by K. G. Duncan
And just like that, Abby is back in the hallway, on her hands and knees, Fina Lee beside her gazing intensely into her eyes. Abby flexes the fingers of her right hand, still stiff from the powerful picture in her mind—no, Fina Lee’s mind—no, the multi-verse “Fold” of time that was a future reality yet to be that had just washed over her. Oh, but it could be! It could be true; it burned so bright within her.
Abby took a deep, shuddering breath and passed a paper over to Fina Lee, aware now of the cold school hallway linoleum pressing against her bare knees. But the memory of that thunderous applause, the warmth of contentment that filled her after a lifetime of struggle and misperception, of cruelty and shame… There was one path that burned so brightly above all the others. It could be true, if only she stayed true to the path. It could be true!
Abby turned and suddenly took both of Fina Lee’s hands in her own, blurting out as fast as she could a tumble of words.
“Fina Lee! No matter what happens in this life, now and forever more, no matter what, promise me… promise me that you will always keep writing, that you will put down in words what nobody else could ever know or understand, and…and that you will keep following that voice inside of you that shines with light and love so powerful… so beautiful. And, please, please, don’t forget… that… that there will come a time to let others see it, and you will know it when you are ready for it. Oh, you will know it! Promise me, that, Fina Lee. Promise me!”
Fina Lee just stared back at Abby, her eyes suddenly watery and larger like liquid silver dollars. She glanced down at the stack of papers, now crushed in her hands, and she smiled. “Yes,” she said quietly, as she unclasped her hands from Abby’s grip. She looked momentarily into Abby’s eyes, flirted briefly with the feintest of smiles, then darted her gaze back down to her hands and the papers. “Got to put these in order.”
“That’s right, Fina Lee.” Abby let out a deep tense breath that she didn’t realize she had been holding in. “Put it all in order. Beautiful and proper order.”
Abby sat back and watched as Fina Lee sifted through the papers, shuffling and resorting them in a sequence only she could fathom. Abby reached over and picked up Fina Lee’s school bag and began putting its spilled content back inside. She could not get out of her mind that last image of grandchildren playing just outside the glass window next to the writing desk. The cool metal of the fountain pen, perfectly balanced in her fingers… A feeling of love and contentment that she had never felt so acutely before…
“Ms. Rubideaux!” The voice of Ms. Trudy snapped her back to the here and now. “What is the meaning of this?” Abby looked up at the thick legs of Ms. Trudy and followed them up past hands on hips, past thick, broad shoulders, over fleshy, grimacing lips to the hard stare of Ms. Trudy’s brown almost black eyes, which currently were squinting with suspicion.
“Just a little accident here,” Abby said as she quickly stuffed the last few things back in the school bag and handed it over to Fina Lee. “I’m just helping Fina Lee put everything back in order.”
“Everything back in order,” Fina Lee echoed. They both stood up and Ms. Trudy helped Abby put the straps of Fina Lee’s bag over her shoulders and securely on her back. The sheaf of papers was still clutched tightly in Fina Lee’s hands.
Ms. Trudy quickly soothed the wrinkles and twisted bunches of the blouse sleeves that had gone askew around Fina Lee’s arms. She hemmed and clucked, before patting Fina Lee on her shoulder, “All right, Ms. Bentley. On the hop! We don’t won’t to be any later for our afternoon session.”
As Fina Lee quickly marched off, Ms. Trudy looked over her shoulder and smiled back at Abby, and it was the exact same smile from Fina Lee’s memories, a smile that Abby had never seen (nor ever see again) pass over that stern Ms. Trudy countenance. It was a smile of gratitude and love.
“Well done, Ms. Rubideaux.” Ms. Trudy said just a little too loudly. “Now, on the hop! Laps three times around the field for all tardy students. No excuses!”
Abby watched as Ms. Trudy turned and strode away, and she found herself breathing deeply and appreciatively of the stale hallway air, a faint lemony scent rising from the polished floor. She needed a few more moments to clear her mind and consider the miracle of what had just happened. Gym class and Ms. Trudy’s impending laps could wait a while longer.
Look, but don’t look.
Sometimes that is the only way to see.
Use the corners of your eyeballs—do not move your eyeballs.
Do not turn your head!
Keep your eyes fixed on whatever it is you were doing.
There. You see?
A flash. A flicker of movement on the side? Just at the edges of your vision?
If you move your head and try to look at it directly, it will be gone.
That is the nature of some beings.
They live on the edges, so it is only with the edges of your eyes that you may see them.
—from The Book of Sayings, “Bo M’ba Nesh Speaks”
Another Time, Another Place – The Ceremony of the Bindings
Everyone from the village was there. They had all gathered down by the river where the rushing waters splashed over rocks, and the misty spray brought welcomed relief from the searing heat. The sun was high in a cloudless blue sky, and the last of the coolness of morning had finally seeped away. Only the humans were foolish enough to be out at this time of the day.
Abby had linked arms tightly with the elder, Bo M’ba Nesh, who stood to her left, regal and erect. The old woman’s finest blue headdress, adorned with bright feathers and gleaming stones, sparkled under the sun. The elder was smiling. Abby turned to focus her attention once more on the younger mothers and the teenage girls. The mothers sat in a circle on stone chairs beneath the spray of the river. Next to them knelt the teenage girls. All of the women were humming and swaying in sync with each other. In fact, the entire village of onlookers, who formed a semi-circle against the edge of the river, were swaying and humming and rhythmically stomping their feet. Abby was swept up in the movement, and she and the old woman rocked their bodies from left to right.
On each of the seated woman’s laps a baby sat, propped up and swaddled by the teens, while the humming mothers were busily wrapping thin cords around the heads of the babies. There were nine babies in all. A good number that promised good fortune and providence for the generation to come. Abby watched as the mothers’ fingers moved across the faces and around the head of each baby. The cords were laid down in criss-crossing lines—no two patterns exactly the same, as each mother created her own design.
The cords were made from durable vines that grew on the Ishwi tree, and these vines could grow as long as fifty feet in length. Once they had been cut from the tree, their leaves were thoroughly stripped, then the 1/8th-inch vines were boiled in water and left to soak for several days. The soaking leeched out the reddish-pink hues of pigment in the vines, creating a pale-white, flexible cord that could be used as a strong rope that would last for years: bundling twigs and other workloads, fastening poles together for frames, the weaving of fishing nets, and countless other things.
In this case, the cords were reserved for the most sacred of tasks: they had been set aside for the Halabe ritual: the Ceremony of the Spider. Among the Sihanaka, the forest people of Bo M’ba Nesh’s tribe, on the third day of the third moon in the Year of the Spider, one third of the newborn babies in each clan were selected by the elders to be marked to follow the path of the Sacred Halabe, the Great Mother Spider. It was said that in the beginning, Great Mother Spider came from the stars, climbing down her great silver threads to create and shape the Earth and give birth to the first people. All of the Sihanaka people held Mother Spider in the greatest of reverence, and to be marked by the vines was the greatest honor that the people of the forest could bestow to an individual.
These children were the preordained spir
itual leaders and future members of the Council of Elders. They had been carefully observed and evaluated since birth. They were chosen by the elders if they exhibited any of the ancestral signs—the genetic and behavioral markers that linked them to great leaders of the past. The vines that would leave their marks upon the faces of the children were the literal representation of that link to the past and all of those who came before.
Abby watched as a mother’s hand carefully laid the cord across her baby’s face, she pulled the cord tightly around to the back of the baby’s head. With each tug, Abby could see the skin beneath the cord blanch as the line was pulled taut. Abby knew that as the child grew, the cords would cut deeper as they tightened. The cords would not be removed until the child turned 12-years old, and at that time the removal would reveal the pink latticework of scars that would mark their face for a lifetime.
One of the babies started crying, and the old woman standing next to Abby chuckled and said in a low, soft voice, “Oh, that one will be the leader of the council one day. Big voice! Not afraid to speak her mind!” She chuckled again.
Abby turned to glance at the elder standing beside her. The scars across her face did indeed resemble a spider’s web. Abby tried to imagine Bo M’ba Nesh as an infant, her head being wrapped with the still-wet vines. Did she cry out, too?
“Did the vines hurt you when you were a child, Bo M’ba?” Abby asked quietly. She returned her eyes to watch the women and their babies. The wrapping of the baby heads was nearing the end.
“Oh no dear,” the old woman answered. “There may have been a few itches I could not scratch. But no pain. You get used to it, and after a while you don’t even notice that they are there.”
The crying baby flailed and howled even louder, and the young girl kneeling next to her had to hold the baby’s head tightly as the mother nimbly continued to wrap.
“It seems cruel to me,” Abby muttered. “The child did not ask for this, nor did she choose it.”
The elder named Bo M’ba Nesh glanced down at Abby, she was still smiling, and her large black eyes were like pools of water. “Cruel? Is it cruel to be honored by the gods? These children will grow to be schooled in the ways of the Spirit. The ancestors and Great Halabe herself have chosen them. It is their birthright. They will one day soon be revered above all others and accorded privileges unknown to those of lesser rank. They are the chosen ones and will soon learn how to be intricate players in the divine dance of creation. They will learn wisdom and leadership. They will have great powers. They will be directly connected to and bathe in the light of the stars.”
Here, the old woman paused, and she turned back to watch the binding ritual. Her eyes filled with tears. “They will have been touched by the hands of the gods,” she murmured in awe. She glanced back at Abby and patted the young girl’s head.
Bo M’ba Nesh continued more heartily, “But, as in all great gifts, there is a price to be paid, to remind us of our humility and to restore the balance. We must all sacrifice. Theirs is a sacrifice that each of us would make a thousand times over. There is no higher honor. This you will understand one day.”
Elder and youth both turned back to watch as suddenly drums beat loudly behind the gathered women. The warrior men of the tribe had come along the river, each banging a cone-shaped drum, dancing, and slapping down their feet. They grunted and hooted in time to the rhythms that pounded from their drums. The onlookers of the village parted to allow the men through, then each of the women began to sing—a counter melody that was the perfect complement to the deeper voices of the men. As the men entered, they slowly danced, twirled, and stomped around the sitting women and their babies.
The women’s voices rose—a single, long note that hovered in the air before cascading down, then rising again. The notes of their song wavered beautifully on the edge of the mist and the tiny droplets of water that rose from the river. The shimmering spray suddenly burst with rainbow colors as the wind turned slightly and the light of the sun was reflected in prisms. Abby felt the water patter on her face as if each drop were a musical note in the women’s song.
She was enraptured by the beauty and the harmony of the moment as the deep, throaty voice of Bo M’ba Nesh joined in the song beside her. The elder’s face was kindled with pure joy, a light and a happiness that was contagious, and Abby could not but laugh and begin dancing and singing herself.
From the Audio transcripts of Dr. Joanna Kinsey
Chief Psychiatrist, CHNOLA Northshore Center,
New Orleans, LA
Excerpt of Audio File Transcript #AR10089-31
June 29, 2022
Subject: A. B. Rubideaux. Female. Age: 11
Transcript of recording begins: 10:02 AM EST.
Kinsey: You have spoken before of severe alterations in your visual and audio senses.
A.B. Why, yes, doctor. I’m sorry. Joanna. Dr. Kinsey, ma’am. When my visual and audio senses begin to alter, the transformation is imminent. Significant changes in the visual spectrum always occur a few hours before the metamorphosis is complete. These are drastic distortions of sound and spectral light waves. There is a distinct blurring, usually coming from the right side of my field of vision. It’s like a force field of energy… expanding and contracting. (Giggling.) It’s like the whole world is breathing.
Kinsey: And these contractions—are they sustained or intermittent?
A.B.: Sustained. With each contortion of this distortion comes a dancing of light and colors. Like fireworks. Light kind of goes fractal and spiral, and all shapes and colors shift into geometric patterns. Patterns that merge and melt together. Back and forth. Back and forth. In a spinning vortex. I do not recommend looking into another person’s face while this is occurring. That can be most unsettling.
Kinsey: I imagine so. But if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to describe in greater detail the changes in your audio perceptions only—we haven’t gone very deeply into that yet. You have stated that these visual changes are usually accompanied by sound distortions as well?
A.B.: You are correct, doctor. I’m sorry, Joanna. Sound travels in waves and frequencies, much like light. All sounds—people’s voices, the hum of machinery, the hush of a passing bus, the mewling of a cat, the clacking of a woman’s heels in the hallway—everything. They distort and bend, too. Like reverb on an amplifier. (More giggling) A giant wa-wa pedal takes over the planet. Only it’s not a cacophony of sound. There’s an underlying pattern and beauty to it. A base wavelength. It kind of reminds me of thousands and thousands of whales and their mating calls, happening all together at the same time. I imagine it is like that. Beautiful, to say the least, and virtually beyond anything you can experience in this human form.
Kinsey: Well, in this “human form” of yours, have you ever heard the mating calls of thousands and thousands of whales happening at the same time?
A.B.: Well, naw. Come to think of it. (Chuckling.) But that’s what I imagine it is like.
Kinsey: That’s quite an imagination you have there, A.B.
47 Days Earlier: May 11, 2022.
Two things happened within a very short time of the Fina Lee incident that would change everything. And Abby didn’t see them coming.
Even though the week that flew by was deceptively calm and pleasant, Abby couldn’t foresee what would befall her—her gift applied to others, and she never saw herself in all the manifold loops and patterns of realized and unrealized moments of the present, or in the myriad streams of possible futures—unless it was through the experience of another, like what had been recently happening with Balt. Her dragon powers were inconveniently stingy when it came to her own journey.
Anyway, these two events were coming, and both things involved her friend, Olivia. Neither thing was really anyone’s fault—Like it has been said before: folks have a certain nature to which they, for the most part, remain true. Olivia, remember, was part C
lass Clown, but she was also a Hero, or more to the point: She was Abby’s personal champion. She didn’t mean to put into action the series of consequences that would change Abby’s life forever, and at the time that it happened, it seemed justified and the right thing to do. But we get ahead of ourselves. Let’s go back to a few days after the hallway incident with Fina Lee. It’s important to know the irony of how these two events came unexpectedly and on the heels of a personal breakthrough for Abby.
After the incident, Abby was feeling more focused than ever before on the growing power of the dragon inside of her. The voice inside of her head was bubbling up to the surface more often, more persistent now. She knew that the itchiness on the ends of her fingers and all across her scalp meant that a transformation would be coming soon, maybe in about a week. The dragon needed to manifest and be free.
Fly little sister.
Yes. She was eager to fly, for sure. The build up to the dragon change was usually not so palpable and electric. What was different this week was that Abby was also in a place of inner calm and confidence. She was enjoying a peaceful tranquility that was not usual for her school life experience. She was so full of gratitude and kindness toward others. Well, the kindness and gratitude toward others was usual—what was new was the inner calmness that anchored her amidst the usual relentless turmoil of her daily existence. Frankly, Abby welcomed it like an old friend who had been away too long. Unfortunately, it was this relaxed state of mind that was, in part, what lulled her into the predicament.
