Slowly, bit by bit, I gather up what’s left of Tchook and put all that I can into the corner of the room. The blackness is clinging together, feathers and splinters of wood sticking out in odd places. Out of the corner, I think I see him moving more than once as I bring new pieces back to him, but when I look he’s completely still. Over the next couple of days, I leave food right next to him whilst I go into the room and keep training. Every time I come back, the food is gone and parts that were trapped in him have fallen away, but he still doesn’t move when I’m looking at him. I don’t change into the bear in the same room as Tchook, choosing to master myself away from him and giving him a chance to heal. Hopefully to forgive as well. It took some time and not paying attention, on his part, for him to finally come around to me. One afternoon, I broke my normal routine to come back to the room and I caught him collecting parts of himself from the floor and ceiling that I couldn’t remove. Silently I watched as he slowly flowed to each missing part of himself and swept over it, leaving no trace. He was graceful and methodical in his movements, collecting his physical and mental self from the farthest reaches of the room.
From the doorway, I broke the silence with, “I’m sorry.” Tchook froze, trying to pretend that he was invisible, oddly still compared to how he was just moving. I tossed a snack I’d taken into the beam room with me towards his base. Nothing. Mimicking his stillness, I just waited and waited. I couldn’t tell which of us was more patient, but I waited some more. Just before he snatched the food away I could see that he was shivering. More trembling in order to hold back from stealing the tasty morsel on the floor and let me see him move. Maybe he thought that seeing him move would mean he’d forgiven me, but I knew that wasn’t true. I heard the soft mulching of the food and a non-head turned towards me to give me a nod. I nodded back and went back to the room to keep practising. I wasn’t forgiven, and I wouldn’t press him. He would decide when we went back to our old ways. I smiled as I turned, then looked at the beams to wipe the smile away again. Tingling. Bliss. There. Whip. Sizzle. Burn. Heal. Repeat.
* * *
We were rounding on the month mark when I nearly lost it again. Dejected. Burned. In pain I returned to bed earlier than usual and stared at the ceiling. Tchook was nearly back to his old self but he still kept his distance. I looked at him as he purred and chewed on our evening meal. My eyes went soft, glazing over slightly as I watched him. The rhythmic movements, the constant vibrating noise and another bear. Wait. Another bear? Sitting up abruptly, I stared at Tchook, keeping my eyes and mind soft. He whirled into a loose spiral with a cross through the middle of it and then disappeared to show a bear with shimmering fur surrounded by enemies. Twisted, evil black things, borne of fear and dread were pressing in on it but it looked calm. It stood tall but held itself in a balanced stance, ready to strike. One of the twisted creatures shifted one of its feet, then in the blink of an eye they were all on the ground, broken and lifeless. I took my time processing what I saw, playing the scenes back in slow motion. Every part of the bear struck faster than light it seemed, a beautiful and flowing sequence of moves, a relentless flood of fur that took no prisoners. It was deliberate and strong. Purposeful and natural and I saw where I had been going wrong. Just repeating my non-bear moves as a bear wasn’t enough. I needed to blend all the parts of me into how I moved. Animal and non. Feral and controlled. The vision shrank away as I realised this, replaced by a non-head slightly cocked to the side.
“Want to get to the next room?” A nod, then black feet followed as I walked towards the beams. Tingling. Bliss. There. Whip. Flood. Catch. There. Whip. Flood. Catch. There. Whip. Flood. Catch. There. Whip. Flood. Catch. High-five. Both of us were surprised at the celebration, my eyebrows raised expectantly, his matte-black surface fizzing. My face settled. His surfaced calmed and a butler-rack head nodded approval at me. The two figures in the centre of Djoonga shone brightly and then all the light across his surface faded. Expecting something more dramatic, I see four large discs of light form in the middle of each wall, crackling and spitting hatred. I reach towards one of the discs, the back of my hand wearing a new diagonal line on it. The disc is the same colour as the first beams and causes the same pain. Frustrated at another hurdle I punch the disc, knowing the sound and feeling of burning flesh it would bring. It hurts more than in the previous room, but when I hit the disc I saw veins of light ripple through the wall.
“I have to break them.” I whisper to my melted hand. Knowing I’m nowhere strong enough, I look knowingly at Tchook. I’d need him more than I had in the last room. I’d need strength and stamina to persevere with this and training needed to start immediately. For weeks our routine is extremely physical. Alternating between body weight workouts and healing time I saw my physique change rapidly. Lean muscle tightened and bulked without losing my speed and when my own weight wasn’t enough, Tchook helped. As I was discovering new parts of myself, it appeared that he was too. We figured out by accident that he could change his density. He could also increase or decrease his weight and solidarity as well as morphing into any shape he imagined. It was an incredible gift and I had visions of us in a fight, moulding and working around each other with deadly force. Our own Dyad for the histories. So, when I wasn’t heavy enough to make our training meaningful, he could make himself heavy enough to push me that little bit further. He was even great when I needed to exercise my mind. With limited sounds, the visual aspects of his communication were incredible, and we developed an understanding that allowed us to communicate without words, like Eve and I used to be able to do. Sometimes I thought it was because he was partially made from me, or he had a psychic ability of some kind but if didn’t matter. He listened when I needed it, rippling with responses or uttering reassuring and comical noises at the right moments.
Weeks pass like this. I’m quick and now I’m getting stronger. My muscles scream at me often. My brain screams at me with boredom just as much. The clock is maddening and encouraging, always teaching me about patience, marching on with its tick tocks and mocking movements. It reminds me of that table, silently judging and pressing its superiority on me. Maybe I’m going mad with only a black blob and a clock for entertainment, but I’m learning a lot about myself. Parts of me were unlocking. Pushing through and persevering with the discs, showed me that moving forward was key to surviving. It was key to growing and being a better version of myself. I realise I need to do more with my mind too, so try to find quiet spaces in my mind to be at peace. Sometimes I find Tchook sat opposite me in the same cross-legged position, trying to find his own peace, gold shimmering to his surface from time to time. He’s gotten bigger since the last room, nearly half my size now and in more control of his form than before.
More week’s pass; waking, training, healing, meditating, training, healing, sleeping. Besides my body changing I notice that I’m a lot calmer than before. Less prone to flashes of annoyance and anger. I’m healing faster too, my father's bear skin working its magik quicker and quicker. I allow hope to bleed into my conscious and unconscious. New and old memories form and are being found. Long lost experiences come to me whenever I train. Martial training from before I lost Eve, wise words and mantras from more worldly people than I. When I’m in bear form I also notice that my fur is cleaner and a darker shade of black. I feel like I’ve been shedding terrible weights and damage from the past, to remake myself. To be better. It’s not enough. I know that I need harmony between body and mind and I’m definitely getting stronger, but there’s always something missing.
Walking back to my room, reflecting on the days training Tchook, wraps an amorphous arm around me. He knows I’m struggling. So far, I’d only managed to break three of the discs in the allotted time, but the fourth was proving very difficult. No matter what I tried or how I moved the fourth disc laughed at me derisively. If it could, I’m sure it would use its non-hands to gesture something rude at me. Thankfully, each time a disc broke there was no pain and I enjoyed the painless experience o
f shattering the light. Having suffered enough failed attempts, I came to realise that the right amount of force resulted in the disc breaking, veins of gold spreading out from it and tugging at the soil and bones. But then, every time I come to smash the fourth disc, it nearly cripples me. The butler-rack hugs me close as we walk. Familiar and honest. Letting myself feel the connection between us, a lightning strike of emotion strikes my mind. Doubling over on my knees and scrunching my eyes shut tightly, I try to block the feeling, agony rippling down from my brain and towards my heart.
When the pain is at its worst, I open my eyes to see anything other than blackness and light spots and when I do, the pain stops. I’m not faced with a bed or looking at the slow procession of ticking hands on a clock, or watching Tchook eating food on the table, or any other of the normal mundanity of my existence. What I do see, is blood. I see terror. I see death and looking at where my hands should be, I can see they’re resting on grass, sharply flitting from normal to bear form, the earth around my fingers and paws drenched in red, churning with me as I transform. Screams are coming from all around, mothers calling for their children, men calling for their mothers, small voices calling for help. The smell of fire, urine and fear swelled around me. Tents are burning. Calf skins are burning. Everything, is burning. I can see feathers slowly drifting to the ground, singed and glowing with sadness.
My vision flicks to show soldiers. Dressed like colonials, impossibly long guns are shouldered and firing at innocent people lined up in front of them. Dark hair and dark skin, their simple clothes are tattered and torn from the countless metal atrocities. Head dresses and beautiful colours rip from their heads. Strong, powerful men stripped naked, war paint smudged from a battle and facing their end with dignity. Seeing is not enough though. War cries echo around me as the fighting continues, but I can’t really hear anything. I feel sick at what’s happening. I’d helped do this. In my head I hear myself repeating, ‘you’re just following orders’. The only thing I can make out being said by one of the soldiers was, Grandmother Bear.
Those words hunt me down, just as we’re hunting this person down. The fervour with which we carry out our duties makes me want to die. They enjoy what they’re doing. The revel in stampeding across the country killing, raping and maiming as they go, using orders as an excuse. Peaceful, enlightened communities are being decimated and I’m a part of that destruction. My memories of those years have always been fuzzy, a self-defence mechanism I hide behind to protect my sensibilities and pretend I didn’t do those things. A way to hide myself from the truth. I’ve drifted through the years, fighting for causes not my own. Always the soldier. Always following orders. Always appalled at how they used me to get the advantage over an enemy. Accepting these actions as my own drags pieces of me kicking and screaming to the forefront. Holding up a mirror to what I’ve done breaks through the dams I’ve built to keep the floods of emotions the memories bore, at bay. As I let it all wash over me, unlocking myself bit by bit, the pain in the rest of my body goes and I witness an act of defiance.
Too long I’d stood by and watched this genocide occur. Too long I’d blindly followed orders. All that time spent hating myself and what we were doing led to what I hoped would be a final act of violence to stop the rest. I stood over our general, already battered and bruised from what I visited upon him. He was weeping for mercy and holding his arms in front of his face in an attempt to save himself. I spit on him. Then I felt tingling and bliss before two impossibly strong arms smash down and through the weak man's defences. Blood and fleshy remains dripped from glimmering black fur after the shattering, snapping, squelching noises of arms, neck and skull breaking from one devastating motion. Walking away from the half-crushed man I feel incredibly heavy but spurred on by having done the right thing at last.
When I wake from what I’d seen I’m staring at a ceiling having been put on the bed by a black creature half my size. I feel incredibly powerful in that moment, knowing the steel in my muscles and the strength of my will. I have purpose. I can beat the discs and get our freedom. I can find Eve. Buoyed by what I’d seen and the confidence reverberating through me I sit up and nod to Tchook. Three months was enough in this room.
“Next room?” A nod and black non-feet follow me to the discs. Punch. Shatter. Flow. Kick. Shatter. Flow. Double punch. Shatter. Flow. Drop kick. Shatter. Flow. Double forearm smash. Shatter. High-five. Moving between each disc I half roll, half somersault, half scurry with precision, speed and power, delivering a devastating and painless blow to each disc. When the surprise fifth disc appears in the centre of the floor it didn’t faze me. My focused vision and new-found control allowed me to easily deliver the final attack, imagining the lost general was my target. Golden cracks appear everywhere, soil, roots and bones falling with the breaking of discs. Djoonga half-glows and new, larger, fiercer discs appears. Tingling. Bliss. Punch. Shatter. Flow. Kick. Shatter. Flow. Double punch. Shatter. Flow. Drop kick. Shatter. Flow. Double forearm smash. Shatter. High-five. We laugh. Partly because we’ve already been here so long and partly because the second round in the room was so easy. More of the walls fall apart, the remains disappearing to nothingness. Whatever we face next I know I’d need to access more of me. I know that reliving some of my past brought new understanding and strength with it. I need to see the whole mosaic to become what I need to become. Eve deserves a complete me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - SOMETHING AND NOTHING
Gerard hadn’t expected any of that conversation. What Sylvane said. How he felt. What he thought about. What Sylvane had made him think about. At his centre, he knew a lot of what the royal werewolf was saying to be true. Both because of how he said them and what they conveyed. For too long, he’d seen the inconsistencies and not questioned. He’d happily wafted through the turmoil, not wanting to take notice or take action. The idleness had worked its way into his bones, some kind of fear holding him back under the impression of keeping him and his, safe. Enough he thought. He didn’t know which part of their discussion convinced him or focused his mind in a different way and it didn’t matter, all he knew was that he needed answers. Answers about the crime scene Enyo and Eris were investigating. Answers about Necromancy. Answers about Tor and Nahgwal’s.
Alika’s face appeared in his mind, morphing into Tor’s as he thought about what he was doing in the rooms. They were forcing him to ascend, like they’d done with so many others. Orion the Golden Eagle who could make himself as large as a small plane. Tre’alla, the lightning quick dolphin. Anthura, their very own spying insect. They’d all broken, turned into the sickest, evilest manifestations of their animal essence. They’d all killed, unprompted and unfettered to take life at will. Even Garth, the juggernaut of a warthog, cursed with looks like of animal he turned into, and blessed with a humour and spirit that could lighten the darkest hours, had done the same. Even he, had wandered from the path. Even he had spilled blood.
He felt a vibration in his chest then, glad of the distraction from his thoughts. A purpose to guide him forward, ever forward into darker the places. Looking down at his feet, his mind strolled off again, just like before he met Sylvane for the first time. Why was he unable to stay on task at the moment? Why was he straying? The vibration returned to his chest and he was glad of it. As it had earlier, it shifted his mind to a new task. Taking him away from my thoughts. Taking him forward. He pulled out the mobile from his pocket, marvelling at the simplicity of it. Magik could be seen and heard. Magik could be traced long after its casting. Magik could do more than just listen to conversations, so he liked using the Naïve technology instead, when he needed to talk confidentially. He and his Sløv could commune safely, with some deft modifications to the handsets from his Naïve informants. All these years of magik in the world and yet he still favoured the connectivity, safety and speed of his protected mobile phone. He felt a small change in him whilst he looked at the name flashing up on his handset. Something about the Naïve phone and the Lucids possession of magik wasn
’t right. Maybe the mixing of Lucid and Naïve worlds is the right thing to do he thought, catching himself before exploring the rabbit hole too much further. There’s too much work to be done.
“Report.” Only three people had his number and they were all carrying out the errands he assigned them, so it must be a sitrep of some kind.
“Hältia.” Enyo’s voice rang in his ear as clear as if she were next to him.
“Fortune said the scene had been cleansed.” Gerard cut in. “What have you found?” Directness in his tone.
“Something, and nothing.” A non-direct answer.
“Tell me more about nothing.” Gerard’s interest had been peaked.
“We’ve found nothing out of the ordinary. All paperwork is present and accounted for. Proper procedures have been followed in questioning witnesses, cleaning up the scene and filing the report.” Enyo paused, almost confused about having to relay her findings. “Everything is present and correct. Nothing here suggests foul play. Another Venatoré just happened to be close and just happened to handle everything with precision and detail.” The emphasis on those words told Gerard that she had come to some conclusions already.
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