No Turning Back

by Sharon T. Rose

  ~~~~

  The chattering housemaid gave a lively tour, Sylenn had to admit. They traipsed around the massive building, discovering servants' quarters, the kitchen garden, a large storage closet filled with enough linen to keep a thousand beds fresh, unused rooms, a long stairway with a shining railing (polished by generations of youngsters sliding down it, Twanne confided innocently), a long hallway that was said to be the best place to practice skating in one's stockings, a kennel of dogs bred for export (and the amusement of small children and perhaps a few adults), a pair of enormous doors through which larger furniture could be brought in, the lift shaft for moving large loads to the various floors (there were five floors in total, all double the 'normal' ceiling height and tall enough to make the suited Descendants comfortable), and several of Twanne's favorite odd corners. One was near the private garden outside Sylenn's rooms.

  "This little cubby can't be seen until you're right up on it, which makes it wonderful for private reflection. And hiding from Mom," she confided with a wink. "You can hear the fountain and smell the flowers, and in the afternoons, the sun comes right over the roof and warms it right up. I don't mind sharing it with you, Miss Jenfsen. I can tell that you'd want a private place every now and again."

  "Thank you, Twanne," Sylenn replied gratefully. The corner was lovely and very private, just big enough for one person.

  "Not at all, Miss Jenfsen," Twanne smiled. "Sometimes, you just need to get away from all of this. I've been off the Island a few times, but most of my life I've spent here. I love it, but once in a while, I need some breathing room. Gets to be a bit much, you know, especially whe-- ah, well, I supposed Mr. Satherlin will tell you all about that. I supposed we'd best get you down there, then. This way, Miss Jenfsen!"

  Sylenn hesitantly stepped into the chamber Twanne had called the practice room to find only Satherlin, Lyshunda, Mosin, and Clatyn waiting for her.

  "There you are, Silly!" Mosin called, bounding up and giving her a big hug. After a moment, she hugged him back.

  "Good morning, Sylenn," Satherlin greeted her. "Sleep well?"

  "Yes, sir," she murmured, disengaging herself from her brother.

  "Good, good. So, time to get you familiar with your new self. Have a seat; we don't keep any furniture in here, which you'll be glad of soon enough, so pull up some floor. Now, I gave you some basic information yesterday; today I'll give you practical application. You'll also get the chance to start moving in your suit. So, suiting up is really very easy, as is unsuiting. Remember your Descendant name?"

  Sylenn ducked her head and shook it negatively.

  "Yes, you do, Sylenn," Satherlin said sternly. "I know that you don't like this; I'm not asking you to like it. But one of your concerns was the Hunter would be able to use your powers to rampage, correct? Mastering your abilities will prevent that from happening. So, what is your name, Sister?"

  "... Fulenthen Sonelion," she grudgingly whispered.

  "So then, your name is the key. To suit up, you think of your father's name and find where it is deep inside you. You know how to do it already; the Ancients made sure that all of us could. To unsuit, you do the same for your mother's name. It's the opposite for men; we think of our mother's name, then our father's. Give it a try."

  Fists balled in her lap, Sylenn closed her eyes, screwing her face in concentration. After a few seconds, her thin form vanished, replaced by her Descendant body.

  "Excellent," Alleathon congratulated her. Fulenthen opened her eyes and looked around at the seated Descendants. She remembered all of them except ... whoever Clatyn was; his suit was dark blues with gray on his hands and lower legs. His hair was cropped close to his head with deep furrows over his temples to accommodate a pair of thick horns that swept backwards.

  "Clatyn is Sonelion Ryalen," Alleathon ... Satherlin reminded her. "You'll note that he has the same mother as you, Soneli. Mosin is Vyenthon Nenkthen. We're all named after our Ancient parents, but as I said yesterday, having the same parents, even exactly the same, doesn't mean much. Now, I want you to practice moving around, getting used to your suit. First, just get up off the floor."

  Sylenn ... Fulenthen frowned slightly. In the next instant, she was on her feet, stumbling slightly.

  "Careful," Vyenthon cautioned, steadying her. "You can move a lot faster than you're used to. Don't be surprised if you find yourself walking into walls for the first few days. They had to do a lot of repairs when I first came here." He offered a wry smile.

  "You've always been a terror, Vyenthon," Fulenthen muttered, the Descendant name overriding the familiar one in her thoughts and speech. In fact, she found it difficult to use real names for the suited Descendants.

  "Walk around for a bit, slowly," Alleathon commanded. "Get used to how it feels. The suit is very powerful, so you don't have to put as much effort into it as you're accustomed to. Good, good. Vyenthon, give her some space. So, then, walk next to me, Fulenthen. Try to match what I'm doing."

  He led her around the big, open chamber, first walking in a wide circle, then abruptly changing direction, followed by a fast walk, a jump, and a slow jog. Then he passed her off to Lys-- Laillmen, who pressed her for speed and agility. Vyenthon hovered anxiously from the corner where Alleathon had banished him.

  "I let you stay because she's your sister and you're concerned, but you do not get to interrupt her training," the red Descendant had informed him severely.

  After an hour, Alleathon called a halt. "Very good work, Fulenthen, very good. You've got the knack of it now. We'll take a short break and get some refreshments. Unsuit."

  Fulenthen closed her eyes, and in a moment, the scrawny young woman stood in her place. She swayed slightly before Mosin caught her.

  "Easy there, Sylenn," he whispered.

  "Mosin!" Lyshunda snapped. "Let her be! She has to learn to do this for herself."

  "Yes, madam," Mosin grumbled, letting go of his sister. The big doors opened, admitting several servants carrying trays of food and drink. The five sat on the hard floor again and ate.

  "I can see you've got questions, Sylenn; feel free to ask them," Lyshunda said. "You're one of us now, part of our family. We want to help you learn."

  Sylenn nodded, thinking. "What happens to my clothes?" she finally ventured.

  The rest chuckled in unison. "No-one knows," Clat answered. "That's one of a great many mysteries the Ancient so kindly left us. You'll find it's not only your clothes that vanish when you suit up, but anything you're carrying, too. Shoulda seen Hae the time she had to suit up coming back from market; she was carrying a bag of glass bottles! When she unsuited, crash!" He laughed heartily, Mosin joining him.

  When he recovered, Clatyn added, "The only things that won't vanish is anything made by the Ancients. The bandoleers we use are made from some material we found left behind after the Last Fight, which is why they've lasted so long. Sometimes, a fight will damage one beyond repair, but they're nearly as sturdy as we are in our suits."

  "It ... It feels very odd to be naked," Sylenn wrapped her arms around herself.

  "Think of it as unclothed, not naked," Lyshunda replied primly. "After all, you can't see any of the ... finer details; it's like you're wearing a very fitted union suit. That's probably why they called it a suit to begin with, but I don't know. Besides, it wouldn't do us any good to wear clothing when suited; it would all be destroyed in battle."

  Sylenn froze, cup halfway to her mouth. She lowered it and looked solemnly at Lyshunda.

  Satherlin picked up the thread of conversation. "Fortunately, our suits are very sturdy, so we don't need extra protection from clothing. Only the energy blasts from Drones can hurt us at all, and then the blasts have to be pretty strong to do any real damage. We don't get cold or hot, and while we can smell, what we smell seldom bothers us. At least, it doesn't bother us as much as when we're unsuited. Hmm, actually, that there are a few extremes that can hurt us. If you fall into a volcano or a smelter, that can kill you. And I think tha
t if a big enough object falls on you, it can do some damage. But blades and bullets and blows don't do anything to us when we're suited."

  Sylenn nodded and chewed on a small sandwich. "Um, how is it that everyone here speaks Ivrithan?"

  "We don't, actually," Lyshunda answered. "Several of us have learned it over the years, but most of the people at the Temple have never even heard it. The reason you understand everyone is because you're a Descendant. Again, the Ancients wanted to be certain we could operate together, so they enabled us to ... understand one another at all times. (It is exceptionally frustrating to realize how little we can understand of what the Ancients did to us!)

  "But to answer the question behind your question, Sylenn, each of us is actually speaking his or her native language, and we all 'hear' each other as though they were speaking our language. The people of the island often wear confused expressions when they overhear us, as you might imagine. And to anticipate your next question, whenever you speak directly to someone from the island, you're truly using the local language, which has been dubbed 'Temple'. You can, with practice, deliberately say things in any language you choose."

  Sylenn frowned. "Does every Descendant know the island language without learning it?"

  "Yes," Satherlin replied. "We have to learn other languages to communicate with anyone else in the world, but the Ancients left us a common speech, which the islanders adopted as their own."

  Mosin leaned forward. "Silly, what's wrong?"

  Not looking up from her pensive stare, Sylenn waved him off. "Nothing. Nothing. It's just strange to me that I think I knew the language before I changed."

  "That is possible," Lyshunda allowed. "After all, you were born a Descendant."

  Satherlin straightened up. "I wonder ... perhaps we could use that as a test to find unAwakened Descendants."

  Lyshunda disagreed. "There's no practical way to do that, Satherlin. We can't be spared to query every person in the world, and I don't think we should risk the people here to the dangers of traveling about, looking for the unAwakened. It's faster to touch them to find them out."

  Satherlin sighed and nodded.

  After a moment, Sylenn asked, "Why do I have fingers, but not toes? I can fell the toes, but ... None of us have them where they can be seen."

  Mosin answered that. "That's another mystery, and we all think it just as strange as you do. We're just used to it, is all."

  "Another things to note about our suits," Satherlin added, wiping his stubby fingers and waving at the servants, "is that we can't eat or drink in them. That's why I had us unsuit before they brought the snacks in; we simply don't eat when we're suited up. We don't feel hungry, thirsty, or even very tired until we unsuit. That means that you'll have to be very careful where and when you unsuit, Sylenn. Do so carelessly, and you could leave yourself vulnerable. We can go for days without stopping if we need to, but we still have to take time to rest and refresh ourselves. Never forget that."

  He leveled a stern gaze at her, so Sylenn nodded. For some reason, the look on his craggy face stuck in her mind.

  "You'll find that there are many Worshippers out there, and that many of them want to be with a Descendant in any way they can. They don't care that we can't ... be 'romantic' when suited. Not all the Worshippers are fanatics, however; some of them are very considerate of us, more supporters than Worshippers. But there will be those who will try--"

  "And I'll break their arms," Mosin growled.

  "You will not," Satherlin shot back. "You have to allow Sylenn to do this on her own, Mosin. If you constantly protect her, you'll render her incapable of defending herself when you aren't around. Understood?"

  Mosin grumbled something passingly resembling an agreement.

  Satherlin continued. "There will be those who will try various things, and you must remember that you are a great deal stronger than they are. We're trying to protect Alluvia, not thin out the population."

  "Much as we occasionally would like to," Clatyn added sardonically, rapidly emptying the platter in front of him.

  "But ... physical relations ... just aren't possible in out suited forms, so you don't have to worry about that. Just be careful when and where you unsuit. If you can, wait until you get back here. Now, let's have you practice some blocks and punches. Clatyn is our Arms expert, such as we have. The Ancients didn't leave us many actual weapons, and human weapons don't work on the Sukkers themselves. But Clat will be able to teach you basic combat and can evaluate what training you need still. Don't worry about getting a stomach cramp; you'll find that it's actually easier to eat a big meal before suiting up for battle; you'll have strength longer. Mosin, over there; now."

  Fulenthen was not a natural fighter, but neither was she hopeless. She was actually very good at dodging and evading attacks, which Sonelion threw at her with relish. She balanced on the balls of her feet in a half-crouch, her long, thin tail whipping behind her. The tail grew from the base of her spine, sporting raised rings along its length every two hand-spans and ended in a hairy tuft not unlike a lion. Fulenthen at first refused to strike at Sonelion, who attempted to goad her with both words and openings. The times he landed a blow on Fulenthen, Mosin snarled from his corner (Alleathon had ordered him to remain unsuited). She remained defensive until Alleathon roared at her.

  "HIT HIM, Fulenthen!"

  Startled, Fulenthen flicked out her tail, which brushed Sonelion's knees, drawing his attention. As he glanced down, her fist connected with his jaw, actually lifting him off the floor a few inches. He stumbled as he landed, then shook his head. Fulenthen's black eyes went huge as she dropped to a crouch.

  "Now that's the ticket!" Sonelion crowed as Mosin cheered. "Rang my bell something good there! You keep that up, Sister, and we'll have a fighter in you yet."

  Fulenthen glanced at each of them, tail flicking uncertainly.

  "You did well, Fulenthen," Alleathon said, walking up to gently clap her on the shoulder. "You didn't really hurt him; remember that I said that the Sukker's blasts are our only weakness? That's true. We can practice on each other without fear of serious damage. At least, to ourselves. The walls, on the other hand ..."

  "You can be proud of yourself and your heritage, Fulenthen," Laillmen added, coming up on her other side. "You are one of an elite group, a defender of our world. Don't be ashamed, and don't feel that you need to hold back. The Sukkers deserve no mercy, and we all need to train as hard as we can to be certain to defeat them."

  "Once we thought the best we could do was drive them from Alluvia. But with you, Fulenthen, we can actually destroy them." Alleathon smiled at her, solid red eyes bright.

  Fulenthen blinked at him, looking back and forth between him and Laillmen. "You mean, with the beast you can destroy them," she said, standing most of the way up.

  "Yes," Alleathon admitted, "but you control the Hunter now. It does not control you, am I right?"

  Reluctantly, Fulenthen nodded. "Is that why you're training me yourself? You're the leader; you'd have more urgent tasks than a single newcomer. You want to see how the beast acts, don't you?"

  Alleathon nodded. "Quite true, but It is not the only reason. In truth, I try to do as much of the training as possible rather than go out into the world. As you said, I do have important tasks, and they will not be done if I am out fighting. New Descendants are not so common that I tire of helping them or that they interrupt my so-important other tasks. Does that satisfy your curiosity?

  "Excellent! So, let's keep working you on the basics until lunchtime. After that, we'll take you down to meet Dr. Demney."