Sycorax's Daughters

by Kinitra Brooks, PhD

  “You think it’s a warrior?” Akasha asked, tearing her gaze away from his skin.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve dreamed of it in plenty of wars, but also other places.” He flipped to an earlier page of the notebook. Here the Mankana-kil stood tall amidst a crush of refugees, fleeing some terrible calamity. The fear and agony on the faces of the people was so clear, and the creature in their midst rose high, taller than in any of the other drawings.

  “Why is it so big here?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “That’s what I saw. It seems to change sizes. I don’t know why.”

  As Akasha studied the picture, she realized that she might have never had a conversation this long with anyone. Possibly ever. It was different than she’d imagined it.

  Norman Chang began to blush and fidget. She realized she’d been staring at him. Shifting back in her seat slightly, she looked at the drawing again.

  “Will you do it?” she whispered. “Do what?”

  “Become its apprentice.”

  He slid the notebook back towards him and closed it. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “But—” She struggled to find the words to capture the feeling she’d had when the creature made its offer. “It could change everything.”

  He paused in the middle of gathering his pens and looked her fully in the eye for the first time. “Yes, but change it to what?”

  The bell rang exactly as he zipped up his backpack, and Norman Chang slipped away through the bookshelves, leaving Akasha staring out the window, unable to see the ocean.

  #

  It was two weeks before the creature made another appearance in Akasha’s bedroom. She had gone to bed each night, some nights earlier than usual, ripping herself away from the pages of an adventure novel, so that she could fall asleep and not miss a reappearance. Having no idea what sort of schedule the Mankana- kil kept, she wasn’t sure if it would come to her just after her lids had closed, or while deep into her sleep cycle.

  When it finally returned, the night was moonless and the wind howled ominously, moaning as if over a lost lover.

  Akasha did not recall falling asleep, but when she awoke to the scritch, scritch, scritch, her eyes popped open and relief flooded through her to find the monster at the foot of her bed.

  “I thought you had forgotten me,” she said, breathless.

  Anticipation made her palms sweat. She had also taken to going to bed wearing sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt, so that she wouldn’t have to waste time dressing in order to be prepared for whatever the apprenticeship might bring.

  “We forget nothing,” the Mankana-kil said in its strange voice of metal and mist.

  “Do we start tonight?” She ripped off the covers and stuffed her feet into her sneakers.

  “As you wish.” Blackness spread from the creature’s indistinct form and doused all the light in the room. A chill crept through her, icy fingers spearing her skin, freezing her from the inside out. When her vision cleared, she found herself on a quiet street, manicured lawns and colonial houses lining each side. The streetlamps dumped pools of yellow-gold light onto the asphalt, but she stood deep in shadow.

  She could not see the Mankana-kil, but heard its buzzing movements around her. Then its voice came from behind, stroking her with a tendril of that frosty feeling from a moment ago.

  “The shadows must be captured and transformed,” it hissed. “Transformed into what?”

  “Illusions.” Its sibilant voice nipped at her spine. She crossed her arms to hold in some warmth, but was determined to see this through.

  “How do I capture the shadows? How can they be transformed?”

  The monster made a clicking sound that reminded her of laughter, but she doubted such creatures had senses of humor. Once the Mankana-kil demonstrated the process to her, she found it simple enough. Shadows were as easy to catch as tortoises.

  Lumbering and slow, they either hadn’t any sense of self- preservation or simply lacked the energy to flee when danger was nearby.

  Perhaps they didn’t sense threats the way a more evolved being might. One simply had to gain their attention and lure them forward to trap them.

  Akasha could not carry a flashlight with her as that would spook them and cause them to shuffle away. Within a few short days, she mastered shadow seizure and then was able to move on to illusion creation.

  The Mankana-kil had explained that it survived by consuming illusions, specifically ones that provoked a blood-curdling fright in others. On this night, it stood with Akasha inside a warm house at the foot of a bed staring down at a sleeping child. A nightlight in the corner projected the figure of a cartoon character on the wall. The colorful image punctured the darkness, but the shadows in the room had grown complacent over the course of the evening. They slept as soundly as the child, who snored softly with a bit of drool clinging to his lip.

  Akasha gathered the shadows to her, waking and collecting them with only a moderate level of effort, and then watched as the Mankana-kil spun them into a thready mass. It reminded her of black cotton candy, sticky and diaphanous. Out of the mush, a vision formed. A thick, porcine head with two enormous tusks jutting from its mouth took shape. Chain mail covered meaty arms and legs. A sword, bigger than she was, hung at the beast’s hip. The thing loosened its jaw, and let out a mighty roar, scaring the child awake.

  Akasha’s gaze flashed to the open bedroom door, certain such a racket had awoken the boy’s parents, but no footsteps clattered.

  No one stirred at all except for the boy. Shaking, he peered up at the warrior ogre before him. The smell of urine suffused the air. Tiny sobs escaped from his chest as the ogre drew closer and raised its mighty sword.

  The little boy hid his face and tensed for the blow. Then a sweeping darkness took the beast, erasing it from existence piece by piece. Akasha watched in wonder as the Mankana-kil consumed the illusion. She wasn’t certain where the monster’s mouth lay—if it even had a mouth—but the ogre soon deflated as if stuck with a pin until it was nothing but memory.

  The child fell back into a fitful sleep, moaning as he tossed and turned.

  Once again, an eerie darkness took over her vision as the creature transported her back to her bedroom. There were still several hours before sunrise, but she knew it would leave soon.

  “Why do the illusions have to be frightening?” she asked. “Won’t any illusion do?”

  The Mankana-kil faded into the shadows of her room, the very ones it used to survive. “This is as it must be. One nightmare for another.”

  With a final scritch, scritch, scritch, it disappeared, taking all the shadows in her room with it.

  #

  The Mankana-kil had an insatiable appetite. Several nights a week, it awakened Akasha to continue her apprenticeship and perfect the art of illusion making. Only after a dreamer woke screaming, or an unsuspecting late night walker was left hyperventilating on the cold ground was the monster satisfied.

  Akasha, however, was not.

  When her further questions on the nature of the specters she created went unanswered, she began experimenting in daylight.

  The Mankana-kil had only ever appeared to her at night, the day shadows held no interest for it, which is why she chose them.

  After school one day, she lingered at the edge of the building.

  The late afternoon sun cast a crew of shadows from the trees and bushes, all industriously busy and not paying any attention to

  Akasha at all. A twinge of regret prickled her skin, but did not stop her.

  She seized the oblivious shadows, with no true design planned, only that whatever she formed them into would not strike terror into the hearts of anyone. A nice, safe, benign illusion. It must be possible, she reasoned, her curiosity and determination overwhelming the creature’s counsel.

  Her mind wandered as she spun, taking no particular path, and when she was done, surprise, not apprehension, lit a flame within her. Standing beside her was a monster of an entirely diffe
rent kind.

  Caroline Murphy exited the main doors wearing her cheerleading uniform. “Bye, Akasha! See you tomorrow,” she said with a grin.

  Akasha did a double take. Caroline Murphy had never spoken to her directly and referenced her only as Mouse Girl since the first grade.

  The new illusion smiled prettily and waved, and Akasha faced her creation. Skin the same burnt umber as her own. Eyes and hair the same unremarkable shade of dirt brown. The smile was unfamiliar, only because Akasha had never seen herself smile, though she supposed that is what it would look like.

  The clothes were identical, the two girls indistinguishable. “Good afternoon, Akasha,” Mr. Hornsby said, juggling a travel mug, briefcase, and stack of folders. “Are you waiting for your ride home?”

  The math teacher had never called on her, had never acknowledged her in any way. Akasha’s tongue was dry and thick, but the illusion—the not-Akasha—shook her head and grinned, then shrugged her shoulders.

  “Well, have a good evening then. See you tomorrow.” The teacher walked away, taking with him her whole idea of how the world functioned.

  Not-Akasha cut her eyes at Akasha. Her toothy grin transformed into a leer. A cold wind pierced Akasha’s skin, and she backed away. The illusion followed, walking several steps behind her, down the sandy road leading home.

  Every few steps, Akasha would look over her shoulder to find the double glaring at her with menace. As they made the trek, no fewer than two drivers stopped to offer a ride. They were kind looking older people, neighbors perhaps, not serial murderers or pedophiles, at least as far as she could tell. The illusion smiled gratefully and declined the rides with a shake of her head while the real Akasha stood rooted to the earth, paralyzed by the interaction and unable to flee even if the neighbors had turned out to be serial murderers.

  Upon arriving home, her mother actually emerged from her craft room, scissors in hand, drapery samples dripping from her folded arms, and asked what she wanted for dinner.

  It was like Akasha had stepped into some alternate universe.

  Only her mother didn’t ask her what she wanted, she asked not-her.

  The illusion never spoke—did it not have a voice?—yet managed to communicate more effectively than the real Akasha ever had.

  Father came out of the room he had long ago commandeered as his study, a room she had never entered, and the three had dinner together like a real family. Akasha was still as invisible as ever, hovering on the edges, but her doppelgänger was fully integrated. Its smug grin in her direction proved that the illusion knew just how the change in events was affecting her.

  Silently, over the next weeks, Akasha observed the shifts in awe.

  This was what it felt like to be included in a group project, to sit with others at lunch, to go to the movies with a group after school.

  Not-Akasha was popular, well liked, and trusted. She joined the French club and got an A on her oral exam in Speech class, without uttering a word. She joined the track team and won third place in the all-county meet.

  Akasha experienced it all from the sidelines, basking vicariously in the glory of acceptance and friendship. Nothing had really changed for her, except that her identical mirage was having the best life ever. The life Akasha had never even known to wish for.

  The Mankana-kil had stopped coming at night. Perhaps his battle season was over. For a time, she didn’t care. She lived through her creation, pretending it wasn’t just someone with her face in the spotlight, that it was really her. And if not-Akasha looked upon her maker with undisguised disdain at best and hostility at worst, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t hurt her. It was just an illusion.

  Akasha sat in the front row of bleachers in the gymnasium during Phys Ed, watching not-Akasha dominate on the volleyball court, when Norman Chang stumbled in with a note for the teacher. He stood at his side for several minutes before Coach Prescott registered his presence and took the note. As he left the gym, Norman Chang locked eyes with her and gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement.

  Her mouth flew open, and the air rushed out of her lungs all at once. The gym doors had closed before she was able to control her legs and race out after him.

  “You can see me?” she asked Norman Chang’s retreating back.

  He stopped and turned around, then looked back at the empty hall as if unsure she was speaking to him.

  “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

  Akasha shook her head with impatience. “And did you see her?” “Who?”

  She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt by its button and dragged him back into the gymnasium. Not-Akasha spiked the ball, winning another point for her team. She accepted a round of high fives as her due.

  “Her.” Akasha pointed.

  Norman Chang looked from one Akasha to the other and shrugged. “I see her too, but she’s not real.”

  Akasha shook her head. “No. I’m the one who isn’t real.” She stood in the doorway after Norman Chang had left, staring at not- Akasha until the bell rang.

  #

  The fact that Norman Chang had seen through the camouflage of her own life stung. The joy of secondhand acceptance that she’d convinced herself insulated her from injury was unmasked, and Akasha was left burning in the light of the sun.

  When not-Akasha accepted a community service award, danced with the captain of the basketball team, had her first kiss, another tablespoon of salt was poured into the lacerations around the real Akasha’s heart. If it didn’t stop, it would dissolve her like a slug.

  Nothing in her apprenticeship had enlightened her on how to unmake an illusion. Unlike the Mankana-kil, she could not eat her double. Though once her desperation grew fevered enough, she actually tried.

  Her teeth had sunk into the illusion’s flesh and came away with nothing to show for it, just a slightly smoky taste coating her tongue and an urge to gag.

  At her wit’s end, Akasha stalked the streets, investigating the shadows for any sign of the Mankana-kil. She interviewed a patch of gloom behind the convenience store and learned of missing shadows a few streets to the west. That was where she found the creature, tailing an unsuspecting night jogger.

  “She won’t go away,” Akasha whined.

  The monster whirred and clicked, moving its many arms and legs in an agitated manner, or maybe that’s just how it always moved, she had never been sure.

  “How do you get rid of an illusion if you can’t eat it?” Her voice had risen at the end with desperation, but the creature was unmoved.

  “You do not.”

  She crossed her arms, holding back a barrage of angry words. “Will you eat it? I need it gone.”

  A flurry of movement followed as the Mankana-kil rotated in a slow circle around her. “It will not nourish us. You do not fear it.”

  “I hate it. Isn’t that enough?” Her whole body shook with suppressed emotion, enough to fill a lifetime.

  “It is not,” the monster said simply and then disappeared.

  #

  Days passed, and not-Akasha was being solicited to run for class president for next year. The real Akasha had taken to sitting on the floor in the back of the classrooms so her apparition could have her seat. She scratched at the scuff marks on the linoleum and monitored the fluorescent light bulb overhead as it flickered and died with a soft hum.

  There was really no reason to be there, school was just a habit she hadn’t broken yet. Not-Akasha completed all her homework perfectly and received smiley faces at the tops of her essays.

  Akasha walked out of the classroom and all the way home. She stood in the front hall listening to her mother flipping the pages

  of a magazine. Her father’s pipe smoke wafted out from under the door to his office. The floorboards underfoot creaked as she shifted her weight, but no one came out to greet her.

  She tromped out the side door to the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. Below, the white-capped waves frothed as they battered the rocks jutting from the w
ater. The sea sang a siren song, calling to her, offering a temptation more inviting than any she’d known before. Her limbs danced to its melody, jerking and twisting in time to the beat of the tide. She stood, her toes hanging off the edge, an inch closer to freedom than the rest of her.

  No one would miss her. It wasn’t like she was even really there anyway. The waters would wash her away and nobody would be the wiser.

  The wind whipped up around her, tangling her hair, and urging her forward. She stepped back. One step. Two.

  And then took a giant running leap into the abyss.

  #

  Akasha fell, cradled on a current of air that was violent in its determination not to release her. She expected to feel the slap of the ocean’s surface or the crack of her skull against a serrated peak. Instead, whispering fingers of grass tickled her and wrapped her in their itchy grip.

  Her eyes, squeezed shut during the fall, opened to meet a sky of impossible blue.

  A hand appeared above her, fingers smudged with ink. Her gaze traveled up the golden arm to the blinking face of Norman Chang. She placed her hand in his. He pulled her to standing. His palm against hers gave a considerable shock, like static electricity build up for years and years. She found herself in a field so green the tint made her eyes ache.

  “Where are we? What happened?”

  A silent breeze lifted her hair, blowing air as warm as her breath. The corners of Norman Chang’s mouth curved, and he motioned for her to look behind her.

  The verdant field ended abruptly, as if its maker changed her mind in the midst of its creation, and decided instead of green, blue was far more preferable. Brutal azure waves beat against the flowing grass. The water covered only a short distance—maybe the length of a football field—and ended at the base of a cliff, which pummeled a cropping of jagged rocks.

  At the top of the bluff, overlooking the miniature ocean,

  sat a two-story, clapboard Colonial. Akasha looked up at the place from which she had only ever looked down. She squinted at a figure standing next to the house. At this distance it was impossible to be sure, but a quaking in her belly told her it was not-Akasha standing there, looking down at her.