"I'm..." Etachs started, balling their hands into fists. "I am ashamed." Before I could say anything to offer any comfort to Etachs, to my utter and complete shock, Tatiana put her hand on their shoulder in a gentle, almost maternal way.
"It wasn't you, Beasty. You're not responsible for the cruelties of the people you came from." Etachs and I both looked at Tatiana in mute astonishment. Even Ayesha cocked her head to the side. At seeing the look on all our faces, Tatiana drew her hand away quickly. "What!? I'm not allowed to offer comfort?" Etachs and I continued to stare at her, mouths open and shocked. Her brows drew down in a frown and she crossed her arms over her chest, jutting one hip out. She looked for all the world like a stubborn child who was trying not to go to bed on time. I laughed, I couldn't help it, and after a moment Etachs laughed as well.
Through my laughter, I managed to squeak out, "Oh yes, Tatiana! The most comforting person alive!" I spread my arms and bowed low as if in deference.
Etachs, shaking with laughter of their own, added in, "She is the kindest of all the Fae folk."
"The House of Tati is the warmest hearth in the land!" I proclaimed through fresh gales of laughter.
"Her arms are strong for she hugs so fiercely!" Etachs managed to breathe out between wheezing fits of laughter.
"I fucking hate both of you," Tatiana said through a smirking smile of her own.
Learning and Enlightenment
Marx gritted their teeth against the pain. The doctors behind the sheet were doing something to Marx's legs. They didn't know what precisely; the surgical sheet was raised at their waist, so they couldn't see. The doctors had injected Marx with a cocktail of drugs, so they were having a hard time pinpointing exactly where the pain was centralized other than the general idea that it involved their legs. Marx used to scream during these sessions. When the doctors had taken Marx's fingers, there had been no drugs. There were screams then. By the time they had blunted Marx's teeth, rounded one of their ears, and removed all the scales on their belly one by one, Marx had learned to grit their teeth and not give them the satisfaction. This was different, this was a deeper pain, the kind of pain that proved all other pain to be mere annoyances. But Marx kept their teeth gritted and took their mind elsewhere.
They thought of the other, their friend. They imagined what they looked like. They imagined what color their eyes were. Marx played their voice over and over in their head. It took them away to a place where even this new level of pain could be numbed. They escaped in this dream deep inside themselves and found peace, even in hell. Marx wasn't sure how much time had passed, but they became aware that the doctors were finished and packing up. They dragged themselves back into the present and opened their eyes. The room was bright and hazy, after the darkness of their hidden place. They blinked both sets of eyelids trying to clear the haze of drugs from their mind.
The pain was immediate and deep, a rushing wave of nauseating sensation. Despite their resolve not to yell, it was so intense that tears began to well in their eyes almost at once. Marx lifted their head as far as the restraints holding them would allow. The surgical sheet that blocked Marx's view was being lifted. They expected something bad with the amount of pain coursing through their body, even with the drugs. Marx tried to prepare, maybe toes missing, a foot, long lacerations into their limbs, who knew, but they would not scream. As the sheet lifted and Marx saw what had been done, all their resolve fled. Marx saw their left leg, truncated at the knee, a bloody bandage wrapping the stump the doctors had left. The leg that had been Marx's when they entered this room, suspended in a tank hooked up to machines to keep it alive. The Doctor standing at the foot of the operating table pulled their mask down and grinned at Marx wickedly. Marx felt their resolve flee them in an instant. Marx screamed.
Marx must have lost consciousness. When they came back to themselves, they were being dragged down the familiar concrete hallway, held up by the armpits by Enforcers. The hatch to their cell was pulled open, the hinges screeching madly, and Marx was dumped unceremoniously to the floor. Marx didn’t move, probably couldn’t have even if they wanted to try. They lay on the floor alone and cold, tears slipping down their face. After the footsteps of the guards had departed, Marx heard a small voice ask, "Are you ok?" Marx closed their eyes and shuddered with sobs they felt would never end.
"No," Marx replied.
"What happened?" came the voice of their only joy.
"Friend, I can't talk tonight. I'm sorry," Marx said. Unmoving, they looked up at the ceiling and gave into the rage and sadness as it banged around inside their body.
◆◆◆
The next week or two passed quietly. We had introduced ourselves to the group and been accepted. There were only four Fae aside from us in the group and they had lost touch with their magic more than most. They had enough control to glamour themselves but weren’t in touch with their gift enough to sense the glamour on Etachs. When the sun went down, we shifted their glamour from Human to Fae, so as not to raise suspicions. While Fae and Humans could be friends, it was rare that the Human ever knew their friend was Fae. Even after all that had happened, the Humans remained mostly ignorant of our presence.
Each night after we had eaten and drank, and made our excuses, we found a place to go where we could remain unobserved, and we had our "lessons." It was very reminiscent of when I was a youngling, shortly after the devastation when Tatiana was teaching me the language of the Fae and teaching me to control my magic. We used the same magic fabric that my mother had given Tatiana before she died to teach me with. It didn’t work as well as it had when I was a child. I knew from my mother’s letter that the fabric was ancient and magic, like all things magic, even ones imbued with the ancient gift of Fae more powerful than most who lived today, the time for any item kissed with magic was finite. My mother’s letter indicated that the item was older than even she, so the fact that it worked at all was a blessing I did not take for granted. Tatiana was just as patient in teaching Etachs as she was when teaching me. Each night she would draw up lessons for Etachs to teach them the common tongue of the Humans.
I found myself grateful that the Humans had unified and decided on a common tongue. Etachs had to learn more than one language at a time; even under the best of circumstances that would be difficult. Etachs was making reasonable progress with both reading and writing but was struggling with the speaking portion. The Himlani language was full of clicks and whistles and tonal sounds. It was as incompatible with the Human language as it was possible to be. After the first couple of days of frustrated outbursts from Etachs, Tatiana shifted tactics and began to teach them to speak our language. Not to read it or write it, just to speak it. It was an easier transition, from Himlani to Fae, than it was from Himlani to Common. Once Etachs got the hang of Fae, which happened remarkably fast, then it was a simple matter of the second translation step between Fae and Common, which was much easier.
I, on the other hand, was busying myself with poring over one of the books that our mother had sent with Tatiana. Of the two, it was the only one that would open for me. It was the account of the last Fae to have my particular sets of gifts. I had learned there was a name for people like me: Manuhiri. It was a gift that in ancient times was plentiful, but as time wore on it became less and less frequent. There was some speculation as to why that was, but it appeared from the account in the book, as though there was some kind of shift in the perception of Manuhiri. One from reverence to fear. At the height of learning and expansion of their skill, it appears as though they were capable of touching the minds of people whether or not the other person wanted them to. At first, they were used as judges in cases where there were disputes, but something had happened to corrupt the gift. It was used to lie and cheat, and there had been a revolution. This was before Elena, my grandmother, and the oldest person I had ever known had been born.
The account was fascinating but filled with riddles I couldn't answer. I hadn't even made it to the actual account yet, only throu
gh the history of the Manuhiri. Nysthrani, the Oracle that my family had taken me to see, it seems, used to see all younglings to determine if they had the gift. It was celebrated, and then feared, and Nysthrani had retreated to a mountain somewhere far across the world and so far north as to deter Human interference. There were some younglings born who had a touch of the gift, making them a little more empathetic and able to read a room, but Fae born with the full-fledged ability latent inside them were as rare as snow in summer.
As I read through the history I began to frown. If I was correct about what I was reading, it appears as though before the unification of the Humans into a single cooperative governing body, our own governance had been just as fragmented. There was, however, a high council of Fae lords and ladies that met once every 100 years to make decisions. Apparently, an emergency meeting of the high council had been called to discuss the Manuhiri. What came next had the color fleeing my face and my hands gripping the book so hard my knuckles were white.
The council deliberated for more than 60 hours. Never in their recorded history had the Fae nobility debated for so long and on such a divisive topic. There were many who were vehemently opposed to the Manuhiri. They felt that they were too easily corrupted, and that no one should have unrestricted access to another’s mind. Some were opposed to them because they feared their secrets would be read upon a casual passing and they would be persecuted for a thought taken out of context. Others still feared them simply because they were different from themselves. Among the ones who feared them a decision was reached; the Manuhiri should be sought out and eradicated. On the other side of the coin were those who revered the Manuhiri as closer to purity, their magic closer to the Gods of old. Of the many types of specialized gifts that once blessed the Fae, this was the only one that remained. They argued that the Manuhiri should be protected and that they should be bred to improve the chance that the gift would be propagated. There were others in favor of the Manuhiri that wanted to keep them as slaves to justice, to serve in the courts, to determine the truth in all things, without any freedom of their own. There was a small group that argued that no one had the right to deprive anyone else of life and, thus, the Manuhiri should be left alone. Unlike those that hated and feared the Manuhiri, those that would have them remain could not reach an accord. It was this derision among those that supported the Manuhiri that truly caused the rift. In the end, after tempers and magics flared, a decree was made. The Manuhiri would be exterminated.
I slammed the book shut and pushed it away from myself. I knew in my gut what would happen next. My stomach roiled with disgust and unease. In the Human's lore, they called us wise, and indeed I had always generally thought so. It was easy to appear wise when our immortal lives nearly guaranteed we had to reap the repercussions of our decisions. I had never looked upon a group of Fae and thought them foolish. But this was beyond foolishness, this was utter, shortsighted, madness. Tatiana looked up at me from where she knelt before Etachs, scratching letters on the dirt floor and having Etachs copy them.
"What is it, Ana?" she asked, her eyebrows drawn down into a confused frown. I looked at her with tears clouding my vision. I opened my mouth to answer her, but found I had no voice. I snapped my mouth shut again and looked down at my hands resting in my lap. Etachs looked up from their letters and peered at me, gaze shifting to Tatiana. Tatiana rose to her feet and walked towards me; her feet noiseless against the dirt floor of the hollow we were calling home this evening. Some abandoned animal den, no doubt. She knelt before me and put her hands on either side of my face, drawing it up so that we were looking at each other. As my eyes found hers, I felt the tears spill forth. Tatiana looked down at the book I had been reading and understanding flashed across her face.
"Oh, Ana, I'm so sorry! I should have warned you!" Before I could respond she had pulled me into her arms. As the warmth of her filled my senses and her arms locked around my huddled frame, I began to cry in earnest. A series of images flashed in my mind, a warm bed, a lit hearth, the tinkling laughter of familiar voices I couldn't place. A lullaby sung on the edge of hearing. A cup of something placed before me, warm and sweet and rich. The smell of rose hips and green tea, and something else I couldn't place. Vanilla maybe? The sound that a well-loved book makes when you turn its pages, the buzz of insects in a well-tended garden. All of these things filled my mind pushing out the horror of what I had read.
I was drunk with it, so distracted by the familiar warmth of the visions, of Tati's arms holding on to me tightly, that it took me a moment to hear the murmur of my magic beneath it all. Once I heard it, I was able to focus in, to pinpoint its message. And what it said to me warmed my heart and broke it all at once. This was Tati. Tati was... broadcasting? I guess that was the word for it. She was broadcasting all the things that made her feel like home to me so that I would be comforted. She knew that the contact with me would engage my magic to commune with her and so she was forcing the image of home to the front of her mind. Pushing thoughts of safety and security and peace into me.
I clutched onto her like a drowning person. My sister, Tati. Selfless, brave, and beneath the shell of strength and bravado, loving and kind and gentle. I loved her more fiercely at that moment than I ever had before.
The Clearing
A beautiful woman with elegant hands sat behind a natural stone outcrop, covered in herbs and crystals and other methods of divination long lost to the Fae. There had been a time when these things had been found in every Fae home, but very few were ever truly gifted with the second sight. Though some could learn basic things, only six in the entirety of recorded Fae history had the true gift, a history spanned further back than any of the Fae currently living could stand to fathom.
Annalisa held a sleeping Anais to her breast as the small party entered the cave. Annalisa knew she shouldn't call it a cave; this was a temple of hallowed and sacred practices almost completely lost to the world. She knew the being who dwelled here had ascended far beyond any other, but Annalisa was pragmatic enough to call a flower a flower and, well, a cave a cave. The woman behind the rock made no move to rise or greet them in any way. She simply sat there with a serene but indifferent look on her face, and her elegant hands folded before her on the table. What she wore were not necessarily clothes, but wisps of something ethereal and strange. Whatever it was, it wasn't fabric. It floated on a phantom wind and curled about the slight form. Annalisa tried not to stare but found herself unable to help it.
Annalisa noticed her mother's posture had stiffened since they had entered this place. She regarded this being before them, so beautiful and elegant, with barely concealed distaste, the corners of her mouth pulled down and her back ramrod straight. Elena caught her daughter looking at her and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Annalisa straightened and looked again at the Oracle. A trickle of sweat worked its way down Annalisa's spine, chilling her, as she held the sleeping Anais to her. This place felt heavy in a way that was hard to describe. The weight of the mountains pressing down upon them, ready to crush any who could not hold them up. How could she keep them lifted now, with her child in her arms? She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. Elena made no noise and didn't move, so Annalisa did not either.
After what seemed an eternity the Oracle raised her face to regard Elena. Her eyes were not eyes; they were luminous orbs of swirling black and silver. Annalisa resisted the urge to recoil but held her youngling a little closer at the sight of them. A voice, serene and lilting, rose from the Oracle, but not from her. Her mouth did not open, but the walls echoed with the sound just the same. Annalisa heard it both with her ears and inside her head, her brow furrowing at the strangeness of it.
"You bring me another of your line, Elena of the Glade," the voice said, and Annalisa saw with some horror that her mother, the unflappable, blanched and nodded. "You have brought me one before." It was not a question.
Annalisa turned her face to her mother, looking at her openly, her lips parted in a question she dar
ed not speak. Elena did not look at her but remained focused on Nysthrani and nodded again. The Oracle turned her strangely beautiful yet terrifying face back to Annalisa.
"You have grown much since you were here last, child. You have done much with your time upon this plane. You are not truly one of mine but have the spark." Annalisa stared in wide-eyed shock at Nysthrani, and a laugh, musical, but somehow cruel, echoed through her mind.
"You were never told." The corner of the oracle's mouth turned up in a cruel smirk as she turned her statuesque face back to Elena. "Tisk, tisk mother."
◆◆◆
I bolted to my feet from a dead sleep, my clothes plastered to my body with a cold sweat, my breath harsh and ragged. I looked around frantically, my mind not knowing how to fully adjust to this. There wasn't a raid. The Himlani were not here. It was just before dawn and we were in a fox hollow with a group. Etachs and Tatiana were still sleeping. My gaze dropped to my bed roll, it was also damp with sweat.
Only Ayesha was awake, her watchful black eyes on me as she cocked her head to the side. My mind raced with what I had seen, and Ayesha flew to me, landing on my shoulder and nuzzling her head into my neck comfortingly. I raised a trembling hand and stroked her feathers absently. My dream had seemed so real. Himlani had raided. They had found this group much like the last, and we had tried to flee, but too late. They had taken Tatiana; they had taken me. They had killed Etachs as soon as their glamour was dropped. Ayesha had taken wing but was shot out of the sky. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease, of panic.
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