by Ren Curylo
“If they are sins,” Anoba said, “Hermolaos is lechery itself.”
Pádraigín laughed. “I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. His wife is the queen of vanity. It was an ill-conceived notion that led the council to demand their union.”
Anoba laughed with her mother. “They are expecting a child, did you know?”
“No,” Pádraigín said, looking at her daughter intently. “I’ll bet she’ll be unpleasant.”
“I’m not expecting anything but unpleasantness from that union.”
Pádraigín shuddered. “Beware of her as she grows and ages, my daughter,” she warned. “There will be more. And those who side with The Sins are not your friends, regardless of the face they show you.”
Anoba nodded.
“There are things you must do to ensure the correct outcome for your new world, Anoba.”
“I’ve tried to do some things already, based on the dreams I’ve been having.”
Pádraigín nodded. “I know,” she said. “I was proud that you acted on them when I couldn’t reach you for conversation. But there is more to be done, so you must remain vigilant in your pursuit of this project.”
“I wish I knew things for sure, Mother,” Anoba said. “I am always unsure that I am doing the right thing when I act on these dreams.”
“Doing something is far more often the right thing, Anoba, than doing nothing is. You’ve done well so far. Don’t let uncertainty delay you from acting.”
“I feel more secure about doing things after hearing that from you.”
“You must understand that the dangers to this world are not immediate. Their longterm goal is to destroy all you’ve created here. Even if takes another ten thousand—or a million years. Their patience is detrimental for you all. It lulls into a false sense of security. And there will be times when they ally with you, and you will work with them as friends. Do not, even in those times, lose sight of the end game, Anoba.”
“I won’t, Mother,” Anoba said.
“In order to stop the destruction they aim for, you and those loyal to you must plan for the future. You need to create and cultivate your Children of the River, Anoba. The river is your domain; it’s where you flourish. It gets its sustenance from your love and care, as do all those who enter your life in friendship and love. You will be the mother of them all, in one way or another.”
“Oh, dear,” Anoba said. She had spoken long and loud about how she had never wanted children.
Pádraigín chuckled, knowing how her daughter felt on this matter. “The Children of the River will be your followers, and your relatives and friends, as well as your descendants, darling. Do not panic.”
“I don’t understand,” Anoba said.
“It isn’t important that you understand, Anoba. You will understand more as time moves forward. You must record what I tell you, child, and document the things you act on from your dreams, for your dreams are as much a part of The Prophecy as everything else I will tell you. Your dreams come from me, as well.”
“I have to admit I’m confused.”
“That is perfectly normal, Anoba. You will sort it all out in due time. As I said, there is no rush. This whole thing could take a million or more years.”
“I’ll start recording everything, Mother.”
“There are many things you will know without knowing how you know, Anoba. Trust your heart and your gut in these matters. You will recognize people when the time is right for The Prophecy. Some things won’t be to your liking and some things you will believe to be impossible.”
“This is all a little frightening,” Anoba protested.
“Nothing will be more frightening than the failure of this world, child. I have come to tell you about the children of the gods and about the Children of the River who will live among them.”
Anoba sighed.
“A new race will be created by the blending of blood. Your people—from Na Réaltaí—will mate with the creatures of this place, Lerien. You must call them Narcene, darling. You must all take special care of them; they are the saviors of this world. Without them, it’s a doomed land and you may as well move on now.”
“Are you telling us to breed with the people we brought or created here? That was taboo in the old world, Mother. Interacting that way has always been forbidden.”
“I know, but things are different now. We can no longer adhere to the old ways and expect this land to flourish. We should have done many things differently. If we could go back and change things, darling, we would. There are a lot of rules and laws that should never have been allowed to leave the old world.”
“This is all overwhelming,” Anoba muttered, almost convinced that she was delirious.
“When the mortals become a danger to the Narcene, you and the others must make a safe world for them. Do not start them off at the disadvantage that befell these poor mortals, for they have been put into a wretched state.”
“I know, Mother, Ársa and I didn’t like it this way, but unfortunately, we were outvoted on the matter of how to start them off. It was at Commander’s insistence that this, in particular, should be decided democratically.”
“Ársa was made Envoy leader for a reason, he must never forget that,” Pádraigín said sternly.
“I told him that, but he wanted to abide by Commander’s directive that it continue to be democratically processed. I am afraid he will have to revoke that method in the future.”
“Some of those same directives were exactly what I meant when I said some things should never have left the old world. But, listen, Anoba, I have to go, my link to you is starting to fade. You must prepare yourselves, for the war that will happen, perhaps millennia from now.” The air crackled between them and Pádraigín’s body jerked as if seized. “You must record, in longhand, not electronically, the things that come to you in dreams as well as the things I tell you directly. Don’t fail, Anoba, for you may only remember things for a short time. You must make notes so that you can refer to them later. Tell your brother of our conversation; impress upon him how important this is.”
“I will, Mother,” Anoba said. The vision of her mother sitting beside her began to fade in and out with a pulsating rhythm. “Mother…”
“There’s something you must know, Anoba,” Pádraigín said in a conspiratorial tone.
“What is that?”
“Try not to take things for granted and don’t ignore failures, especially unexpected ones. At least where relations with the humans and the Narcene—and even the Fae are concerned. If a thing is meant to be, it will be, and that means…” The air crackled loudly, drowning out her voice.
“What?” Anoba asked, her panic rising. This sounded as though it could be important. What the Ifreann do I do now? What did she say? I could swear she said something about pregnancies.
“I have to go now, daughter,” Pádraigín said. “Though, there is one more thing of utmost importance,” she said. She blinked in and out, her image fading and crackling.
“What’s that, Mother?”
“The Fae,” Pádraigín said. “They must be protected and cared for. There are those who would endanger them out of malice and prejudice. I know your brother has a fondness for them. See to it that he is aware. He should be able to easily spread the word among them since he has taken a Lilitu for a lover.”
“What? A Lilitu? How do you know that, Mother?”
Pádraigín’s visage began to static as it fluttered. “Never mind how I know, just make certain to impress on Ársa the importance of the Fae. A most important thing will come of it, Anoba. He must be…” Static electricity crackled in the air, drowning out her voice and making her hair stand out in an enormous halo around her head.
“All right, Mother,” Anoba said, feeling her own hair lift in the static as if alive. “I’ll tell Ársa right away.” Her hair relaxed as the static faded.
On the heels of the static’s ebb, the air crackled again, and Anoba felt her mother fading away furth
er.
Pádraigín reached toward her daughter and her hand thinned to ethereal and wavered in the air between them. “Anoba, beware of the viper that will soon be among you.”
“Viper?” Anoba questioned in confusion. She looked to her mother for clarification, but the woman vanished before her eyes. Anoba remained still for a moment longer before she rose from the fallen log where she had sat next to her mother’s hologram. But was it a hologram? I touched her hand. I couldn’t do that with a hologram.
After a while, she shook her head and sighed. She stood up to leave the area but before she could Travel or even take a step, a spasm rocked her and she stiffened. Her body stopped, paralyzed, cold, and rigid, though her mind raced to understand what had happened as well as what was happening to her that moment. The forest around her faded into white light again, becoming the glowing room that so blinded her vision before her mother spoke to her. Her mind felt full to overflowing, infested with thoughts, pictures, and conversations, both clear and jumbled, none of them her own. She could feel her mother with her as well as other unknown entities. She felt a scream well in her chest and rise to her throat as the room went from blindingly, glowing white to a cool, merciful black.
24 days later
Nonae 28, 761 Na Réaltaí
Anoba & Ársa As she had many times over the last few days, Anoba awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. She sat upright in her bed in her quarters in Na Réaltaí. She was certain she had not been asleep. Her body felt paralyzed, locked in place, captivated by an external force while her mind was invaded, infested with another’s. I’m supposed to remember. How can I not remember? It just happened.
She fell back against her pillow with a solid thud. She closed her dark eyes and tried to relax until her breathing returned to normal. She felt a driving urge to get up and leave her quarters. But why? Where had she been? Who had she been? The thought was unsettling. She hated not being in control of herself and her situation.
This had been happening with alarming frequency lately. It was disturbing and she sometimes had difficulty remembering what woke her. She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t only bad dreams. She had never had nightmares about her mother, and she knew, without any clear memory to aid her, that this whole thing somehow hinged around her mother.
She got out of bed and slid her loose fitting gown on over her naked body. It was made of a softly woven, multi-colored cloth of the same fiber as their Chikandi uniforms, but this was different. It was lightweight and beautifully colored. She and Ársa, together with their cousins, Oseyan and Gealach, had chosen their family colors. They chose a deep green for the rivers, aqua for the seas, brilliant azure for the sky, and a deep amethyst for twilight and storms, infused with thin threads of gold and silver for the sun and the moon. It was gorgeous with vibrant colors that suited all their personalities. The drone part of the Envoy, their Seirbhíseach had woven it according to their design. The weavers were currently working on designing fabrics for the other Envoy members’ groups.
Her small communication device, her gan-sreang, lay discarded on her desk. It caught her eye as she pulled the robe closed around her body. She felt drawn to it. She sat down and picked it up. She unfolded the small square until it was the size of a large tablet, stretching the sides and corners to her desired dimensions. She passed her hand over the surface and illuminated it, only to stare at the bright screen, her mind blank. What was I supposed to do? I know there’s something. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe if I clear my thoughts it will come to me. The idea that she needed to do something nagged at her even as she sat trying to think what it was. She let her mind wander, piddling with the device in her hand as she relaxed in her desk chair. Her eyes lost focus and she tried not to think of anything.
After a while, the need to pee drew her out of her reverie and, she stood up from her seat. She was about to drop her device on the desk again when she realized it was lit up brightly with a white screen. Normally, going this long without being used, her gansreang would have shut itself off. It hadn’t, and it was on a screen she didn’t remember loading. She looked closely at it and saw it was a list of names or words. She stared at it, noting there were too many to read them all. She glanced at them and realized that not even one of them was anyone she knew. “Déithe,” she whispered, “Metarki, Girin, Uasal, Fonn, Díogha, and Lisat.” She frowned at it and suddenly remembered the meeting with her mother. Wasn’t that a dream?
Anoba went into her bathroom and dropped her robe to the floor. As she showered, her thoughts turned to their lives since they had finished creating Lerien. She paid no mind to the familiar tasks of showering, washing her hair, brushing it, and dressing in a clean uniform. Her mind was full, thinking of all the changes life had wrought since coming here and creating this new world. She sat on the edge of her bed to put on her boots. Instead of putting them on, she pondered the way things were going between their crew and Lerien’s inhabitants. She dropped her boots back to the floor and made up her mind what she should do next.
Ársa’s Envoy was beginning to feel at home on Lerien. Everywhere they went, they brought back stories of the inhabitants there beginning to call them gods and goddesses. Anoba didn’t like it. It made her uncomfortable and she was afraid it would make some of them abuse their authority. Not that they had any authority, she mused, as she opened her door and stepped, barefoot into the softly carpeted hallway of their family wing.
Only five of them currently occupied this huge area. There was not much hope for it filling fuller anytime soon, for none of them were interested in starting families. Ársa and their younger cousin Ída often had this wing to themselves, for she and Oseyan were generally out on Lerien, and Gealach was here even less frequently.
She thought about both sides of this deity issue, and she saw the dangers of it, the treachery, but she also saw a good side to it, too. Those of us who will, can do great things for the people of Lerien, now. But that’s the key, isn’t it? There are those among us who will abuse it for sure. She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she stood outside Ársa’s closed door. Would he be in, she wondered. Or is he out cavorting with the creatures on Lerien’s surface? He loved them, for sure, and she knew he spent a great deal of time with Moriko. She wished the woman would relent and give in to her feelings for Ársa.
Anoba sighed as she knocked on the door. I wish I knew what I’m supposed to tell him. I know there’s something, but I can’t remember. Her thoughts felt cloudy and distant as she waited. She expected to have to knock a few more times and before entering of her own accord only to find his bed empty. She was about to raise her hand for a second knock when her brother called, “Come in, sister.”
She stepped inside his room, saying, “How did you know it was me, brother?” She didn’t look up until she had shut the door behind her. When she did, and her eyes fell on Ársa, she felt sick, dizzy and faint. She swayed and the room went black. Her knees grew so weak she had to lean on his door for support. Her head lolled to one side as her neck fell limp. Anoba was vaguely aware that Ársa rushed forward to catch her, stopping her fall. She felt his arms around her, moving her to his bed but it all seemed so fuzzy and far away.
Anoba mentally clawed her way up from the dimness that engulfed her. I’ve never fainted in my life, and I won’t go down without a fight, now. Slowly, she became aware of the room around her; she was holding Ársa’s hand. Next, his face came into focus and she could see the concern on his handsome features as he knelt before her, looking into her face and calling her name softly as he patted her hand.
Anoba smiled, and softly said, “Well, that was a grand entrance, wasn’t it?”
Ársa laughed. “Are you all right?”
Anoba nodded. “I think so,” she said, already starting to feel better. Suddenly, the thoughts she couldn’t remember sat in her mind, bursting to find their way to her tongue to tell Ársa what she knew. “Can we talk a while? Something has happened,” she said.
&
nbsp; “Sure,” he said, “do you want to talk here or go somewhere else?” he asked. “I’ll get us a drink. What would you like?”
“Do you have any Apple Fizz?” she asked.
“I’ll get some. It won’t take but a minute. Lie back on the pillows and I’ll go to the galley and be right back.” He popped out of the room before she could move toward the pillows at the head of his neatly made bed.
Within moments, he had returned with a large carafe of the bubbly amber brew they all loved so much. It was, she could tell, by the pale watery color, the last of the lot they had SSP’ed and brought with them from the old world. The color of the new brew created here was deeper, darker amber. The batches they had made from Lerien grown apples would be ready soon and it promised to be a richer, more robust Apple Fizz than any they had concocted in decades in the old world.
Ársa poured her a glass of the fizzy liquid and handed it to her as she reclined on his pillows. “Don’t drink it too fast or you shall become drunk and you’ll puke on my carpet. There is nothing sadder than a drunken woman having to clean up her own puke from the floor,” he said as he poured his own.
“Isn’t that what brothers are for, Ársa? Shouldn’t you clean up after your little sister?”
“I draw the line at puke, Anoba. My stomach can’t handle it.”
Anoba laughed. “And everyone thinks our fearless leader is such a big, strong man.”
“I guess all it would take to defeat me in battle is puking on me or perhaps shitting on me,” Ársa said with a laugh. “I can’t take either of those things.”
“So you won’t participate in diaper changing should you ever become a parent?”
Ársa made a face to reflect his revulsion and shook his head.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Anoba said, snapping her fingers. “Éadomhain and Hermolaos are expecting a baby. It should be the first newborn from our Envoy. How’s that for exciting?”
“Oh, man, what a combination—a child from those two. It should be full of terror.”