by Almney King
Uway Levíí was so blessed with power. He could never understand it—the torment of loss. He knew nothing of pain. ARTIKA had tortured me, mutilated me. They had programed me long before the chamber and long before the night on Marx Avenue. Who was he to curse me, a soul already cursed? What did he know of grief? What did he know of wandering, stricken with madness between the human I was bred and the savage I’d become?
I gripped the grass, my chest pitching forward in heat. I couldn’t control it—the anger, the insufferable rage. It was electrifying, throbbing inside me, wave after wave. Then there was pain, a torturous burn flaming in my blood. I stumbled to my feet and crashed into the bank.
I saw myself in the water, my eyes gone black, thick whips of blood protruding from my veins. I reached for my life pack and found the halos. I stuck myself, the energy shooting through me, cooling the fiery throbs of my body. Then I fell, limp and mindless into the water. My legs wouldn’t move. There I was, shoulder deep in the swamp, until the night came and the spirit of the earth rose from underground, bringing light to the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HAVEN
I dreamt that night. It was strange. I thought I was beyond dreaming, beyond a rest that deep. Dreaming… I wondered when it last came to me? After ARTIKA took me, the images in the dark of my mind were hardly dreams. They were nothing but blindness, black shapes, and muted sounds. But that night, the dreams were vivid, vibrating with noise, so real to the eye that no manner of waking could make them any less real.
I rolled to the right. Something brushed the side of my face, something soft with a kind of rosy, sweet aroma. I opened my eyes. And what I saw, made my mind turn. I was amazed.
Somehow, the world had changed. That mystic, blue-watered swamp had vanished in the light of day. The land was a high rolling plain, millions and millions of silver flowers running into the horizon. An amber sun rose above the meadows, arching over the skyline like a crown of gold. Blue grasses sprung between the alabaster blossoms. They were long and thick, bending into themselves in delicate curls.
The beauty of those hills was too pure. It was agonizing to look at. I felt so out of place, so out of mind. And the feeling welled in my chest. I felt the hand of God inside me, stirring up a pain beyond the flesh. It was a pain worse than death. It was the pain of living. And as I sat there, staring at this torment of beauty, I felt them coming up slowly behind me.
“Be still kachi, or I will . . . I will shoot!” Never had I heard a voice so like the air, so free and song-like. I turned towards the boy. He jerked in fright, fumbling with the weapon in his hands. He was a strange looking thing. His skin was dark as mahogany, his eyes the look of a feline. An emerald braid lined the center of his head, weaving beyond his waist. His scales were the color of rouge, highlighting the blush in his cheeks.
A small hand came from behind him and tugged at his tunic. “Wait, Windlen,” a voice said. It was gentle enough to break. The child took a peek from behind him. She smiled.
“Be quiet,” the boy hushed her. “Father said that if we ever run into one of these kachien, we should kill it before it kills us.” He spoke in Hedai, with a voice far larger than he was himself. I watched him. He shifted timidly on his feet, steadying the weapon.
The girl slowly came out of hiding. She stuck her foot out then drew it back in; out and in, in and out a few more times until she deemed it safe. For a second, it was as if she were playing a game. Each time she stuck her foot out, she would giggle, jumping up and down in delight. When she finally showed herself, I couldn’t stop staring at her. She looked like a wooden antique doll. Her skin was a polished brown. Her cheeks were flushed with violet, her eyes green as a forest.
“Do not hurt her, Windlen. She is so pretty,” the girl said.
Pretty? I rose a hand to my face. Now that I thought about it, I suppose she was right. The first time I saw myself in that mirror I couldn’t help but notice the dark perfection of myself.
“Stay behind me, E’lana,” the boy ordered. “She is not pretty. It is a trap. She is dangerous.”
The girl ignored him. She skipped forward and knelt beside me in the pool of flowers. “Are you a good kachi or a bad kachi?” she asked.
“E’lana!” the boy snapped. He fired at me all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to shoot. I could tell by the look of horror on his face. I caught the miniature spear in my hand and broke it. His eyes widened as the weapon went limp in his grasp.
The girl, on the other hand, clapped her hands and giggled. Her laughter carried for miles across the plains. “Alamanya!” she cheered. “Windlen, did you see that?”
Speechless, the boy nodded. The girl laughed, her curly locks bouncing over her shoulders. “So then, are you a good kachi or a bad kachi?” she asked again.
Kachi? I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I answered her. “A good one . . . I guess,” I said.
“Aya, she is a good kachi. That means we can take her home with us, Windlen. She must want food. Are you hungry manma kachi?”
“Ah, yes,” I replied.
“Aya, follow me. I will show you the way.” She grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stand.
I followed her, the Windlen boy tagging behind us. “If Father catches us, I will blame you, E’lana,” he growled.
The children led me through the meadow, E’lana collecting flowers as we went. They took me into a scattered wood where the tree leaves fell like crystal paper atop the ivory landscape. And in the midst of the pasture was an open cottage shrugged against a wall of sapphire blossoms.
Windlen gasped all of a sudden. He strapped the weapon to his hip and went running with his hands in the wind. One after another, he snatched the leaves from the air and slipped them into his mouth.
“Are they good, Windlen?” E’lana asked him.
Windlen turned and smiled. “Good!” he shouted.
E’lana raised her hand, catching a leaf in her palm. She giggled as if it had tickled her then offered up the leaf to me. “Have some,” she said. Hesitantly, I picked it from her hand. I had never eaten a tree leaf before or anything near it back in Helio Tellus. Most of what we ate was processed and so depleted by halos it hardly held any flavor. This tree leaf, however, looked difficult to digest. It was like glass in my hand, a frail, coiled piece of glass cut from a stone of ruby. I looked down at E’lana. She stared up at me, patient and starry-eyed.
I took the leaf in my mouth. It shattered at once, melting over my tongue like hot sugar. The taste was strong, cool like ice, but spicy as a spoonful of cinnamon. “Is it good?” E’lana asked. I nodded.
“Very good,” I said.
The girl giggled and took to me by the wrist. “Come on,” she sang. “I will make you something good to eat, manma kachi.” She led me up the stairs of the cottage. There was no door or walls for that matter. Well perhaps there were walls, but they were open, with tall angles of glass curving this way and that. Sapphire blossoms covered the floor, running in thick vines up the walls.
When I first entered, there was a garden in the forefront of the house. And in the center was a ground well surrounded by a jungle of fruit trees.
Deeper in the house, the walls became a mosaic of colored glass. Images danced across them. They looked familiar, like the temple I had stumbled across in the marsh.
“You must like them,” E’lana said. “Pretty, do you think?” she giggled.
“Mother made them,” Windlen said, “all of them by hand.”
I stared at them, my eyes unblinking, enchanted by their mother’s devotion to detail. She was brilliant and uncensored with her subjects. There were creatures on the walls, nude in their innocence. They were human-like—Meridians I assumed, their skin alight with a pinkish flame. They lay among the grass in a white woodland. Some were children, others mature in their adulthood.
In another image, I saw creatures with them; massive beings, mighty and armed. I saw them roaming the dark for miles in a hungering desert. Wherever they trave
led, that dry death followed them, plaguing the land.
And in the following design, there was war. The Meridians, with their weapons and shields, drove out the beasts. A crown of moons circled the battlefield, ten moons for the twenty years it took the battle to end. And when it did end, there was no death. Life returned to the land, an overflow of honeyed hills and blue pastures.
“What are these?” I asked.
E’lana smiled. “It is Ala...”
“Quiet, E’lana,” Windlen hushed her. He put a hand over her mouth, glaring at me. “You have no business telling this... kachi of our sacred beginnings.”
E’lana squirmed free of his grasp. “It is not sacred, Windlen,” she huffed, stomping her foot. “Manma kachi can know,” she took my hand, “I trust her.”
Windlen stared wide-eyed in disbelief then threw a hand to his face. “So foolish,” he muttered.
E’lana squeezed my hand. It was such a fragile thing the way it curled around my fingers. I wasn’t sure I liked it. Her hand was too much like Fern’s hand. Holding her hand like that with such familiarity was painful. Because the longer I held it, the more I adored her. I hungered to hold her like the living doll she was, as if she were someone I loved. As if she were Fern.
I drew my hand away. E’lana didn’t seem to notice. She pointed a fierce finger at Windlen. “And I am not foolish. You are! And you think you know everything! That’s why Father says your head is as big as Cerniphilus!”
They went back and forth, screaming at each other in Hedai until Windlen eventually surrendered. For a thing so small, his sister had quite the tenacious will. “Fine then!” Windlen snapped. “Tell the kachi all of our secrets. I’m sure Mother and Father will be proud to hear it!” He puffed his chest out then stormed passed us into the hall. E’lana turned and stuck her tongue at him. It surprised me how human of a thing it was for her to do.
“Come this way,” E’lana cheered. She guided me through the hall into a kitchen-like area. A small table sat center in the high, open space. Golden rays soaked through the windows. It was bizarre seeing these windows in a room that was nearly without any walls. But when the sun struck the glass at just the right angle, the light spread long over every glossy artifact and piece of pottery.
In one of the windows, a jungle bird perched in the colors of sun. It seemed like it was singing just for this rare occasion.
“Sit down, sit down,” E’lana said. She went to the counter and placed the collected flowers in a vase. “Heeki, this is manma kachi. Manma kachi, this is Heeki,” she introduced.
The bird greeted me with a whistle, nodding its head. “Hello,” I whispered to it.
“You should be careful,” Windlen warned. “Heeki can smell danger from very far away. If you try anything, kachi, she will attack.”
I looked up at the bird. It paid me no mind, bobbing side-to-side across the perch. “Stop it, Windlen. Heeki is not a fighting bird.” E’lana leaned into my ear. “Brother is just trying to scare you.”
“Am not!” Windlen grumbled. “One time, there was a saber in the garden and Heeki was up in the trees. When she saw it, she jumped right on top of it, snapping and scratching. The saber couldn’t shake her off, so it ran scared. Believe it, E’lana. Heeki is too, a fighter.”
The girl smiled at him then began her way around the kitchen. She gathered bowls and spoons, seasonings, and uniquely shaped foods from the kitchen cubbies. “Put fire to the corroko, Windlen,” she ordered politely.
The boy set his weapon on the countertop. He kept his eyes on me as he went to the other side of the kitchen. There was a silver door shaft there. I watched as he lifted the slide and peered inside. He loaded the pit with a handful of black stones then lit the furnace with a flick of fire.
“Aya, manma kachi,” E’lana called. She mixed a creamy like batter in bowl as she spoke. “What is your name?”
“Celeste,” I told her.
She blinked her feline eyes then smiled again. “Na, that is a pretty name.”
“Thank you. I like yours too. Both of your names.”
Windlen stiffened at the compliment. He brought a white bundle over where E’lana was working then slowly stripped the object. It looked like raw meat. I watched as he took a blade from the counter and sliced and tossed the meaty slabs onto an oiled skillet. I listened to the sound of the meat sizzling. There was something about that homely sound that made me reminisce of Mother. Those hands of hers were so dexterous, moving magically over everything they touched. I missed her so badly my throat ached. I wanted to say her name just once, knowing that when I did, she would turn around and smile at me.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Desia, selling our goods,” E’lana answered. “They are vegan.”
“I see. And did your mother make all of these too?” I asked, gazing across the kitchen. It was cluttered with odd-looking trinkets and beaded wind chimes.
“She did,” Windlen said.
“Celeste, what is your mother like?” E’lana asked. She skipped over to me.
“Do not be foolish,” Windlen said from the stove. “Kachien do not have mothers.”
“Of course they do!” E’lana argued. “Then where do they come from, Windlen? The ground?” She said it as if it were impossible, as if a human being sprouting from the ground was the silliest and most nonsensical notion she’d ever heard.
“Well, no. They come from . . . from . . .” The boy tapped his chin in thought then looked at me. “Where do you come from?” he wondered.
“I have a mother,” I told him. “Her name is Patra.”
“See, see, Windlen. Even kachien have mothers,” E’lana squealed.
Windlen rushed to the table, looking at me with a new curiosity. “Really? You really have a mother?” he asked.
I nodded. “I have a sister too... Fern.”
Their eyes widened. I didn’t know why I was telling them this. Perhaps it was their innocence—or their ignorance. It was so simple to tell them the truth—or lie. Then I realized how much power I had over them. How easy it was to make them believe anything I told them. That was power. That was ARTIKA. Without ignorance, it couldn’t function. Without ignorance, ARTIKA was like the rest of us—frail, powerless, obedient.
“What else do you have? A father?” Windlen pried.
I nodded.
“What is his name?” E’lana asked.
I looked at her. My father’s name, I hadn’t said it in years. Not in my mind. Not in my heart. Not in my dreams. “Well what is it?” E’lana said again. He had no name. Not to me. Not after what he had done.
“Tell us,” Windlen begged.
“I don’t remember it,” I lied.
Windlen drew back from the table, his face twisted as if he’d been shot. “You... do not remember,” he whispered. He put a hand to his lips like he had cursed, like those words were forbidden.
“But you must remember,” E’lana insisted.
“I don’t,” I snapped.
The children were silent, like they were in some sort of grave pain for me. As they stared at me, something strong caught my nose. “Something’s burning,” I said.
The children turned. “Ah!” Windlen cried. He rushed to the stove, throwing water over the rising smoke. E’lana giggled, the sound of her laughter brimming with mirth. And I watched her, enchanted by her movements. I had never heard laughter quite like hers. Not even Ellis laughed so fully, so contentedly, and he was the most spirited person I knew. But ARTIKA had taken that, too. Laughter, that precious sound, was dead. It belonged to the grave now. To the darkness.
“I was wondering,” I said. E’lana looked to me. “How I might have got here. I was somewhere else before.”
“Kurios,” Windlen whispered.
Kurios—I heard that before. Uway Levíí had said it. I remembered his rage, that startling flame around him, the roar of his voice. “What is Kurios?” I asked.
“No,” Windlen answered. “Who?”
/> “Do you want to know?” E’lana chirped. “Do you want to see, Celeste? Do you?”
I nodded. “Yes. Show me.” E’lana clapped her hands in delight.
Windlen faced us suddenly. He looked terrified, or maybe stupefied was more the word. “You can’t see him. If you look at him, you will die,” he said.
I looked to E’lana and she nodded. “Windlen is right. You can only see Kurios in one place. That would be the Ohaw,” she said, “but I can show you everything else he is. Do you wish to see?”
I wasn’t sure. I was curious, of course, but I couldn’t waste time. I had to find Ellis. I had to get us home. “Show me,” I said.
E’lana smiled. She took me to the back of the house. It was deceiving. The way it rested against the canyon walls seemed as if there was no way behind it. But the house continued through the rock to the other side. The meadows turned to sand, and the stretch of the ocean stood before us. Cerniphilus was low in the sky, casting a frosty red light over the beach. And from the water, scaly creatures rose from the tides, taking rest upon the shore.
“Do you see him, Celeste?” E’lana asked. “He lives in everything. He is the light of the world. In the wind. In the sky. In the water. He made everything. The sea. The stars. And everything beyond the stars. All the things that walk. All the things that fly. All the things that swim. All of it is his. Even us. He is in us, you see. He is our beginning.”
I felt Windlen come up behind us. “Our mother’s work you saw,” he said, “is the history of our people. The history of how Kurios created us, a reflection of his truest image.”
My knees hit the sand. Their voices were like bells, soft whispers against the waves of the sea. So this Kurios was their god. And the temple in the marsh was an altar. It was a monument for his glory. That’s what they had said. But still, it did not make it true. Still, it did not mean that our paths, Meridian and human, were destined, similar, or that one was cursed and corrupted, the other too pure to look upon. I wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.