by T. Wyse
"It really does feel lighter than it should." Amelie replied. "I've never really pondered much on what it was made of. It was just a blessing that I got used to." She smiled, the feeling of the cloth against her skin surfacing in her memory.
"Well, we have loads of fancy fabrics, and loads of books on sewing, knitting, all that stuff." Meldice concluded with authority. "I'm not that great with seaming myself, but lord knows we have the books on it somewhere. Heck, I bet we have the hobby seamstress volumes one through twelve." Meldice stuck her tongue out with a gleeful sarcasm. "We've even got one of those pedal operated iron things, used to be a decoration, now it's the only thing that's going to work."
Amelie was silent. The room was almost entirely dark now. She couldn't find the proper words, the right way to tell the older girl. She was only trying to help, after all.
"I...appreciate it, I really do. Thank you." Amelie smiled, her expression lost in the haze. "I really don't know, though." She tried to hint at the impossibility of it all. "I think my mother was right, in not letting me know how to do it. It's not something you'd want to get wrong, you know?"
"No..." Meldice trailed off sadly.
"My parents are still alive." Amelie stated, Meldice's silhouette cringed slightly. "It's true, I know it. I'm going to see them again, and I'll get the dress mended when that day comes. Until then I'll work towards the day at hand," Amelie concluded strongly.
“I hope they are. I hope they all are.” Meldice’s voice trailed off.
“I thought you believed in that dream? The forest thing?”
“I do. We all still have it, it’s true, and that in itself is a miracle.” The older girl leaned on the dresser still. “I don’t know what to think, if I’m being completely honest.”
“You heard the stories. Everyone just happened to be in some store or something that was spared. There’s no rhyme to it that I can tell, but shouldn’t there be? Shouldn’t there be some kind of sense to it?” Meldice hung her head, her ribbon wilting. “But I can’t question it, can’t think about it.”
"If I hadn't come back early that day, skipped out on my tutor lesson..." Meldice choked on the words. "This isn't, or wasn't me. Just four days ago I was someone else." In the darkness Meldice's dress, her formality, was invisible. "Before all this my mother wanted me to always be all prim and proper, the perfect little lady, all of that. That wasn't me though. I was angry, I resented being treated like that, being controlled like that."
Meldice paused for a short time, not looking at Amelie any longer.
"Then I saw the world change, saw it go to sleep, turn to dust. I was confused, angry and hurt. I wanted to scream, bang my fists against the wall. I wanted to stand against the night and curse at it, to demand it give me answers or just give me something, even though it would never respond.”
"Then I saw the people. Amelie, you should have seen them, the first few days. Their eyes, they were so… lost." Meldice's voice was soft, introspective. "I saw myself in their eyes, I was sadder, even more lost than before. But then, she was there."
"She offered them shelter, offered to guide them. She took the challenges, bore my cursing, my anger, and fought on. I knew she was hurting too, I knew that if she had the luxury of doing so she would have broken down, and sat in a corner like I had been. But see, that's not her, that's not my mother." Meldice's silhouette trembled, either laughing or crying, or both.
Amelie gazed at the silhouette, yearning to make it all okay again. She wished she knew how.
"She's always been so strong, she's always been there. I used to think she was so stern, so controlling, so unreasonable. But I saw her, a guiding beacon in the darkness of the night, and I knew I wanted to help her. I wanted to be strong for her." Meldice's head turned to the shagged white lump of fur sitting on the end of the bed. "It's funny, how when you go through the motions of something, even for a little while...it can feel comfortable, feel right." Her voice was soft, reminiscent.
"I guess...everything changed, and I changed with it. It gives me strength, and I can lend her some of mine, if she ever needs it."
Silence filled the room, again Amelie wanted to speak, wanted to tell her what Kokopelli had assured. It wasn’t the time though, not now, she thought.
"Those paintings, it's a funny story." Meldice's head turned to the one perched on the wall near the dresser. "Mother painted landscapes, still does. The dove and the fish, those were me. Years ago when I was little I saw her painting, watched her thinking she didn't see me watching. I ended up trying it myself, can't remember what I was thinking then, not much I guess. I added the fish and the bird to the painting she was making."
"She caught me, but wasn't angry. She insisted that I put the bird and the fish on every painting from then on, the finishing touches. I did the bird and the fish on the one by the bookcases, but not this one." She sighed. “She kept up that silly little tradition, even when I wouldn’t do it myself.”
Amelie sat there, speechless. She wanted to reach out to the older girl, to touch her, to soothe her insecurities somehow. Who had Meldice lost? What had she lost? Her father? The brother whose clothes she professed to having worn? Childhood friends? Any questions, any interrogation might crack the persona that had given Meldice her strength.
Meldice's silhouette stared again at the little cat creature, stroking him gently between his ears.
"Well I know he's quite fond of you." Amelie said softly.
"Oh yeah?" Meldice chuckled quietly.
"You give him fish, meat, and attention. What more could a scruffy little cat ask for?"
Meldice's silhouette still stroked the cat gently. She stood up with a purposeful softness, as to leave the sleeping beast be.
She headed towards the door, stopping halfway she gave her conclusion. "In a week, maybe week and a half, we'll have more free time during the days. Mother says that it'll be mostly watering work at that point, we'll have planted all the seeds we have by then. We'll figure out your dress then. You have my word..." Meldice paused, adding an emphasized sarcasm, "as a lady, you will fly again, if I have anything to say about it." Meldice's shadow nodded to itself, satisfied. The shadow closed the door behind itself, and proceeded with silent footsteps away from the room.
"So then." Amelie said to the creature at the foot of the bed. His glowing red eyes appeared, casting a strange darkness to his silhouette. "Now we can talk, I think." She declared to the two luminescent dots, absent of fear.
Kokopelli's weight shifted on the bed, leaving it entirely. She heard his pattering feet skitter quickly across the mat then make a great leap to a higher vantage point on the dresser beside her. "How direct. What is it exactly that would be ‘worth it’ as you might say?” The burning red embers glared down at her through the darkness.
"There’s so much, my parents, and the crows and…" Amelie had begun a sentence, but was interrupted promptly.
“Before you waste more of your precious air, let me give you a warning. I have sworn an oath to protect you as best I can. That oath extends to keeping you,” he paused and then purred, “blissful of certain things.”
He paused a moment, his ears twitching thoughtfully. “Fables to soothe your mind are a simple enough task. But to speak of crows would pass a taboo, and to speak of your parents, well, that would be beyond the stars themselves. Some things must be earned, and some things must be discovered for yourself.” He purred softly.
There was a flash, a feeling of familiarity from when her dreaming soul had screamed her awake. The ringing veil split the exhausted hum of her brain.
“What…what is this?” Even the words needed to be pushed out, with spitting and choking force. “Why is there this…thing in my head whenever I try to…”
“Stop. Just stop thinking on it so hard.” Kokopelli’s calm crackle hastened to worry for a moment. “It’s part of something put in place to protect you.” He leaned in, and she saw through strained tears that his narrowed slits bore the shape of worry.
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“But...Why? What shouldn’t I know?” She squirmed against the feeling harder, and it lost some of its claw. “Isn’t it always good to know?”
“Sometimes people don’t want to know.” Amanda’s voice rang in her head.
“Is it…is it like a cancer then? Or some other bad thing?” She clenched her eyes in continuing pain. “Is it something you think I shouldn’t know?”
“I…It is not my decision. They are worthy questions.” Kokopelli purred with a strange pride.
“Two questions, two worthy questions.” Kokopelli purred with a strange pride in his voice. “I cannot tell you why it is in place or what it is meant to deny you, not in whole. However even your awareness of it is enough to cause me worry. Further, your resistance of it intrigues me.”
“So?” She bit against the ache.
“So?” He purred.
“Then tell me about the crows.”
“Yes, the crow today.” He crackled gently.
“And from before, yesterday, and in the dust.” She thought back to them descending on her. “Where were you then?” She asked, trying to pierce the memory. “They said they found you with me.”
“Each part of a larger whole, the same will drives them all, the same hunger.” He answered, ignoring her final comment.
“You killed the crow, and then the crops…” Strangely these words flowed with a refreshing ease, as if the veil had been lifted, steering the conversation this way.
“Crow? No, I think not.” He said with a vicious drollness. “You know the tales, surely. Crow the trickster, the creator of the world, animal god above. These things are not simply ‘a crow’, but something greater.”
“Wait, you aren’t saying it’s like…” she was interrupted before finishing.
“Merely a shape, your eyes see blackness and call it a bird. Your perceptions see feathers and beak and find a crow. The creature becomes ‘a crow’ in your stubborn mind.” He purred softly.
Not a god then, just a strange example? Amelie mused silently, pondering the significance. Perhaps he meant that the Crow of legend was simply an illusion, a proxy avatar of a god, and so too were these creatures hiding behind a mask.
"I would have thought you better equipped, to see through such transparencies. Perhaps not." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "That was no more a crow than I am a 'cat', as people seem fit to title me."
"So...what are they then?" Amelie asked with some annoyance. ‘What are YOU then?'
"It's difficult to see it as it truly is, it is a creature of deception, borne of something intangible, brought to life by an impossibility. Your eyes are used to seeing things in a certain way, and that's why they see it as a crow. The crow defines it, gives it shape, gives it a measure of solidity, and a measure of power. Your mind sees them in that form because your mind believes that you should see them as such." The rambling crackled voice was of little help.
Amelie thought to herself, of all the oddities she had noticed about the little cat. There was so much that seemed off, seemed odd, and yet these feelings had been dismissed by another's perception. Perhaps everyone else's mind really did just see a cat when they looked at the patchwork little wretch.
Amelie then thought of the crows themselves. Even remembering the shape of the crow earlier in the day, nothing had seemed off about it. Nothing, Amelie caught herself absurdly, except the grotesque misshapen form, the burning red eyes, and the twisted beak. It was a conundrum, one that she couldn't dispel even in retrospection. They were also much more collected, more calm than any bird she had seen.
She went back to the first sighting of them, those blurred black shapes. In flight they had moved as birds certainly, but they had seemed to move regardless of the wind, rather than because of it.
Randal had seen the flock as dust, or had something else happened? Had Karen seen something else, something other than dust or crows.
"Careful," The red dots hissed quietly. "Don't ponder on the forms of strange things, certainly not in the darkness. You may realize something you aren't quite ready to understand." There was a dark chuckle. “Remember, blissful of certain facts.” He purred.
Amelie stared into his eyes, they shone light to the fur around them.
“I want to know what you know.” She narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward. “I demand to know! I demand your help, and I…I order you to tell me what all of this is!” She bit on every word, but as the last of them passed through heartbeat trembling lungs she could almost feel Victoria smiling, a cool balm against the grating ring.
His tail thrashed in the air, ears twitching. His lungs glowed and she could almost see a smile forming on top of that lurching toothy scowl.
“I know quite a lot, little one,” he purred. “I would love to test you, to see what you are worthy of, and yet the favor was called, the instructions clear.”
“And yet…” The blinking red dots closed for a moment and he seemed to flicker upon the wind in rumination. “Yet the barrier is insufficient.”
“I will offer you something, then. I will concede to you three things, on my own terms, with three prices you must pay.” He purred. “You have shown me tonight that you have force of sincerity. That is enough for the first breach, I think.” The eyes gave a nodding bob. “It has been years from my trickster days, but I believe I can weave a tapestry of fact while keeping you blissful of the knots and snags.”
"Why only three?" Amelie asked, breathless.
"Three is the number of these things, of repetitions and ignition of truth. To go fewer than three would leave you unable to know the entirety of truth, and to go beyond three..." He trailed off.
"Hm?" Amelie prodded softly.
"Two is the number of balance, of becoming whole, the duality of the universe, the uniting of truth with the seeker. Four is of forces in balance, the world's basest material expressed. To go beyond three would leave the fourth as a pit of tangled lies, in any story be there four of something, one must assume one of them to be filled with mistruths.
She didn’t want to ask, but was now betrayed by her otherwise stubborn mouth. “What are the three prices?”
“That is the wrong question.” The crackled voice chided gently. “They will all come in time, the prices and the opportunities to know, but in each circumstance it is you who must be ready to bear the burden of knowing.”
“What kind of prices?” She asked with a grim irritation.
The creature moved in the darkness, his eyes now invisible to her. "Many different forms. In days old we could play games, barter tasks for wisdom perhaps. In days earlier you could have done with offerings and perhaps received a halfhearted answer. Now, and with my situation I ask something even more basic of you." He paused, “a sacrifice. The first is a simple and earnest show, a token to begin the withdrawal of the veil before you, the one you have become more aware of as we speak.”
Her heart began to beat with a worried ferocity. "What do y-you mean?" She stammered, the breath reflected her heartbeat, where was he? She heard the pattered skittering of padded footsteps along the floor, then landing on the bed, closer than she would have wanted him.
"Nothing terrible, nothing significant. Just a little offering.”
"Like what?" She demanded, the red eyes now hovering at an equal height to her own.
"Two teardrops, on the back of your hand." He said simply. "Two teardrops for the first question any of your kind would have, the one that the veil has banished from your thoughts. Two teardrops and I shall tell you why the world has come to be a land of dirt and strangeness.”
It seemed like such a small, silly price. She had heard tales of deals like these.
"This isn't something sinister, something I'm going to regret?" She asked the glowing eyes.
"Cry two tears on the back of your hand, and repeat the words I say. You will understand at that point." He offered. "You can back out at any time you choose."
The tears didn’t come. Despite the continuing pain in her he
ad her eyes would not open. She thought of her family, and how she missed them, but the fog stopped that. She thought of her dress, and the yearning to fly boiled in her chest roaring with a hunger fiercer than the quiet hum of her stomach, and yet that was not enough.
Then she heard it, faint music that the ringing had stifled. It was so far off, but the notes sang so pure and true of sadness and loss. Surely it was Meldice playing against the darkness, sharing the music with the others as they huddled sightless together.
She was driven by the memory of Meldice’s breath, her words, her struggle. With the proud ghostly touch of her two lost friends behind her, Amelie created two drops of purest sincerity, one for loss, and one for hope. They landed with a burning heat upon her outstretched hand. Others followed but they streamed down her cheeks, lacking the weight of the first two.
"Now, hold out your arm to me." The dark creature spoke.
She held out her hand.
"Now repeat these words:" His voice changed, the words echoed in a different and yet familiar language to her. "Asay nitukoosinin, Nikeentohtawawak okimawak kamamawahpichik unteh Kokopelli Nahemtumwak."
She repeated them, understanding them, and her fears of dark dealings were allayed. "Asay nitukoosinin, Nikeentohtawawak okimawak kamamawahpichik unteh Kokopelli Nahemtumwak."
She had simply given him an offering. She had offered him a symbol of her misery, her inner desperation. It was something to prove how much she wanted the knowledge, something to prove she was worthy of hearing it. It was as simple and innocent as untying a knot that had been hastily tied by accident.
There was a warm, licking, sensation on the back of her hand. The eyes didn't move from the spot on the bed. She tried not to ponder the necessary length of tongue.
Then, there was a strange light. It was hazy at first, unclear, it manifested itself in a shimmering much like a fishbowl's water lapping across the glass in a darkened room. The light grew, it was mellow and purest white, it shone over the books, dancing over their roughened spines. The light didn't convey any of the random flittering shadows only that of a comforting glow.
