When Darkness Begins

by Tina O’Hailey

Icaeph was unsurprised by the attack and ducked it effortlessly, as he usually did. Instead, he grabbed the dagger and plunged it into the neck of the Manipulator and pinned him to a tree.

  He grabbed the fawn before it could dart away and placed it at the feet of the writhing and kicking Manipulator. He hobbled it with a nearby vine.

  He watched the Manipulator writhe. The fawn now at his feet. Kick. Still. Kick. Kick. Still. For a moment nothing moved save the blood dripping from the gaping wound in the Manipulator’s neck. Suddenly, the fawn startled: eyes flew wide open, its breath came in huge gasps. Then it began to spasm and writhe on the ground, feet sporadically kicking and bucking. Dirt flew in chunks and landed on the dead host’s feet, which dangled inches off of the forest floor.

  Icaeph turned his back and slipped away through time. He had seen the possession process a thousand times before. In front of him was the original Icaeph, ghostly white and translucent, still confused and looking at the rain. Icaeph watched himself, turn and amble back towards the cave. The embarrassment he had searched for earlier hit him squarely in the chest as hard as a fist. He was becoming a doddering old fool, the shame of it. The ghostly version of himself disappeared as it had slipped into the frozen-time where there were no ghost versions of himself. Icaeph slumped. An old fool. What had Eterili said about the madness? Could he stave it off somehow?

  8 LAST ONE THERE

  “One. Two. Three,” he hid his eyes and counted. Around him he heard the others giggling and running. The air moved as they slid into time and hid from one another. He heard them disappear. The air closed into the space they had once occupied.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Aithagg was older, nearly twelve, and had become accustomed to seeing time unfold as ghosts without becoming overwhelmed. He kept his eyes hidden and continued to count, “Four. Five. Six. Seven.”

  “No peeking!” Catha squeaked from nearby before she slipped away through time and the air closed in with a pop.

  Aithagg continued to count, patiently, “Fourteen. Fifteen.” He turned and looked around the woods then called, “Beware!”

  At first he saw nothing, the ghost images did not readily appear unless he thought about them. He concentrated looking for Otski, Ygolz or Catha. Then he saw the ghost trails of where they had gone. Slowly, at first too transparent to differentiate from one another, they began to appear. Then he saw them. Otski had climbed up a tree and was hiding about a winter ago. The tree had lost its leaves. Ygolz had stood directly in the open, but cleverly was in the same spot he had occupied yesterday so his ghosts overlapped. Catha was nowhere or when to be seen.

  Aithagg slipped into the time where Ygolz stood and tagged him gently on the shoulder. “TAG!” he shouted.

  The two slipped back to home-time together, giggling.

  “I was in the same place. How did you see me?” Ygolz asked. He placed the palm of his hand at the base of his nose and pushed up while sniffling. A white crease sat just above the end of his nose from the repeated pushing at his nose.

  “Easy. It looked darker, the ghost images. Good try though!” Aithagg turned and looked towards Otski, whose ghost was visible a hundred winters ago. “Look at Otski.” He nudged Ygolz with an elbow. “He will get cold soon and come down. Should I just leave him there?”

  Ygolz squinted, held his hands up to cover his eyes as if they were in daylight and squinted more. “He’s too stubborn to come down. He’ll stay there thinking you can’t see back that far until he turns to ice.”

  Aithagg considered and then nodded. “You are right.” He disappeared.

  Ygolz tried to squint to see Aithagg as he tagged Otski back a hundred winters ago but already he was losing his focus on that time. He was unable see back that far.

  A gush of cold air pushed at him as both Aithagg and Otski appeared in front of him.

  Otski had his arms crossed and was objecting, “That is not fair. How can you see back that far?”

  Aithagg laughed. “If you can not see back that far, how could you go there? You might have collided with something!”

  Otski turned his back to Aithagg, his arms still crossed. “I can so.”

  Aithagg looked back towards the tree and the smiled. “Oh. I see. You took multiple steps. Went as far as you could see. Stopped. Then went as far as you could see back from there. I get it.” He turned towards Otski. “That is clever. Multiple steps.”

  Flattered, Otski uncrossed his arms and faced Aithagg and Ygolz. “That is a pretty good idea, right?” he beamed.

  The boys congratulated each other on their cleverness while Aithagg continued to look around for Catha.

  He turned and looked, searching as far back as his vision would allow. He looked back to before they had approached this area of the woods and picked a spot in time where no one had been. He slipped there. From this vantage point he saw forward in time to when the four had walked here from the circle and began to disappear one by one. He watched as he had gone to a nearby gnarled tree, covered his eyes and began counting. This was cheating, standing back in time and watching. The game was to flex and train their vision of time. Was this not flexing and training his vision of time?

  Catha had stood, would stand, near him as he hid his eyes and began counting. Aithagg watched the ghost images of the Catha. She stood there and watched Aithagg counting then turned and quietly walked away. She snuck away, her braided hair bouncing with each step. She had turned and said something then slipped out of time. However, she only slipped back in time by a small amount.

  He watched as Catha appeared back in time just about where he had been at “ten” in his counting. She walked calmly away and hid behind the same tree he was hiding his eyes on. Since she was in the time with Aithagg, he did not think to look at the same time he was occupying. He looked in the past, naturally, and missed her.

  “Very clever,” he whispered.

  He crept behind the tree and leaned against it, not looking to see where his other self was. He focused on the Catha and slid into time with her at just the moment his other self finished counting and exclaimed, “Beware!”

  Both Aithaggs had their hands on the tree in almost the same position.

  “Tag,” Aithagg whispered in her ear.

  Catha pointed at Aithagg’s hand and gasped, “You almost collided with yourself!” She turned to him in horror.

  He looked at his hand on the tree trunk then at where his other self’s hand had been. His other self had already turned and disappeared into time. Aithagg calmly and cavalierly shook off the near miss. “I saw it,” he lied.

  “Did not,” she countered.

  “I did. And you are very tricky.” Aithagg stood and tried not to look at where he had almost collided with himself. Had he slipped into time and occupied a space that was already occupied, whether it was himself or someone else—he would have obliterated what was there. The last one to appear occupies the space. He wondered, absently, if it would have hurt. Excruciatingly, he surmised.

  Both returned to where Otski and Ygolz stood.

  “Found her,” Aithagg called.

  Catha did not mention the error which might have cost him a finger. Aithagg looked at her appreciatively. She lowered her eyes and only smiled. Otski and Ygolz missed the exchange of looks.

  “I am hungry. Do you want to go see if there is any bread left?” Ygolz asked of Otski. He raised his arm and swiped at his nose. “Last one there!” He pushed at Ygolz and then ran off.

  Otski ran after him leaving Aithagg and Catha standing alone.

  “Thank you,” Aithagg stated simply, but with tenderness.

  “You do not make f
un of me for not seeing very far back in time. It is the least I could do. Thank you,” she said in return. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently then let go.

  Awkwardly, they turned together and headed back towards the circle. Aithagg hesitated then pushed at her shoulder and shouted, “Last one there!”

  He ran.

  She giggled and ran after him.

  ***

  The boys had already joined the others in the great room of the cave. Torches were lit; smoke staining the rock ceiling with its soot. The adults saw well enough in the darkness without the torches. The youths were still developing not only their sight for seeing through time but also for seeing in the dark. The flickering light cast lanky shadows along the walls and floors.

  Aithagg was the last to arrive. The group stood in clusters, murmuring to one another. He met his father’s searching eyes. They nodded to one another as Aithagg approached.

  “We should go soon and make sure you eat. You are growing and need to eat daily.” His father held up a hand when Aithagg started to protest. “Daily. Even if you do not feel like it. When you are grown you can go winters without eating. Not yet, though.”

  His mother approached. “Did you wash?” She checked his hands and looked him over from top to bottom. “They will smell you if you do not wash.”

  Aithagg held out his hands for inspection like a small child. “Mother,” he protested gently.

  She ignored the protests, looked, and proclaimed him clean, “Be careful.”

  Fathers and sons, daughters and mothers, paired off and left the cave.

  Once outside the pairs wandered in different directions, then disappeared as some slipped into main-time.

  Aithagg and his father walked down a small path to a stream. It babbled peacefully. Aithagg looked at the water wearingly.

  “Look to see where the water isn’t here or isn’t as deep. It makes it easier to cross.” Iskeho slipped into time where the stream had nearly dried from a drought. He crossed the streambed. Aithagg followed.

  Once done, they both slipped back to their normal home-time.

  “Why does it hurt so much to walk in water?” Aithagg asked.

  “I would guess it is because it separates us more from the earth where we gather strength,” Iskeho answered. “When Eterili called to us and we crossed the islands in boats—it was very painful. Unbearable to some. It was a long journey. We carried dirt from our homeland in the hulls of our boats. It helped but did not eliminate the discomfort.” He snorted. “I never want to be on the open water again.”

  “Why did she come here?” Aithagg stumbled over a rock, his adolescence ungainliness getting the best of him, and caught himself before falling.

  “She says the rocks called to her. She followed their call until she found this cave which is large enough to hold all of our people from all of time at once, if needed.” Iskeho reached out and steadied Aithagg with a hand.

  They walked for a while in silence, following the stream. Eventually they came upon a small camp. The people there had shored their boats and were asleep in various positions about the bank; some inside of tents made of rawhide; others under lean-tos made of branches.

  Iskeho held his hand out to silence the boy. “You have to feed while synced in main-time,” he said. “If you try to feed in a time that has gone by it can sustain you, but not for long. The blood of the Linear is what keeps them tied to time. You have to feed in the time of now not then.” Iskeho looked at him. “Does that make sense?”

  Aithagg shook his head.

  “See how this is now. There is no time after this, yet. This is main-time. The Linears live and move with this now-time.” Iskeho held his hand up. “Now look back and see the older moments, the ghost images you see. That is then. Or before, if you prefer. It is not the current main-time. If you slip into that passed time and try to feed, the blood will not keep you filled for very long. You have to feed on blood in the main-time.”

  Aithagg looked at him, slightly puzzled.

  Iskeho shrugged. “Somehow the blood is connected to time. It is how they sync. We do not sync, but need it to survive.” He smiled. “I know what works and what does not work, not necessarily why.”

  Aithagg frowned. “What if you go to a then-time and change something and the path of time goes a different way?”

  “The amount of time that has passed does not change.” Iskeho scanned the sleeping group to make sure none stirred. “Like the river that changes its course, the water is still the same amount—it has moved its direction. And no matter the other timelines generated we are moored to this one.”

  They crept closer and Iskeho indicated with a hand Aithagg should feed. Iskeho would supervise. He saw a ghostly white figure of a Linear in main-time.

  Aithagg stilled and concentrated while Iskeho watched. The young boy hesitated and looked at his father.

  “The now is not where our home-time is?” Aithagg queried.

  “The now is many winters ahead of where our home-time is,” his father answered.

  “Why?” The boy paused and tilted his head to the side.

  “Home-time is the time where we all sync to in unison when it is time to raise a family. When you go through the ritual, you will then sync to your own personal-time. A mere second of time. There is a time for each: our home, your home,” Iskeho patiently answered. “Home-time is where we can co-exist outside of time and from there exist in a Linear fashion. Your time will be a special moment outside of time as well just for you.”

  “Why?”

  “It is the way.”

  “Do we choose our time, the one after the ritual?”

  “It chooses us, I believe.”

  Aithagg tilted his head again and was about to continue his questioning.

  “You are stalling. Do not fool me. Time to show me you can feed.” Iskeho crossed his arms and looked at the boy sternly. “Take care to not wake them. Again.”

  The boy blushed slightly at the memory, then set his shoulders straight and looked again at the reclined figures. He tensed as he concentrated, then wavered slightly as he disappeared.

  Iskeho saw the ghost image of the boy as he entered main-time with the sleeping Linears. Iskeho watched from home-time and let the boy occupy the space alone.

  Aithagg looked back towards his father, who appeared as a ghost image in the past, yet stood only 3 feet from him. He smiled at the figure with its arms crossed, then turned to his task. Around him lay two snoring figures. He glanced around to make sure no one was awake or stirring. None were. He knelt to the closest sleeping figure. For the moment he became lost in the breathing of the Linear: rhythmic, deep. The barrel chest of the Linear expanded with the breath and then deflated. The snoring reached his ears, and he marveled at the baritone. Knowing his father might become impatient or concerned for discovery, Aithagg tore himself from the study of breathing.

  He, himself, did not breathe—nor did any of his kind. They had the capability but not the need. Breath was only drawn to speak with. When he was younger, he and his friends would pretend to breathe as they played at being Linears and made games of pretending to feed upon one another.

  Aithagg leaned towards the sleeping figure and laid his fangs to the large neck. He took care to apply only so much pressure and not too much. It would do no good to leave blood trails and cause alarm when the Linear awoke in the morning. He had practiced many times to keep control. Aithagg allowed himself a breath in order to smell the warm, metallic blood. It electrified him at once and he became engrossed all the more in the volume of blood as it spray into his mouth and course through his being. He drank deeply. Memories from the Linear filled his brain and ti
ngled his nerves. Things he had no knowledge of became his own experiences, then faded like a dream.

  Aware of his father’s watching eyes, Aithagg carefully touched his tongue to the Linear’s wounds. They healed nearly instantly. He sat back on his heels and looked at the Linear, surveying the results of his feed. The wounds on the neck had become reduced to small pink spots. The spots would disappear by morning. The Linear snored on as if nothing had occurred. Not a drop had spilled.

  Pleased with himself Aithagg stood and looked back through time to find his father. He then slid into that time returning somewhere close to when he had left.

  To his father, Aithagg had disappeared for only a minute before he returned. Both watched into the future where Aithagg would feed.

  After a moment of silence, Iskeho turned and said, “Well done.”

  They spoke not another word as they walked back towards the cave where the others would be waiting. Aithagg glowed with the vigor of a Vechey newly fed. Though the adults survived 40 winters on one solid feeding, the youth needed to feed weekly at a minimum while they grew to maintain their health. Wisps of memories from the Linear swirled in Aithagg’s mind as he walked, starry-eyed, by his father’s side. Many memories were not age-appropriate, no matter the species. He glanced at his father, guiltily, knowing his father had no way of knowing the memories flooding his senses. The warm guilt of them flushed his cheeks.

  The moon lay on the horizon; a bloated, glowing toad. Around the youngsters the night animals creaked, croaked, and otherwise made a racket. In the distance, a large animal sounded its trumpeting call. Otski tried to answer.

  “That’s not how it sounds,” Ygolz critiqued, then tried to do his own imitation of the big-toothed creature grunting loudly trying to attract mates.

  Aithagg and Catha consorted in murmurs then announced in unison, “Ygolz is the winner.”

  Ethasa, who had stood at the fire pit among the other teens preparing for their ritual, sat apart from the others. Unusually quiet, he looked across the moonlit valley silently.