The Unfettered Child

by Michael C Sahd

  Glancing around herself, she spotted the charred remains of her people. The people she had killed. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She recognized remnants of the camp strewn about the wreckage, such as pottery shards, broken ivory carvings, her father’s forge. She wrapped her soot-covered arms around her stomach and retched.

  She fell over backward and hugged her knees, rocking back and forth and shaking violently. Closing her eyes, she hoped that when she opened them again, everything would be normal.

  When she finally did open them, she observed her surroundings through heavy tears and sobbed. “Mother,” she called out. Nothing. No response. “Father?” she tried. Still nothing. She rolled onto her side, curling her tiny body into a ball, and tears rolled over her nose, pooling into the dirt. She was all alone; she had killed all of them.

  She closed her eyes, saw her people falling dead around her, and quickly reopened them. She climbed back to her feet and ran, not sure where she was going. She didn’t make it very far before her foot caught on something stiff, and she tripped, landing hard on her stomach, her face smashing into the sand.

  The fall knocked the wind out of her, and she lay still, trying to catch her breath. She was still sobbing, even while spitting out sand. Because of me, she lamented. Every death—Karena, the tribe, even the elves—it was all her. Her mother being captured, Yaroslav dying, her father leaving, all her.

  She cried until she couldn’t anymore. Her eyes stung when a breeze hit them. Sniffling, she wondered if she should just never move again.

  You can’t blame yourself, the voice said. She covered her face with her arms and shook her head.

  Get up! You’re alone now, and you need to start acting like an adult, the voice told her sternly.

  Panic threatened to boil up again. “Leave me alone!” she shouted. “You don’t know anything!”

  I know that you’re still alive. I also know your mother is still alive, and your father, too, the voice responded.

  Screaming, Samara grasped a handful of earth and threw it. The sand peppered the ivory, panthera-head pommel of her knife, partially buried under some shredded hides and sticks, drawing her attention to it.

  Having failed to notice it before, she was startled to see the kukri now. Then she realized that she couldn’t see any auras among the remains of the camp other than those of the knife and the faint red one around herself. She stared at the blue and red auras. Not far from the blade lay the first elf she had killed the night before.

  She moaned, feeling lightheaded and unable to breathe. Without warning, her eyes felt dry and heavy, and her head tilted toward the earth, consciousness slowly leaving her.

  No! the voice yelled, and she startled awake. Like a bird, she snapped her head around, glancing once more at her horrific surroundings. She stumbled forward, tossing aside the scorched hides and sticks that blocked her way to the blade.

  Taking her knife, she observed that her pack also lay among the debris, so she snatched that as well. Sprinting to the edge of the crater, she hustled up the side, but the earth crumbled under her hands and feet, and she slid back into the macabre pit.

  Finally, she discovered that she could step up the incline at an angle. When she rolled down the other side, she picked herself up and ran as fast and as far from the pit of dead bodies as she could get.

  The grass was almost as tall as she was, and she could barely see her feet through it. Where are you going? the voice asked. Slowing down to a stop, she twirled around, her eyes darting across the fields in a panic. Her chest heaved and she sobbed as the empty field mocked her. All around her, the grass glowed with a white aura. “Mom!” she screamed.

  Your mother isn’t here, the voice said. She turned and ran some more. Then, through her sobs, she heard the voice singing. The words were unfamiliar to her, but they were beautiful and gentle. She slowed to a walk, listening to the soft melody. Sniffling, she wiped the tears from her eyes.

  When she reached a tree, she stopped and sat in the shade. The crater was no longer in sight, and the birds were singing in the branches above. The melody ended, and the voice said softly, My mother used to sing me that song when I was a child.

  Samara didn’t respond right away. Sadness threatened to consume her entirely, to swallow her up into its gaping maw, never to be seen again. After a brief struggle, she clawed her way out of the mouth of despair enough to ask, Where is your mother?

  The voice chuckled. My mother is very, very far from here, and very, very old.

  “I want my mother,” she said, then sobbed into her hands.

  I know, Samara. I know, the voice said gently. She had never heard the voice use her name before. She relaxed, and her eyes started getting heavy again. She was very tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Samara, the voice said, keeping her awake. I can help you find your mother, but I’ll need your help in return.

  Mumbling, she said, “How? What can I do?” She wiped her eyes.

  You need to learn how to control your magic, and then you can save your mother, the voice said.

  “Magic?” Samara asked. It was the first time she had said the word, and it sounded strange to her. She had heard it before, but she couldn’t remember where.

  It’s the power you used; it’s called magic, the voice told her.

  The lethargy drained out of her once more and she sat up straight. “No,” she shouted. Then she said, shaking her head, “Not that, never again.” She could still feel it, quiet, but hovering not too far away.

  She remembered how good the energy had felt. The spirits hovered around her, through her, enticing her, and she shuddered. Maybe she could save her mother, she thought; she just needed to be more careful. Then an image of her mother flaming into a blackened corpse flashed in her head, and she rejected the idea.

  You controlled it for a long while before losing it, the voice said. Her fear crept back, and she began to breathe heavily. It’s okay, Samara, calm down, child. I won’t let that happen again. The voice started singing to her once more, and she began to relax. I can teach you to use it.

  Shaking her head slowly, she started to close her eyes. The world felt distant, and even though the voice kept her awake, she longed to sleep.

  Samara, the voice said, but she ignored it. Samara, it repeated.

  “What?” she asked, agitation creeping into her voice.

  I’ll be here for you, the voice said. She nodded, then curled up between the hollow of two surface roots, her battle against sleep finished.

  *****

  A short distance away, Sigmia stood, a frown etched deep into her wrinkled face as she watched the child fall asleep. She wanted to go to her, but she had seen what the girl had done the night before, and she had also heard her talking to herself. No, she thought, her granddaughter had surely been possessed by some powerful demon. For now, she must keep her distance.

  *****

  The next time Samara awoke, it was to the trumpeting of a bull mammoth. She looked around, confused. Tree roots were pressing into her back, and she sat up. Despite the darkness that surrounded her, she saw white auras around the plants and around the herd of mammoths that stood not far away. She tried to remember how she had gotten there, but she couldn’t.

  The outlines of the mountains revealed that she was on the western plains of the Hunting Grounds, but the last thing she remembered was standing in a sled near Standing Lake. She had been watching the hunters take down a young mammoth that had strayed from its herd. However, even this memory was vague. Like a mirage, the details shimmered just out of reach, disappearing as she drew near.

  Despite her muddled memory, she marveled at the beauty of the gentle glows in the night. Everything seemed so vivid, like she was seeing it all for the first time. The night air was crisp, and a light breeze cooled her exposed skin. The tribe never let children get so close to the mammoths, and she wondered where everyone was.

  She stood up and gazed across the plains. Not a sign of her peop
le anywhere. One of the first things her mother had taught her was how dangerous a protective bull mammoth could be, so she stayed under the tree. The mammoths, silhouetted against the night sky, were massive.

  How are you feeling, Samara? said a voice in her head, and she started. Briefly, the broken body of Karena flashed before her. She closed her eyes and shook her head, and it was gone. She remembered the voice though.

  “Who are you?” she asked. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she placed her back against the tree. The fact that she was out on the plains alone at night started to sink in, and a red aura swam around the corner of her vision.

  You seem to be feeling better. My name is Illtud; I’m your friend. Have you given any thought to what I said about your magic? he said. His voice sounded musical and friendly, calming the girl somewhat.

  “My magic?” she said, “What’s that?”

  It’s what you used to defend yourself against that elf, Illtud said.

  Samara looked confused. “What’s an elf?” she asked. Illtud didn’t respond right away, and she began to wonder if the voice had left her, or if, perhaps, she had imagined it. “Hello?” she called.

  He finally responded, You really don’t remember?

  She did not remember. She wasn’t even sure what she needed to remember. Her skin became clammy, and a knot formed in her stomach. “No,” she responded, panic pitching her voice, her breath escaping in short, rapid gasps. “Where is everyone? Why did they leave me?” No matter how much she struggled for air, she couldn’t breathe. Feeling lightheaded, she trembled uncontrollably.

  Breathe, Samara, relax. Take steady breaths, Illtud said. Breathe, he repeated calmly, until her rapid breathing slowed to a normal rate. Your parents left you with me, he said. They . . . He paused. Samara scanned the horizon again through tear-filled eyes, hoping to see her tribe. You are special, Samara. You can do things nobody else can do.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sniffling.

  Magic! Illtud said excitedly. Samara, you are what the elves call a thaumaturge, a natural. Only I’ve never seen a natural do what you can do. I’ve never seen a mage do that. It was unbelievable. With me as your instructor, we could do amazing things.

  She started to cry, overwhelmed by the spirit’s strange words, forcing him to end his monologue. She sat back down under the tree. She couldn’t understand what this invisible person was saying. The words he used were foreign to her. “I want my mom.”

  Illtud didn’t respond right away, and Samara cried into the night. Finally, he said, We’re going to go to your mom and dad.

  “We are?” she asked, wiping her eyes, feeling hopeful.

  Of course we are! he said, reassuringly. But you must do exactly as I say. Can you do that?

  “Y-yes,” she said. “But I can’t see you? Where are you?”

  You can’t see me, Samara. I don’t have a body like you do, he said.

  “Are you a spirit?” she asked, standing up again.

  Yes, he said. More or less.

  “Does that mean I’m a shaman?” she asked. Sigmia was the only one she knew who was able to talk to spirits.

  No. You are much stronger than a shaman, he said. From this point on, you’re a mage apprentice.

  “I don’t know what a mage is, but I’m Sigmia’s apprentice. She’s teaching me the ways of the shaman,” she said importantly.

  You have moved beyond that, Samara, Illtud said. You can do so much more than talk to spirits and mix herbs. Before we leave here, I would like to give you your first lesson. Are you ready?

  “I-I guess,” she stammered.

  Good, he said. I want you to take a deep, calm breath. Slowly inhaling, letting her lungs fill, Samara focused on the wind blowing on her and the sounds of the night, just as Sigmia had taught her. She had spent many hours with the old shaman learning to meditate, so she knew exactly what to do.

  Very good, Illtud said. Now, I want you to close your eyes, and focus on the life around you. The most important part of learning magic is the ability to see it. All life has magic, but few know how to use it. Without opening your eyes, I want you to feel the mammoths. Feel their power. Keep your breathing steady.

  Samara crossed her legs and let her eyelids sink. Taking deep breaths, she focused on the life all around her, feeling the energy emanating from the white nimbuses around the mammoths, the plants, even the night birds and insects. She could also feel her own, different from the rest, stronger, hungry. Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Is it the white glow around everything?”

  Well . . . yes, he said. But we haven’t finished the exercise. When did you start seeing the glow?

  “I saw them when I woke up,” she said. “Can I open my eyes then?”

  Yes, he said. Glancing around in the dark, she saw faint shapes highlighted by gentle glows. The halos provided no light; rather, she saw vague outlines of the creatures and plants. Do you still see them? he asked.

  “Yes. They’re everywhere, and they’re very pretty.”

  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He paused. That means you can see me.

  “I can?” she asked, glancing around. “How?”

  Look at the ground under your bag.

  She peered down and there, in the dark, she saw blue and red auras peeking out from below her pack. She lifted the bundle, revealing her knife, only it was different than when she had last seen it.

  The rosewood grip was gone, replaced by ivory carved into the shape of a panthera head. The saber-toothed cat held a blue gem between its jaws, a bright, blue aura radiating from the stone. The curved blade had a blue tint to the metal as well, and a red glow engulfed the steel. She wondered when that had happened. She vaguely recalled that her father had replaced the handle, but a shadow obscured the memory behind impenetrable clouds. She wrinkled her nose and asked, incredulously, “My knife?”

  The gem, but not really. I’m trapped inside it, Illtud explained.

  She had so many questions. “How did you get trapped in a gem?”

  That’s a long story that I will tell you another time, but I was put in the gem by an evil man, he said.

  “Why is your light blue?”

  As you start to use magic, your aura becomes blue, he replied.

  “Oh-rah?” she asked, pronouncing the word with difficulty.

  Aura. The glow you’re seeing is called an aura.

  She furrowed her brow. “Why is the knife’s au-rah red?”

  Ah. I don’t know why it’s red, but it means the knife’s enchanted. Before Samara had a chance to speak, Illtud continued. Enchanted means there’s magic in the blade. I was going to teach you about red auras in your next lesson.

  Lifting her hand, she gaped at the red aura that highlighted it. She waved her hand in front of her face and watched the red tracers it left. “Why is mine red?”

  Illtud failed to answer right away, so she studied her other hand and found that it, too, glowed red. She turned to the tree and put her hand against it. The auras mixed, becoming blue where they met. Having learned her colors from her mother, she had been expecting pink. Your aura shouldn’t be red, Illtud finally said.

  She put her hand down. “Is that bad?”

  No, it just means you’re special, he replied. Samara smiled, but she didn’t feel happy. She liked Illtud, but she wanted her mom and dad. She wanted her tribe.

  “Why did they leave me? You could have taught me this while we followed the mammoths.”

  Your tribe went to live with my people, the elves, where they’ll be taken care of. They left you behind so you can learn, but we’ll follow them. We’ll eventually catch up to them.

  “Alright,” she said. Then she furrowed her brow. “You said I defended myself against an elf. What did you mean?”

  It was a mistake, nothing to worry about. But since you’re such a fast learner, I would like to do one more thing before we leave. Your first spell under my tutelage. Seeing the blank look on Samara’s face, Illtud would ha
ve sighed if he could have. A spell is when you make the magic do something for you.

  “What are we going to make it do?” she asked.

  We’re going to make light, he said.

  “Like fire?”

  No, just light.

  This strange concept bewildered her. “Like the sun?” she asked, skeptically.

  Similar to the sun, he said. Start your slow breathing again. Good. Now hold your knife in your left hand and place your right hand flat on the blade. Spread your thumb and your pinky away from your other fingers, like this.

  Samara jerked in surprise when she saw images in her head showing her how to place her hand, but she did as he instructed. Good. Now feel the power in yourself. Reach for it, and picture the knife glowing white. Then say “light.”

  She concentrated on the energy inside of her, pulling it forward to illuminate her blade. She noted that the magic in the living things around her wanted to come to her as well. She wanted to take it, and almost did, but the spirit had only told her to use her own, so she resisted the urge.

  “Light!” she said, picturing the knife glowing white. Its radiance illuminated the field, bathing the tree and spreading out to the mammoths.

  She could see the herd clearly now, and it was close. The mammoths had all turned toward her, obviously startled by the sudden brightness. The bull trumpeted and walked toward her, its trunk held high over its head. She knew what that meant, and she backed up to the trunk again, suddenly afraid. “How do I make it go away?”

  Don’t end the spell, just stick the kukri in your pack. The leather should hide most of it. Samara picked up her pack and folded the knife inside it, darkening the entire field. Even after she closed her eyes, however, the bright shape of the blade remained burnt into her vision.