by E A Bagby
The Lead Elder of the Deo, by appearances, had been plowing long rows of seed furrows. His white robe revealed a body much wider than the one I remembered from my childhood. A bowl of flower bulbs rested to his left on the soil.
“Well, father, it’s just that—”
“Well, father, it’s just that,” he copied. I heard the scowl that must have been on his face. Did he think himself funny? “It’s just that,” he added, “it’s just that I might need to go talk to the council right now and tell them you’re not interested in being Lead Storyteller.”
“Father, that’s not—”
“Did you see the flowers?” The seemingly lighthearted question boomed out. His head pivoted to the right.
“They’re on your left,” I said, “by your feet.”
“Oh, yes, right. Thank you, Giels.” His tone softened. He could go from heated to mild before blinking an eye, with complete sincerity. But I could never parse whether he had amazing emotional control or a sort of emotional chaos.
My father picked up the bowl of flower bulbs and turned his soil-smudged face my way. He deactivated the do-it-all in his hands, a machine that, despite its name, does not do much, except basic work like hammering and digging. The device casually floated a couple of feet from him.
“Why are you planting flowers?” I asked, more to defuse my own tension than to satisfy any interest.
“We’ve plenty of vegetables and, well, thought it was time to finally use, uh, where’d I put them now?” His head spun around, trying to locate where he had just moved the bowl.
No one I knew seemed so self-assured yet talked with so much flippancy as my father. The raspiness of his voice, and his meandering thoughts, lessened, to some extent, his powerful, deep boom. Without those quirks, he could be very intimidating at the slightest impatience. As it was, people usually found him endearing.
“Father,” I said, taking advantage of the calm moment, “why do I need to be at the rehearsal? No one will be there. I’ll just recite the story like I do every day. I’ll be ready without it.”
He placed one of the bulbs in the small trench. “It’s tradition, Giels. And you know the council will insist you be there. They’re busy at the Equis. It’s the practice where they’ll observe you. What in the world between the earth and sky is so important to miss that?”
“I’ve been studying hard and need a break,” I said. “I’ve never left the Deo, except that fiasco with the Talis envoy, and that was years ago. My friends are going somewhere, and I want to go too. Erikal’s going when the moons are brightest.”
“Emba and Hola are both full in the sky at the same time and, come to think of it, Dorel too.” He nodded. “Yes, starting on the night before the Equis rehearsal. Erikal, huh? Is he driving at night?”
I shrugged. “Apparently.”
“Where’s he planning to go?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Somewhere outside the Deo. He’s taking our friends in his new cab. It looks great, and large.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about this vehicle. Your friend Meritus told one of the council members about it in great detail the other day. A cab that can seat five or more, I believe, no? Makes even a shaman wonder how Erikal does it.”
I rolled my eyes. How did our tribe’s most influential spiritual guide not understand how the computer works? Or, had he not noticed Erikal’s obvious talents? Sometimes I wondered how he became a shaman, let alone the lead shaman.
He put down his gloves. “Giels, I must insist you not go.”
I knew he would say that, but I needed to persist. “It’s just a practice Equis.”
He sighed. “It’s, well, not just the rehearsal—although that’s critical. It’s something the council is discussing. I—I cannot explain right now, but I’d like you to trust me.”
There he goes again, keeping his shamanistic wisdom from me—asking me to trust him without him trusting me. “What is it? Why can’t you explain?”
“Hopefully I can soon. And hopefully, it’s nothing important. I just need to ask you not to take any journeys with Erikal in his new vehicle—for now. We just have questions about, well, his highly inspired designs of late. And please say nothing about this. I don’t want to bother Erikal without good cause.”
Don’t want to bother Erikal? Does he not care that he’s bothering me by not allowing me to go?
“What’s wrong with his designs? He’s good at it,” I said, but my father only stared at me. I knew he would say no more about it.
Elder Sparus must have unnerved my father about something when he came by earlier. Typical. It seemed as though everyone was conspiring against me.
My face grew hot. I covered it with my hands, and a sound escaped me like a low growl.
“Be patient, Giels. After the Equis, maybe I can have one of the other council elders lend you their nice, big cab, and you can go on a journey somewhere with Cleo.”
Sometimes he knew how to get to me. He’d managed to say the one thing that could defuse my frustration, especially considering we had no cab of our own. I tried holding back a smile, but he caught on. His mouth stretched into a huge grin.
“Sure, perhaps,” I said with a forced scowl and blinking eyes. I turned around and walked along one of the garden’s many fieldstone paths towards the underground passage to our home.
My father whistled a tune as I stepped into the concrete and limestone entry corridor. The glass door within slid up between hewn stones, and it slid back down after I passed, muting my father’s song.
It occurred to me that I had left my recorder recording. I took the device out of my pocket.
Toying with it, I opened the golden petals around its circumference a tiny bit, which Erikal had said increased its volume.
I had it go back to somewhere near the beginning of my conversation with my father. “WHAT IN THE WORLD—” His voice boomed through the home. Panicked, I quickly stopped and pocketed the device.
“Danis?” my mother called from somewhere. “Why are you yelling?”
If my father was concerned about Erikal’s computer usage, I thought it better not to share the recorder just yet. Thinking quickly, I called back, “It’s just me . . . practicing my voice projection.”
“You are starting to sound like your father.”
My father didn’t want me to miss the rehearsal or go with Erikal, but if one parent agreed with me, usually the other would. I took in a deep breath. I knew I needed to be sweet and seem responsible when I asked my mother.
I walked through the entry tunnel into the main living area. Next to the courtyard’s glass wall, my mother sat on a pillow, patiently waiting for me. I put on my most charming smile.
She furrowed her brow. “You have nothing, after all that time? How is that possible? The elders will be here soon, expecting meat.”
My smile dropped. I looked down at my empty hands, which should have been carrying a kill.
She shook her head with utter disappointment. Of course, I did not ask my mother about missing the rehearsal.
Later that evening as the elders arrived, they had plenty to say about the lack of meat. They even implied that it might reflect poorly on my fitness as Lead Storyteller. Elder Sparus gleefully mentioned how red-hot my face had become with all the criticism.
Excusing myself to the restroom, I snuck out to watch Meritus win a couple of his races. Neither Cleo nor Erikal had joined our friends in the commons, to my admitted relief. Cleo might have tried to convince me to ask again, and Erikal might have shrugged it off. Neither would have made me feel better.
* * *
After that evening, I went to bed each night wondering if Cleo might come to see me the next day. I imagined her folded in my arms, imploring my mother to allow me to join her. My mother would say no and Cleo, taken by sudden passion, would promise to marry me after the Equis and go on our own journey.
She did not. I decided the best I could do was focus intently. After the council anointed me as the next Le
ad Storyteller, Erikal’s adventure would be a single brief memory, fading compared to the string of new memories Cleo and I would create.
Finally, the afternoon before the rehearsal, I heard the house’s entry door slide up, and Cleo called my name.
My back immediately straightened. My mother and I had been practicing inside.
“Come in, Cleo!” my mother shouted.
Cleo emerged from the entrance passage in a knee-length dress covered in colorful, curving geometric patterns—one of her designs, certainly. Cleo liked experimenting with fabrics and their prints. A braid kept her hair out of her face, and she wore sandals with straps that crisscrossed up her calves. She had dressed nicely, which was customary when visiting, but she looked particularly fresh and perfect that day. She looked so good, in fact, it made me uncomfortable.
Cleo bowed a little, glancing at my mother. “May I talk to Giels for a moment?”
“Yes, Cleo, of course. We can take a break. I will prepare lunch. Would you want to stay? It will only take me a moment.”
“No, thanks. I’ll not be here long.”
My mother nodded and moved around the corner of the court’s glass wall.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m so happy you came by. I’m exhausted, and the elders—”
“Shhh,” she said. “Let’s go to your room.”
My room? My palms grew sweaty.
She grabbed one of my clammy hands and pulled me to the bedroom. The brushed-chrome door slid shut.
Perhaps she wants to kiss. She’s going away on an adventure, which I need to miss because of one of the most important events of my life—one of the most important events of the Deo. Perhaps she even wanted to do more than kiss.
My excitement must have beamed on my face. She glanced at me, almost a double-take, before sitting on my bed.
I joined her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She looked down at it and put her palm on my other hand. Her eyes stared into mine.
Is she waiting for me?
My eyelids drooped slightly, and I felt my face move towards hers.
She shook her head a fraction and blinked. “Giels, do you have your recorder?”
I stopped. “Recorder?”
“Yes. I talked with Erikal.”
My heart sank. She had come to tell me about the message on the recorder. I had forgotten about it. “That’s why you came by? It’s been an entire week since we talked about that.”
“I know. Sorry. I told you we’d be busy.”
“So, what, is it malfunctioning, as I said?”
“No, Erikal insists there’s something in there. At the beginning.”
I pulled away from her a little. “Can’t be. We already tried.”
“Let me try again.” She held out her palm.
It happened to be in my pocket. Confused, I pulled out the device. She plucked it from me. “Erikal had wanted us to listen to it before you recorded anything,” she said.
“I don’t recall that.”
“Me neither, but that’s what he meant.”
“What is it?” I asked. “Is it a birthday message?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Meritus and Alana heard it before Erikal gave it to you, but none of them would tell me. They said listening to it is much better. They thought it might even convince you to go.”
I scoffed. “Why would Erikal have recorded something to convince me to go?” I needed no convincing. I already wished I could join them. Besides, if he really wanted me to go, he could have planned it differently. My teeth grated.
She pressed the button that made it go backwards. The device’s tiny blue light blinked. “Hello, recorder. Capture my—” it said with my voice. Cleo stopped it.
“See,” I said, “there’s nothing else. Erikal said that once somebody records their voice, it never goes away. I don’t know what the others think they heard. Maybe he made two recorders.”
“One moment. I believe he said to . . .” She pressed and held the back button a number of times.
Nothing. No sound.
I rolled my eyes. “I told you—”
“Can you hear me?” the recorder said. We both stood up. The device fell from Cleo’s hand onto the fieldstone floor. It neither bounced nor slid from where it landed.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” it said. It sounded like I imagined a pixie’s voice would. “From the ether, you have found me. We are of the other world. Return me through the passage.”
Silence, then my voice again. “. . . Hello, recorder. Capture my voice.”
Cleo looked at me, and I looked at her, stunned.
Fearing the fall had damaged the recorder’s delicate petals, I quickly picked it up and stopped it. It remained in perfect condition. “Sorry for dropping it,” Cleo said.
“It looks undamaged. You didn’t know that was in there?”
“No, Giels. I’ve just heard it with you.”
I scoffed again. “Erikal’s playing a prank,” I said. “Maybe Meritus too.”
Cleo looked down at the device. “It sounds nothing like them. If you’d seen Erikal’s face when I told him we hadn’t listened to it, you wouldn’t think it a prank.”
The recorder’s spirit? All things contained a spirit—machines, rocks, streams, and so on—but the spirits of the World never talked to us in a human language, at least not to normal mortals. Magic, however, was a word reserved for items that deviated from the rules. Perhaps the device had magic, as I had first thought? Goose bumps covered my body. “I can talk to my father—” I started, but I recalled what my father had said about Erikal’s designs. I grimaced hard. “Never mind.”
“Why never mind?” she asked.
Someone knocked. “Giels?” my mother said through the door.
“What?”
“I do not mean to interrupt,” my mother said, “but the food is ready and hot.”
Cleo and I looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
“Again, sorry to interrupt,” my mother said after a pause, “but can you come out now? I know you hate it when your gort gets cold.”
“Okay, understood, mother. Give us a minute.”
“Oh, yes. You probably need a quick minute. How foolish of me.” The sound of her footsteps receded.
Does she believe we’re being intimate? Is she okay with it? Cleo and I had not announced marriage plans—
“Giels,” Cleo whispered, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I whispered back.
“You were looking off in the air. Where’d you go?”
“What do you mean?” I said. “I’m here.”
“We’re leaving later. I need to get back. Focus, please. You were about to say something about your father.”
“Right. When I mentioned the journey to my father, he behaved strangely about Erikal. The council has been talking about him—something about being suspicious of things Erikal is creating.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
I nodded. “But he wouldn’t tell me what he meant.”
“Maybe they already know about the message.”
“Don’t think so,” I said. “I doubt they heard the message. But I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Promise you’ll not tell Erikal.”
“Promise.”
“Oh, the Sun! It’s the message,” I said. “That’s why Erikal urgently wants to go. Have you decided where you’re going?” The destination might have given a clue to the message’s meaning.
“Erikal is very mysterious about it,” she said. “He’s telling us later.”
“What in the world between the earth and sky is he up to?”
“I don’t know, honestly.”
“My father, the recorder, his secrecy. This is getting odd.” Something occurred to me. “It is a prank.” I chuckled.
“How?”
“Why would he give me the recorder if it’s the entire reason he’s going on an adventure?” I asked. “This is just his way of trying to get everyone to go�
�get us all worked up about some voice.” Maybe that was why the council was on edge. Meritus, too, might have told them something to get them riled up, just for fun.
She grimaced. “Erikal said . . .”
“What?”
“He said he wants to bring the recorder somewhere special.”
“Yet I have it.”
Cleo chuckled. “Maybe you’re right; he must be prodding us. Oh, he’s funny. I started to think the entire reason for going was on this recorder, but interestingly, he didn’t ask me to get it back from you.”
Meritus had a penchant for pranks—this prank screamed of Meritus’s involvement—and Erikal always enjoyed them.
But if it were a prank, something still did not fit. Why the urgency of going that night? My fears came rushing in again. What better opportunity for Cleo and Erikal to have time alone than on a trip? Without me, only Erikal, Cleo, Meritus, and Alana would go. But I thought that Meritus might have an interest in Alana, leaving Erikal and Cleo to spend time together in faraway, romantic places.
I took a deep breath to calm myself. Could one adventure come between us?
Footsteps approached my door, followed by a knock.
“Giels,” my mother said through the door. “It is getting cold.”
“One moment!” I said and turned to Cleo, lowering to a whisper. “I know you really want me to go. But we can go on our own adventure. My father said I could even use a shaman’s cab. You know, once everything is set for me and before, well, before we . . .” Before we marry, I wanted to say.
Cleo stared deep into my eyes. “Your father—I know how important it is that you follow his wisdom. An adventure in one of the elders’ cabs sounds nice, Giels, but if you want real adventure, this is it. It’s what Erikal is doing tonight. Not even the shamans’ cabs are anywhere close to what his is capable of. I want that. You will be Lead Storyteller, which is amazing, but it will take so much of your time. Life will become routine, fixed, scheduled, and worse, you will need to represent the best character, as my parents and yours do all the time. It’s exhausting living up to that. What about time for fun? Exploration? I want to marry someone who can promise that. If you can’t accept real adventure when it’s offered, will you ever?”