by Marc Mulero
Ooma rotated her esper back onto her finger like she was tightening a screw, beckoning it to silently bloom back to life, connecting vine with vein and stealing the boy’s attention. Her dark eyes scanned amber ones to be sure that something was seeping into the young mind before she turned her back to him.
Deeper they went into Dolseir. They passed long-horned fansas galloping with downward sloping antlers nearly scraping the floor, walked over crystalized seegs that slithered about their feet, and under hlopes gliding overhead like a formation of paper airplanes wrapped in spotted flesh. Eres was a bug drawn to light among the vast forest. Everything was still intriguing in here, no matter how many times he’d visited. He was compelled to watch one of the graceful creatures stop and dig with its head, like it was bobbing to music it liked, but really, it was burrowing for food under the soil. A long tongue stretched past its mouth to suck up the grub it sought before prancing off happily to regroup with others. He stared intently, thinking of the thesils resting in his temples, hoping that his octor was recording all of it so he could study it later. Then the next question popped in his head, along with the realization that his ooma was now far ahead of him.
He scrambled to catch up until he was pacing in front of her and asked, “Is the octor that Fata gave me like a sufias?”
“Heavens no, Eres! An octor is a simple tool in Rudo, a travel log, a journal that records what you see. Nothing more, nothing less. An esper on the other hand, is like a third eye into Gushda. The depth of a being’s journey lives within it – thoughts, feelings, interpretations. I navigate through your mota’s voyage, to feel and understand as she did. As truly unexplainable as it is, I’m trying to convey the grandness of such a gift, and how it cannot compare to anything else in this world. When I look at you, I not only feel an ooma’s love, but also a mota’s.”
“Oh. But how would you know how to pull or where to pull from? Is everything in order? Do thoughts just pop up?”
“No, no. It’s like flipping pages in a book that are marked or highlighted. The more intense the emotion, good or bad, the easier it is to find what you seek. I have control of it the same way I have control of these hands.” She showed her palms to Eres. “The experience is so unique that Skrols spend years training just to become disciplined enough to not get lost in their espers.”
Eres was focused now – she had hit the right key notes to gain his undivided attention. So many questions floated through his mind once again: What was the purpose of the Skrols, and what did it take to become one? Were they warriors like the Swuls, thinkers like the Eplons? Something else? But among all of this chatter in his head, there was immediacy to one thought.
“Are they in danger?”
Lorfa’s eyes squinted. The inquiry was out of touch with what she was speaking to. He’d been eavesdropping. Now it was obvious. “Why would you think that?”
“A feeling…” He became hesitant, but still did not shy away. “Well, are they?”
“Skrols are guardians, Eres. They wouldn’t be very good ones if they couldn’t defend themselves.”
“But… you didn’t answer my qu-”
“The ancient lines have been tethered together for many generations,” she interrupted. “Aspein davuna. Do you know what that means?”
“Far.” He thought deeply, translating, to the point where his head hurt, and then returned to the conversation. “Far separate… protecting one?”
“Sie.” She beamed. “Each of them goes through a long edifying passage at the end of their training. One year - five hundred and seven days - to learn to exist in solitude. They travel the barren sphere of snow, Verglas, the place of dark winds, Okabin, and many others. Places where no one else goes. It’s there that they learn to marry Gushda with Rudo. It is there they truly forge their purpose, to be part of a whole that can never come together – a secret broken and scattered through many espers by the first of us. A secret that can never be known, for it is believed by our protectors to be our undoing.”
That can’t be believed by everyone. I think that’s why they are in danger. Not everyone respects my father, that’s probably why he’s boundless…
Eres faltered, wondering whether he should reveal all that he had heard, and then shrugged. “Is Seren trying to kill the Skrols to take their espers?”
Ooma stopped, and before Eres could react, whacked him in the shin with her cane, and once more over the head for good measure. “No respect for your elders!” She tried not to smirk. “I should pull back my promise here and now just as you do. That ought to teach you the power of your word.”
“No, no, please! I’m sorry, Ooma. I was just curious. I have so many questions.” Eres rubbed his head.
“Shh!” She paced forward and whipped her staff for him to stay put.
The next hobbled steps forward were slow, inspecting, testing the ground beneath her feet. She swept away colorful leaves in search of signs, and then raised her head, pointed her cane, and counted the trees around her silently.
“Some think the Skrols crazy old sages. And by your initial rejections of the All-Mother, I feared you might grow to be a non-believer. But seeing as how keen you are to your fata’s ways, I know that you will see that he does not run for nothing.”
She reached down into her covering and pulled out a relic that was sculpted into a howling beast’s face. Two hands stretched the five-link chain connected to it before she delicately clenched the loops in one fist so the artifact draped over her knuckles. She muttered silently, praying, holding up her treasure before clapping another hand over the beast’s mouth. The hollow space in between metal fangs was suddenly lit aflame, and then relaxed into a scented smoky cloud puffing all about. She paced around the ring of trees, spreading the item’s essence like a priest would in a church. Eres watched blankly until she found her way to the center of the area and worked to kneel. Her body quaked from old joints, but eventually she lowered herself to both knees.
“Many know though, the value of their gifts. And so, they train vigorously for survival, to defend, to protect. Many have tried to thwart the Skrol practice and banish them, others have tried to best them, seeing their gifts as some sort of guarded treasure to be won. But today comes a new threat. An assassin with his own type of wretched talent. He works to undo something sacred, kept for thousands of years. It is said that civilization would be undone if the espers were ever united, and I fear that he is already far on his way. Seren Night is umus tou… all things bad, Eres. If you are to inherit an esper before your time, you stay far away from all of this, and you hide it well. Sie?”
“Sie.” He frowned while watching his ooma wipe away leaves and sticks covering the soil.
“Ah, here. Come, let us see if you can feel the All-Mother’s Reach.” She extended a hand for him to rustle over and take it. “Mustae reached your fata, here, granting him a peek into Gushda, and allowing him to craft an esper of his own. Perhaps the Seer’s flair runs within you as well.”
Eres grasped her hand and was pulled hurriedly down to his knees.
“Sit. Lay.”
And so, he did, surrendering his deadweight limbs so Lorfa could position them.
“You will know right away if she is there, Eres. Or at least, that was what I was told,” Lorfa said as she pulled his other leg so both were stretched apart.
What am I supposed to be feeling? This is stupid. I’m just sitting in grass and mud. How would I even begin to try and make an esper? It’s impossible. I haven’t trained or learned much about the Skrols except for what my ooma told me today.
Eres reopened his eyes to Ooma’s tight bun tickling his face as she rested her ear on his chest.
“Let go. Just for a minute. Release your doubt of Mustae so she can whisper to you.”
He sighed and closed his eyes again.
Forget the All-Mother. I’m going to master my impeller so when my fata returns, he’ll see that I’m worthy of training. He’ll teach me combat and wide scale travel and su
rvival, like Illiad.
Lorfa rose and backed up, giving Mustae space in case she wanted to interact with the boy. But vines underneath remained grey and dormant, showing no signs of interest against Ooma’s hope.
“This child will go through much, All-Mother, plesus give vim sight,” she whispered with hands clasped around her staff.
Eres sighed again, recognizing the strange word and cryptic knowing of his ooma. He felt like the Skrol secret: disconnected and lost. But some information was granted so far, tearing him further from being able to decide what he truly wanted. He knew being a Skrol, a traveler, a protector, was something great and alluring, but he wanted nothing to do with the metaphysical. He’d seen none of it, nor believed any of it. It was nonsense. Though, muttering as much would be a betrayal to his Umboro heritage, and everything his ooma had tried to instill. So instead of crushing her, he stayed put, motionless and bored, until she was satisfied that the All-Mother wasn’t coming for him that day, or perhaps ever.
Ooma locked the door behind Eres and carefully switched out her mucky boots for slippers. “Ah! Not another step. Off!” She pointed to the grimy footprint left by him.
“Oops.” He chuckled before kicking off his boots and running for a rag to wipe up the mess.
She was amused by the innocence, and then felt a pang of guilt that was written all over her face. This was the last day the child would get to enjoy ignorance. It was a sad day. But it meant new beginnings for Eres.
“Come to the kitchen when you’re done there. It’s time I answer the question you’ve been asking me since you could speak.”
Eres’ eyes lit up and his hand swished the cloth around faster. He flipped it for another round and then quickly hopped to his feet. His ooma was carefully letting herself into her seat while Eres nearly bowled into his. The Ts running down his cheeks stretched as he bit his lip in anticipation. What was it about him that made everybody wary? What was so terrible that couldn’t be told? His legs jittered under the table like he was a rumbling volcano about to blow.
Ooma remained silent, gathering contents that Agden had left behind. Long, thin sticks that looked like incense burners, jars of clumpy dough, and a powder kit. She leisurely inspected each item, knowing Eres was about to burst out of his chair if she didn’t say something soon.
“Eres, your body speaks louder than your voice. I know you have not an ounce of faith in you. And today, just because the All-Mother chose not to Reach, you believe your skepticism to be justified. But I need you to believe your ooma… just this once.”
He fought hard not to roll his eyes.
She grabbed onto his soft hand. “For me, for your mota who was taken too soon, find faith. You’re going to need it.”
“Okay, Ooma.” He feigned sincerity, eager to move past the hurdle.
She was keen to when his ears were deaf. And so she abruptly let out what she’d been holding in for too long. “You are no boy.”
Eres had gathered as much from the conversation between his ooma and father, but the words still stung.
“Am I… a girl?” He was scared to ask. All he wanted to be was like Illiad and Agden. And maybe being a girl meant he could be like neither of them. He barely remembered his mother, and although he loved his ooma very much, did not want the life of a watcher. His references were scarce, and so he waited in fear.
“No,” she breathed out hard, “although at this point you could pass for either. Your skin is soft, hair like silk, features kind. But your build is slightly, ever so slightly, more boyish. But that could change.”
“Ooma, what? What do you mean?” He looked down at his trembling hands. “What am I? Tell me.”
“You are special, Eres. Different. Great. But society may deem you otherwise. You are what the Umboro would label an Obrun… a sexless barren.” She winced as if the words hurt her.
“So, I’m neither. I don’t belong with others, do I?”
Deep down Eres had always known, but to hear the words spoken out loud did something terrible to him… it stripped him of any hope that maybe he could be normal.
“Stop it. Don’t be ridiculous. You will find some to be cruel, and others to be less so. But my task is to prepare you for both before I let you off.”
“That’s why I’m locked up in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?” Eres began to slump in his chair.
Ooma tried not to take offense. As wise and even-tempered as she was, it still hurt that her grandchild felt trapped. “I meant for you to enjoy your time here while I raised you. I taught you much of the world, of our heritage as Umboro, education beyond your age.”
Eres balled his fists. “You also kept much from me, Ooma. I didn’t know I was an outcast. I just wanted to fit in when you sent me off.”
“You will,” she said as she pried open a tightly sealed jar and dipped one of the long sticks into it. “I told you that your fata brought essential contents for your journey. It must have taken careful planning to get these. He stuck his neck out to visit old Dagos friends, for you, Eres. Storms are few and far between in their territory. One wrong move…”
Lorfa carefully mixed the goo, looked up to scrutinize the color shades of his face, then shook her head and popped off the cover of a different jar. Now with two sticks in hand like she was knitting a sweater, two contrasting types of gunk swirled together on the upside-down cover.
“How do you know that I’m different? Is it because of the marks on my face?”
“That’s part of it,” she replied bluntly as she pulled the two sticks up from the jar with a light brown substance dangling from each end. Then, with an artful wave of her hand, she cut the strand and collected it with the sticks like dangling hot cheese.
“What else?”
“This part is difficult.” She pulled Eres by the chin and dragged him forward over the table. “Be still.”
“Tell me.” The words were muffled with his face scrunched in his ooma’s grasp.
She raised her eyebrows for him to shush, and then dabbed the first of her mixture onto the T marking under his eye. At first it looked like wet paint on his face, but after some blending and powder, it turned out to be a perfect match. Indiscernible from the rest of his complexion.
“Dagos are great mask makers. Their ceremonies are long and proud. They dance, laugh, sweat, cry, and still their cover holds, for it would be disrespectful to their gods if they didn’t. It was your fata’s idea, and it just might work.” She grinned, avoiding Eres’ question for the time being.
Eres lurched back. “Ooma. What else?”
Lorfa sighed. “Very well… do you remember the pamphlet on elossay?”
“Reproduction?” he said innocently. “Sie.”
“Well, do you remember the parts that men and women use to perform elossay?”
“Yes…” He dragged out the word, starting to get worried that he was missing something.
“Eres, you weren’t born with either of those parts. You cannot bear children or create them.”
His lips trembled; he felt more inadequate than ever before. “What’s wrong with me? Why? Did I do something wrong to not grow them?” His eyes started darting. “Oh no… I remember a person in Illiad’s Octor – he was in a cave, Ooma, and he wasn’t allowed out because of the moon scar on his face. It was green like mine, but I didn’t think… he was an Obrun. No...”
“Eres.” Lorfa dropped her kit to take both of his hands. Her dark eyes became piercing. “Look at me. You are perfect, and strong. That’s what you are. And don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” Her grip tightened to emphasize her point.
He calmed for a moment, but in the worst way. “Then why do I need a mask?” The words shook out of his mouth.
Lorfa had anticipated this one. “So those who I told you are cruel, don’t get the chance to show it.”
Eres sat on his hands and rocked back and forth nervously. “Ooma, can I be alone?”
Lorfa’s entire face seemed to fold into a frown. “I n
ever wanted you to know, Eres, since the moment I watched your beautiful smile when you were born, to the blossoming person you’re becoming today. You don’t deserve the hardship that you’ve dealt with thus far, nor the hardships to come. But what I want matters not. It took my own euwos padnas to accept that certain things I cannot change. Patient biddings, Eres.”
“Ooma, please, I… need to go upstairs.” Tears began to drip silently off his lashes.
“And you will. But you are to start school tomorrow on your fata’s instruction. You are to be a ‘boy,’ although I’d have rather given you the choice, and thus you must be prepared.”
His feet nervously slid back and forth under the table like he was trying to generate electricity, but he stayed put nonetheless.
“First: No one is to know where you live. If anyone asks, and they will, you say that you live beyond Dolseir, in Pouisum. They cannot know that you live on the outskirts of the forest – it would raise too many questions. Do you understand?”
“S… sie.”
“Second: Tell no one that you are masking marks on your face, because if you do, you could be hauled off to another region where a school for Obruns is conducted. Eres, if this were to happen, you’d be out of my reach. Remember this. Tell no one.” She dipped her head to find his lowered eyes, knowing that this moment was torture, but necessary.
He nodded.
“Third: No one can know of your parentage. To the outside world, Agden Way is not your father. Do you understand? You are not Eres Way, and if anyone ever has a suspicion that you’re an Obrun, or tries to say that your last name is Dawn, do not accept. This mask will prevent anyone from knowing the truth, okay?”
This part hurt the most. He couldn’t even be proud to be his father’s son. Everything was a secret because of who he was, and it wounded immensely. He felt a sea of frustration rise in his belly, up through his heart, and stopping at the lump in his throat before saying, “Okay.”
