“Stay here with us,” he offered.
“I don’t belong here. I am no troll. I am too soft.”
“You’re harder than you think,” he whispered. “Why not stay where you are wanted?” He kissed her. The closeness of him confused her. It was not something she was accustomed to. But his lips, so much larger and harder than hers, felt warm and gentle and right…like home.
“I must finish what I started,” Tanny explained with regret. He wrapped his arms around her, swaying her resolve. “Come with me?” she suggested.
“I would,” he moaned, “but I cannot leave the mountain.” They remained statue-like, in a long embrace, like a lover’s monument. Idris’ voice broke them apart.
“Caertraeth lies through that pass.” Tanny gazed down at a golden valley spreading from the mountain’s foot, rippling like fingers pointing toward a distant, sparkling sea.
“Long way down,” sighed Tanny. She gripped Pedr’s arm more tightly, as if she could already feel herself slipping away.
“It’s easy,” he assured her. Pedr led her by the hand to the crest of a fairly smooth mountain track. “Watch,” he grinned. The trollman perched like a diver on the ledge. He tucked in his head, threw himself off and began to roll down the mountain. Surely he would crash against a boulder! But Pedr’s large body steered deftly through the rocky terrain. He stretched his legs to stop himself halfway down, leapt to his feet and shouted up to her.
“There is something of the troll in you, Tangwystl! Believe me! It will do you no harm to let go!” He waved to her encouragingly.
It will do me no harm to let go. I bounced from the tower. I floated up the river. Now, I shall roll down the mountain. Tanny closed her eyes and opened her feet. She stepped to the edge. She pushed off.
Through the roar of wind rushing in her ears, she heard Pedr’s joyful cheer as she sped past. How frightening and thrilling! Sure hands guided her descent; soft body protected her from sharp rocks and rough hedges. Pedr rolled behind, and her sense of exhilaration increased. Laughter burst from her lips again — unleashed from the very centre of her. Princess Tangwystl the Unwanted was having fun!
When they reached the bottom, Pedr could go no further. He allowed Tanny a moment to catch her breath before catching her in his arms and kissing her farewell.
“Find what you’re seeking, then find me again.” Tanny nodded mutely, uncertainly.
The golden valley of rippling barely was beautiful from a distance. Up close, they were obviously dried up, unfruitful. No grain had been harvested here for some time. Tanny ran her fingers through the crisp stalks, expecting to feel…what? A glowing sense of belonging? A churn of memory? She did not. This place felt no more home-like than the fairies’ garden or the selkies’ river or the trolls’ mountain. This was not her valley.
Tanny leapt over a salty stream — the final stretch of the selkie river flowing narrowly into the sea. It was scarcely a trickle, but she followed it. Caertraeth was a castle by the sea. As she walked on, the vegetation grew sparser and browner. There should be people…tenants of the land around the castle. There was no one.
A low stone wall stretched out in two directions. It looked like the remains of some ancient structure…a foundation? At the end of each wall hunched crumbling twin towers Pedr could have used as arm rests. More evidence of former landmarks littered the landscape. Tanny wandered through the ruins searching for a sign of life, finding none: no Caertraeth, no family, no home. Only a dead and empty place.
Almost.
On a small hill over-looking a barren cliff top, there grew a glorious tree. Its mighty branches dripped with a variety of exotic looking fruits that sparkled seductively under their vibrant colours. These fruits looked dangerous. Could this be the tree from which Queen Bregus had stolen forbidden fruit? The tree that changed Tanny’s life? A square slab of stone, half-buried in dead grasses, snuggled at the base of the trunk. Tanny knelt down to read the poetic inscription etched on its grey surface.
Here lieth mighty Caertraeth, proud family forgotten.
Walls once strong fell ruinous and fertile lands fell rotten.
Queen Bregus’ theft, a curse unleashed, nine generations stained,
Touch not the sacred fruit, stranger, lest death find you again.
Above her head, tempting fruits winked with innocent deception and Tanny thought she understood the truth of her life. Aberfa had not prevented the enchanted tree’s curse. That began the moment Bregus touched the forbidden fruit. Aberfa must have known she could not stop it when she asked for the baby princess. Aberfa rescued Tangwystl from sharing her family’s fate, and, while the curse ran its nine-generation course, Tanny survived — protected in Aberfa’s tower.
“She didn’t steal me…she saved me…she kept me safe.” Tanny pondered in silence, taking in the long-ruined state of what must have once been a beautiful place. “Nine generations,” Tanny whispered in a hiss. “If the curse ran its course… then I was in that tower for—” Tanny choked back a sob. She had never really cried before. Not since childhood, when crying was simply a way to tell someone what you wanted. Wanted.
Tanny leant against the roots of the scarred tree, letting tears trickle down her pale, round cheek. An orange blossom fluttered onto her soft shoulder. Aberfa fed me cakes made of fairy fruits. She looked eastward to the sea, and a tanned, glossy tail flipped in the surf. Aberfa quenched me with water from the selkie river. She turned westward, and a blazing sun settled behind the mountain peaks. Aberfa built my tower of troll stone.
“She wanted to save me. She wanted to protect me. She wanted to give me what I would need to make my way here. She wanted me.”
Tanny smiled and let tears free fall over her face. I was wanted. Now…what do I want? She looked around the site of her former home and had her answer. Tanny wanted a tower of troll stone by a selkie shore with a fairy garden.
“Only this time,” she vowed, “it will have stairs and doors…and many, many windows.”
Katharine Elmer grew up in the cornfields of the American Midwest. She wrote her first poem (an ode to Harrison Ford) at the age of nine, and has seldom put a pen down since. She studied at Illinois State University where she was privileged enough to learn from the late David Foster Wallace (he gave her an A). Ms Elmer combined a love of creative writing and theatre during her Master’s Program at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln: performing on stage, writing a radio play and churning out more poetry (minus the Ford content). She also worked for The Willa Cather Project and read submissions to the Prairie Schooner. After meeting her soul mate on-line at a Xena Warrior Princess Fan site, Ms Elmer relocated to the United Kingdom and began teaching English and Drama at Sherburn High School in North Yorkshire, where she enjoys adapting classical scripts for her pupils. “Tangwystl the Unwanted” is Ms Elmer’s first published work. She divides her time (mostly evenly) between raising her daughters, teaching her classes and writing her novel.
Flesh of My Flesh
by Bonnie Ferrante
* * *
I’m not hungry, but I can’t stop eating. On automatic ever since I received Jake’s message. Hand to cookie to mouth. No taste. Stomach swollen. Cake. Pretzels. Donuts. Fudge. All the treats for the next three months.
Pain in the left side. Stabbing, twisting pain. A corkscrew cramp deep in my guts. Antacids and camomile tea only weaken it. Between shallow breaths, unwrap another tasteless caramel and wafer bar. Cram it in. Barely chew. Choke it down. Pain spirals in response.
I reach for another package of cheese. My stomach moans in protest, acid rising in my throat. I am stuffed. I am bloated.
I am starving.
I didn’t ask Jake Beck how he had landed this job. Ignored his communicayz. He was coming anyway. Whatever Jake wanted, Jake got.
I had manoeuvred myself to Seth, second planet from Quartrain, hoping in five years he’d find someone else and break off the engagement. That way, I wouldn’t have to do anything. But, after three short ye
ars he was coming to re-stake his claim.
He’d never been to Seth. I was the expert here. Alina Mordell, linguist and alien sociologist, in a world where communication was everything.
The Sethians had treated me like a China doll. They sympathized with my human “short” lifespan and “genetic disposition” toward disease. I felt like a terminally ill child being given her fondest wishes.
In time, the Sethians relaxed around humans, although the other earthlings never developed anything but terse working relationships with Sethians. I made my first friend in years; Screae Boiclan who made me an honourary member of his clan. Although I couldn’t graze on the purplish green folia that wrapped the planet in life, like Sethians, I could lay in it, roll on it, and press my face into its moss-like softness. Jake would have been disgusted to know that I often dressed as a native, in eye veil only.
* * *
Jake arrives wearing a silk yellow body suit designed to turn heads. He launches into a detailed account of the bi-house he has chosen for us, the vehicle he has ordered for me, even a name he’s found for our future son. He ignores my silence on the way to his quarters, labelling the landscape dull, the dwellings hideous, and the air mouldy. He chastises me for biting my nails.
“You expect me to sleep in this!” announces Jake in his ‘things don’t measure up’ voice.
I tense in memory and take a step back. “This is the same as my quarters.”
“What? We aren’t sharing? After I’ve crossed the stars to get you?”
He smiles, the kind of dazzle that melts management and service class alike.
“I wouldn’t mind crowding together, as long as I’m on top,” he says, as he springs the locks on his luggage.
Jake Beck, twenty-seven, brilliant, successful, the country’s top immunologist, with the body of a life-guard, and I don’t want him near me. I mix his whiskey sour, the way he likes it and hold it out.
“So, when do I get to tongue one?” Jake asks.
“Pardon?”
“A Sethian. That’s how you say hello, isn’t it?” He grins.
“Goodbye, actually.”
“Good thing I’m engaged to earth’s only Sethian specialist. Wouldn’t want to tongue someone inappropriately.”
Jake pulls me into his arms. I haven’t felt a human that close to me in thirty-nine months. He seems oddly foreign, stuffy. His tongue tears around inside my mouth like a hunting snake. I fight the urge to gag and draw away.
“It’s more subtle than that,” I reply.
“Their loss.” Jake gives me a steady look, then picks up his drink. “So, what’s going—”
“Do you think you can handle meeting them?” I interrupt, slipping into the only chair.
He shrugs. “I studied the pictures. Read the report by the famous linguist-sociologist Alina Mordell. A lot of human chicken-shits are afraid of them.”
“That vampire nonsense isn’t still going on, is it?”
“Yeah, and another group has labelled them as demonic. Couldn’t you get them to wear clothes for the photographs?”
I give a hand gesture for out of my control.
“Hm,” Jake shakes his head. “A whole new group of imitators have sprung up as well. Novelty stores sell specially labelled sauces for them. Curry and honey is the current favourite.”
I put down my drink. “You must be tired. Here’s your access code for the communication system. I have to translate for a meeting between Interstellar Mines and the Sethian Council.”
“I hope they’re paying you richly for this. It’s not in your contract.”
Jake had studied my contract long and hard before I left, emphasizing what I should expect (and insist upon if it wasn’t given) and what I had no obligation to do. “If they take advantage of you, we both suffer,” he had said.
I escape outdoors. Jake isn’t going to stand for this much longer.
I’d been a struggling professional when I met the great Jake Beck. I’d been overwhelmed when someone so popular, wealthy and well-connected had taken an interest in me. A loner.
Jake said I was moderately attractive but I didn’t present myself well. I tied my hair back, dressed casually and wore no makeup. Those were easy to change, but the nail biting was tough.
“You look imbecilic,” he’d said, and slapped my hand whenever he caught me.
I started nibbling the insides of cheeks then, and the edges of my tongue. Jake never noticed.
But the Sethians did. Tongues were not for biting, just like eyes and other special parts of the anatomy. On Seth, the urge had faded, until Jake’s message.
I hold my hands curled tightly in my lap, hiding the fingernails. I suspect the Sethians would be intrigued by their raggedness. Sethians are difficult to keep on topic and my habit could raise some pointed questions in an inappropriate situation. There are few improprieties for Sethians.
The earthlings dislike sitting outside on the folia, preferring desks and chairs and coffee. There is a slight breeze stirring up the heady smell. I can hear squarleeks calling in the distance. I feel at home.
Screae Boiclan gives me a grin and winks. I’m not sure if he’s hinting at the men’s discomfort, the contract, or something I know nothing about. He has a complicated sense of humour I find intriguing. No doubt he’ll tell me later. I look towards the other Sethians.
They are skin-grazed as bright as burnished gold. A content group. Thankfully, the colour runs deep. Red flesh, like human’s, might have made even me squeamish. That’s the major reason I was sent to this planet. I passed the toughest psychological tests for adaptability, accommodation, acceptance and comfort with solitude. These haven’t always served me well.
Fliaix Boiclan nods his golden head and marks the contract with his bite. O’Hara, the Interstellar Mines’ representative from earth stares at the double row of renewing teeth and shivers. He glances downward, flinches at Fliaix’s naked alienness, then settles on the customary veil covering Fliaix’s eyes. Fliaix passes the contract to me for verification.
I ask a question about the third clause. A female Sethian steps forward and responds. She has adopted the current fad of wearing human sunglasses. California shades on a naked, golden, bald alien with a huge mouth of teeth. I try not to smile. The black surface catches my reflection, large eyes and a small mouth. I chew on my fingernail.
“Satisfying?” asks Fliaix.
I blink and then realize they are all waiting for my approval of the contract. I read on quickly.
“The translation is correct.”
I pass it to O’Hara. He wears an expression of slight mistrust. I have no idea if the contract is fair, but both parties agreed to the terms.
The contract is notarized, duplicated and distributed. We stand and stretch in the orange starshine. I shake hands with O’Hara and the other humans and then touch tongues with the Sethians. O’Hara flinches, preferring to nod. The Sethians accept his choice with an indulgent grin. I grin too. Does the rugged O’Hara fear his tongue would be snapped off? I could try to explain that this would be less likely than one human stabbing another but decide to let Mr. Big Shot squirm.
On earth, humans still discuss the initial encounters with Sethians. The Sethians made what could have been a fatal mistake. In spite of their mischievous sense of humour, Sethians value mutualism. The protective spacesuits worn by earth astronauts had been seen as some mysterious contaminant. Frightened by the possible threat to themselves and the undoubted threat to the humans, the Sethians eagerly destroyed the offensive material. They shredded the spacesuits using their teeth and freed the “choking” bodies. Fortunately, Seth’s atmosphere is pure and oxygen rich. Exposure to the elements was harmless to the humans, if unsettling.
However, the second important meeting overshadowed this faux pax. The Sethians leader, Quain Reiclan, in an honourable gesture of friendship and trust, bit Admiral Petrochecov in the buttocks. Quain then raced off, keening, in what was later learned to be horror at his first enco
unter with human blood. The Admiral was equally shocked. On Seth, this is an embarrassing, funny story. On earth, it is the stuff of horror movies.
We’ve come a long way. Earthlings are attempting to establish trade. Earth plants don’t survive in Seth’s soil, so there’s no push for colonization. I suspect not many earthlings would live comfortably beside the aliens. Jake had been reluctant to allow me to accept the five year posting, until he’d seen the contract. I knew, but for that, he would not have let me go. It seemed my only chance. I also know I can’t face the descent back to earth.
Screae Boiclan is waiting for me when the group breaks up. “Well done, thick skin,” he says.
“Don’t call me that. The other earthlings might not care, but I know exactly what it means.”
“So sorry. No offense.” Screae covers his mouth.
I sigh. I am snapping in the wrong direction. “I’m not myself today.”
“Who are you?”
“Damned if I know.” I smile. “I wish I could live on folia and co-pendence, like you.”
We fall in step along the path. I breathe in the rich air, the lushness. Seth is largely in its natural state. The Sethian’s build dwellings, but no highways, since there’s no reason to hurry anywhere and no desperate need to ship food. Food exists below them and on them. They do, however, limit the number of people allowed in each village to prevent overgrazing. Each village has to be 12 parbles away from the next.
“New earthling has arrived.”
“Jake Beck. He’s involved in immunity research.”
“My wish, he finds nothing.”
I stumble. “Don’t you want earthlings to have the same immune benefits as you?”
“No. Your planet is dying from people.”
“But, they are moving out to the stars. There will be more space and food in the future.”
“Doubtful. Earthlings are for earth.”
A feel a twinge of sadness at this remark and turn away.
Screae touches my arm. “When they know all, what is to stop them from killing our home?”
Fat Girl in a Strange Land Page 10
