Negative Film

by Leonard Petracci

  “No, no, dearie,” reprimanded Aetia, slowly walking forwards towards Lacit. “It’s been a few hundred years since we’ve traded with the outside world, but I still remember that’s not how they are conducted.”

  “All of them for a single seed?” rebutted Lacit, but he too kept walking towards her, his eyes glued to it. “You must think I’m a fool.”

  “Why yes, of course I do,” she replied, the distance between them now only a dozen steps. “But that has no bearing upon this negotiation.”

  “If I release them, then I have no guaranteed escape. Your people will try to kill me on the spot.”

  “Perhaps,” she said then paused, offering up her next words like bait. “But not if I come with you instead.”

  “Grandmother, no!” shouted Lola from where she was restrained, but Aetia ignored her. Lacit paused, his eyes narrowing.

  “And you won’t try to escape or to harm me?”

  “I’ll neither flee nor raise a finger against you,” she answered. “But drop them, now. Or the offer is rescinded.”

  Bounding forwards in two quick leaps, Lacit wrapped an arm around Aetia’s neck, his elbow just over her windpipe. He whipped his other arm in a circular motion and we were blown back, tumbling through the air in a somersaults before crashing to the ground, the softer earth absorbing the impact like a mattress. When we stood, Lacit’s other hand held Aetia’s wrist, just short of the acorn, allowing her to still hold it and absorb its effects.

  “Try to fight and she dies!” he shouted, backing away rapidly and tightening his grip on her windpipe so her heels dragged behind them. “I won’t make it quick. I’ll savor it.”

  “Grandmother!” shouted Lola again, but held back by Waela, her face raised in triumph. And when Lacit squeezed even tighter, Lola froze, biting her lip.

  So tight was Lacit’s hold, that Aetia’s words were almost muted. But the other side was so quiet that the sound carried, as we heard the whisper as if it were in our own ears.

  “Something you should learn, young man, is that a true leader is a servant,” she said, not resisting as he continued to drag her. “A true leader does not break the weakest links in the chain. No, rather he re-forges them. He gives them a reason to be strong.”

  Lacit glanced at Waela then motioned her nearby, speaking to her as he ignored Aetia.

  “Waela, I want a portal just outside the bramble wall to rejoin with the army.”

  “And for your end of the deal?” Waela asked, following beside him after pushing Lola to the ground.

  “You’ll be left with more than a few high-powered Specials for your little coup,” he said as her eyes gleamed. “Keep them as you wish; they belong to you. A token of our gratitude.”

  “A good leader also listens,” croaked Aetia, continuing to speak. “But a great leader—”

  “A great leader doesn’t lose the battle and become the ticket for her enemy to escape,” retorted Lacit. “You’re not in the position to lecture, old woman.”

  “But I am, little one. I’d like to leave you with a final lesson, and you never let me finish,” she said then turned her head towards him, the black lines of death now intermingling with the wrinkles stretched taut across her face. “A great leader is not afraid to die for her people. Rather, she embraces it.”

  At that sentence, Lacit froze, his face whitening as he met her gaze. But then he saw the movement from the massive tree trunk, as ten black figures split from where they had hidden behind it, their masks concealing their faces, their dark clothes allowing them to blend in. One by one, they raised their palms, their stances widening, waiting for the command.

  “What?” he shouted, his voice disbelieving, his head whipping to Waela. “You were supposed to divert them! They’re not supposed to be here!”

  But words failed her as the three of them stood in the path of the Deathguards, and it was only Aetia who spoke, her voice lacking any fear.

  “Though I have lived many lifetimes, I do not fear death. I welcome it. I do not fight, I do not flee.”

  Then she turned her gaze to the Deathguards, authority in her voice.

  “I choose it.”

  Shrieks erupted not from them but from daggers of black that rushed from their palms, death itself consuming all before it in a scourge. They carved ruts into the dirt, thorn bushes withering as hellish flames consumed them, and the spear that Lola had dropped on the ground instantly shriveled, the grains of wood peeling away, steam hissing as it escaped from its surface.

  Aetia faced the onslaught with determination, but Lacit and Waela screamed, their voices thin and reedy compared to the power before them. Their flesh disintegrated instantly, leaving behind bare bones that sank to knees that were rapidly stripped of cartilage, Lacit’s hands still raised in a futile attempt to deflect. Then even the skeletons disintegrated, turning to powder as the black current blasted them, pressure washing any form of life from their forms. Even at a distance, I could feel the cold terror of the power, a foreboding so strong that I reeled backwards from emotional shock.

  All this occurred in a handful of seconds, and where Lacit had stood, there was nothing but a scar—even the ash avoided the area, and the world seemed to throb as if a painful wound had been cut into reality itself. One by one, the Deathguards lowered their palms, their reaction impossible to see. And though I could no longer see her, I heard a single sob from Lola, accompanied by her voice so thin that it was intangible as she.

  “Our terrible weapon.”

  Chapter 109

  “Report,” commanded Rila, her voice harsh, her frame draped in the dark fabric of mourning.

  We stood bleary-eyed at the roots of the great tree, muscles sore and dirt covering nearly every inch of our bodies. Behind us, tents were filled with those seeking treatment for injuries, and Slugger’s arm was in a makeshift sling accompanied by a leafy green poultice, though he joined us in standing with the rest of the Worldwalker leaders. Of fatalities, they were rare—in a battle designed primarily for theft, few on either side was willing to risk death, but the broken bones and lacerations abounded in amounts that strained the capacity of their limited healers.

  After Lacit’s fall, Arial, Darian, and I stood alone in the barren landscape of the other side, the silent Deathguards keeping a close watch on us as they surrounded the tree once more. Unlike us, they seemed immune to its effects, even touching the tree with their bare skin. They answered no questions, and with two Transients dead and Lola missing from the scene, we waited for rescue.

  Hours passed, each crawling by slower than the next. After having absorbed Lacit’s power, Darian could do little more than sit and had completely lost the ability of Transients. Around him, the arcs of light faded away, leaving scorch marks on his forearms but little other indication that they had ever been there. He held a hand to his head to soothe a pounding headache, while Arial and I paced, our anxiety peaking as we imagined the raging battle outside, which may as well have been a thousand miles away.

  Then, on the third hour, a fissure opened in space, and Rila stepped through, the wildness of her hair outmatched only by her eyes. By now, the outer layer of our skin felt as if it had succumbed forever to cold, and our lungs burned from the air—so stepping back into the actual world was akin to entering a paradise. Waves of heat played over us, while the air restored our breathing patterns, Rila filled us in on the happenings of battle.

  Before departing to the other side, the Deathguards had dealt a strike through the center of Lacit’s army, splitting it in half. At the appearance of the power, and without their leader, they broke formation—by the time the Deathguards disappeared for our aid, Rila was ready to corral those few that were left and chase the others off deep into the jungle. No captives were permitted, so survivors fled to the eastern caves and kept under watch, and few seemed eager to return anywhere near the village. Better to try their lives in the jungle than to risk another attack, and several sought the mountains, where they could wave down the
rescue aircraft that were supposed to retrieve them after they had won the battle.

  “Report. Nuit, I want to know what happened,” commanded Rila again, and one of the Deathguards stepped forwards from their ranks about the tree, speaking in a subdued voice that echoed the screams of their power.

  “When we arrived, the outsiders had fought valiantly. It is they who protected our secret for so long, and the other side accepted one among them who led the charge.”

  “It accepted him?” implored Rila, raising an eyebrow. “Explain.”

  “He walked between worlds on his own, and he was found worthy,” came the response from Nuit. “By nature, he is among the Painted.”

  “By character as well,” announced Rila then looked over the assembly. “Let it be known that Darian not only was permitted onto sacred ground, but also laid down his life for our defense. As leader of the warriors, I declare him to be Painted. Should anyone object, they should speak now—else it is done.”

  Silence emanated around the roots, and many bent their heads in respect for Darian before the Rila motioned for the report to continue.

  “But against a power so great, even they fell,” Nuit proclaimed. “They were bound, and the intruder desecrated sacred ground with his presence. Only then did Lola step forwards to counter him alone. And as a sacrifice, she placed her life down for her people, taking the intruder and the traitor with her.”

  “Wait,” interjected Darian, refusing to stop at Rila’s sharp look. “That’s not at all what happened. It was Aetia who offered herself up.”

  “It has been many a year since I have witnessed the effects of fractonis essentia,” came a wizened voice behind us, and our mouths fell open as Aetia hobbled into view, her form unblemished and looking as if she had been far from the battle itself. “And I ask for forgiveness on the part of our hero. For you see, the condition arises from breaking oneself, from straining a power so strongly that part of the essence is ripped from the soul, creating a new parity between the two. That the being is partly reborn and remolded, and in the process, artifacts as fragile as memories are easily corrupted. You must rest, child—and I assure you, we will address any of your concerns soon.”

  “But you—you died?” stammered Darian, his mouth open.

  “Dearie, I am here before you. Please do not make my granddaughter's passing more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “How?” whispered Arial, her voice so low that only I could hear her. But I had no answer as Aetia strode to stand next to Rila, leaning on her cane and stepping slightly behind to give her precedence. A living ghost.

  “We have suffered many great losses,” Aetia continued, taking control of the assembly. “But we have survived, and we will emerge stronger. Though I only saw my granddaughter again for a brief intermission, I rejoice at having even those moments, as I once thought she might have been lost forever without so much as a farewell.”

  She dabbed a tear from her eye, and I saw Lucio cocking his head to the side, squinting at her. But he said nothing as Aetia continued, her voice renewed.

  “But as we grieve, let us too celebrate. For this hero is to receive our highest accolades, and as I step down, your new queen is to be coronated.”

  Chapter 110

  The crowd at the roots dispersed to share the news of the upcoming coronation and embark on preparations. But we stayed behind as Aetia’s sad smile found us.

  A smile as if she actually believed Lola was dead.

  Beside me, Darian shifted nervously.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Lola?” he demanded, striding up to her. “I didn’t just see what happened; they did too! Right?”

  He looked around at us, and I nodded, speaking up.

  “He isn’t crazy, and we know something is going on.”

  “The forest has many secrets,” replied Aetia, pursing her lips. “And you have already learned several of them, but there are always more.”

  “You can keep your secrets,” Darian said, his eyebrows coming together. “Just tell us what you did with Lola.”

  “As you wish,” said Aetia, and turned. “Follow me.”

  Slowly, she made her way to a waiting lift, and we climbed inside, Rila joining us as the platform began to rise. We ascended quickly, stopped at a rope bridge, then edged across, walking out to a room attached to the bramble wall itself. It was larger than the others, extending in a wooden tube a hundred feet in either direction, and on close inspection revealed itself to be an enormous hollowed-out trunk that had been hoisted into the air. Aetia opened the door and we stepped inside, natural holes above us letting plenty of sunlight in, while the rest of the light was provided by luminescent vines that glowed in a combination of yellow, blue, and green.

  Books lined the length of the tube on either side—some so old that they barely held their spine, others in the form of scrolls, and a tiny section near the front that bore the telltale sign of new age plastic wrapping. There were thousands of them, and between them was a length of tables for readers, and though they appeared to have good use by the ink stains on their surface, today, they were empty. Waiting at one of them was a small pot, still steaming, with several cups around it.

  “I see you were waiting for us,” I said, taking a seat as Aetia joined then began pouring each of us a portion of the liquid, “Of course, with your coffee.”

  “You were bound to be curious. It’s a trait among the young, and you should never lose it as you grow older. It’s just one of the things that makes my Lola so special.”

  “Makes? Present tense?” pried Darian as she handed him a cup with a spoonful of honey.

  “Indeed,” she answered, then handed Lucio his cup.

  All this time, Lucio had been silent, but his eyes darted between Aetia and Rila constantly, as if searching them for inconsistencies. He snatched the cup away before Aetia could add the honey, holding it close to his chest, then sputtered a question before she could react.

  “How many scoops do I like?” he demanded, pointing at the honeypot and spoon in her hands.

  “Lucio,” interjected Darian, frustration bleeding into his voice. “Now’s not the time—”

  But he stopped when he saw my raised hand as I watched Lucio’s face. This wasn’t mischievous Lucio, joking Lucio—no, this was a rare occurrence. This was serious Lucio.

  “Oh, I know you have quite the sweet tooth,” Aetia answered. “Sweetest I’ve ever seen, dearie.”

  “Right, but how many scoops. You remembered last time, didn’t you?” he demanded, “Like you said, sweetest you’ve ever seen.”

  “Three, of course,” said Aetia, then started to dole them out, but a triumphant smile broke across Lucio’s face.

  “Well, lookee here,” he announced, his voice flushed with pride. “All of you always make fun of me for not studying books, but I figured it out faster than all of you.”

  “Figured what out?” asked Darian and Arial at the same time, their faces confused.

  “Her secret,” proclaimed Lucio, pointing at Aetia as she continued serving the scoops. “Or should I say their secret.”

  Chapter 111

  “The hell are you going on about this time?” demanded Slugger while Lucio leaned back with a smug smile on his face.

  “This time, I’ll take five scoops,” he said, handing his cup to Aetia, and then continued.

  “The thing about my power is this—when I leave a memory with someone, they don’t forget it,” he started. “Usually, my memory is more vivid; it sticks to the top of the mind, especially when I do it in a rush. And the first time you gave us coffee, I gave you the memory that I like four scoops. But,” he said, raising a finger. “The next time I met you, you had to ask. And you gave me three scoops, not four. Your mind doesn’t feel muddled, so I ruled out dementia. So either my power wasn’t working as well as I thought or I never left the memory with you.”

  “Oi, so you’re saying that your own memory is corrupted?” asked Slugger. “Wouldn’t be surprisi
ng to me. We’ve known that now for ages.”

  “No, what I’m saying is that I left the memory with someone else. I left it with her sister,” Lucio said, then pointed at Aetia again. “Her twin sister.”

  For a moment, we sat in stunned silence, while Aetia raised an eyebrow as grey as her hair.

  “A twin?” she croaked, her voice innocent. “What would make you say that?”

  “Because you’re long past the age of retirement! Looks like you had to wait a thousand years until one of your descendants had Transient twins for you to give up the crown. Lola and Rila are just the first to come along. And you chose them because they’re like you—and they’re the only ones like you.”

  “Meaning?” asked Darian, still confused, just as a rift opened behind the table, and another person entered, and his face flushed with relief.

  “Meaning we’re immortal. Or almost immortal,” Lola said, closing the rift behind her. “Apologies—I had an ear open from the other side. Apologies as well for my abrupt exit. It was necessary, you know, considering I don’t intend to fight my sister to the death. But for once, Lucio is right.”

  “Hah! I told you so!” Lucio exclaimed. “But not just once. Go on, give your fancy science-y explanation now.”

  Lola rolled her eyes then smiled when she caught Darian doing the same, before continuing, entering into a full lecture.

  “As Lucio said, it has to be twins. Identical twins, to be specific, else it doesn’t work. I’ve told you before, that the other side and our world resist each other—it’s why fires go out, why ice melts, why anything changes. It’s a drive towards entropy. And aging, well, is another one of those changes. But if the other side and our reality match, then those changes cancel out.

  “Long ago, my grandmother discovered something—that if she traveled to the other side, and her sister remained here, they never aged so long as they were close together. At this point, they were princesses like my sister and me—and like my sister and me, tradition dictated that only the stronger of the two of them could become queen, while the other had to be eliminated or else risk political instability. Instead, they forged a plan.”