to."

Nyora turns and watches Ruperto. "I'll show you how it's done." She swings the rope and lassoes Ruperto. He trumpets, but does not move. She ties the rope to a tree. "He won't like it, Ylando G Salavidoro. You give him some rope and you give him some time. He'll fight it, strain against it." She finds a stick, picks it up and strolls over to Ruperto and strikes his big rump. "Move it!" Ruperto trumpets and glares at her. She steps back. He advances. The rope tightens around his neck.

"Let him go!" Ylando G Salavidoro says. "He's a wild animal, after all."

"One that's lost his way, Ylando G Salavidoro. In your forest of sorrow."

Time passes. Ruperto charges about, trying to break free of his tether. In the beginning he reaches the end and trips, falling with such force the ground shudders. Nyora uses the stick to give Ruperto several sharp whacks to the rump to make him stand. Ylando G Salavidoro wonders how she could be so cruel. Ruperto stares at Ylando G Salavidoro with recrimination in his watery eyes. Gradually Ruperto grows tired of fighting his tether. And each time Nyora takes the stick, Ruperto tucks his tail between his enormous rump and hurriedly bumbles in whatever direction she points.

One day at the end of the rainy season Nyora unleashes Ruperto. "It's time, Ylando G Salavidoro," she says, handing him the stick. "His herd are crossing the grasslands, heading south."

Ylando G Salavidoro takes the stick. "Alright," he says, pointing the stick towards the edge of the forest. "Let's get going, Ruperto Loolootschki. You never know, maybe one of your shambling friends might even be pleased to see you." Ruperto trumpets loudly.

They wait on the grassy plain beneath the big blue sky, the last of the rain clouds low on the horizon. Ruperto's herd recognise him, trumpeting what sounds like a joyful greeting. As they amble past, Ruperto falls into line. He looks back at Ylando G Salavidoro once. His eyes no longer seem so sad.

Nyora takes the stick from Ylando G Salavidoro's hand, lets it fall to the ground. "And now it's your turn, Ylando G Salavidoro."

Ylando G Salavidoro came swearing he would never leave. Later he was certain he was incapable of it. Now he feels something forming in his centre. It isn't a black hole. It is warm like the midday sun. There is light too. In the light there are faces, not the nameless faces of the Vyerth. Faces of the people he had once loved. They are calling to him. Perhaps it isn't too late.

BIO:

Paul Malone is an Australian speculative fiction writer living in Austria.

The Emperor's Nose By Paul Malone

BIO:

The Emperor's Nose

By Paul Malone