STORY: Abang Aku
A short story based on an alleged Malay myth (I say "alleged", because Jorge Luis Borges seems to be about the only authority for it), about a mythical being known as the Á Bao A Qu, or Abang Aku. It rests on the lowest step of the Tower of Victory in Chittorgarh, waiting for the person who can ascend the tower in its entirety, so that it may follow him and achieve enlightenment.
What better way to kick off my attempt at marketing my writing via the internet?
If you enjoyed this story, consider heading over to my Patreon page and donating a token amount of money. Also, any amount of constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Abang Aku
A story by Christina Nordlander
The Abang Aku rests on the first shady step of the Tower of Victory in Chittorgarh. It has so little substance, the golden motes drift through it and land on the stone.
It is barely capable of thought, but it is aware of having waited for many centuries. Each year and each day has passed through it. It does not have the organs required for dreaming. Did it have any existence before the humans built the tower? If so, it does not remember what.
There is a scraping on the step outside the gate. The Abang Aku feels the sound as if it were something within its body. The dusty sunlight falls through the chink of the door, but it cannot move yet. Even if it could turn towards the portal, it does not have enough substance to see clearly.
The door squeaks when something pushes it to. It is a human. The air swirls in and out when it draws a breath.
The human puts its foot on the first step without seeing the Abang Aku, and in that moment it can move. It crawls up the stairs behind the human's shoes and ankles. Each step is taller than it, but it is light. Keeping up with the human isn't difficult, swift as it is. The flags are grooved by generations of footsteps. They leave prints in the Abang Aku's soft underside without hurting it.
They have reached the first landing. The human no longer runs, but its long strides have more strength. It is certainly male, and probably young: women never come to the Tower of Victory, and old men rarely. Has it then followed other humans?
As the man's footsteps become more purposeful and his breathing hoarser, the Abang Aku grows. First it reaches the back of his knees, then the hem of his dhoti that he has gathered up to stop it hindering his climbing, then his waist. On the next landing it will reach his shoulders.
Its senses have sharpened. Sounds press closer. Its mass of invisible paws feel the irregularities of the steps: more irregular the higher it gets. It feels the heat of the sun under the window-slits and the salt of the human's sweat, the carbon dioxide in his lungs. He has started pausing to breathe. Sometimes he supports himself on the wall, ornate with reliefs of gods and lions, but only for a moment. He never turns around.
It is no longer merely a transparent grub. A multitude of substances and organs unfold inside it as it grows. Now it feels that it is hungry. The human is small and brittle. He can't see it, because it is so clear that it does not cast a shadow.
It can't eat him, because then it will not be able to climb further - it can't eat him, because he is defenceless. Morality develops inside it at the same pace as intelligence and organs. The impulse is gone, so quickly that it was perhaps never real. It tries to hold the memory, otherwise it will not be aware that it has evolved.
It climbs two more flights, but it has grown so large that the corners press into its skin and protruding parts of statues tear it. It does not usually hurt like this. The memories have clarified with everything else. The humans rarely get high enough that it is difficult to progress.
It has started radiating blue light, so bright that it gives the human a shadow, but he does not turn around. Without touching him, the Abang Aku tastes the lactic acid pooling in his kneecaps. He has started tossing his head as if to chase off flies, but no flies come here. He is surrounded with people he has injured, people he has desired, money, land. He might be no worse than other humans - he is better, else he would not have come this far. Doubt is eating in his flesh. The Abang Aku sees it, too.
He is still walking, and the Abang Aku continues to grow. It has grown so long that its body coils down to the landing below. It experiences something that it first takes as a sign of disintegration, until it realises that it is just the lack of sensation in its thinner and less developed end. He is still walking, but he cannot make it to the uppermost landing purely by strength. All the humans have fallen when the dreams they carry with them from the surface have overpowered them, and in another few moments -when it is wiser- the Abang Aku might recognise the step where he who reached highest faltered.
He has stopped, leaning on one of the tablets of inscriptions. He puts his hand to his forehead as if to wipe the sweat from it, but it is not exhaustion that makes them turn back.
It cannot do anything. It has partitioned into more specialised body-parts, and its tentacles would be able to lift the little dangling body of the human across the remaining flights, but it has developed to a point where it realises how vain that would be.
It lets the finest of its tentacles reach into the mind of the human, even though it would be better to retain uncertainty until the end. Memories beleaguer him. They cover his eyes until he can barely see, but a glint of light comes through, then another. He sees the phantoms that have visited him on the surface of the earth, and he accepts them and moves between them without them touching him. His heart still ticks fast, his body is not well, but his soul has grown calm.
He continues up the stairs. The Abang Aku cannot see his expression. He walks slowly, but does not fail again.
The glow of the Abang Aku has increased, but perhaps the human cannot see it, now that the sunlight has grown stronger. It is still growing, but if it compresses itself until it hurts it can still move forward. There is just one more flight. If it were higher, it would crack the tower like a chick cracks its egg in order to live.
The world below the tower is a cloudy egg. The veils of mist have melted from the Abang Aku's mind; it realises what will happen once it reaches the topmost landing and unfolds to its full size. It will tear the deep rock layers of this world and obliterate its soft beings. It will tear even what it will try to save.
The human has not stopped moving.
It puts out a tentacle, quickly, as if it would change its mind otherwise. It would be easy to throw him down the flight, but that would kill him or break his bones. It is enough to yank his leg and make him fall a couple of steps. He gets up, a throbbing red mark under the skin of his ankle. He looks to the sky through the portal one last time before turning back.
This time, the Abang Aku does not scream, but even if it did he would not hear. It tumbles all the way to the first step, and the human puts his foot on it on his way to the door. He only feels a tickling as though from a piece of dust.
THE END
What better way to kick off my attempt at marketing my writing via the internet?
If you enjoyed this story, consider heading over to my Patreon page and donating a token amount of money. Also, any amount of constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Abang Aku
A story by Christina Nordlander
The Abang Aku rests on the first shady step of the Tower of Victory in Chittorgarh. It has so little substance, the golden motes drift through it and land on the stone.
It is barely capable of thought, but it is aware of having waited for many centuries. Each year and each day has passed through it. It does not have the organs required for dreaming. Did it have any existence before the humans built the tower? If so, it does not remember what.
There is a scraping on the step outside the gate. The Abang Aku feels the sound as if it were something within its body. The dusty sunlight falls through the chink of the door, but it cannot move yet. Even if it could turn towards the portal, it does not have enough substance to see clearly.
The door squeaks when something pushes it to. It is a human. The air swirls in and out when it draws a breath.
The human puts its foot on the first step without seeing the Abang Aku, and in that moment it can move. It crawls up the stairs behind the human's shoes and ankles. Each step is taller than it, but it is light. Keeping up with the human isn't difficult, swift as it is. The flags are grooved by generations of footsteps. They leave prints in the Abang Aku's soft underside without hurting it.
They have reached the first landing. The human no longer runs, but its long strides have more strength. It is certainly male, and probably young: women never come to the Tower of Victory, and old men rarely. Has it then followed other humans?
As the man's footsteps become more purposeful and his breathing hoarser, the Abang Aku grows. First it reaches the back of his knees, then the hem of his dhoti that he has gathered up to stop it hindering his climbing, then his waist. On the next landing it will reach his shoulders.
Its senses have sharpened. Sounds press closer. Its mass of invisible paws feel the irregularities of the steps: more irregular the higher it gets. It feels the heat of the sun under the window-slits and the salt of the human's sweat, the carbon dioxide in his lungs. He has started pausing to breathe. Sometimes he supports himself on the wall, ornate with reliefs of gods and lions, but only for a moment. He never turns around.
It is no longer merely a transparent grub. A multitude of substances and organs unfold inside it as it grows. Now it feels that it is hungry. The human is small and brittle. He can't see it, because it is so clear that it does not cast a shadow.
It can't eat him, because then it will not be able to climb further - it can't eat him, because he is defenceless. Morality develops inside it at the same pace as intelligence and organs. The impulse is gone, so quickly that it was perhaps never real. It tries to hold the memory, otherwise it will not be aware that it has evolved.
It climbs two more flights, but it has grown so large that the corners press into its skin and protruding parts of statues tear it. It does not usually hurt like this. The memories have clarified with everything else. The humans rarely get high enough that it is difficult to progress.
It has started radiating blue light, so bright that it gives the human a shadow, but he does not turn around. Without touching him, the Abang Aku tastes the lactic acid pooling in his kneecaps. He has started tossing his head as if to chase off flies, but no flies come here. He is surrounded with people he has injured, people he has desired, money, land. He might be no worse than other humans - he is better, else he would not have come this far. Doubt is eating in his flesh. The Abang Aku sees it, too.
He is still walking, and the Abang Aku continues to grow. It has grown so long that its body coils down to the landing below. It experiences something that it first takes as a sign of disintegration, until it realises that it is just the lack of sensation in its thinner and less developed end. He is still walking, but he cannot make it to the uppermost landing purely by strength. All the humans have fallen when the dreams they carry with them from the surface have overpowered them, and in another few moments -when it is wiser- the Abang Aku might recognise the step where he who reached highest faltered.
He has stopped, leaning on one of the tablets of inscriptions. He puts his hand to his forehead as if to wipe the sweat from it, but it is not exhaustion that makes them turn back.
It cannot do anything. It has partitioned into more specialised body-parts, and its tentacles would be able to lift the little dangling body of the human across the remaining flights, but it has developed to a point where it realises how vain that would be.
It lets the finest of its tentacles reach into the mind of the human, even though it would be better to retain uncertainty until the end. Memories beleaguer him. They cover his eyes until he can barely see, but a glint of light comes through, then another. He sees the phantoms that have visited him on the surface of the earth, and he accepts them and moves between them without them touching him. His heart still ticks fast, his body is not well, but his soul has grown calm.
He continues up the stairs. The Abang Aku cannot see his expression. He walks slowly, but does not fail again.
The glow of the Abang Aku has increased, but perhaps the human cannot see it, now that the sunlight has grown stronger. It is still growing, but if it compresses itself until it hurts it can still move forward. There is just one more flight. If it were higher, it would crack the tower like a chick cracks its egg in order to live.
The world below the tower is a cloudy egg. The veils of mist have melted from the Abang Aku's mind; it realises what will happen once it reaches the topmost landing and unfolds to its full size. It will tear the deep rock layers of this world and obliterate its soft beings. It will tear even what it will try to save.
The human has not stopped moving.
It puts out a tentacle, quickly, as if it would change its mind otherwise. It would be easy to throw him down the flight, but that would kill him or break his bones. It is enough to yank his leg and make him fall a couple of steps. He gets up, a throbbing red mark under the skin of his ankle. He looks to the sky through the portal one last time before turning back.
This time, the Abang Aku does not scream, but even if it did he would not hear. It tumbles all the way to the first step, and the human puts his foot on it on his way to the door. He only feels a tickling as though from a piece of dust.
THE END