Coming to Power

by T J Marquis

  Bahabe’s thoughts drifted as she cruised along in the dull light. A part of her whispered that she should feel fear at being alone out here, in the dark and the wilds. But this was where her heart had led, and she couldn’t believe it would steer her wrong. She felt secure, surrounded by nature and nothing more. Anywhere out here - any forest or grove or stretch of plains - could feel like home. All you had to do was learn the rules of the place you were in - what to eat, what was poison, who would jealously defend their territory if you came too near their abode. You played along, found your niche, and survival became trivial.

  Will I still feel such confidence if I get attacked by beastmen? she thought.

  But yes, she would. Confidence, or faith even, in the competence of the earth around her, the persistent miracle of its complex construction. The Nulian army and its roving marauders were like poachers or an invasive species, out of place in a land not their own, exploiting it, killing its denizens. They might prevail, for a time. They might come in and conquer this land, but long after the deaths of everyone with the breath of life in Enkann, the land would continue, and bugs would crawl, and plants would reach for the sunlight, and rodents would scuttle in the underbrush. If she were to die at the hands of such poachers, it would really be a small thing.

  She did not fear this.

  Besides, Jon was at work, and she believed in him. Since those first moments with him down in her cove, she’d appreciated his earnestness. She’d stood in awe of the power he’d been given, the easy way he mastered his surroundings, and she’d drunk in every move of his masculine form with hungry eyes. Indeed, when she failed to control her thoughts and desires, attraction ignited, a wild thing seeking release from the cage of her ribs. Her hands ached to feel him, and tingles ran in waves across and under her skin when she looked at him. Constantly she’d wondered if he’d noticed, but she thought he hadn’t.

  No, he didn’t know.

  She blushed and made a concerted effort to turn her thoughts elsewhere.

  Focus on the road maybe? she scolded herself.

  No, it was probably time to stop for the night. Get some good rest, start early in the morning. She pulled to the side of the road - as if it mattered - and made camp on a bare patch of ground. Eventually, she dozed off to the ceaseless sounds of the forest, imagining each insect’s buzz, each creak and crack of every tree, was a word in some long lost language, woven together tonight in a serenade just for her.

  Bahabe set out again in the cool of morning. The road wound on and on, and though the forest exuded calm and peace, its thick canopy began to strike her as oppressive. She was already eager to feel the sun again. The shadowed path left her feeling lonely, in want of her friends, yet she sensed strongly that she wasn’t alone.

  On a whim, she spoke out:

  “Hello?” she called. “I’m passing through to visit… the sarathi city? Is that okay?” There was no response, no indication that anyone had heard. “Hmm, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk if you’re shy, or whatever. I promise I don’t want to bother anyone, I just hope you’ll let me through.” There was still no assent, was that denial?

  “I hear people get lost heading that way... “ she trailed off, groaned to herself. What was she asking for anyway? A guide? Permission?

  She cruised along a while before calling out again.

  “Thanks for letting me get this far. It’d be nice to meet you though, whoever’s watching.”

  Silence. She sighed.

  The going was slower now, as the road wound around hills and vales, and the occasional rocky outcropping or steep, eroded ditch. She did not speak aloud again until she stopped for lunch.

  “I’ve got some good food, if you’re interested,” she said. “I don’t know what you like to eat, but there’s fresh cheese, and probably the best jerky I’ve ever eaten. Rae said it was almost a crime to make jerky out of this meat - that’s how tender it was!”

  It appeared that no one was interested.

  Finishing her little meal, Bahabe pushed into the next stretch of road. She had to assume the end of the forest was near, and she met every curve of the path with hopeful eyes, watching for the thinning of the canopy and the full light of day. She was chagrined to have to slow even further, as she came upon a section of road that had been washed out by flood at some point. Rocks, dirt, branches, and even whole trees had been strewn across the ground and road in what must have been a violent storm. Some of the debris was piled high enough that she couldn’t just hover over it to get past. She had to steer around.

  It was then, nearly clear of the washed out areas, that she felt an unexpected hitch in the zirah beneath her. Something popped audibly under her seat, there was a high-pitched squeal, and the rear of the zirah dipped toward the ground. It tipped to the right, beginning to spin out. Bahabe panicked and tried to correct herself by steering leftward, then felt the side of the vehicle dig into the dirt of the washed-out road. Spry as always, she bailed, jumping clear of the zirah before it could pin her leg to the ground. The vehicle fell, hummed in the dirt for a few moments, then shut itself off.

  Bahabe looked on in breathless shock. Her metal steed was done for.

  She heard a voice from somewhere among the trees and searched for its source.

  “Why did you do that? She seems kind,” it said softly.

  “Too loud, that thing. Disturbs the woods,” came a petulant second voice.

  “She’s not disturbed a thing,” said the first voice, scolding. “And it wasn’t loud.”

  “Hello?” Bahabe called. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I was trying to get through quickly,” Bahabe looked again at the downed zirah, “but that was my only transportation…”

  After a brief hesitation, two figures emerged from the very leaves of a pair of trees at the roadside. One was human-sized, with olive skin and long green hair that cloaked her body. She swung down from above, one hand hanging loosely to the tree’s branch. The second figure was identical in form but winged, and no longer than a handbreadth. Bahabe was astounded, and it showed on her face.

  The little figure giggled at her.

  “Kin. But she’s never seen us before,” she mused aloud in a voice like a piccolo.

  Bahabe opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it.

  “Are you a… fairy?” she asked the smaller one. Her answer was a brash laugh.

  The small winged woman fluttered nearer to Bahabe. “She calls us fairies!”

  “Well enough, considering,” said the other woman, her voice husky. She had dropped to the ground and stood at ease on the side of the road. “Clearly she knows nought of us. What is your name, girl?”

  “I’m Bahabe,” she answered, “of the island Sem-ba-do. I’ve been hoping to meet you. Are you both… sarathi?”

  “I do smell the sea,” said the little one. She turned to her companion, drifting away from Bahabe. “Why wouldn’t others have appeared to her?”

  The other woman shook her head, looking Bahabe over. “Some are even wilder than you,” she said. “I am Clora, and this is Fila. We are sarathi indeed. She apologizes about the vehicle…”

  “No I don’t,” Fila protested.

  “...and we welcome you to Katal.”

  Fila swept in close to Bahabe, scanning her. It was easier to see the little woman’s features up close. She was slim as a stick, her face all angles, with big brown eyes.

  “What are you looking for?” She asked, hands on her hips. “Why have you been yelling at us?”

  “I…” Bahabe stammered. She wouldn’t have expected such a little person to be so aggressive.

  Clora jumped in, saying, “She wasn’t yelling, and clearly she’s looking for sarathi,” she fixed Bahabe in her gaze, “who she has found. But why?”

  Bahabe wasn’t used to talking about the pull with strangers, but this was it. Here she was, face-to-face with sarathi, who by every indication were linked to the source of her pull. She couldn’t very
well hide it, or clam up now. Yet she felt the tingle of nerves in her chest. The pull could have just been her imagination, or a hallucination all along. Or it could have nothing at all to do with sarathi - this could all be coincidence. It was Fila, thrusting her face toward Bahabe, comically impatient, who drew out the answer at last.

  “Ever since I could walk, I felt a pull… a gravity. I always knew it was far from my home, but I could never deny it. There’s something waiting for me… The plains beyond this forest - the pull leads there. I was told your people have a city amid the wilds, and the Wizardess thought that might be the source of my sensation.”

  Clora and Fila looked at each other, the latter backing away from Bahabe’s somber tone.

  “She’s sad,” said Fila, looking down at the broken zirah. “Did I do that?” Clora took a breath to answer, but Bahabe spoke first.

  “No,” she smiled wanly. “It’s not just sadness. I couldn’t begin to explain how I feel. But it’s not the broken zirah,” she gestured toward it, “and it’s not your fault.”

  Fila flourished in a tight loop and landed on Bahabe’s outstretched hand, eliciting a grin.

  “Well sorry anyway,” said Fila with a toothy smile. “I didn’t know the machine was that important!” She flit off to examine the machine in question.

  Clora said, “We can make up for it, though. Can’t we Fila? Come girl, and walk with us. We shall talk, and run, and take you to the plains.”

  Bahabe nodded, allowing a little relief to settle in her breast. She fetched her supplies from the zirah, pet it as if it had been a trusty steed, and started back down the road, sarathi at her side.

  “There is indeed a town out there,” Clora said, “one which men would have a hard time finding. But all sarathi know how. It is a place for all those who no longer wish to be wild. Some travel there to rest, then return to fields and springs, and others retire there permanently. I myself have never been. Fila?”

  “What?” asked the little woman, flitting up closer. Bahabe chuckled.

  “Have you been to the city?” Clora said.

  “Ew. Nasty, stinking place. All those men…”

  “Not that one,” Clora smiled. “The town of sarathi.”

  “Ohhh,” Fila dipped in midair as she said it. “I’ve flown through a couple times, yeah. Pretty gardens. Never stayed though.”

  “Will they let me in?” asked Bahabe.

  “I believe they will,” said Clora. “Meanwhile, tell us more of yourself.”

  Bahabe told them, surprising herself with her own openness. She spoke of Sem-ba-do and her love of the jungle, eventually working her way to Jon and their flight to the mainland, their adventures thereafter.

  “I felt a little guilty leaving,” Bahabe was saying. “Leaving everyone there in a time of such need. But what could I do for them?”

  “Little,” Clora said, examining her, “or much. Fila and I minister to all the green and growing things. Does she contribute less than I, simply because she is small?” Fila looked back and scoffed from up ahead, whipping her long hair as she turned away again.

  “Or are even the two of us of any value, considering how much forest there is to tend?” Clora swept her hands around to indicated the whole of the forest. “And yet, are we the only dryads at work here?”

  Bahabe knew there must be more and said so. “And all of you together amount to something irreplaceable. You’re right. Does that mean I should go back?”

  “Do we all contribute in the same way though?” Clora asked. “Look at Fila. She flits about on many whims, following trails of interest and opportunity, and yet fulfills her purpose. I love to go about slowly, searching for those places less well-tended by my kin. Between us, many creations are blessed. Yet if I tried to become Fila…”

  The winged sarathi scoffed again.

  “Who would remain to be Clora?”

  Bahabe nodded. Clora’s words made sense. She thought of the human body, how two hands sufficed, and two feet, and she imagined a hand becoming a foot, or an ear an eye.

  She repeated this thought out loud, and Fila giggled at the image, flitting by to flick at Bahabe’s hair playfully.

  Maybe this was right after all. And maybe - even though the sarathi were mostly wild - maybe some of them would be willing to help the Enkanites. It was the first time she’d had that thought. Then Bahabe could serve both her own purpose and Jon’s.

  “We have slowed you much, young one,” Clora said. “Come, let us show you speed.”

  She held out a hand, which Bahabe took. Clora broke into a run and angled toward the trees off the side of the road. She leapt, pulling the girl up with her, and Bahabe felt her body growing light, vaguely spread out or stretched. The sunlight grew brighter, the wind brought with it many scents and sounds she hadn’t smelled or heard before, and she found herself sweeping rapidly forward among the leaves of the forest canopy. Clora was a vague, ethereal presence ahead of her, barely in contact via the dissolved forms of their hands. Bahabe tried to look down at her own body, but she could find herself nowhere. The world was only movement, raw senses, and light.

  There - dew that had never fallen from its leaf that morning. Next - an oak groaning as it reached for sunshine. Then - a shadow like death in a hollow nearby. She began to know Katal more personally - what plants were edible, where water sources lay, what was poisonous. There was a whisper of things distant - dark, stinking bodies trampling once tranquil ground, cutting and burning along the way. Bahabe barely had time to connect these faint images with the invading Nulians, for each instance of new awareness flit by like a bird, there and gone. Bahabe lost track of time and place, overwhelmed by the typhoon of sensory input, letting it flood over her as she was pulled along by Clora.

  Then there was a light up ahead like that at the end of a tunnel. The road beyond was worn away to rubble, lines of heat wafting up in the harsh sun. The treeline thinned rapidly, giving way to a scrubby, rocky plain. Clora dropped down out of the trees, towing Bahabe, and they landed together, solid again, in the shadows near the forest’s tattered edge.

  Bahabe was speechless, with the sense that she needed to catch her breath, minus the actual physical need to do so.

  “That was incredible,” she breathed. “How?”

  Clora smiled at her as Fila dropped down from the canopy to join them. “Riding life as a bird does the wind,” she said. “It is a beautiful way to go about, is it not?”

  Bahabe agreed. “Why did we stop?” she asked.

  “There are kin about,” Fila answered, swooping in close, then out toward the sunlight. Bahabe and Clora followed.

  “Hail sisters!” came the call of a strident male voice. “What mindless chatter belays thy progress?”

  Materializing in the bright sunlight were two tall men with skin of pale gold and hair like straw. One strode ahead of the other, smiling. The second man looked somber. For a moment Bahabe thought they might be twins, but soon she saw that one had chiseled features, and the other looked round and boyish.

  “And what mindless vagabond wanders from his open plains into the shadow of the forest?” Clora called back.

  “Ha, how her wit does sharpen by the year. With every wrinkle a new facet to her humor. Posthumously she may surpass the master!” came the man’s voice.

  “The master’s final lesson may be to discover that an ill-humored lady is the leading cause of posthumous-ness…” Clora warned.

  The man who had spoken came near to Clora and embraced her casually, keeping an arm around her waist as he looked Bahabe over.

  “Ha ha!” He bellowed. “Of course all men know that the sprite does not wrinkle, little lady. Yet men’s mouths must grow large enough to receive the mighty portions of sustenance our masculine bellies crave. Speaking loudly is good training.”

  Bahabe chuckled.

  Clora put a hand under his chin and turned his head left, then right - a mock inspection.

  “I think it’s quite large enough,” she de
clared.

  “You could fit a horse in there,” Fila said, zipping by.

  The man laughed heartily. “You are well, sisters?” he asked.

  “Quite well,” said Clora. “And we’ve met a friend. Her name is Bahabe.”

  The man beamed at Bahabe. “Another little sister!” He turned his face to Clora again and said, “Noble blood in this one.” Then, “I am Hiytah!” he spread his arms wide as he said it. “And the more silent one is my younger brother Dasha.”

  “Younger?” Fila protested, swooping in close to Hiytah’s face. “He was born under the same moon as you!”

  “True,” the man acceded, “but I came out first. Fervently I claim the blessings of the elder!”

  Dasha smiled and did not object.

  “In any case, we shall join you and this little sister,” Hiytah said. “No harm, my dears, shall come to you on the road. Furthermore, you’ll suffer not one moment of boredom! Now, where are we going?”

  Clora laughed melodiously and explained their trek to him.

  The little group started on up the road again, leaving behind the dappled shadows of the trees for the bright sunshine of the rocky plain. Bahabe saw that the sun was now in the western sky. Time had felt different as she had flowed through the trees with the forest sarathi, but it had still passed.

  “The plains fare well?” Clora asked.

  “Very,” said Hiytah. “No men for months, though we have heard whispers of the green ones edging up northward.”

  “Many thousands of them at the southern rim of Katal,” Clora said.

  Hiytah raised an eyebrow. “Really? On the move, then.”

  “They’re making for Centrifuge,” Bahabe said, and felt that slight twinge of guilt in her heart at not being there. “I…” she almost asked for their help. Would it amount to anything? Could these few, half-wild sarathi amass an army of their people? She couldn’t get the words out.

  “Which they’ve done before,” said Clora. Bahabe thought the woman sensed her worry. Clora looked at her and said, “The City will stand.”

  “I hope so,” said Hiytah. “I’m not one for cities, but that one…”