They Called Us Shaman

by Corinne Beenfield

  But I can’t think like that. I have Alessio.

  My thoughts want to tear me asunder—half wanting to think of Alessio out of pure loyalty, half consumed with guilt, knowing he would not understand why I put myself in this situation. I taste my betrayal, like tin, in my mouth. But I stay.

  At last the lights dim to nothing, and Ramose turns his body toward mine. I can’t see him anymore, but he’s close enough that I feel his warmth, and his rich cinnamon scent surrounds me.

  “If I give you this memory, you may regret it. Haven’t you ever heard that ignorance is bliss?”

  “But . . .” I swallow. “Haven’t you ever realized that the world isn’t just dangerous because of evil people? It’s because good people choose to be ignorant. I cannot live in ignorance. Please. Show me what you know.”

  He is quiet a moment, and sighs, relenting. When he speaks, I think he sounds softer, touched. “You have to clasp my hands. They are raised to my chest.” In the dark, I reach out, grateful for a small victory won. “Almost—left. Okay. There. Now rest your forehead against mine, then close your eyes.”

  I do as he says. For a moment, nothing happens, but then the darkness of the room is gone and I find myself standing in bright light.

  Looking down, I see that my hands are no longer my own, but pudgy with rings on many of them. Ramose is doing more than showing me a memory—he has put me in someone’s mind. The memory begins to take hold, and I feel what I’d always known to be Joanna slip away. It’s unnerving and I try to stay, to make this new body act how I wish, but it seems impossible. Perhaps just like looking back on my own memories, I cannot rewrite what has already happened. But before I can understand it fully, the memory grips me, and Joanna is gone.

  My knee bounces as I swig the drink in front of me. “Whoo!” I squeal as I slam the glass down. The others chat gaily around me, somehow able to play the part of mature, calm adults on a day like this. Ha! I couldn’t sit still any more than a fire could not burn.

  I check my dress—fitted to perfection, of course. I’ve put on even more weight since coming here, but this dress would make anyone look good. Not that Helen and Laurel would notice the extra pounds—they never cared about that sort of thing like the rest of the world does. Blood is like that.

  I smile as a waiter comes around with a tray of drinks, and he offers me another. “Well, if you insist.” I giggle at him before he has said a word.

  “Congratulations, ma’am.” He grins as I raise the glass. “I’m sure you’ve worked hard to be here.”

  I scoff happily. For a moment, the room spins and I have to steady myself on his arm. “That’s the understatement of the century.” I place my hand over my heart as though swearing on it. “The dutiful mentoree at your service.” Whatever it took to get home, I gave them. Oh, and they took me up on that! “Work me into the night many times, they did. Not that all this . . . ” I gesture to my gown and the ganache on my cake. “. . . isn’t lovely, but. . . ” I shrug and hiccup. “It isn’t home.” I sip, looking at him over my glass.

  “What are you most excited for?” He leans on the banister next to us, grateful, I think, for a chance to rest his feet.

  “My sisters. One younger, one older.” I smile just thinking of them. There was hardly a memory I shared with the researchers that didn’t include them, seeing as barely a moment of my life didn’t have me on Laurel’s heels and Helen on mine. The music of my childhood was their laughter.

  I didn’t know, back when we were growing up, when all our beaus went off to war and our parents grew old but we kept living together anyway, how lucky I was to have our paths so intertwined. Helen was always the peacemaker, always the glue. Laurel was always the life of the party, the fuel on the fire. When I was brought here, our paths diverged for the first time, and I kept looking back over my shoulder to days when we sang together while scrubbing dishes or when they took turns staying with me through the nights that one winter I fell so ill.

  “Well, all your hard work has paid off. Here.” He gestures to a fellow waiter walking by with another platter. “Treat yourself.”

  I plop the brie truffle from the tray into my mouth in one bite. Exquisite. I close my eyes, savoring the softness on my tongue. “Now this I will miss.” I open my eyes and meet his. “But it’s worth it. I’d trade it all in a heartbeat for evenings with my sisters again.” I’m rambling, but don’t care. A few drinks always have that effect on me. “Helen would always paint some masterpiece by candlelight or mix her little oils.” I stir the air with my finger, imitating. “And Laurel! No one could ever make me laugh quite like Laurel.” I feel warm at the memory. So much of who they are, I want to be. In my mind, I see their faces, which for so many months only pained me to see, but no longer.

  I’m going home.

  If we arrive at the moment I left, they will have no memory of my being gone, but I will never forget. I understand now what they mean to me. What I will give up for them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Gadian stands on the staircase straight above me, and I have to step back to see him, but I lose my balance from looking up too quickly.

  “Clumsy me.” I giggle.

  “Don’t miss us too much,” the waiter whispers to me, a sparkle in his eye, as he lifts his tray, offers me one last glass, and then disappears into the crowd. Nice chap.

  Gadian’s talking and his words float around me, leaving me dizzy as if I’m breathing helium, but waft away without landing on me. A cheer goes up, and I look at the group. “You’re going home!” Gadian yells out over the crowd and they roar louder. He smiles and rocks on his heels, watching us.

  Of course, many could be standing here but aren’t. Those of us who have made it this far could never quite lose sight of our hometowns in the rearview. Hundreds could go home if they wanted, but the pull isn’t the same. Which I can’t understand—obviously they don’t have sisters like mine.

  “Now, if you’ll follow me, how about that time machine ride you’ve all been promised?” Our joy could blow the roof right off. We surge around him, following him as if he is our shepherd. Pouring into the hallway, we are packed so closely that we are standing shoulder to shoulder, pushing our way through to be first, as if we can’t wait another minute. On the edges of the hall, other shaman stand, watching us go, and I wonder if seeing us, they remember why. Why we try so hard, why we want to go home, why we would give all this up. Because when you question why, you get the loveliest answer back.

  Gadian stops at a doorway, and we gush through it.

  Through the people, I see it.

  The time machine.

  It is set at the back of the room, a metallic cube with a single door and no windows, likely twice the size of an elevator. The rest of the room is undecorated, stark white with vents along the ceiling. Being one of the last to enter, I turn to see Gadian, smiling, at the door.

  Stepping through, he closes it behind him, and as he stands so close, I see him turn and secure the door with a lock embedded in his skin. No one else sees the gun tucked under his jacket as he leans toward the door. My excitement evaporates like water in the summer heat, leaving only dry, cracking fear in its place. Why does he have a gun?

  Gadian walks to the time machine, then begins to speak. “Our loyal patrons, do you know the term ‘uncontrollable variables’? Anyone? Show of hands? No?” We stare at each other, but no one speaks up. “Well, as researchers, we use the term for a variable in an experiment that has the potential to impact the controlled variables negatively. Anything that could ruin the experiment from operating correctly, as it was designed to do.”

  Everyone is silent, perhaps first noticing the condescending tone in Gadian’s voice, as though he speaks to simple-minded children, perhaps seeing how for once his perfect smile seems strangled and wrong.

  “For example.” He pauses, looking at us as if we were less than human. “To give the enemy months inside the inner workings of our projects, and then to set them free, with no restra
int, would be to infuse—say, thirty uncontrollable variables into our delicate experiment.” He shakes his head slightly, his sick smile still there. “Furthermore, to have those variables placed back in time, where their influence could propel out of foreseeable bounds—no, that would not do.” His voice drops nearly to a whisper, but no one misses a word. “The only way to allow the experiment to be completed to the best of its potential is to eliminate all uncontrollable variables.”

  Understanding falls on us, heavy and dangerous as shrapnel. At once, we all begin to cry out.

  “You promised!”

  “Please! I’ll do anything!”

  “Stop! We won’t tell!”

  But he just places a small tube in his mouth and steps towards the time machine. A burly man near the machine comes at him, hands reaching for Gadian’s neck. “You fu—”

  Quick as a lashing snake, Gadian pulls out his gun, and the man instinctively backs up.

  “A bullet will kill you just as effectively as having the air sucked from the room. Your choice.” Gadian raises an eyebrow, and the man doesn’t move. Without missing a moment, Gadian opens the door to the time machine and steps in. We hear the locks secure, and a second later, I think we all realize we missed our chance. We could have stormed him—some of us would have taken bullets, but most would have survived. But now walls of firm metal stand between us and that possibility.

  I wait to watch it clank to life then disappear, but it doesn’t move. Yet something does happen. The vents at the ceiling begin to suck, and we feel the air rushing away from us.

  Some begin to scream, but like in every nightmare, the scream stays trapped in my throat. My hands tremble at my sides and I bring them up, jamming them into my mouth, teeth biting down into my soft flesh. People pound on the doorway, on Gadian’s time machine. Where in the centuries will he hide from what he is doing?

  Suddenly I understand it all. He’s not going anywhere. Not yet. It’s just serving the purpose of keeping him safe from us. I crouch to the floor, my breath becoming ragged and harsh. I can see it in my mind—Gadian waiting until the final body has fallen quiet, and then stepping out. Cleaning up the bodies will be easy—he has everywhere in history to hide them. I feel the throbbing of my eyes in their sockets, but for me, everything goes strangely quiet, the bellow of terror in my head blocking out all the noise.

  Four men start to rock the time machine, hoping to crack it open like an egg, but they are the first to drop to the ground, needing air most desperately. But why did Gadian even come in here? Why risk having us turn on him?

  Suddenly I see the young waiter’s face, the sparkle in his eye, and I realize he didn’t know. Perhaps no one else knows. Gadian had to come in here—he couldn’t risk opening the door on thirty dead bodies and having one of his little lemmings seeing what he has done. The safest place to hide is with the dead.

  Around me, people gasp and choke, their veins bulging blue in their necks and faces. One by one, their jaws slack and eyes close the instant before their bodies strike the floor. My fists, one still in my mouth, have nails digging into my palms, the only bloodshed on this battle scene. I look up and see corpses. That's all we are now, all I’m about to become.

  I can’t let this be the last thing I see.

  Eyes pinched shut, I relive the moment I have replayed over and over for months now. The memory that never got to happen.

  It’s always in a train station, as if I’d just returned from a long journey. I step from the platform, and the first thing I see is Helen and Laurel, their eyes searching the crowd for me. Spotting me, we rush to each other, squealing in delight. “Brigetta, we missed you!” My name never sounded so sweet. We fall into each other’s arms, our laughter binding us like golden cords, connecting us once again. How many times did I watch this moment in my mind, willing it to happen with everything inside me?

  Usually, this is where the memory-to-be ends, but this time the moment doesn’t stop.

  I see my sisters, actually feel the weight of their arms across my shoulders, and our laughter gives way to happy sighs. Tears—tears of joy—begin to stream down our faces. I catch one in my mouth, tasting of salt and gratitude. We quiet, but stay close, leaning our heads together, a triangle of love.

  My whole life, we were side by side, and that doesn’t change now. As the rest of me goes limp, their faces gain one last moment of clarity.

  With an exhale, their smiles are the last thing I see.

  The memory, like a dream, fades to nothing. I open my eyes and feel Ramose’s warm skin against my forehead. Brigetta’s tears are wet on my cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Ramose whispers in the dark.

  My mouth is dry as I try to answer. “So many people. . .” I stop and swallow my emotions down. “That happens every time shaman are ‘sent home.’” It’s a realization, not a question.

  We are at war. I understand that better now than ever before. If we escape, it won’t be calmly taking our turns, one at a time, in front of the time machine. It will be by the skin of our teeth, fighting tooth and nail for our freedom. Our future lies here, in 2048. Hundreds of years from home.

  “Yes,” he whispers.

  My shoulders still feel heavy from the weight of Brigetta’s sisters. She’d given up everything to be with them again. To be with those she loves most. Being inside her head, I couldn’t help but love them too. They were her Leos and Isabettas.

  And I finally see.

  This isn’t about which I love more—Mama and home and the people there, or magic and all it has given me. I love Mama and home and the people there more than magic, no contest. If it meant having them in my life, I would never shapeshift again, if that were the cost. And I could live my life content, hand-in-hand with them.

  But everyone here—they are each someone’s Leo. Someone’s sister or brother. Someone’s mama, someone’s daughter or son. Perhaps they were a faceless throng fifteen minutes ago, but now I’ve been in their minds. Felt the love they had to give.

  Then watched them die.

  I cannot let them all come to an end, and magic along with them. If I do not sacrifice what I love, what we all love will be the sacrifice. I chose magic. I choose my people.

  Fresh tears spring to my eyes, my own. Ramose closes his arms around me tightly and pulls me to his chest while I weep. I weep for the shaman here, the last of my kind who have forgotten to fight for themselves. I weep for those who just simply wanted to make it home, but had it barred from them like iron gates before heaven. But mostly I weep for Leo and Mama. For now, I grasp where my feet are set, and it is not toward them.

  A sob racks my body, and I open my mouth in a silent wail as I realize fully for the first time what this means.

  I will never see their faces again.

  ___

  Pressing the end call button, I run my fingers through my red hair, the hacked layers professionally styled into an A-line, and blink away tears. It’s just canceled plans, I chide myself. No need to make your mascara run.

  But no. It’s so much more than that which is bothering me.

  In the bedroom, Gadian has his laptop balanced on his knees, typing away. Kicking off my heels, I collapse on the bed and stare with dread up at the ceiling, as though I’m an Inca watching an eclipse and feeling like it’s a sign the world will end.

  “Kristy’s baby is sick and won’t go with the babysitter. She can’t leave her like that,” I tell Gadian.

  He sniffs and keeps his eyes on the screen. “Can any of your other friends pick you up?”

  I shake my head, a tear escaping down the side of my face. “They live too far out of the way.”

  “Well, just be careful then. Text me when you get there.”

  “I can’t.” My chin shakes, and my breaths become heavy.

  Hearing my voice crack, Gadian turns to me, concern on his features. “Honey! What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think I should drive anymore.” There. I said it out loud. Acceptance, ju
st one of the stages of grief.

  Except this time, it’s my mind I’m grieving over. Without that, who am I? An evening shadow has been cast over my memories, lengthening slowly until eventually, all that will be left is darkness.

  NINETEEN

  The Californian Remains, August 2048 A.D.

  Alessio places his hand on the small of my back and pulls me in, but as he kisses me, I think we both can tell it’s empty. No, not empty altogether, just of anything that matters in a kiss. It completely lacks passion or excitement, leaving only the desperate pleading for the other to understand. But I suppose that behind desperation lies the thought, I’m still here. I still want you, so at least that’s something.

  “Goodnight, darling,” he whispers. For a moment, I want to throw out our last hours of conversations, place my hands on his cheeks, and tell him, “I choose you. I will choose the Academy. Where you are, I call home.” But the words stay in my throat, caught in a sprung trap. Once again, our evening was spent arguing after a group of the shaman were gathered and “taken back in time.” I didn’t hear until after they were gone, until the damage was done. Thirty more casualties. “Casualties”—what does that even mean to me? Thirty more brothers, daughters, fathers, and wives. Hundreds more left wondering if their loved one will ever come home to them.

  “They had proven themselves,” we were told. “They’ve given the Academy all the information we asked for. Do as you’re asked, and it will be you next.” I’m sure goodbyes were said and champagne glasses were raised, then the group was led away. Later, only Gadian returned.

  In a tight huddle, I whispered to Alessio, trying to keep my voice from rising to a panic, begging him not to trust Gadian.

  But Alessio won’t even consider that the home they were sent to was the heavens.

  “Sleep sweet,” I respond, then the ache inside me increases at the memory of Mama saying those words each night, standing in my doorway with that gentle smile of hers.