Eikasia: Tributaries

by Montoya, Illise

  Elmiryn was my friend, and I didn't want to see her die...

  ...by any definition of the word.

  NYX____________________________

  She laid quiet on her side. I knew the fall must have hurt–should have–but I didn't know if she had any broken bones. She was conscious, I knew that. Knew it, because she just kept humming. Elmiryn was smiling...and humming.

  When I looked down at her in that pool of shadow, I could hear her voice. It was a swirl of surrealism, and perhaps, to a human, it would've been inaudible, but I could hear her. Elmiryn's knees were curled to her chest, and she hugged them to her curled lips. Her eyes were closed, and the blood that stained her skin had been washed away by the water she lay in...no, rolled in. I'm certain she had been rolling in it. I became afraid that she had drank some of it, but her behavior was more reminiscent of a child drained from hours of play then a person close to death.

  I jumped down to a small spot where the rocks that littered the floor didn't seem so menacing, but water pooled in large amounts. I only suffered a sharp poke for my trouble, and the startled water splashed my muzzle, leaving it to drip as I hovered over Elmiryn's prone form.

  I recognized the song she was humming. The one she had forbade me from even thinking of. Just as before, no adverse effects came from hearing the melody from her. This confusion only lasted a moment though, as I found myself confronted by another problem.

  The wall that I had jumped down from was approximately five feet high. Elmiryn was taller than that, and when I stood on my hind legs, so was I, but there was that bothersome detail of how to get an unconscious woman over such an obstacle without opposable thumbs. I sat on my haunch, furry face scrunched in anxiety as I looked from my companion to the wall and back. I then tried to paw at her, to see if that would rouse her out of her stupor. I shook her a bit, but she didn't respond other than smiling a little wider. I then tried to nuzzle her arm, but she only hugged herself tighter. For a brief second, and without a hint of malice or irony I might add, I thought about biting her ear–but I was pretty sure I nicked her last time doing that, so I decided against it.

  She had lost a lot of blood. Despite the water I could still smell it. So I wondered...Why wasn't she completely unconscious? She was out of it, yes...but still lucid.

  ...But even going beyond that, why wasn't Elmiryn dead?

  These mysteries aside, my thoughts turned to an unsavory idea. My heartbeat quickened just to think it, but I was at a loss as to what to do. How much time had been wasted in this space? How much longer before the river guardian cut off our escape? How much longer before Elmiryn...before she...

  I clenched my jaw.

  "There's no way around it," I thought.

  Ailurans and Lycans were the only two therian races to have five shifting forms. On the spiritual spectrum, it ranged from the two forms closest to anthroporthic thought to bestial instinct. Then there was the full form–the one in perfect harmony both with the man and beast in all of us. In my native tongue, we call it, "Ekilluos" and it is reserved for special ceremonies and times of war, due to the great strength and heightened sense of passion one feels.

  I tried to access this part of me, to actively shift the shape of my body to become that which I had become only once in my life before. In my schooling, I was taught to recognize and respect that part of my soul. It writhed, like a tangle of snakes in a burlap sack–and it was coarse on my mind. On my thoughts.

  ...But just as I was about to submerge myself completely in this energy...

  She blocked me.

  [You fool, what do you think you're doing!?]

  My back bunched and I felt my lip curl back to show my fangs. "I need to! It's the only way!"

  [Give control back to me. You know I'm the one--]

  "NO." I could already feel her intent. My paws itched with her desire to run. If I gave her control, she would abandon Elmiryn, I was certain of it. "This isn't a discussion. Fade back into the darkness and sleep, cretin."

  [Why do we play this game?]

  [She feels the beast pull on her body. She pulls back and a dangerous growl rumbles from her throat. The tug of war continues as they talk.]

  [Always dreaming, always pretending--you dress yourself up in your pretense and you expect the truth to wither away in the shadow that you sweep it under. But see what comes of it! It's all just folly! You KNOW you aren't real. Without me, you are nothing.]

  "Shut up. You may have access to my Expression, but the words are still mine! Do you hear me!?"

  [It's highly amusing then, that it's MY arms and hands you ask for.]

  "Stop it, just stop it! I have to save Elmiryn before–"

  [I don't have to do anything! You should have--I should have kept on running! This is madness. To even consider shifting to Ekilluos when we know what happens--!]

  "YOU SELFISH MISCREANT, GIVE ME WHAT'S MINE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT, YOU HAVE NONE AT ALL!"

  [The beast laughs, but it is a bitter sound that is devoid of any true satisfaction.]

  [Idiot. The only one stopping you, is you.]

  [She roars, and sediment is startled from the ceiling. Elmiryn stirs, and her eyes creak open. Nyx, the girl trapped in the animal's body, curls in on herself. Her muscles shake and she snarls and pants. No more words, no more dressed up thoughts. Just the present obstacle--the one inside her, that denies what she wants. It makes her infuriated. She backs up until she finds herself against cold damp rock, then falls to the side as something gives out. Nyx's eyes slip shut. She is no longer aware of what's around her. She has retreated inside, to better deal with the usurper. This coup of the body will stop, she swears it, even if it means losing a part of herself forever.

  In her head, it is a ghostly cold place that stretches and warps with abstract reasoning and sensations. They pierce and part her as she delves down deep to where She is hiding. The animal, upright but still as a cat even on the inside, looks at Nyx startled.

  She is shocked to see The Other has risked all just to gain control--and for what? Here, Nyx--a name they quibble over, but by right belongs to the two-legged half--looks as a human does, but scuttles on the ground like an animal. Her teeth gnash and she leaps with hands tensed like claws. The two personas collide.

  Disorientation rules as they tumble through a cascade of memories that leaves them without breath. Cold winters. Mourning. Stumbling fear. Unable to deal with the complexity that comes with these gray pictures, the animal faints, her lack of control over her newfound faculties proving to be Her downfall. As a creature of nature, she knew pain, but it was never so vast and overwhelming as the concerns of a two-legger. The Other, though, braces against these images and feelings. She understands this pain already. For many nights, it had been the only thing to put her to sleep.

  No longer blocked, Nyx lopes to the place in her soul that is warmest.

  Her hopes rest there. In her eyes, she can perceive worse fates with inaction, than in the risk she takes. In a sense it has all become relative.

  To prove herself worthy of her Mark by fleeing, or to remain at the risk of horrible failure. Those were her choices.

  Her decision leads her to burn herself with her own passion.

  Her muscles pull and expand first in the chest. Because of her rash haste, her body is confused. The skin stretches and tears from the flesh that pulls it apart, and the bones strain against her heart and lungs, which in turn become larger as well. This pain is excruciating, and she can't even manage breath to scream. But the skin and the bones begin to shift with the rest of the body, as if pushed into action by an obnoxious parent. Her clothes shift easily with the form that grows and changes beneath it. Several minutes later, Nyx opens her eyes to find Elmiryn has rolled to her back and is gazing dreamily up at her.]

  "...So turnip's can grow after you pluck 'em? What a thought!"

  Lip pulled back. I snarled.

  Redhead.

  Idiot.

  ...Friend.

  I hated her f
or this trouble. But she tried. I owed her.

  So now I would try.

  Author's Note At the risk of sounding melodramatic, there was a lot of turmoil in my heart at this point in the story. It felt like being at war with myself. That's when I decided to play this out in Eikasia. I didn't want Nyx to just have a part of herself she didn't like...I wanted her to have a counterpart that battled her---both mentally AND physically. It was the ultimate expression of my anger and self-loathing. Thankfully, these days I don't feel that way too much, but there are times when I still feel as if a beast is pushing just underneath the skin...

  Sight

  ELMIRYN________________________

  Elmiryn cared about as much as anyone could care, with their mind drifting in a primordial soup of half-formed ideas and dark static. Where was she? Who knew. What was she supposed to be doing? Who cared. She was wallowing in the tears of gods–wretched beings who screwed her over because of her penchant for drink and biting steel. No faces, no images, no damned misconception haunted the woman, even as she felt herself lift up out of the pools of sadness.

  Ghosts can never be haunted themselves, after all.

  She giggled at the idea.

  "...can't see me..." Elmiryn slurred as a rope of saliva slipped out the edge of her mouth. She felt like she were hanging over something, and she thought she heard a grumbling and a rumbling. Her nose rubbed into a fabric that smelled familiar–dusty and wild. Her mind distilled with an idea, and because nothing else sounded plausible (or interesting) she stuck to it.

  "...I'm being carried by a turnip."

  She tried to shift and lifted her head, eyes barely open, to better see whatever it was that now had her. "Arr...arrrr..." she snickered and made a hook with her finger. "Yar." But Elmiryn shook the humor from her head. She had an important question. So she willed her mouth to work.

  "Turn-ip. Oi, turnip...have you...aren't you...yeah, that's it...aren't you thirsty? Gotta drink...right? Try the tears...gods tears...hey turnip...heeey...." Elmiryn tried to force her voice to a level she thought reasonable, but then this concern became irrelevant.

  "Ah'm talkin' to a fuggin' turnip..." She muttered, as she allowed her head to drop again. "Why'm I...y'know I don't remember drinkin'...so wassamatter...wif me?" Her ears were ringing. She swiped at them. "Damn noise. I think I'm s'posed to be something. Not doing something...not...no, that's different... yeah, I'm being something wrong, aren't I? I'm wrong...I'm all wrong..."

  Then she remembered. "Nyx?" She pushed away from the wild fabric, hands planted shakily, and felt it shift beneath her palms. Elmiryn blinked and thought she saw feet flashing in and out of view, but they didn't look human. "...Hey...Nyx...where are you...?" Her eyes teared up. "You didn't go did you? Fuck...I didn't think you'd actually do it...or at least I don't think I did..."

  NYX____________________________

  Elmiryn kept talking. Thought she was unconscious. Or close to it.

  Kinda wished she were all the way unconscious.

  Wouldn't stop wiggling.

  But then–

  Obstruction.

  I halted my steps.

  Sedwick.

  Shadow in my light. Blocked the way out.

  Don't know where he came from.

  ...He smelled like rotten meat.

  "You...bitch..." I heard him say. He held up his spear and screamed.

  I dropped Elmiryn and screamed back.

  ...I hated all of this...

  ELMIRYN________________________

  She felt herself crash onto a hard surface, as if unceremoniously dumped. Spots and pain wracked through her. Elmiryn blacked out, and she slipped through a grate of existence that could no longer hold the grains of her being. She was in an inky void.

  One that sang.

  Elmiryn, reduced to a collected consciousness that ebbed and flowed, considered her situation. ("I know this song.") Melodious black. ("I sing it to others.") Had she finally discovered death? Funny how even in her stupor, she managed to rebel against the simple concept of laying down to die.

  ...But something was amiss. She could feel something foreign and invisible root its way into her being. And why, in all this space, did she feel like she were being crushed?

  The haunting melody of this dark nothing world threaded and weaved into her–she could feel it. Words within the notes came and stirred within her as they spirited away things she could not name. ("I thought there were no lyrics...")

  This isn't a pretentious sojourn into human psychosis.

  Your thoughts are suspect. Your feelings are suspect.

  Callous as an animal, it's no wonder you make friends with the deranged.

  So...our intrepid heroine NOW finds appearance important.

  Without the 'appearance' of sympathy, you risk your soul decaying faster.

  Pretend to care, pretend to want, pretend to feel.

  It was clever getting thread to stitch and hold yourself together.

  ...but if the thread was poorly spun?

  Her consciousness swirled, fury stirring it like water in a cup.

  ("Meznik!")

  What?

  ("Bastard, I'll kill you!")

  Why are you angry at me?

  Her thoughts seemed to expand. She resisted the music and fought the roots of its melody as it attempted to suck her away. To what she didn't know. She didn't understand any of this, she just knew...

  ("I'll have your head!")

  Without a proper reason for it, I see no way for it to fall into your hands.

  ("Why are you doing this?")

  Ah. It's true. You want me dead, but you don't even know why.

  ("I bet you get a kick out of all of this.")

  Not true. The essence I'm harvesting from you is hardly enough.

  I'm feeling empty.

  You leave me feeling empty, Elmiryn. I figure this is only fair.

  ("What is?")

  Your companion will die. She's powerful as she is, but her inability to control herself will soon prove her mishap. And the guardian isn't even here yet.

  Isn't this amusing?

  ("I'll get free of this...") The roots burrowed in deeper. Her thoughts became fractured and maligned. ("I...will...free...") Sentences broke apart. All she was left with...

  ...Your hate isn't acidic, or even bitter. How is this possible? Your loathing is just this effervescent mass.

  ...I take it back. You may fill me just yet.

  Elmiryn felt herself get pulled up–as much as she had an understanding of up or down–and she became aware of a warmth in the conscious darkness. Close by was a tightly tangled, nettled knot of pulsing green light. Beyond it, a loose blue and white bundle of threads that squirmed like worms in a bucket. Still further on, but closing in fast by some curious weave and path of its own, was a white hot stream.

  Alarmed, Elmiryn's thoughts condensed and wrapped around two concerns.

  What were these things? And what was that white light coming towards her?

  Why concerned, Elle? Do you even KNOW if the light is coming for you? Maybe it's coming for something else?

  Then what will happen when it will come? She wondered.

  Consumption, I suppose. I don't know. I'm not controlling this scene anymore than you are.

  But you are, is the wordless feeling that caused Elmiryn to condense further. ("...All...your...doing...")

  MY doing? I shift some mirrors and backdrops around and suddenly this is my fault? It was the guardian's choice to go mad, just as it was your choice to hunt me.

  ("...choice?")

  Yes. Choice. Someone as willful as you, Elmiryn, knows all about it, I'm sure.

  ("But this...can't...doesn't make any...")

  Of course it makes sense. You just lack perspective.

  The word echoed, like vocal percussion, beneath the melody that now seemed as one with her. ("...I can't...see from here...")

  See what?

  Her thoughts hardened completely, locking insid
e them the Unnamed Song. She became aware of limbs, of breath, and of the heart beating feebly in her chest. Though black still shielded her gaze, she made to stand. Her body didn't seem to understand her command, or was too feeble to comply, but the simple fact that she could try, made her double her efforts.

  If the attempt could be made, chances were...she could succeed.

  "I said...I can't see...from here..."

  ...Elmiryn.

  She began to hum, to block him out–that leeching bastard. She matched him, note by note, like a wife hogging the sheets. He could not reside in the music. Not if she pushed him out.

  "Gaze through your slime, asshole..." she thought with a curled lip. "I know now that's how you've been watching this whole time. By the slime on the walls. That's why they kept changing color, like signals. You wanted us to end up here, didn't you?" She started to pick things out of the black fog in her vision. Her lidded eyes stared through damp locks as she saw a battle rage between two phantoms–Nyx and Sedwick. The image only grew clearer.

  What good...opening your eyes...can't see?

  "I can see fine," she said with a grin as she pushed herself up to her knees. Elmiryn removed her bracer and, with shallow breath, peeled back her glove. Her eyes blinked, then she grinned wider. Feeling returned to the wound on her palm, and it was not puffed up at all. Even the stitching had managed to hold. "I see I'm not really bleeding."

  With a few quick breaths, the warrior shoved herself to her feet. Her vision erupted in spots, and she reeled for a moment before a shake of the head steadied her. Elmiryn ran her tongue over her lips where a few drops of water had clung to. It tasted of sediment.

  "I see that the water is not really poisoned." She drew her sword.

  One foot before the other. Elmiryn felt her center of gravity leave her, and the air about her wavered like curtains in the breeze. She assumed the large form she saw in front of her was Nyx. The Ailuran battled against the shorter, but stockier form of Sedwick, whose armor and voice (though strained as it was) gave him away.