Gen Gepido & the Pond

Here is another free write from my novel: Finly. This is Gen a character that plays a major role in the world post-Great Surfacing. He is both a wyrmcatcher breeder, which you will find very important the more you read about this world, and he is the Master Budaan. Budaan is a philosophy that teaches peace of mind and to release hate and frustration. Again, you will discover why this is so important the more that you read within this world that is being created. As usual ignore grammatical and spelling errors as this is a rough draft/free write. However, all other comments are welcome below or email me at N8Charley@gmail.com!!! Enjoy!



GEN GEPIDO BRED WYRMCATCHER GREBES FOR PEACE OF MIND. The back half of his home was essentially an indoor pond environment where the grebes lived happily, breeding and nesting until they were sold to the Borderpatrol. He walked along the worn paths he’d created in his pond wilderness often. The birds sang like the extinct loon. It was a haunting sound, but to Gen it cleared his head.

Gen was the Master Budaan. He heard so many hateful things in a simple day’s work. He needed something for him to stop thinking about Robbio’s wish to kill his daughter’s boyfriend, or Mr. Rayze’s discrimination against the faggots, as he called them, that kept applying to his flower shop, or even some of the simplefolk that wished terrorist thoughts against their least favorite mancerball teams.

Gen liked to push it all away, losing himself in the grebes’ chilling song. Even now, his alpha male was out in the middle of the pond showing a beautiful display of brightly colored flight feathers. The bird bent his wings awkwardly in a dance where he squawked for attention, revealing the bright brick-red underside of his wings.

Gen decided to wait to release the stingless wasps he was carrying in a spherical cage under his arm. Gen smiled at the alpha male. He’d fathered a majority of Gen’s best stock. The Protectant paid healthy for this particular bird’s progeny. In many ways, Gen viewed all of the birds as his own children since he was unable to have children himself.

He’d thought of adoption, until his wife died a few years back. Now he just tended to the birds.

Gen smiled as he watched a few females size the alpha male up. They swam, floating above the water upon their tiny buoyant bodies, closer to the male. They sounded a soft coo sound that an amateur breeder wouldn’t even hear. Gen heard it. He knew that some of the females were interested.

In the wild, Gen had read, that wyrmcatchers bred for life. But here, in his personal pond ecosystem, his birds mated with whomever they wished. It could be a different pairing with each actual mating. Gen guessed it had to do with the fact that there were available selections.

Unlike some species, the female didn’t choose the male. The females would let the male know they were interested with their soft cooing, then the male would choose. The male chose because once the eggs hatched, he would carry the chicks upon his back until they grew nearly full-sized. The male would help the female incubate the eggs, the pair taking turns. But once the chicks hatched, the female departed from the family unit.

Talk about caring fathers. Gen would have been a winning father.

It only took a few seconds, but the male chose his mate for this particular clutch. He mounted her. He thrust his cloaca against hers! The exchanged happened. His wings flapping to aid in balancing on her back. The female flailed, desperate to keep her head above water. Seconds later the deed was done. The male would rest while the female gathered the first reeds and sticks in constructing the foundation of a nest. The only reason the female would ignore the nest is if she knows that her eggs were not inseminated properly.

Before another, lesser male, decided it was time, Gen opened the spherical cage and let the swarm of wasps into the air. The black and yellow insects buzzed like a living fog. They swarmed in a large arch through the aerie, but some birds were already in flight. Unlike most grebe species, wyrmcatchers were very agile in flight. They had long necks that they could snap like a snake’s bite. Like pelicans they also had beak pouches, to a smaller degree, that allowed them to dive into swarms of insects collecting tens in their beak-nets.

Some wyrmcatchers that had been submerged in the water had seen the swarm and began rocketing from underwater like wet, bird torpedoes, beak nets expanded, beaks open. They caught wasps like children catching butterflies with a bug net. No matter how many times Gen watched his birds hunt, he was still amazed at how fast the little birds could fly. They could change directions almost as well as a swift or hummingbird.

A few grebes that recognized him landed on his shoulder to nuzzle in his hair before leaping back off into the air for their own quarry. Others would land upon him with their throat pouch full of insects. Wyrmcatchers always had to land before swallowing. Grebes were not very graceful on land so many preferred landing in the water or perching upon a higher post out of danger’s way.

Gen could hear the doorbell ring. He grumbled that he had to return to reality. He shook a few wasp-stranglers from the cage he was carrying and walked in his slippers towards the aerie door. A few birds still perched on his shoulders. He continued through the streamers that hung down to deter grebes from escaping into his house. He knew the birds would stay perched upon him when in unknown territory.

Gen crossed his house towards his front door. He could see the silhouette of whoever was standing on the other side. The figure was constantly shifting its weight from side to side impatiently. Gen just couldn’t shuffle fast enough across his living space.

The Master Budaan didn’t bother to check the peephole or peek out the window curtain. He opened the door with a smile. A puny female wyrmcatcher was softly cooing in his ear. Not the same note as if she wanted to mate, but a happy-contented coo as she swallowed a wasp. Her head snapped back and her head bobbed up and down in that funny way that birds with long necks swallowed.

“Hell…” Gen took in the person before him, “Damn! I’m sorry, I lost track of time.” The figure was shrouded in a hooded cloak. Gen couldn’t see the creature’s face, but he knew that it would appear more attractive than any human face, male or female.

“I was sent to pick up the ‘catchers…”

“Yea, yea, I know why you are here.” Gen said. He gestured for the man to come inside. He thought man because, based on the creature’s voice, he’d been a man at some point in his life. The finly’s voice was masculine, but still sing-songy like most of his kind. “Give me a moment to gather the wyrmcatchers that are ready.” The finly followed Gen into his living room. His cloak swirling around him like the wings of an angel — or the tentacles of a kraken.

“May I see your pond?” The finly asked. Gen’s pond environment was renowned throughout Sanctum Terminus.

“I apologize my webbed friend — no one sees the pond.” It was true. Gen’s wife was the only other person that has ever seen the pond.

“How did you…?”

Gen giggled to himself. The finly was surprised that he was aware of what he was. “I know what you are. They always send finlies to pick up the clutch.”

“I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence.” The finly removed his hood. His face came into the dull glow of Gen’s house. The finly was human in appearance, but Gen has dealt with plenty finlies. He could point them out on a crowded street. His pupils were hyphen-shaped, like a frog’s. Their eye colors were always close to human, but in unnatural shades, like: Lime, lavender, or metallic gold.

“Oh, you didn’t insult me. Our Protectant has made you into shadows. You are lead to assume that we know not of your existence.” For himself, Gen whispered, “So sad.”

The finly was wearing gloves, another telltale sign. Gen had heard that finlies had naturally sticky hands because of a substance that causes the webbing between their fingers. The goop was said to be resilient, it fanned out and expanded against resistance before eventually snapping, perfect for catching water between the fingers for extra pull when swimming. Some believed that this same goo allowed finlies to cling to vertical surfaces or even upside down.

“I’ll be right back. The clutch that is ready to go is in a separate cage.” Gen moved through his house back towards the pond. He moved through the streamers again, bending down to scoop up a grebe that fell from his shoulder trying to avoid one of the streamers. Once through Gen gave a gentle under-handed toss to the grebe and the bird took flight. The others resting on his shoulders and the one on his head all took flight in a flock, excited to be back in known territory. Wyrmcatchers often live their entire lives attached to only two bodies of water: The one where they were born and the one they choose to raise their children in.

The wyrmcatchers were mostly in flight. Some catching the last wasps that were able to slip away from other beaks. The rest were just energetic after being stuffed with insects. They would fly in large arching flocks until they grew tired and landed in the pond to sleep for the night. The nesting pairs would return to their nests hidden on land in the reeds or upon grebe-made floating islands.

Off to the side that made up Gen’s vast pond aerie, there were cages. He didn’t like caging the grebes, he tried to mimic their natural habitat and the space that they’d need — though he agreed that there were too many grebes in his aerie, but the Protectant had become more and more demanding. And truth be told, no one had a breeding success rate of topnotch hunting grebes like Gen Gepido.

In these cages Gen housed mating pairs that preferred less crowded areas or the competition of the main flock. He also housed most of the grebe pairs that would hatch grebes good for keeping as pets as opposed to hunters of the borderpatrol. The grebe pet trade had grown both since Gen started selling his grebes for households and since wyrmmists have become more popular. There was also an airtight cage for sick birds that he was nursing back to health. Lastly, were the groups of cages where he separated birds from the main flock for various other reasons. One being wyrmcatchers that were about to be given over to the Protectant and his borderpatrol.

Gen opened the cage door and blew his bird whistle to tell them to follow him, or return, depending on the trainer. The birds perched upon Gen’s body or walked upon their awkward-lobed feet through the streamers. Most of the birds didn’t like the streamers, but well trained wyrmcatchers would follow orders like a dog.

Gen looked like some bird messiah walking into the living room. Another whistle, this one was different. It meant: Wait, listen, sit. The birds all rested. One even climbed up onto the top of Gen’s slipper.

“The whispers are true!” The finly exclaimed when he saw Gen covered in his grebe bodies. “You truly are the bird whisperer.”

Gen laughed, “I guess you can call it that. It just takes dedication. The birds are truly intelligent…” Gen stopped himself before he started to ramble. He could ramble when it came to his children.

“How do I get them to the barracks?” The finly asked.

“I’ll give you a sphere cage with a single wasp. They will follow you wherever you go.” Gen shuffled to a closet he had just before the streamers to the aerie where he housed several wasp hives. The buzzing was greatly muffled from layers of insolation with the door closed. Once the door was opened the sound must have startled the finly because he came around the corner with a startled look on his face!

“I’m sorry, sir — I thought…”

“I’m fine,” Gen chuckled. He reemerged with a sphere cage about the size of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. There was a single wasp buzzing around inside. “Here,” Gen handed the finly the cage and the birds switched, simultaneously, from Gen’s shoulder to the finly’s.

“So tell me, boy. Are you in training to be a birder?” The boy smiled and nodded. “What’s your name boy?” The finly seemed nervous to reveal it. Finlies were always taught to stay inconspicuous, never become friends with humans. Gen could see the internal battle in the finly’s eyes, “It’s okay boy, I know many of your kind. Remember?”

“B-Briar sir.”

“Very nice to meet you, Briar.” Gen held out a hand to shake Briar’s gloved one. They shook and immediately, the finly boy took out a knife. Such a shame, Gen thought. The boy looked about sixteen! When was he turned? What had possessed him to give up his human life, his first life?

The finly boy began to slice his forearm. Blood came to the wound almost instantly. “No! No!” Gen freaked! He turned towards his kitchen counter and grabbed a rag that he quickly pressed against the wound. Briar recoiled, the blade held at his side, a single drop of blood fell to the floor. “They must not have told you,” Gen chuckled. Briar looked at him questioningly. “I do not charge fin-price.” Gen said.

“Then how am I to pay you?” Briar asked. Finly blood and flesh could provide humans with great powers. It was a coinless payment system that was as valuable as gold to Sanctum Terminus citizens. Gen Gepido was one of the leaders against this form of payment.

“The Protectant pays me personally.”

Briar seemed to come to a realization, “Ah, yes, you are the Master Budaan. I would imagine that you are part of the lord Protectant’s Council.”

Gen chuckled again, he liked this kid, “You could say that — though I don’t seem to be aging as well as the Protectant.”

To be continued...