by T J Marquis
Sira chuckled. “Don’t feel bad, love. Who likes to be nagged? Especially by something so ethereal.”
She scanned the room, taking in the dozens or hundreds of paintings. “Don’t think I’ve even looked at some of these,” she muttered, then shook away her thoughts. “Come, tea is not for standing! Let’s go and sit on the roof, and Bahabe, you can tell me everything!”
The patio above Sira’heva’s gallery was mostly open space, with just a few chairs around one circular glass table. A low railing ran along the perimeter, and a few of the trees were reaching long arms over the rail as if daring one another to touch the house.
“So what will you do now, Bahabe? Now that you’ve come home,” Sira’heva asked as they sat. “Obviously you’ll tell us more of your story before anything else,” she said. She smiled warmly, put a hand over Bahabe’s.
Bahabe squeezed her grandmother’s hand, finding that she had to think about the question. She had no ready answer. She’d always assumed that the pull would lead her to her past, but her preoccupation with following it had never left room for thoughts of what might happen after she found it. Was she simply to settle in with her relatives, get to know them, and build a life here? Or, she could venture into the wild and experience the ways of the so-called wild sarathi. Looking around, she saw value in both directions.
In the wild lay her people’s deep past, their origin and apparent true purpose. She imagined herself skimming through the elements of the earth, frolicking with other sarathi, sensing every detail in the vastness of creation. One could get lost in all that, she thought. Would she be able to meld with the elements on her own? Or was her human blood a shackle in that regard? She realized she didn’t even really know what her elemental authority was, only that it had something to do with light and healing.
Then she wondered, if she happened to find her grandfather out there, could she love him? Was it possible she could convince him to come home?
In the town of M'bel'ata, her close family could teach her sarathiness in a different way. She could learn the past of the place, understand how to live as a child of two worlds. She could learn how to use her abilities in a more scholarly way, through study and instruction. And all the while she would get to know her family and enjoy the love and comforts they offered.
There was more to consider… The most individualistic part of her hesitated to allow the thought, but her heart forced her to wonder where Jon could fit in all of that. The longer she’d been apart from him, even just these few days, the more she’d felt that other kind of pull on her heart, the one that only Jon had been able to cause. It was both awesome and terrible, loss and gain, and she had no idea what to do with it. She couldn’t even get enough of a grip on the feeling to bring it up out loud, but it was definitely there.
“I don’t know,” was all she could say in the end. Sira nodded as if this was the correct answer.
“And why rush it?” Sira said gaily. “Yes, this time will be precious, won’t it?” She leaned back in her chair, sipping tea and scanning the clear sky.
They talked all afternoon, and into the evening, Bahabe relating her adventures with Jon to both her aunt and grandmother. M’bel’a had heard bits and pieces during the raucous party the previous night, but now she was able to catch more of the details.
Sira’heva remained mostly lucid until dusk, when her memory began to slip a little more often. Jerei gave her more medicinal tea, and that helped some, but as she tired, she grew more distant and more easily confused.
Eventually they all retired for the night, and Bahabe went to bed content, for the most part.
Each day that week, Bahabe spent time with her family, most of it with Sira’heva. Some days M’bel’a came along, and others she had business to tend to. Sira began to teach Bahabe to paint, and they spent long hours discussing Sira’s own works - she called them her dreams.
Bahabe studied a piece that Sira’heva called her self-portrait, trying to parse out her grandmother’s thought process. The painting was several feet across and a few high, as yet unframed. It depicted a stand of trees basking in moonlight, each tree merely a streak of shadowed brown, with dapples for bluish-green leaves. A silver mist seemed to crawl across the sky toward the blue moon above, in sensuous waves that suggested the form of a woman. She danced across the treetops and lifted a lithe arm to caress the moon. Most of the elements gave just a vague impression of the things they depicted, but two portions of the woman were rendered in finer detail.
Her toes were each clearly defined, splayed, and tangled with the upper branches of the trees. Her mouth was slightly parted, and blue moonlight flowed between her lips like water.
“I am a creature of three worlds, you see,” Sira said when Bahabe asked for help in deciphering the painting, “as many of our people have become. Three or more, really. My mother was all of twilight, so enamored of the moon and stars that she hardly ever stepped into the light of day. My father, and your grandfather as well, were of the forest - deep, dark, and hard. It is part of why I cannot blame Kera for his strange sense of morality, for who can ask the mighty cedar to change once it is full-grown?”
“And the third part is human,” Bahabe said.
“Yes, love,” Sira said. “A part of us that continues to grow, from year to year and age to age. It may even be that some day, there will not be enough sarathi left in us for the elements to respond to our touch.”
They were silent together, eyes tracing the nebulous lines of the painting.
“So why can I do what I can do, grandma?” Bahabe asked. “I shape the light, I see things not revealed to others, I feel what they feel, I heal them.”
“It is these authorities working in you, through you, passed on to you through your mother,” Sira said. She touched the painted moon softly with one finger. “The moon rules the night, marking its beginning and end. In the night, the light is tame and soft, yet all the more important in keeping full darkness from reigning. In the night, people dwell on their secrets, often their fears, and they share these things with one another, with those they love, and with HAEL. And the moon sees far, from one horizon to the other.
“The woods are intimately tied to the earth, to the ever-shifting waters on land and in the sky, and they give strength, and they always grow. All of nature shows an aptitude for healing, of course, for this is how it was created - to be able to regenerate, to be resilient in the face of change and destruction. Trees most of all, for they grow old and strong, dropping seed each season to perpetuate the cycle of life. Take note, young one, for they are also the home to many beasts, so that the wood sprite is rarely without a friend in the wild.”
“And so do we… do sarathi just reflect these aspects of nature, grandma?” Bahabe asked. “Or do we… create them?”
“No, dear, the creation has already been done. What is, is, and will continue until the end, neither created, nor destroyed. It is only changed. I believe that, yes, we reflect the world around us. But it also obeys our will, for though it may often seem that the world is in perfect order, the elements do tend toward chaos.”
“What do you mean?” Bahabe said.
“Death and decay, love. Entropy. They spread, as they have been directed to do, and we resist, as has been our calling since those undesirable forces first came about. Sarathi put things back in order. As a man of law may arbitrate between parties in pursuit of justice, so do we ensure that the destructive forces do not run rampant.”
Bahabe considered this and understood herself better. All those days trekking through the Sem-ba-doan jungle, drinking it in as if it would give her sustenance. It actually had. Those late nights, staying up long after everyone else had retired, watching the moon trace its course across the sky, wishing she could touch it, tread upon it. In fact, it had touched her, and she hadn’t even known it. All this time, she’d been in intimate contact with the forces and concepts given symbolic life in these elements of reality.
“Know how blessed we
are, darling,” Sira said after a moment. “For those who are only human do not often experience their life’s purpose in such a visceral way.”
Sira turned from the painting and led Bahabe down the line to a blank canvas. “Come,” she said, “let us begin your lesson for the day.”
Bahabe was a natural artist, adept at suggesting forms and ideas with minimal detail, and her grandmother was duly impressed. Jerei, it turned out, was also quite skilled, and an unabashed critic. Often he would engage Sira in debates over techniques and theories until she’d finally wave him off impatiently, or send him to fetch snacks and tea.
The time passed slowly, and Bahabe began to feel comfortable in M'bel'ata. She wondered about her friends, worried a little, but overall experienced a time of rest and peace unlike any she’d ever known.
Her aunt hosted another dinner party on a clear night with slightly cooler weather than they’d been having. Bahabe gauged that summer was drawing to a close.
Sira came this time, with Jerei, and the party grew every bit as raucous as before. Bahabe danced with her family late into the night, eating and drinking with them in joyous abandon. Someone carried her upstairs after she fell asleep on a couch, and she slept dreamlessly until someone snuck up to her room, whispering her name.
Bahabe awoke with a sharp intake of breath.
“Bahabe,” came an intense whisper. There was a hand clasping her own.
She scowled into the dark, disoriented.
“My, if that isn’t a special face,” said the quiet voice, amused.
“Grandma?” Bahabe asked groggily.
“In the flesh, dear. Come on, wake up,” said Sira’heva.
“What are you doing?” Bahabe asked.
“The question is, what are we doing.” Bahabe’s eyes had begun to adjust, and she could see her grandmother’s wide, white smile in the dark. “And the answer: we’re going to help your friends.”
“What? Why?” was all she could think to say. She groaned and sat up in the bed. “I thought you said I shouldn’t rush. I’ve really been enjoying this time with you.”
“And I with you, love. You can’t know the wonders being near you has done for my mind. But it’s time for something new - I feel it.” Sira waved away any objections. “You ask why. I say, why not? You’ve found me, all of us, just what you’ve been looking for all this time. Now you’ve had some time with us, are we to just sit here while others strive against decay? I’ve been idle for decades, girl! I need to stretch my legs. The humans need all the help they can get, and I haven’t been on an adventure since… well since long before your mother… left…” she trailed off.
“Qeren,” she started, and Bahabe felt an ounce of disappointment at the lapse in memory.
“Wait, you’re not her,” Sira’heva cleared her throat. “Bahabe, we’ll go, along with anyone else who wants to come, and we’ll fight for the safety of this world, for the joy of our calling. Come with me, and I’ll show you what it really means to be sarathi!”
Sira’heva’s words resonated within Bahabe, challenged her. The town of M'bel'ata was a place of comfort, a place of reconnection that she had only just begun to get a grip on. But in this time of trial, how could she just lay here on a plush bed and leave others in danger, to spill their blood in defense of their homes? Perhaps she’d just needed this push to bring her out of the stupor of comfort.
“He needs you,” Sira’heva said firmly. “I can feel it in your senses, though your thoughts may cloud your own perception. He’ll be watching, waiting for you to come back. Will you go?”
She was right. Bahabe had known it from the first moment she met Jon - him standing bewildered in shallow seawater, pants soaked, eyes wide. Now she knew that the empathic feelings, the most fearsome part of her powers, had a source and a meaning. They were sarathi, they were a force of nature, and something she had to trust, to embrace. Her reading of Jon was not merely wishful thinking. No, he had truly come to rely on her, for counsel, friendship, and even protection. Would she dare to leave him to face a million angry Nulians, practically alone?
“I guess I’ve been trying to figure out what matters most,” Bahabe said. “I… I really wanted to know myself, to understand myself.” Now she knew what she was, though full understanding had not yet dawned. “I’ve found you, our family, but…”
“Those are things that only come with time, love,” her grandmother said, stroking Bahabe’s long, ebony curls. “We don’t have to go, but I feel that now is a time for action, not rest and contemplation. Plenty of time for that when the continent is safe!”
“Grandma…” Bahabe hesitated to say it. “What about your memory?”
Sira waved it off. “Oh, girl, I’m not likely to forget what we’re about to do! Keep me in motion, and everything will be alright. Can I trust you with that?”
Bahabe smiled. “Yes, grandma.” Sira’heva’s eagerness was catching, and now she felt awake, beginning to share her grandmother’s itch to move.
“What can we do to help though?” Bahabe asked, squeezing her grandmother’s hand.
“Oh, more than you might think,” Sira’heva said, grinning like a cat. She looked younger as her cheeks rose and smoothed out, and Bahabe saw hints of a mischievous youth. “Come, let’s get your aunt.”
“She won’t go,” Bahabe said. “She’s in charge of the town…”
Sira’heva laughed heartily. “She’s never said no to me, dear!”
Moments later they burst into M’bel’a’s room on the upper floor of the manor, cheering and shouting. Sira’heva leaped onto the bed and cast aside her step-daughter’s blankets while Bahabe lit the nearest lamp.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Sira’heva chanted. “Time to go!”
M’bel’a looked disgusted and angry to be awoken in such a fashion. She winced at the sudden light and swallowed drily. “What on earth?”
Clora and Hiytah appeared in the doorway a moment later, Fila hovering over them.
“What’s wrong?” the plainsman asked.
“We’re taking a trip, loves,” Sira’heva explained. She looked down at M’bel’a and said, “You’ll want to bring your pets.”
“Pets?” Bahabe asked.
Sira’s grin spread wide. “Just wait till you see!”
PART THREE
Chapter 18
Resolve
Jon had heard so many of the City’s soldiers talking. They related the heart-breaking questions of their children concerning the war. Why isn’t daddy as strong as a beastman? Will we be eaten? What if our house is burned down when we go back?
The Enkannite fighters wore masks of bravery even among their comrades, but their eyes were haunted. They knew they lacked the might and knowledge of previous generations, even of their grandparents, whose failure had been almost total. What hope was there for Enkann today, when the enemy was so vast in number?
Considering these things, Jon let himself be seen as he cinched his travel pack tighter and took to the air. He wasn’t crazy about drawing attention to himself, but by now everyone knew he had routed two Nulian battalions, and thus foiled their attempt to invade Anek. Perhaps letting them witness this small bit of his power would give them hope.
His enchanted longsword was strapped to his back for flight. Dahm had been kind enough to sculpt a sheath for Jon’s weapon, fashioned from the self-repairing alloy he’d sampled off the Road and thus resistant to the sword’s enchanted edge.
Rae gifted him with an old wooden staff she said she’d used in the days before she learned to forge her rings. She said the staff’s magic had minor healing properties and would help him to conserve stamina.
Thus armed, Jon struck out for Soulspeak.
The highway that bisected Centrifuge from east to west was not as populated as the southern approach, nor was the east gate, but there were still small crowds hunkering down in the dusty old buildings, and guards at the gate. People looked up when he flew over them, hollering to their friends.
&nb
sp; Occasionally Jon caught sight of colorfully dressed people raising their hands to the sky as he passed. He tried not to make eye contact.
This was the first time he’d flown any great distance without human cargo. Though he missed Bahabe, he noticed how much easier it was to fly alone, and he experimented with different postures. An approximated backstroke was his favorite, for watching the clouds pass above was both mesmerizing and calming.
Before the first night of his journey, he had crossed the rim of Katal, and already the weather had grown cooler. He made camp in a cut between two rocky hills within shouting distance of the forest. The cut looked unnatural, as if it had been blasted out to make way for a road long since decayed, and the walls of sediment were heavily eroded, with gnarly trees valiantly striving to maintain purchase in cracks and crevices.
As he reclined on his thin bedroll, under the stars since the night was clear, he noticed an itch in his muscles. He'd gotten used to working out again, but this day's flight had been fairly leisurely, and his body was asking him what was up. He'd have to consider how to address that in the coming days. Interesting how his flight turned out so similar to a long drive in that regard.
He thought the unspent energy might keep him up late, but he soon drifted away, in the middle of a thought.
Cal was back in his dreams that night, but there were no more monsters, no one chasing them, and no memories of his death. Instead, he and Jon went about their normal lives together, driving to the mall, talking about girls, just being friends. When Jon woke up in a sweat, it was because the bright sun had risen and snuck into camp to bake him.
Jon wasn't attacked until just before lunch that day. First, he heard the crack of a rifle, then felt the bullet's force hit his shoulder like a strike from a training sword. It hurt, but the burning light that sheathed him robbed it of most of its force, melting the bullet into slag. Once again, his lack of experience might have cost him his life, had the blessing of the light not protected him.
