Consequences

by Elyse Draper

  “Ha! That Mortos boy is no more powerful than you … you are capable of so much more than either of us understands right now. First though, you need to learn how to block your emotions from other “readers” and in turn you will need to learn how to control your mind. Besides the fact that it’s very rude to walk around in someone else’s feelings without permission, you leave a trail back to yourself when you reach out. I can see it, you know, faint lights in my peripheral vision, bright-green trails like snakes leading straight back to where you’re standing. Your range is impressive; I followed one of your marks out at least 40 kilometers before it started to fade just slightly. The more you mature the more powerful you will become, but it is a necessity that you learn defenses first.”

  “The more I mature? Cass, I’m already over eighty years old … trapped in the image of a seventeen-year-old’s body.” I feel like a child compared to Cassandra, but I need to defend myself from her degrading tone.

  “Child … I am three thousand years old, give or take a century. I have only met one other Ho Thanatos as old as I am … and I am still learning new things every day. That is why I have not faded away like the others. That is why I am still sane.” I can feel the pride in her mind and heart as she speaks the word ‘sane’ out loud. Reminding me of the ridicule she had to endure for her entire existence. She truly is Homer’s exceptionally beautiful prophetess, driven insane because no one would believe her warnings. She was forced to watch her loved ones die the horrible deaths she had foreseen ... wanting to help, trying to help, just to fail because they refused to believe her premonitions.

  “Faded away? Is that what happens to us in the end? I’ve been wondering what happens … why there are so few of us, compared to the amount of ‘special’ Mortos that must have died over the years. Don’t all the ones with special talents, such as Christopher, turn into Ho Thanatos?”

  I can feel an unexpected fear swell up inside me, as if the tide was being controlled by the rising moon, “What if Christopher doesn’t become one of us?” Eternity without him … I would fade away; there would be no other choice but to fade away.

  “What a sappy existence to allow your life, your emotions, your choices, to be controlled by your feelings for another.” Cassandra shakes her head and I can feel pity rolling out of her words.

  Not wanting to reopen wounds that we have just started to heal, I keep my sarcasm to myself. “Cass, I hope you know that without Christopher, I would have never looked for a mentor. If it wasn’t for Christopher, I would have never tried to understand what I am, what I could be … that I’m not alone. Love maybe nonsense to you … but it saved my life, and I’ll never think of it as an irrational choice of giving up control.” I keep my voice calm, fighting the anger or whining that is threatening to rear its ugly head.

  As Cassandra turns and walks up the beach, moving gracefully, feather-light, she doesn’t disturb one granule of sand. When she looks over her shoulder, peering through her red hair, I can feel her emerald eyes cutting into me … willing me to follow. I grudgingly plot my way through the soft, damp sand, feeling it press up between my toes. I smile in satisfaction at the deep, heavy footprints I leave behind. I feel like a child, rebelling in the slightest ways just to feel some sense of control. Cassandra is right … I know when I’ll look back at my time with her: I’ll see that she was right about everything.

  Chapter 11

  Ho Thanatos

  Flying with Cassandra is always exciting. She knows that I can’t control when I become solid … unconsciously becoming substantial enough to maneuver small things, such as pressing my feet into the sand, but not necessarily able to choose when I want this to happen. When in flight, she likes to remind me how much I still need to learn about control, by flying through cliff faces or buildings … just to stop and wait on the other side with a smirk, so sure that I will stuck. Of course, she always knows beforehand, where and when I will become wedged. Part of me understands that she is trying to make me teach myself how to control my powers … but listening to her voice, filled with hidden smiles, irritates me to no end.

  Always saying, “Focus on the parts that are stuck … think about floating through, and let your body remember, how you used to move.”

  Through gritted teeth, calm broken, I always come back with the same response, “I’ll focus my foot right towards kicking you!”

  This time, my foot is stuck on the inside of one of the domes at the monastery in Santorini, but Cassandra doesn’t smirk. She just looks at me with deep concern, flavored with something like disappointment and fear. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

  She looks down at the whitewashed plaster of the building and then shifts her eyes to the white cross built into the top of the beautiful, blue dome where I am stuck. “Ellie, you have to learn to control this, and quickly … they know about you. I can’t teach you how to command this power; I don't have the capability to perform it myself, not much more than lightly flicking a candle’s flame. As a matter of fact, I don't remember anything quite so powerful, in one so young … at least, not from a peaceful Ho Thanatos. I’m afraid I can’t help you, and I don’t want to see you hurt, trapped by your inability to control what is happening to you.”

  I feel the wind blowing off the water and smell the salt in the air. Gazing down at the waves breaking onto one another, my body starts to sway, to move back and forth in time with the waves collapsing against the rocks. I close my eyes and let the rhythm continue through me. When I feel Christopher’s arms around me, and the rise and fall of his chest against my back … I know what I need to do. I let go of all the yearning that has been feeding me for the past year; the longing to touch and be touched. I release the knowledge of how to make myself felt by Christopher, and allow myself to slide entirely back into the veil of ethereal mist. Never letting go of the rhythm of the waves, the flow of Christopher’s breathing, the pressure of his touch, I know I can go back to solid whenever I want … I have found the key.

  When I open my eyes, I find myself hovering in front of Cassandra’s surprised and smiling face. She looks radiant when she smiles, her olive skin setting a luminescent background for her bright eyes and flaming hair. I can understand why she was so highly sought after by suitors in her time … her beauty and intellect must have been bloody mind-blowing, and a curse. She was seen as something to be possessed and controlled.

  “Oh, Ellie, I knew you’d figure it out eventually. I wish I could be of more help to you, but I know so little about your gifts. Tell me, on your travels, did anyone else know anything about how special your gifts are?”

  “When I left Christopher, I was in a fog … the exhaustion from our encounter made everything soft and blurry. When I finally recovered from my fatigue, I was greeted by Tokyo … of course I didn’t realize that’s where I was at first. Japan was not what I expected. I thought maybe I was in New York … all the skyscrapers and lights, so incredibly busy and colorful; it hurt my eyes.”

  “What happened there?” Cassandra asks as she leads us to the cliff face to look out over the, now dark, sea.

  I love Greece, the smells, the sounds, but most of all, the feel … cherished ancient with touches of modern, not like America, modern with touches of long-forgotten ancient. During the day, the water is the most amazing turquoise, and at night so black you expect it to be thick tar when it washes across the sand. The Ho Thanatos senses allow me to adjust my eyesight, seeing in the dark as well as in daylight. But my senses are still full of mystery, turning the sea at night into oil reflecting starlight. Then in awe, I watch as the sea crashes to the shore and sprays up the cliff-side, shining like the clearest, diamond confetti.

  I lick my lips and taste the salty mist, trying to think of the best way to answer Cassandra’s questions. This is a role reversal that I am not used to; I always ask the questions and Cass always scrutinizes me before answering. I have the feeling earning her trust, enough for her to lower her defenses just a bit … is a prized gi
ft, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

  Have you ever heard of the Tennyo?” I am more comfortable being the student; and trying desperately to hold on to that role, I decide that asking more questions of Cass will serve a dual purpose: Giving me time to think, and a chance to reminisce about the meaning of everything I've witnessed.

  “Tennyo? Hmmm, female Tennin, right?” I nod in response. “Yes, I know of them … though, I’ve never actually met one. They are Ho Thanatos, just like us.” Cass isn’t asking; she is just making a statement that reinforces her theory that ethereal creatures exist everywhere in all forms.

  “Yes, I believe they are. As you’ve explained so many times in the past … there are many different appearances and roles for the Ho Thanatos to take; the Tennin are the Japanese apparitions. The one I met was incredibly beautiful; she was convinced that her kimono enabled most of her abilities. When she first flew up to me, I thought she had wings like an angel.” The vision of that unusual, pale face with dark, painted lips, and thin body wrapped in silk and feathers, she took my breath away.

  “The long sleeves of her kimono were lined with the tail feathers of an albino peacock; sleek and iridescent, gracefully, she landed next to me. We stood not saying a word to each other, stoically staring out over the harbor. An incredible bridge lay before us, outlined in lights. The buttress's reflections glowed in the water, drawing my eyes to the boats drifting past underneath. The crafts had an elongated shape, and were glowing softly in hues of red and yellow … I could hear the tinkling of glasses and plates, and the chatter of the passengers. When the mesmerizing Geisha first spoke, her voice had a melodious similarity to the noises on the boats…

  “You are new here?” Her dark hair shone with blue highlights, slick curls cascaded down her shoulders, while the rest sat on top of her head in a loose bun.

  “I’m new to everywhere. At least, I feel that way … everything is so captivating.” I felt a little ashamed at admitting my wonder, but the look in her eyes made me feel more comfortable about recognizing my own innocence.

  “Oh, by the look of you … you are not new. You are just wise enough to look, and see new things.” Cassandra always enjoys hearing about the philosophies of other cultures, so I am very careful to remember exactly what the Tennyo said.

  Continuing with my story, I tell Cass, "We stood in silence for quite some time before either of us cared to speak again. When I heard the most phenomenal flute playing next to me, I had to smile; ‘music’, that’s what I needed. Looking at my companion as she played with her eyes closed, I felt an overwhelming calm flow over me and had to sit down so I could absorb the sounds. I placed my chin on my knees, and could have sworn I slept for a few minutes, only opening my eyes again when the music stopped.

  “I asked where we were, and was surprised to find we were in Japan. I hadn’t even thought about how the rest of the world had changed since World War Two, but I had to admit that Japan looked much more welcoming than I imagined.” Cass nods slowly; I can feel that she is enjoying the story immensely.

  “She sounds enchanting.” Cassandra’s voice pulls me from the memory of my meeting with the geisha.

  “I was lucky to have her be the one who found me, when I first arrived. During our time together, she told me stories about a Tennyo who had her kimono stolen. The poor creature was trapped in a semi-substantial human form … unable to soar to the skies. I asked her, if she had ever heard of one of our kind choosing freely to become human? She said the lure of heaven was too strong for a Tennyo to choose anything, but this non-corporeal life. I think she knew more, but she made it obvious that she didn’t want to discuss it, so I didn’t press.” So many memories of my time in Japan; only a few months there had left an impression that will last forever: ancient memories of a timeless world.

  “I believe I know of which tale she speaks: The swan maiden. A man stole her enchanted robe so that she wouldn’t be able to fly away. He forced her to marry him and serve him, until he fell in love with her, and gave her back her robe. Not willing to hurt her any longer, he granted her freedom.” Cass shakes her head as she sits down on the cliff’s edge and looks down at the water below. “Mortos! That is just another example of why we should not mingle with the living.”

  Her gaze speaks volumes … her eyes shift back and forth as if she was dreaming with her eyes open, and her chest begins to rise and fall as if she was in the midst of a panic attack. I can see that she is trying to search through her thoughts, and finally coming to a decision, she motions for me to sit down.

  “Ellie, how many Ho Thanatos have you met?”

  “Not as many as I thought I would … James and V in America, two Tennyo in Japan, I met many in India, but none of them really spoke to me. The only other person that was as influential and kind as you was Zuvan. He found me during my time in Africa.” I think of how beautiful and unique many of the Ho Thanatos are … he was striking even in comparison to the most breathtaking one of us.

  Intimidating in size but not personality, he taught me how to use my talents on other Ho Thanatos. “Up until meeting Zuvan, I naively thought Ho Thanatos couldn’t influence each other. But with his help, I realized that I was already using my talents; I just didn’t recognize the difference between feeling humans, and feeling Ho Thanatos. The interaction with our kind is so much more natural, even passing into our thoughts is as ordinary as breathing. When I was living as a human, everything was rough and jagged; evoking and coping was always a struggle … I fooled myself thinking that all communication through my talents should always be that difficult. Zuvan, like you, warned me that keeping others out was the difficult part; helping me to recognize my own influences was easy.”

  Taking my thoughts out of Africa, I return to Cass’s question about how many Ho Thanatos I’ve encountered, “Then there was the group I met when I first arrived here in Greece … the ones that were laughing at me, when you first found me.”

  “Yes, I remember … I know them quite well. Morons, every last one of them.” She sadly nods at the memory of her acquaintances’ cruelty. “How many total would you say you’ve seen in your travels?”

  “Wait … about thirty years after I died, I returned home to England, to my Uncle's farm in Tickhill … I remember seeing fairies. I didn’t pay much attention, because I was in such a fugue state, until I met Christopher. Now though, I do remember thinking how amazing it was to see real fairies.” I lost so much time, lost so many possibilities by submerging my mind in a thick cloud of depression. Looking back at the memories of the family farm, something begins tugging at my thoughts … something important to do with my Uncle Edward.

  Comparing how many more Ho Thanatos I've seen since my awakening with Christopher, to before I died … my non-existent understanding of the ethereal world is startling. Since finding the man I love, I now know that creatures like me are drawn to humans with abilities like him. My thoughts guide me toward questioning my own ignorance and the reasons for my mental unconsciousness from the time I left the human world, until I met Christopher. Why didn't I glimpse this world before I became part of it? Why were the fairies still going to the farm after I was dead? Who else in my family had the power, the ability, to interact with Ho Thanatos? Realizing, I am lost for a few moments in my regrets, recollections, and revelations. I turn to Cass, “Are fairies Ho Thanatos? They are, aren't they … creatures that once lived as humans, still relating to humans … drawn, as we all are, to those special individuals with abilities?”

  “Yes, I believe so … Ho Thanatos seem to project the images that make the most sense to them, from when they were living as a human. To a Celt, fairies would be an appropriate manifestation of what we are … not dead necessarily, but able to interact with the living, attracted to those who are also magical. So many cultures have different stories, throughout history, of creatures like us … when we find ourselves passing through the ethereal veil; we try to bend our minds around what we have become. The result is turning int
o the things that make the most sense to each individual, usually shaped by the society, and time period, where we grew up. Inside that change comes fear, especially in the young ones … they cannot let go of their lives, their connection to Mortos, in particular their present families and future descendants. I believe that is why so many Ho Thanatos search for Mortos with talents … in hopes of being seen, acknowledged. At least, that is what I think … but I’ve been wrong before.” I have to roll my eyes at the last statement; not because I think Cass is always right, but because of her unfounded modesty. She is right this time, and she knows she is right … or at least she knows she has a handful of sand, on a beach the size of the universe, while the rest of us stupidly stand mesmerized by the glittering powder under our feet.

  Looking at Cass again, I am reminded how powerful and confidant an entity she projects. I can’t help but wonder how she sees herself fitting into her theory of Ho Thanatos, creating her own image in the world.

  Moving back to her original question, I say, “I think, in total, I’ve only seen maybe thirty or forty Ho Thanatos over the years. I see where you’re going, we’ve talked about this in the past, and I meant to ask about it earlier … the ratio is wrong between Mortos that should turn into ethereal creatures and the actual population of Ho Thanatos. Not to mention if we can live to be three thousand years old, as in your case, why aren’t there millions of us?” Ever since I woke up over eighteen months ago, I’ve been thinking about these exact questions. My queries have become more pronounced, playing around in my head for the past nine months … not only what are we, but what makes us turn into Ho Thanatos, and why aren’t there more?