[Not my trick,] the creature interrupted. [That was put there by those who built this prison.]
“The Alfar?” I asked.
[Yes, that is what you call them.]
“That makes sense. Although I’m surprised I passed any test that they created.”
[You didn’t,] the creature intoned, in my mind. [You failed.]
“But the door…”
[I opened the door. The test was meant to test resolve. Your apology, plus the time you took to make the decision and the fact you paused at killing another creature, meant you failed.]
“Huh,” I replied. “Well, I never was very good at standardized testing—”
[Why did you pause?] the creature interrupted. [It was only a bird, after all.]
“It was only a bird,” I acknowledged. “But it was the principle. Whoever set that test up was being cruel, and expecting me to do something equally cruel. It’s one thing to kill a bird for food or because it’s… I dunno, attacking your babies. But the way it was just put there, like that…”
[And yet you did kill it.]
I hung my head. “If I didn’t, it’d be dead anyway. And so would a lot of other people, and animals.”
[How did making that decision make you feel?]
I thought about that before answering. “It made me feel used. Out of control. Like I don’t get to live my life the way I want to, but the way other people dictate.”
[You’ve felt like that for awhile, no?]
Yes, I admitted, although only in my thoughts. I knew it was useless to lie to the creature, since it could be in my mind so easily. And yet I felt like I wanted to talk to it for some reason. It felt good to be so honest—I felt like I could be honest with myself, in a way that was never easy.
[Since when?] the creature asked.
“Since all of this started. Since I learned about my mom and her world, my life’s been exciting, but not necessarily mine. I love it, too,” I insisted, knowing that my feelings for my new life were complicated. “But sometimes I wish I had more control over the way I live.”
[And yet I gave you choices, and you refused them.]
I smiled, sadly. “They weren’t really choices. They were fantasies.”
The creature seemed to be thinking about what I’d said. When it finally spoke, its voice was grave.
[Would you like to hear my story?] the creature asked. [For I, too, have felt acted upon. My life has not been my own. And yet, I have learned to accept that fact. Even to embrace it.]
Realistically, I knew that I had no choice in the matter. The creature clearly wanted something from me, and whatever it wanted involved me knowing its life. But I appreciated it giving me a choice.
“I would be honored,” I said, meaning it. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew it would be interesting.
[Come forward, little Jane,] it intoned. [Come forward and open your mind…]
I stepped forward, letting my shields drop away, picturing my mind as an opened Tupperware container. Partly, I figured that the creature could probably take what it wanted, anyway, so I should play along. But, I was also interested.
And while the Tupperware imagery wasn’t the most elegant of visions, it clearly worked…
For suddenly I was plunged into the sea, the water roiling with my siblings’ play as we twined in and out of each other, making knots of our limbs for the pleasure of feeling each other’s touch and the equal pleasure that was the challenge of unknotting ourselves.
The sea was our home and our mother, and in her embrace we played. At night, we took shelter in our father’s arms, a large cave that barely contained our intertwined, sleeping forms.
I’ve been here, Jane True realized. I remember this. You were with me when I slept.
[Yes,] the creature acknowledged. [It was easy to reach you then. But you thought it was all a dream…]
Your sisters and brothers, I realized, horrified at the knowledge that this gentle mind, touching mine, had suffered such loss.
[Yes,] was all the creature replied, and even after all these millennia its thoughts harbored immense grief.
For despite the ages that had passed, I could feel the love and the comfort in that cave of intertwined tentacles. To have had so much, and then lost it all.
“Who killed them?” I asked.
[A cousin. A creature of Fire. It was killed, in return, but that brought me no comfort.]
No, I thought. It wouldn’t.
“Why did it attack you and your family?” I asked.
[Because it could. Because it was its parent’s creature—mercurial and so hungry.]
“And your parents?”
[Water and Earth, who lay down together to form the world. We were born of love.]
“And yet you destroyed so much… your memories are full of death…”
[Yes,] it replied sadly. [But I was created for a world that ceased to exist. In that world, our play was harmless. Later, the world was no longer ours and I no longer fit.]
“And so you were imprisoned?”
I felt the creature smile in my mind, but it was a sad smile that countered the sense of peace I was still living, nestled in among my (long-dead) siblings. We were still communing in its memories, and it felt like we were narrating one film over another.
[I have things to show you, child. Things that will help you to understand not only your own world and your place in it, but also what you must do next. For I am not the only thing of power left on this planet, nor am I the most dangerous. War is coming, little one. And we must all choose a side.]
And with that I was pulled out of the nest and into what felt like a stream of memories. I was living them, but it was like they were running in fast forward. Senses, impressions, and sights all streamed into me, through me, but I lived each for every second it took to pass through.
I watched as the world went from the ocean it had been, with a cluster of earth in the center, to a place of continents. Once my kind—for I, Jane True, was still living through this great, elemental being—were mostly eradicated either by accident or design, the elements bonded together one last time. Earth gave matter, water gave substance, air gave breath, and fire gave its spark so that life could once again flare into existence. This life, however, was tiny, embryonic. It stirred around me and I held my very breath for fear of destroying it. Soon, however, it thrived, and developed, ever evolving until the embryo developed into a multitude of shapes and forms. And then it continued changing and growing.
Eventually the seas could no longer contain its multitudes, so life went looking for more space on land. There it thrived, as well, and soon both earth and water contained a plethora of beings so amazing in their variety and splendor that I was happy merely to observe and study.
The land creatures were the most interesting. I’d never forget the development of feathers, nor the first time an ape walked on two legs and had thoughts beyond its next meal or shelter. I rejoiced at mankind, for I could watch them through their dreams, and later, as I developed my powers, through their very own eyes. They were so complex and intelligent. But despite their potential, I knew that fire was in their veins—along with earth, air, and water—and that it was in fire’s nature to flare up and destroy.
When that first human felt my presence in her mind and asked me what I was, I was as shocked as she was. I went deeper and felt her connection to her progenitors: the elements. We were not the same; where I was elemental, she was in touch with the elements, but still she was something more. The next step in human evolution, I taught her to use her connection to the elements to manipulate her world. She could create fire with a touch, shield herself from harm with the air, call to water so that she never remained thirsty, even create shelter out of the barest environment for herself and her family. Finally, I was able to teach her to change her shape, until she swam with me as a porpoise.
The part of me that was still Jane True nearly shat itself at these revelations. Are we all re
ally just humans? I thought. Could all the Alfar mythologies about being a different species be lies?
I also realized something else. Oh my gods, that’s Blondie! I thought, watching the young human woman change herself into a porpoise, and back. Is she that old?
Others were born like that first elemental girl, the one Jane True knew as Blondie. It wasn’t a common mutation, but it happened often enough that I was able to manipulate them to help them find each other. Some, however, lived so far away that I had to teach them myself. I’d learned to guide their powers and their training in their dreams, so they never learned of my existence. But I still loved them, as a parent loves a child, which is why the first one to be murdered hurt so much.
He was only a boy. The first time he called forth fire to warm his freezing family, his father called him evil and slit his throat.
The killings were more common after that. Some of my children were able to create places for themselves in their clans as shamans, or even as demigods, but most were abused, cast out, or killed. I guided the survivors and the exiles together, creating safe havens where they could live together in peace.
I blamed fire for the other humans’ inability to understand my children. But I’d forgotten that fire lived in their veins, as well.
I’d also forgotten that while I was one of the last of the ancient elements left on earth, I wasn’t the last.
It started out as a whisper in the dreams of my most powerful children. In their waking life, they were shielded from me. But sleeping, they were more open. And while I never searched their minds, such sleeping whispers would sometimes intrude upon me.
Their dreams revealed some who wanted more power. More important, they wanted power in order to seek revenge upon those who had cast them out, or hurt them, or killed others like them.
These ones banded together, practicing their magics not to make their lives better and easier, but so they could use their power as a weapon.
Soon enough, this attracted the attention of one of Fire’s only surviving children. He was young—hardly older than humanity—and Fire had made him deliberately weak in an attempt to create something that could survive itself.
On his own, Fire’s progeny could do little. He was just a whisper of flame—but just as a single match could start a blaze that burned down half a continent given the right conditions, he knew he’d found the perfect kindling in my children.
He whispered to them of an artifact: a child of earth who had laid down to rest in its parent’s bosom, and had died there. Reabsorbed, its corpse had added to the power that now fed my little elementals. But it had left part of itself behind.
“… a single horn, like that of a bull,” Fire’s child whispered. “With which you can magnify your power beyond your imagination. You can become as gods…”
Some of my children left in the night, guided by the flame that led them, like a will-o-the-wisp, to their doom.
The horn was found and brought back. Its magic was unleashed…
Suddenly the memory I was living slowed, until I was in the moment again, watching everything unfold from the creature’s viewpoint behind one of its children’s eyes.
I watched as a young woman stepped forward, holding aloft a bull’s horn the length of her forearm. Her tattooed forearms…
Blondie, I realized, my heart thudding in my chest. She was there, at the beginning, and here, as well?
My friend was obviously making a speech, gesticulating vehemently with both her free hand and the horn. Around me, some of the other people’s faces reflected agreement, others concern, others confusion, and a few anger.
One of the angry-faced beings—a young man, who looked very similar to Blondie—stepped forward, confronting the Original. They were up in each other’s faces, while panic shot through our host’s system. He was obviously terrified by the proceedings, and feeling his panic made watching the scene a whole other level of experience.
Blondie backed away from the man, shouting something as she held the horn aloft in both hands. And with that we felt her power swell and surge through the horn.
Fire’s child had been right. Blondie’s already-strong power was, indeed, magnified. I watched, trapped by my host’s mute horror, as wave after wave of knee-buckling force pulsed out of Blondie. Inside my host, magics realigned themselves as he lost contact with three of the four elements, and he felt his bones shift into that of his favorite fishing shape: a seal.
Around me other creatures were either in different shapes or still morphing when Blondie’s power finally used itself up and she collapsed. There were a handful of creatures prescient enough to throw up shields and powerful enough to hold them during the horn’s onslaught, but even they’d lost some of their power. They were still standing, however, and together they moved to secure the horn and Blondie.
My host changed himself back into human form, realizing as he did so that he’d been cut off from all elements but water. He tried other tricks: creating fire, pulling force from the earth, flying with air. All of these attempts failed. Finally, he tried to change into something other than a seal. That was unsuccessful, as well.
Everyone standing in that clearing looked around at one another, obviously at a loss over what had just happened, or how to proceed.
“That was the Great Schism,” I breathed, closing down my mind so I could open my eyes and be just me, Jane True, again. “I knew she did it, but I only saw her memories. They were brief.”
[It was a very traumatic event,] the creature said.
“What was the bull’s horn?” I asked.
[It was a horn, but not that of a bull. Nor was it really from a child of Earth. In reality, it belonged to one of Fire’s most violent children. When the child was destroyed, only the horn and another artifact, a hoof, were left. Both held tremendous power, but the horn remained at large.]
“Where’s the hoof?” I asked.
[Protected,] was all the creature would say. I knew I wasn’t getting any more on that subject.
“So let me get this straight,” I began. What I was learning this week went against everything I’d ever been told about the Alfar, their origins, and the supernatural world. The Alfar had obviously had a great time inventing their own mythology, with themselves on top. “Blondie found the horn with the help of another of Fire’s children—a voice that told her where to go.” I felt assent in my mind, the creature’s version of a nod. “She brought it back and used it. I felt her anger when I touched her tat… she wanted to get rid of humans?”
[So many of her kind had suffered abuse. She was full of hate.]
“But the horn actually created the Schism?”
[Yes. It picked out one aspect of the various beings’ magics—those individual beings most favored. Or it just assigned them an identity arbitrarily. It’s hard to say, with magic as old and foul as the horn’s was. Once each faction, as they are now called, was locked into place, their magics were locked into place. And as long as they bred with another of their faction, they would breed true. If they were successful, that is.]
“And she was the only one unaffected?” I asked.
[She’s the only one who retained her power.]
“She must have been so hated,” I said, marveling at her audacity even as I pitied her.
[And yet she’s the reason her people survived,] the creature informed me. [Fire always destroys, but oftentimes from that destruction comes life. This was no exception. Extreme exposure to elemental magic kills humanity’s ability to breed, over time. If my children had stayed as powerful as they were, there would have been maybe two more generations, each with fewer progeny. And then there would have been none.]
“I knew it,” I said. “I knew it had to do with the magic. So the weaker the faction—”
[The greater their chances of breeding.]
No wonder there are so many nahuals, and so few Alfar, I thought.
[Exactly,] the creature responded.
“But you helped them,” I
said. “They would never have known what to do with their power if it weren’t for you. Why did they imprison you?”
[Open your mind, and I’ll show you this imprisonment,] the creature replied, amusement tinting his response.
I did, and felt myself whooshed back into the creature’s memories. The loneliness and grief was unbearable; so many years alone, and now my children disbanded into factions that hated one another. Everything had fallen apart.
So I decided to sleep.
I found a place to nest, building up the land around me so that I was part of both Earth and Water. At least I could be with my parents as I slept.
And with that I took my leave, falling into a sleep so profound as to echo death, although my great mind continued to sweep through the sleeping brains of animals and people alike.
That’s when the Alfar found me. And they made my nest into a death trap.
I watched as King Melichor and Queen Tatiana, along with their seconds Glynda and Straif, re-rigged the land around my sleeping form. They assumed I was a weapon and that, were I to awaken, I’d destroy everything. On the one hand, they wanted access to this weapon, but on the other hand, they wanted to deny access to others.
Part of the traps they set was the magnitude of my waking. In order to free me, my nest would have to be dissolved. Including everything that stood upon it.
“You’re not a weapon,” I said, already knowing that but wanting to get it out there. “You’re not even evil. You’ve just been built on.”
[Yes. But if my prison is destroyed, so is everything that rests upon it.]
“So if Phaedra does manage to release you, even if you don’t want to, you’ll destroy the Eastern Seaboard?”
[Precisely.]
“Good grief,” I said, marveling at just how anarchical the little Alfar truly was. Then I thought of something. “But what do you want?”
[I’m sorry?] the creature asked, its voice surprised.
“What do you want? Do you want to be free?”
Eye of the Tempest (Jane True) Page 23