They Called Us Shaman

by Corinne Beenfield

  “I’m going to fight against it, Alessio,” I whisper, praying from the depths of my soul that the tiny microphones can’t pick up my words. “Wicked things are done here. Don’t you recall being taken hostage against our will? They’ve done that to thousands of people! In normal society, if someone kidnapped even one innocent person, you’d agree that they are evil. How can you overlook this? And magic! Magic is being smothered to death. Our people are becoming extinct. But if we can be free, there’s hope.”

  Alessio brushes a strand of hair from my cheek that has gotten stuck in my tears. “Joanna, we don’t want your ‘hope.’” He tries to say it kindly, but is there a kind way to say that? “Don’t risk everything, Joanna. It’s foolish. We like it here. We love it here! Will you honestly go to battle for those who don’t even want you to fight for them?”

  I pull back. “Yes.” I nod once. “Some things matter, some things don’t. This matters. I will not lose myself, lose all of magic, to what doesn’t matter.”

  “Did we matter?” he asks. In his eyes I can see a light flicker, as though fighting not to go out in a wind. I don’t answer him. It wouldn’t matter now how much I tell him he has meant to me. Love is a thing you show.

  Closing my eyes, I lean forward and feel the warmth of his lips on mine for the last time.

  ___

  I open my eyes as the memory disappears. Normally, the morning meditation is my only chance for peace, but today my mind was dominated by the need to know what happened to the redheaded girl, and what I am finding leaves me with dread down to my bones. Rising from the floor, I roll my shoulders back and rub my hands over my face, scratching the stubble on my cheeks to help wake me from the dream that truly happened. Yet like a ghost, she won’t leave me.

  Grabbing my towel and swimwear, I step toward the door, habit propelling me forward even when my thoughts are consumed.

  Then opening the door, I see them, the early risers. Most here at the Academy sleep in from late nights and lack of motivation in their days. They would let their very minds and hearts atrophy. Yet walking to the pool, I see in the faces around me the same look as was in Madison’s eyes. As though they are trying to see through the dark shadows that would slowly consume them.

  How many times have I walked these halls, wanting to grab my people by the shoulders, shake them awake and out of their stupor? Yet now my soul swells in pain for them with the same engulfing pity I felt when waking from Madison’s memory.

  I see now that what Gadian did to her, he has done to my people too. His strategy has differed, but his intention is the same.

  Chip away at a person’s memories one at a time and slowly, pebble by pebble, they are destroyed. Make them forget who they are, and they become his.

  Slipping into the water, I know I must find out what happened to the redheaded girl. I anticipate that how her story ends, so will ours.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Californian Remains, September 2048 A.D.

  The single cherry sits in a plastic cup on a metal tray only an arm’s reach away. The only thing keeping me from exercising restraint, from diving at it and throwing it my mouth as though starving to death, is the familiar weapon pointed straight at me.

  “You remember this, huh?” Azure asks gently. “It’s a tranquilizer gun, with the power to put a six-hundred-pound bear to sleep. You know, just in case a six-hundred-pound bear happens to appear in this room.” She raises a penciled eyebrow. “But nothing like that is going to happen, right? Just do what you're asked, and we won’t have to worry about this thing at all.”

  I nod.

  What else can I do? I hate being a part of anything that could further their research, but though weeks have passed since I ended things with Alessio, Ramose has refused to involve me with the Rising.

  “Okay, we’ll draw the blood now, and then once again when you’ve completed the transformation, then compare the DNA.” She notices my confused face as the needle meets its mark in my arm. “Deoxyribonucleic acid. It carries your genetic information.”

  Placing a fluff ball on the incision, she begins to wrap my arm in a long, blue bandage.

  “The cameras will record the change, then break it down into two thousand frames per second so we can analyze it.” She gives me a teasing smile. “Pity me. You can’t imagine the amount of coffee it takes to go through even a minute of two-thousand-frame-per-second material.”

  She places the plastic cup with the fresh cherry in my open palm. “This should give us twenty to thirty minutes of access to your magical abilities before it passes through your system.” I close my fingers over it as though it were a robin’s egg, a tiny life contained inside.

  “And now that we have your human CAT scan, we’ll need you to do it again in various animal forms until we have the good-quality diagnostics we need to study. Ready?” She takes her seat and crosses her legs, slightly kicking her foot. “For today, go ahead and start with any animal you like.”

  I sigh and lift the cherry to my lips. Closing my eyes, I bite down, the sweet juice glistening on my tongue. I don’t even have to think—I know exactly which animal to choose.

  White down immediately spreads across my arms even as my frame shrinks. I want to rejoice in the change, to feel me again, but the usual wonder doesn’t reach my heart. There will be no flying free, no wind smoothing down my feathers. I am to sit still and pray that whatever message this DNA of which she speaks contains, they will not be able to translate it. There is no joy in this transformation.

  Fully changed, I tilt my thin swan head to look at Azure.

  She smiles. “It really is you in there, isn’t it, Joanna?”

  In response, I bat my wings once, and as the rush of air pushes her blonde hair from her face, Azure laughs out loud.

  “Okay, okay.” She waves at my wings to go down. “Let’s get to work. Step right up here for the CAT scan, and hold absolutely still.”

  I follow her instructions and settle on a flat bed, closing my eyes. I hear her step from the room and know she is watching me through the glass, reading the results on a screen.

  Immediately, the loneliness that her presence had kept at bay comes at me, slowly at first, like a rising tide. Every day it comes now, submerging me. Like the day Leo and I nearly drowned, I feel as though I can see light somewhere above the surface, but no amount of effort on my part seems to get me any closer. I just sink further into it, lungs threatening to explode.

  Never in my life have I been so alone. I have no one left. Azure, though she may be friendly, is no friend. It was she and her people who snatched Leo and Mama from me. Maybe in another circumstance we could be friends, but here it’s not an option. And sweet Alessio, I myself abandoned. I ache for him daily, wishing for the days when we used to fly above the Tuscan countryside. It is hard not to doubt my actions when Ramose continues to keep himself and his Rising out of my reach.

  Just before coming here, I fought with him about it. With nothing else to occupy myself during the scan, my thoughts wander back.

  He had been avoiding me, as much as someone who shares a room with you can do, so I sought him out in the Academy. I spotted him an open door labeled The Workshop with a dozen others puttering around with various projects. In the center of the enormous room, Ramose stood out, a heavy cream apron against his beautiful brown skin and thick protective gloves on his hands. Bending over, he opened a contraption that looked somewhat like an enormous oven. Reaching in, his dark eyes completely focused, he pulled out a magnificent piece of pottery significantly taller than my torso and washed in shades of green and blue, like the ocean.

  Slow and steady he moved, his muscles flexed to carry the weight. He smiled, looking it over, and my heart ached to see that smile more often. But that’s not why I came. Setting my lips in a thin line, I strode toward him.

  “Ramose.”

  He looked up, and to my surprise, his smile only widened as he saw me. He slowly slid the huge vase on a table as he answered. “Not a c
rack.” He gestured to it, then took off a glove. “Only took me seven tries.”

  “We need to talk.” I stepped close enough to whisper fiercely, but he just sidestepped me.

  “I don’t see the point.” He shrugged, closing the oven. Then turning back, all his attention was on the stunning pottery. He placed one gloved hand on it gently, as if it were a woman.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” I accused, head tipped, daring him to disagree.

  “You think so?” He raised his hand to his chin, a single finger lifted across his lips. “My apologies. I’ve been busy.” He motioned to the table covered in ceramics, ink sketches, even stained glass. Looking at it, I realized that many of the beautiful items in our room I had assumed the Academy had placed there for decoration were the workmanship of Ramose’s hands.

  “Ah, yes, you’ve made yourself very busy.” I looked away from the table, folding my arms, forcing myself not to be drawn in by its beauty. The reason I am here is more important, I told myself, keeping myself vinegar-lipped. And he knows it.

  “Well, creating your magnum opus takes some time.” He turned away from me again, all smiles and soft eyes for the lifeless vase.

  “Magnum opus?” My voice raises, but I quickly drop it to a whisper. “It’s a pot. There are people, living breathing people, here who need you. I need you!”

  But he didn’t even meet my stare.

  In one step, my arm swung full force, colliding with the still-hot pottery. It crashed to the ground, pieces flying like terrified birds.

  Now Ramose faced me, looking as though I’d thrown boiling water in his face. He may have preferred that. My breath heaved from the jungle drum beating in my chest, hating myself for what I did, hating him for pushing-pushing-pushing me until I did it. My arm was scorched, but I refused to touch or look at it. Only my tears welling in my eyes gave me away.

  Without a word, Ramose set his jaw and grabbed my other arm, escorting me to the door.

  “Teach me!” I demanded, our faces just inches from each other. “You know what is most important!”

  Instead of pushing me to the door, he stopped at a sink, a wave of his hand bringing a rush of cold water. Then, even with his eyes still enraged, he reached for my other arm and thrust it under the flow. It brought some immediate relief, and my breaths came out heavy, as though I’d been holding it.

  “The burn will be much worse if you do not stand here for several minutes and rinse it.” Then leaning close enough to me that his lips brushed my chestnut hair, he whispered, “Do not presume at what I know, or the weight it puts upon me.”

  With that, he let go of my arm and stalked back to the broken shards, leaving me watching him. As he bent to lift the largest pieces, he didn’t even look back at me. When his fingers touched the fragments, he sighed, as if exhaling his anger, leaving again only sadness in its place. It occurred to me that I had shattered the one thing in this prison to bring him happiness.

  I felt as broken as it, as if my shards had no hope of becoming a whole again.

  “That’s it.” Azure’s voice pulls me from the memory, and I open my eyes. “We’ll just do the blood draw now, then you can transform back. You’ll have to wait here another ten minutes to get that small cherry out of your system, and then you’ll be good to go. We’ll do another animal tomorrow.”

  Five minutes later, she’s wrapping my arm where the blood draw was done, her fingertips warm on my skin.

  “What are you looking for?” My voice suddenly surprises both of us. “With all of this.” I nod to the room of equipment. “With me especially.”

  She chews on her cheek, as though trying to weigh what she should say. She leans back and sums me up, but I can tell she doesn’t want to hold it in. “You know those flying drones in the hallways? That deliver food to your room and stuff?”

  I nod.

  “You’ve seen how they can hover in one place for extended periods of time, just waiting for someone to open the door and get their plate. They have such precision that several of them can move together, completely unified, moving large objects without the slightest jostle or spill.”

  I’m quiet, unsure where she is going with this.

  Azure leans forward, a spark in her eyes. “Just imagine if we could extend this same ability, but on a massive scale. We could suspend entire homes in the air! A person could wake up to being amid a sunrise, rays of light all around! How would it be? But more practically, we could have safe houses already in the air for when disaster strikes. A tornado blows in? Go above ground—way above.”

  I turn my head to the side. “And this has to do with me . . .how?”

  “Weight.” She flops back in her chair. “Okay, there’s a big long scientific explanation, but in layman’s terms, that’s what it boils down to. Humans can’t fly like birds, in part, because of the weight of their bones. Well, most humans.” With an almost bow of her head, she gestures to me. “We believe that this discrepancy that you show, and in another way Alessio does, both could be the answer we have been looking for.”

  I consider that. “So all this,” My voice goes quiet, mournful. “Is just for your people to have some houses in the sky?”

  “Well . . .” She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, looking down, then away. “We have plenty of things we are researching. That’s just one in particular—”

  But I don’t care to hear the rest. Without being excused, I stand and leave the room, and she doesn’t call after me.

  Eventually I drift back toward my room.

  I do not care to face my roommate right now and hope he’s gone. Yet while still down the hall, I see the door to our room open. Quickly, and perhaps childishly, I duck into a doorway so Ramose won’t see me. I can’t bear to attempt normal conversation right now. The mere idea of it curdles in my stomach like sour milk. How could he promise that we’d see the Academy come to an end, then turn around and cut me out? Does he truly think I have so little to contribute to toss me aside so easily?

  Peering from my doorway, I see at once how tense his shoulders are, how his eyebrows knit together. His eyes dart down the hall too quickly as though trying to act casual, but his anxiousness betrays him. Then suddenly his hand catches on the doorframe and his eyes close. At first I think he is dizzy, but as he opens his eyes, his shoulders roll back comfortably and his face muscles relax into a confident certainty. He just connected with the earth, I realize. How does he do that?

  From his expression, it seems that whatever he had asked the earth, the answer he received was pleasing. Without another moment of hesitation, he briskly walks in the opposite direction from me, and I wonder if what he had asked the earth was, “Am I being followed?”

  Well, he wasn’t then. But he sure is now.

  ___

  I never wanted to be a soldier. To me, life has always been more about understanding and reflection than being on the front lines. Yet the more I understand, the more I see that this knowledge must be used.

  Our people may be at war, but there is no fight in them. Their histories, their hopes, their own identities are being pillaged and set on fire while they can only watch, clinging to their rib cages. I look at the charred ruins of what would have been and know that I cannot stay in comfortable passivity. I cannot be a bystander to this slow genocide.

  I must turn this ground, gray with ash, into a battlefield.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Californian Remains, September 2048 A.D

  Through the Academy, I keep his back in view, letting the crowds hide me from sight. The few times people block him too much, I realize I can easily look to one of the many reflective surfaces—the shining gold banisters, polished dark tabletops, the elevator doors like mirrors—and the new angle keeps him in my sights.

  Eventually he turns down another hallway, more doors like ours lining the sides. Outside one of them two people talk casually, but their speech slows when Ramose approaches. They don’t stop to speak with him, but something in how they look at h
im tells me he is no stranger to them. They have been expecting him. One, seeming almost to play with his masculine necklace key, leans back just close enough to the door for it to click open. Ramose slips inside without a word.

  They are standing guard.

  I have not been invited, which only adds to my intrigue. I step forward. The worst they can do is send me away, right? Approaching the two guards, I see their eyes narrow on me, with none of the recognition or expectation they had for Ramose. This time their conversation does stop, leaving that awkward moment like having walked into a deeply personal exchange. Straightening my spine, I meet their eyes and give a confident nod. “I’m with Ramose.” It’s the truth . . . just unbeknownst to him. “I am here to see Wild Dove.” I take a stab in the dark.

  Apparently this was the right thing to say, for the man nods back without a word and again fiddles “idly” with his necklace. Like Ramose, I walk in alone.

  Inside I find about twenty people, all listening intently to one woman.

  Wild Dove.

  She sits in a chair as the others circle her, some on chairs or a couch, but also many on the floor. No one pays me any mind as I slip in, giving me a moment to observe them. They remind me of a still pond that has been disturbed by a pebble. For some, I sense a ripple going through them, something beautiful and changing. But others are as stiff and quiet as the stone.

  “My brother thought my mother didn’t want us when we went on that bus,” Wild Dove is saying. “Until I looked out the window and showed him that she was crying. All the mothers were crying.”

  In the group, I find Ramose. Though this isn’t a happy story, he drinks in Wild Dove’s words as though when she speaks, the storm of conflict in his life has lifted. The wind stops, the rain ceases. He nods, almost imperceptibly, at her every word.