Mourning Ember

by Odin Oxthorn

  He holstered a sigh and went back to his counting, refocusing on the rhythmic pattern—look with one eye, write with one hand, pause to refocus. He could sense Fariem nearby, chanting calculations under their breath as they went over inventories. Confident with his sense of workflow, he decided to attempt conversation and perhaps get to know their enigmatic personality.

  “So… do you know how Nara and I met?” he began.

  “Garrett is a master of multitasking, it seems.” Fariem bit their lip and a twinge of regret wrinkled their features when they saw the human’s look of dejection. “To answer your question, no.”

  “Are you curious?”

  “Curiosity is not entitlement, Garrett.” They rubbed their jaw pensively and poked at their computer. “If I wanted to know, I would not invade someone’s privacy for nothing more than idle answers.”

  So that’s where she got it from, Garrett mused. “I will keep that in mind.”

  Fariem uttered a noncommittal noise, disengaging from discussion.

  Garrett was about to try again when a glint of silver caught his eye inside the sea of creatures. One tiny little rebel stood out from the crowd, its violet round body gently waving silver-capped flagella.

  “Fariem.” He paused, double-checking his observation. “Where do I put the purple ones?”

  “The what?” Their head snapped to him. “Let me see that.”

  Garrett made way for them to sit. “There, in quadrant 12-5.”

  Fariem scrolled through the zoom function, taking stills of the organism and blowing them up on a projection next to the instrument. They scrutinized the image, tapping their jaw irritably. “Well if that isn’t a dagger in the eye.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Garrett sank in his seat.

  “We’ve been searching for that for years, and here you come along to find it on the first try.” Fariem scowled. “No wonder Elam keeps you around, Ahm’Xant.”

  A gay aura suddenly brightened the room as Prism entered the compound, waving merrily at the scientists. “Good evening!”

  “Oh, uh, Hello, Prism,” Garrett managed.

  “I was wondering if you would like a night lesson?” Their smiling presence tore through his concentration. “It’s nice and clear, good for productivity.

  “I... uh, well—”

  “He’s working on something pressing for me right now,” Fariem cut in, sensing his discomfort.

  Garrett looked back at their firm glare of disapproval aimed at the scribe. While he was appreciative of their gesture, he still felt like he was standing between an encroaching fire and a steep ravine.

  “It’s okay, Serr’Maht.” He nodded, feeling the need to excuse himself. “My eyes are starting to cross, and I don’t want to miscount.”

  Fariem raised an eye at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He bowed. However, it was nice to know he had someone batting for him. “I do appreciate it.”

  “As you wish.” They left and resumed their work, muttering indignantly about the new discovery.

  “This way, Ambassador!” Prism beamed and swooped an arm out in an inviting gesture.

  “Oh, Garrett!” Syf called, gliding toward them. With a sly wink, they pressed his NetComm into his hands. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “Sure…” he cautiously slipped the device back on his wrist.

  Garrett followed the scribe to their vehicle, scrubbing through every application and menu of his device, finding no obvious trace of entry. The interaction sent uneasiness coursing through his nerves, and he was unable to discern their true intention.

  Syf might have been an outlier, as his most successful interactions with people were whenever he was direct, not running around flashing subtlety. Despite this, it was a challenge for him to re-train in his speech to assimilate. Human vocabulary was laced with masked intent.

  The behavior wasn’t logical. Relationships were founded easier speaking with sincerity. So why was it so difficult for him? Arcadia was built on a lie. A beautiful neon traced lie that maintained an artificial caste system enforced by monetary stature. It stepped on the necks of others in order to radiate in the stars. It was an expression that he always despised while living there, and he was ashamed to admit that it was suddenly comforting to him.

  “And that’s just about it. What do you think?” Prism looked at him, bursting the bubble of his daydream.

  “Huh, what? I… oh.” He blushed. They were speaking to him this entire trip. “Sorry, I seem to be elsewhere.”

  They emitted a soft giggle and pressed a collection of buttons on the car panel, shifting the direction of the navigation system. “Let’s do something different tonight and have a field trip.”

  The craft murmured under the brush, shifting happily through tall grasses until it emerged at the edge of a crystal-clear lake. The surface was as if made of glass, revealing the brilliant tangles of the aquatic ecosphere. Deep vermillion mingled with strands of sunshine yellow, twirling into a flaming dance of life. Dots of opalescent creatures darted between the threads, the moonlight accenting their scintillating forms. The ecosystem glowed with verdant life, the serenity dazzling with patterns of concentric circles as creatures dipped above the surface to collect nutrients.

  “I think this is an appropriate stop,” Prism announced as they stepped off the vehicle, waving at Garrett to follow. They made their way to the bank, dotted with lime green fungal life that illuminated the waters.

  “It is nice,” he had to admit. He concentrated on a silvery serpent gliding over the shallows. It traced circles around its territory, daring to lash out at anything that would cross its path. He blinked, and the creature lunged, gnashing through the tail of a hapless amphibian passing by.

  Nature is almost as brutal as humanity. He found the thought disquieting. And Nara was a survivor, for lack of a better term, more knowledgeable of nature’s machinations and experienced in at least two different cultures. Though it had outward differences, was everyone’s intent still the same? Survival?

  “Is there something I can help you with, Ambassador?” Prism’s inquiry was blended with concern, their usual glimmering smile slightly bowed.

  “Tell me about Nara’s scar.” The words manifested without his consent.

  “I… well… Oh, dear,” Prism stammered, their fingers fidgeting. “Wouldn’t you prefer to—”

  Garett looked at her coldly. “No.”

  “I see.” Prism settled down in the grass, their thoughts flickering as they formulated a response. “The… practice was used to mark the Fevered, those afflicted with a degenerative illness that causes the elderly to lose all cognitive function and become violent as a result. Back when we were hunters and gatherers, up through the times of early settlements, to assist in mortality.”

  “You mean Euthanasia.”

  “That is a simplified synonym, yes.” Prism shifted their glance. “Due to our physical capabilities, the disease was immeasurably destructive to healthy individuals, causing many casualties while attempting to rehabilitate the afflicted. Drastic measures needed to be taken.”

  Garrett sat on a rock, arms folded firmly. “And this happens against their will?”

  “Oh, absolutely not!” Prism’s aghast voice elevated. “Death is a very open subject here, and people often discuss their wishes for when their time comes. Many elect either to die fighting with nature or to have a loved one assist by combat, which eventually led to the construction of holding compounds.”

  “Prisons?”

  Prism let their disdain for the description mar their face. “Wrong. They are living quarters.”

  “Doesn’t sound pleasant.”

  Prism slid their knees to their chest, staring at the ground resentfully. “Until you have witnessed the destruction one singular person could wreak without regard for their surroundings, you will understand the amount of resources needed to keep such a force in check.”

  That must have hit a nerve, Garrett
thought remorsefully. He let his shoulders slump, softening his posture as he continued. “That doesn’t explain Nara. According to your explanation, she’s not nearly old enough to be Fevered.”

  “When civilization was developing, the practice expanded to those who inflicted grievous acts against the populace.” Prism nervously traced a finger over their palm. “Treason, inflicting unnecessary deaths, et cetera. It phased out as we grew and hasn’t been used as a punishment in centuries.”

  “Until now,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Savant is a special case.” They looked down at their knee, flicking off a dried leaf. “And I do not have permission to disclose further. I am sorry.”

  “I see.” He still had questions, but he was overstepping boundaries. It was unwise to come to rash judgments without knowing the context of everyone involved, but hearing Nara’s tearful, fragmented account of what happened to her sent flares of anger through his skin.

  Prism swiftly rose and approached him. “I hope you don’t think less of—”

  “Were you the one who tore her plate off?” His gaze never left the water.

  “No, of course not!”

  “Then I have nothing more to discuss.” It was all too much, too different. He tried to search for parallels and similarities, but he could only find connections to the very worst of society. The practice itself was not bothersome, all things considered. It was a somewhat sympathetic approach to mortality. To give a choice for how people want to leave the world.

  But what troubled him the most is that someone could slip through the cracks of normalcy and suffer the consequences of condemnation. Something did not add up.

  The thought piled on to his expanding mountain of angst. The loss of a home, the disorientation from forging a new way of life. The loss of familiarity. Despite having a limited connection of friendly faces back on Arcadia, he’d never felt alone. Here, there was no one.

  Frustration manifested in his eyes, and a single tear plummeted into the lake, disrupting the flight of the fish below.

  “Ambassador?” Prism’s hushed voice barely registered in his ears.

  “I’m sorry, Prism. I can’t do this right now.” He turned to walk toward the trees.

  “Where are you going? It is not safe—” Prism grabbed for his wrist, their warning cut off by the slippery movements of his arm. A graceful whirl of steps, and he was behind them, palm raised up in defense.

  “I can find my way back.” He rejected, lowering his hand as he moved to the trees. “I need air.”

  Prism was stupefied by the human’s speed, finding the atmosphere within an acceptable concentration of oxygen and nitrogen. “I don’t quite underst—”

  But the human had already slipped into the foliage.

  “Oh, pain.” They ran for the forest, trying to collect the human’s trail. They followed the sounds of softened steps pattering over the brittle earth. Prism hastened to catch up, beating back leaves and branches in the overgrowth. While they knew the territory well, the human was of considerably smaller stature and had an easier time weaving through the gaps in foliage.

  “Ambassador!” Prism called out, the echoes of their voice bouncing off the vegetation. Garrett could not have gone far. Loremaster will not be pleased if they lose him. “This is most inappropriate! Please come out at once!”

  They continued their search with vigilance, ears perked to every sound around them.

  Garrett ignored their plea, plotting his stride to match with his hunter. As they took a step, so did he, masking his sounds with Prism’s frantic gait and the noise of the life surrounding them. When he heard them hesitate, he dared a glance behind. Prism was out of line of sight, hidden by the thick brush. Suppressing a smirk, he took another step forward when—

  “fff-UCK!”

  The ground crumbled beneath his heel and a sharp stab flared over his legs as his body braced to catch himself, landing on his tailbone. The slick, loose earth sent him careening down a sharp incline. Zipping noises screeched across his clothing as he skimmed over every rock, bramble, and thorn. He pawed frantically at the ground, his hands sliced up by the pointed foliage blanketing the treacherous slide. His eyes snapped forward to watch his trajectory, spying a large jagged rock speeding closer, ready to receive him with its toothy embrace.

  “Oh, SHIT!” He flipped his back around, slowing his acceleration with the change of direction. A disconcerting screech invaded his ears as the rock brushed against his shoulders. With an inelegant spin of his hindquarters, he halted his descent, landing with a full-body twirl on the softened earth. His heart barreled inside his chest as he lay wide-eyed with fingers buried into soil, ordering his lungs to force open wider than his ribs would allow. He released his shaky hand from the dirt, looking up to trace his journey down the gully.

  Tree canopies obstructed the lip of the ravine, concealing him from his pursuer. A soft chortle left his throat, elevating into a devious cackle. He slowed his breathing to controlled long gasps and stood up, brushing the dirt and blood from his hands. He passed his fingers over his back, finding no trace of a scrape or cut on the formidable fabric of his clothing. Interesting.

  But his celebration was cut short as the ground beneath him slithered. He jerked back, slapping his hands over his face to suppress a screech. A glistening flash bolted over his boot, and he caught a glimpse of a segmented serpentine shadow before it burrowed into the dirt. A second longer, and it was gone.

  Well, I got what I wanted. He emitted a bedraggled chortle, despite the protests of his thundering heart. What now?

  Hearing no trace of Prism around, he wandered deeper into the forest. He placed a hand against a massive trunk, examining the texture of the bark with a hesitant touch. It was a strange contrast to the crumbling wooden slats of the arboretum trees he was used to. The carapace more closely resembled composite rock, though it still yielded to the scrape of his fingernails.

  He pushed weight onto the lowest branch, testing its durability. After finding a solid response, he raised himself up, cringing slightly as the bruises began to manifest on his legs. The specimen was practically born to be ascended, its plentiful boughs sturdy enough to support the force of his climb.

  Easier than an Undercity high-rise. He smiled as he settled near the crown of the tree, scanning the horizon for a sense of bearings. The colony of surrounding trees glittered in the night, a soft breeze gently shifting the translucent foliage into a dance of light. Above, he could see a bubble of pink energy enveloping the sky, blockading the air from the stars as far as he could see.

  The beautiful tower of the Capital Archives stretched above the trees out in the distance, strands of electricity emanating from its spire. It was a serene view. One could hardly believe that there was civilization beneath the magnificence of nature. The tension began to uncoil from his muscles and his jaw unclenched. A once in a lifetime experience, at least for a human like him.

  It’s all right. I’m here. I may as well enjoy it.

  Hums began to creep into his spirits, and he focused on being present, observing the behavior of the flittering leaves, the chirps and squeaks of the life surrounding him, instead of letting the unfamiliarity fill him with unfathomable dread. He expanded his lungs with slow, steady breaths, the moist soil and soft, sweet flora filling a need he didn’t know he had.

  A sound discordant from the vivacious nature interrupted his trance. Shouting? No, laughter. Something he never thought he would encounter on this planet. Curiosity teased his senses, and he descended from his perch to investigate.

  He moved toward the source, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings. Peering out into a clearing, he spotted a gathering of people lounging around a campfire. Across the blaze, four soldiers were sparring, knocking each other senseless in a malicious dance of fisticuffs.

  Even in relaxation, they fight. They train. Garett found himself creeping nearer, leaving the shelter of trees to watch the spectacle.

  When a contender was
pinned to a tree, the observers cheered. Before long, wooden staffs were tossed into the arena. The cracks and thwacks of wood striking wood echoed across his nerves as the playful bout continued.

  “Hey!” A bark at his side sent him reeling back, and he found himself face to face with a stern Ara’yulthr soldier patrolling the campsite. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Garett blinked, frozen in his steps. “I—” Words would not leave his lips.

  The soldier eyed him up and down, lowering a hand to their belt. “Warlord!”

  The revelry ceased. The arena drowned with silence as everyone’s eyes brushed over the peculiar human visitor. Glances were exchanged and inquisitive whispers rasped as the fire crackled.

  Oh. Shit.

  A formidable officer stood from their place at the fire, gliding over to Garrett with heavy suspicion. They were much broader than the other units, their frame casting a shadow over him, glaring down with an icy stare.

  “Hakin, Beya. Drive us to headquarters. The Council needs to hear of this.” The warlord raised a hand and beckoned to Garrett. “You are coming with me.”

  The deep notes of effortless Galactic Trade caught Garrett by surprise, burying him deeper in his stance. He tried to raise a shaky leg, only to frantically stamp it down to maintain balance.

  The warlord nodded to their subordinates, who took Garrett by the arms and ushered him forward. He complied with their restraint, thoughts of his fate whirling around his brain. He was escorted to another ground vehicle and gently placed into a seat. The warlord stood in front of him, watching his every move while the soldiers drove off into the wilderness.

  The ride was unnerving, the warlord’s glare unwavering. His breath heaved in short, ragged rasps, sweat beading down his face, only to evaporate as the liquid reached the fibers of his clothing.

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, SHIT.

  “Beya, tend to their injuries,” the warlord ordered.

  With a bow, the soldier approached, kneeling before Garrett and offering a palm with a gesture. “May I touch your hands?”