#theme: instruct

[novelmonger]

First Contact

Written for @inklings-challenge 2024. It feels very first draft-y to me, and didn't quite end up how I initially envisioned it, but here it is.

When the first lights were seen in the sky, some said it was the end of the world. Passages from Revelation and other religious texts were thrown around, talking of stars falling from the sky or the Four Horsemen coming to bring judgment.

Others said, with slightly less drama, that it must be some sort of cosmological phenomenon—perhaps dozens of meteors falling to Earth to usher in the next Ice Age.

Still others, with an air of smugness, said these lights proved they'd been right all along. The extraterrestrials were real after all, and now they'd come in their UFOs to subjugate all of Earth at last. They'd been called crazy when they talked of inexplicable lights and experiences of being beamed into flying saucers and probed, but now the little green men were back, and everyone who'd called them liars would see the truth. Oh yes, they would see.

And then of course there were those who pointed fingers at one country after another, blaming them for sending missiles and unauthorized aircraft across the borders of peaceful nations. Some ran for their bunkers, but those who continued to pay attention to the news quickly learned that the same thing was happening all around the world. None of the world's superpowers were capable of such a feat.

Dr. Shannon Campbell wasn't sure what to think. Ever since reading War of the Worlds in high school, the thought of first contact had fascinated her. If aliens really were out there, what would they be like? Would they be hostile like so many books and movies claimed? Or might there be a way to communicate with them?

And suddenly, it wasn't just an idle imagining or the raving of lunatics. The possibility that they were not alone in the universe started to look more and more likely. And then she got a call, and then a visit from some bigwig at NASA and a General Somebody-or-Other decked out in camouflage, and the next thing she knew, she'd packed a bag and was heading to an undisclosed location in the Midwest.

It turned out everyone was a little bit wrong, and a little bit right at the same time. In the middle of a cornfield, an extraterrestrial spaceship had landed. But it was more of a shiny silver sphere than a flying saucer, and it didn't quite seem to be the end of the world just yet. Not to mention that the beings that emerged were neither little green men, nor were they Tripods or bug people or anything else Dr. Campbell had ever imagined aliens to look like.

The aliens...stepped? Floated? Well, they emerged somehow from the side of their spaceship, which shimmered to let them through but immediately looked the same as it had before. Not like a door or a hatch opening. And the aliens themselves were pale creatures that somewhat resembled octopi, or maybe jellyfish. Their bodies hovered in the air, with long, thin tentacles dangling down to the earth.

But even as the NASA scientists and soldiers surrounding the spaceship looked on, the aliens' forms began to shift. They hunkered down closer to the ground, their many tentacles sticking together and morphing into thicker, smaller limbs. Soon, instead of dozens of tentacles, they only had four, and their bodies compressed into something more like a torso and a head.

They were mimicking the humans, Dr. Campbell suddenly realized. In mere minutes, they had assumed roughly humanoid shapes, with arms and legs and...well, it looked more like two clusters of tiny eyestalks rather than eyes, but they were basically in the right place on their faces. They had no ears or noses that she could see, and their hands looked like they were wearing mittens rather than being divided into ten fingers. And where their mouths should have been was a thin membrane that glowed slightly as it vibrated with the low humming sounds the aliens had been emitting the entire time.

One of the aliens began to glide forward, holding its too-long arms out to the sides. The humming intensified, all of the aliens joining in at different pitches and frequencies, like some kind of interstellar choir. Several soldiers raised their weapons, but Dr. Campbell hastily said, “Please, don't shoot! We should at least try to communicate with them first!”

The general glanced nervously between the slowly advancing alien and Dr. Campbell, then gave her a sort of shrug as if to say, “Suit yourself.” He motioned for his soldiers to lower their weapons, and everyone took a step back.

Dr. Campbell swallowed. Now that she stood facing the alien leader, presumably, she felt like she had during her first undergrad presentation: two inches tall, and faintly sick.

But then...was that just her imagination, or were those words, garbled in mouths without tongues? Words in English?

“Gogojohnnygo. Heusedtocarryhis. Guitarinagunnysack?”

“Wait...is that...'Johnny B. Goode'?”

High-pitched trills exploded from every alien, their mouth-membranes vibrating loudly as their long tentacle arms waved excitedly in the air. At least...she thought it was excitement. For all she knew, maybe they were about to attack.

Some of the surrounding soldiers seemed to think this, as they tensed and looked ready either to bolt or to start firing.

Maybe the alien leader realized this, because his trills descended sharply in pitch and volume, like he was shushing them. The others quieted down as well, until the humming started up again. This time it was a complicated rhythm, interweaving several melodies at once, with an interesting breathy quality to their voices that almost made them sound like musical instruments on an ancient phonograph.

And yet...the longer she listened to them, the more she realized it sounded familiar too. “That's, like...Bach or something, isn't it? They're humming Bach.”

But how on earth would they know Bach? Or 'Johnny B. Goode,' for that matter. The only reason Dr. Campbell knew it was because of Back to the Future. She pressed a couple fingers against her aching temples. Multiple PhDs in linguistics and anthropology hadn't prepared her for this.

While she was pondering, the aliens moved on from their Bach concerto and suddenly started barking like a dog. Then made the clop-clop-clopping sounds of a horse trotting along. Then something that almost sounded like the pattering of rain on a roof. Then, as one, they all emitted the exact same laugh.

A sudden suspicion. Dr. Campbell whipped out her phone and frantically looked something up on Wikipedia. Sure enough, it all clicked into place. With a gasp, Dr. Campbell straightened up and looked at the aliens looming over them. “It's Voyager! They're mimicking the recordings sent with Voyager!”

“What does that mean?” the general snapped, irritation masking his nervousness at not having a handle on what was going on.

Slowly, a smile spread across Dr. Campbell's face. “It means we have a basis for communication.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the end of six months, Dr. Campbell had managed it at last. She'd managed to hold an entire conversation with the aliens, and was reasonably certain both sides understood what was being said. It was the greatest achievement of her life...and she was just getting started.

Once it became clear that the aliens weren't going to immediately start shooting laser guns or levitating people into their spaceship and start probing them, the army seemed to relax a little. A temporary camp of trailers and tents had been set up in the cornfield with all the equipment Dr. Campbell needed to do her work, as well as a base of operations for the soldiers who created a perimeter around the cornfield to keep curious civilians from wandering through before they could fully ascertain the aliens' intentions.

It seemed the aliens were also in favor of caution. After that first day, when Dr. Campbell had pulled up a recording of the record that had been placed in Voyager and played it for the aliens, attempting to convey that they were trying to communicate, all the other spaceships that hovered in the air around the world had returned to orbit around Earth. They linked together in a chain, like Earth were wearing a pearl necklace, and just stayed there.

Presumably, communications were carried out between those ships and the one in the cornfield, that attempts were being made to speak with the humans. Maybe now that they were finally able to speak to each other and they could ascertain their intentions, the other ships would land again.

So far, they hadn't discussed anything of particular importance. Just things like names (the leader that Dr. Campbell talked to most often was called something like Brrringgnggniiiiib, but she called him Johnny), whether the aliens could breathe the air (it seemed they could, though they preferred the pressurized atmosphere of their spaceship), and what various objects in view were called. Both parties were curious about the other, but cautious of giving too much away. Just in case.

The aliens' language was highly tonal, like Mandarin but with a whole symphony of timbres and tones, some of which were far too high or low for human vocal cords. The real breakthrough had been when the team of technicians from around the world had cobbled together a soundboard with programmable pitches. Over the months, by working with the world's most skilled computer engineers, they'd been able to create an alien translator, where a human could type in what they wanted to say on a standard computer keyboard, and it would translate to a series of music-like tones that would play on a speaker for the alien. Then when the alien spoke in its language into a microphone, the machine would translate it into English on a little screen.

It was a slow, arduous process, but it worked. It only translated to English for now, but it would be a simple matter to add more human languages to the database, a project the technicians were already hard at work to complete. And though the translator was currently the size of a pipe organ and required a mass of extension cords and portable generators and solar panels just to run for a few minutes a day, Dr. Campbell had no doubt that eventually this machine would be reduced to a pocket-sized translator everyone carried with them. That is, if the aliens were going to stay.

And that was what today was all about.

Dr. Campbell stepped out of her trailer, breathing in the crisp air of the October morning and wrapping cold fingers around her mug of coffee. As always, the shiny dome of the alien ship rose against the sky, the constant backdrop of what her life had become. It looked somewhat foggy towards the bottom—frost, perhaps?

She took another sip of coffee, swirling the bitter liquid around her mouth as she wondered what Johnny would think of the taste. They hadn't yet discussed what the aliens ate—if they ate. They didn't exactly have mouths, after all. Though Birdcall, what she called the shortest of the alien crew, had once picked up a blade of grass and seemed to absorb it through the palm of the hand, before Hellohello had whistled shrilly, apparently admonishing Birdcall, who had immediately 'spit out' the grass, leaving it a little crumpled in the dirt. Like a mother scolding her child for putting something into her mouth that she'd picked up off the ground.

Draining the last of her coffee, Dr. Campbell stretched and set off across the cornfield to the tent where the translator resided. “Time to make history, I guess.”

Just like every day, Dr. Campbell met Johnny in the middle of the cornfield with a trill she personally thought sounded like a ringing telephone. It was a greeting, one of the alien words she was actually able to say herself. She held her arms out to the sides and wiggled them a little—it was like a hand wave. She'd finally stopped feeling stupid when she did it.

Johnny also held out his arms and wiggled them, though his looked much better because his 'arms' were really just tentacles stuck together in an approximation of human arms. “HeeLLLlllooooOOOoo, DoooktoooooRRRR,” he said in his sing-song voice. Johnny was much better at speaking English than she was at speaking his language.

Dr. Campbell thought of Johnny as 'he,' mostly because she'd started calling him Johnny, but she still wasn't sure if the aliens even had genders. The conversation they'd tried to have about that had left everyone more confused than when they'd started.

“Shall we begin?” she asked, gesturing towards the tent with the translator.

Johnny 'nodded,' which for him meant bobbing in a sort of full-body bow that made him look like one of those floppy dancing inflatable things outside of a car dealership. The aliens didn't nod as a way of indicating assent, but Johnny was always trying to mimic Dr. Campbell's mannerisms. It was kind of cute, in a way. If a tall, spindly alien with eyestalks and no mouth could be called cute.

Once she'd situated herself at the console of the translator, Dr. Campbell looked across at Johnny. He knelt or sat (it was hard to tell which when the limbs he folded beneath him had no joints and just sort of glommed into a squishy mass supporting his torso) on the ground a comfortable distance away. She'd offered him a chair several times before, but even once he finally understood what to do with it, he'd assured her that he was just as comfortable without one.

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Campbell put her fingers on the keyboard and looked across at Johnny, meeting his eyes—well, at least a few of his eyestalks, anyway. He liked to keep a 360-degree visual range at all times. Then she typed in the first, and perhaps most important, question:

Why did you come to Earth?

The almost musical sound of computerized tones echoed through the still morning air. Dr. Campbell was suddenly aware of many eyes on the two of them—the general, the two guards who were always stationed at this tent to keep anyone from tampering with the translator, the technicians and scientists standing by. They couldn't understand the aliens' language just from listening to it, but everyone knew this was an important day in history. The day they would finally get some answers.

Johnny's trills and chirps were very familiar to Dr. Campbell by now, and she could almost catch a few words here and there, but he spoke much too fast when they were at the translator. She had to wait for the words to trail across the screen.

“We hear voicings we know people being in the darkness. We must bring light.”

Light? Do you mean knowledge? Dr. Campbell's heart leapt. Maybe they would share the secret to faster-than-light travel.

Johnny bobbed in a half-bow. “Knowings. We asking you a questioning now Doctor.”

Dr. Campbell looked up at Johnny and nodded. A question for a question. Only fair.

Johnny leaned forward a little. It was almost impossible to make out expressions on his mushy alien face, but he seemed eager. “Are you knowing of your origin?”

“Origin?” Dr. Campbell muttered aloud as she read the words on the screen. She frowned up at Johnny for a moment, trying to understand what he was asking. Do you mean my parents? The people who gave birth to me? She didn't even know how the aliens reproduced, or whether Johnny would understand what she was talking about.

Johnny swayed his whole body from side to side, his version of shaking his head, while humming a single note that sounded kind of like a dial tone. Every single one of Johnny's many eyestalks zeroed in on her, catching her in an unblinking alien stare. Johnny's next words came like a song, so mesmerizing it was all she could do to glance down at the screen to see what he was saying.

“Origin is life beginning. Origin is light sun star root. Origin is making planets moons we Doctor Earth. Origin is making good peace life. We are of Origin and when Earth metal rock falling to our planet we are saying we must see. We must know. Does Earth is knowing Origin? Or is only darkness?”

Dr. Campbell's mind whirled. Suddenly, after months of extreme caution and dancing around revealing too much, now she wasn't sure what to do with this influx of information. She had a dozen new questions, and it took her a moment to decide what to ask first.

Is Origin your planet?

Johnny swayed a no again. “Origin is making our planet. Origin is making Earth. Origin is making us. Origin is making you. Origin is making cooOOOoorrnnnnffffIIIiiieeeeEEEEllLLLd,” he added, switching to English for that word, since the aliens apparently didn't have corn on their planet.

Slowly, a suspicion dawned on her. This 'Origin' was something that had made everything in the universe. It almost sounded like...a creation myth. Are you talking about a god?

Johnny's long limbs flipped into the air, and he let out an excited trill as he bobbed up and down. “We are not knowing you are knowing this word Doctor. Please saying this word in your voicings so we may be learning it.”

Dr. Campbell looked up at Johnny's eyes going haywire, at his 'arms' beginning to fray into many tentacles in his excitement. Slowly and clearly, she said, “God.”

Such a short word, but when Johnny repeated it several times in his musical voice, it sounded so beautiful. Like somehow, the little song made from the membrane of his 'mouth' vibrating was part of the very fabric of the universe. The music of the spheres.

After a few minutes of repeating the word God,interspersed with the trills and chitterings of his own language that Dr. Campbell couldn't fully understand because he wasn't speaking into the mic anymore, Johnny made an effort to calm himself down. “TTTtthhhhHHHaaaAAAAaaannnngnggnkk yoooOOOOOoooooouuuuUUUU, DoooktoooooRRRR,” he said carefully in English, before pulling the mic closer so he could speak more fluently in his own tongue. “We are very exciting Doctor because we are seeing now that God is showing to you in Earth also. God is holding universe in hands and we are family with Earth. We are thinking we must fly to Earth to show God leading the way but you are already following.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up a second,” Dr. Campbell muttered. “I haven't even been to Sunday School since I was five.” But how to explain that to...an extraterrestrial missionary, apparently? Biting her lip, she eventually went with I'm not even sure I believe in God. There are lots of people on Earth who don't. Some people believe in different gods, or none at all.

Johnny hummed for a little after the translator's tones subsided. Not humming in words, just a faint sound of discomfort. Or thoughtfulness. Dr. Campbell wasn't sure. But he grew still, with none of the excited energy of a moment ago.

Finally, Johnny leaned towards the mic again and said, “We are saddening to be hearing this Doctor. But we are also gladdening because this means we are staying in Earth for longer. We are hoping you are letting us stay. We want to be learning more of Earth. We want to be talking more about God with you and other Doctor people.”

Funny. If it had been a Jehovah's Witness or somebody like that on her doorstep, asking if she had time to talk about their Lord and Savior, she would have shut the door in their faces. But this was a literal alien saying that he wanted to have conversations with her about God and who knew what else. So she found herself smiling and typing in response:

I would like that.

[supreme-leader-stoat]

This is my—unfortunately, rather incomplete at the moment—submission for @inklings-challenge 2024 for Team Tolkien. My chosen genre and themes are Secondary Fantasy World (i.e. a story that takes place in a world totally disconnected from Earth) and "instruct the ignorant," as well as a bit of "council the doubtful" and "comfort the sorrowful"

At the moment, the story is essentially just the opening scene. With that in mind, I'll be posting some notes and commentary at the end outlining the rough direction that I plan on taking the story for anyone who wants to know how things unfold in the likely event that it takes me a while to write the rest of it. And I do hope to write the rest of it; it's been a bit slow going due to writer's block and my health working against me, but this is the most invested I've felt in a writing project for months if not years, so for that I'm quite grateful to the people who set up this challenge.

Well, you came to read a story and not my rambling, so I think I'll leave it there for the moment. Without further ado, please enjoy the prologue of All Things Great and Small.

-----

Battuhya couldn’t breathe. Not because of the heavy formal robes she wore, with her clan’s signate murals embroidered along the back and sleeves. Nor because of the heavy scents of spiced meats and fragrant woods that filled the royal feast hall like low-hanging clouds gathered in a valley. She couldn’t breathe because the attention of the entire room was suddenly focused on her, and on the long, bare arm that stretched out to point at her.

“That one,” the Ketar said confidently. “I can feel her affinity for the secret arts. Truly, such power must be a blessing from the gods. I would be a great fool to let it be squandered. Yes, I think it must be her.”

Battuhya resisted the urge to spin around and try to see who behind her the Ketar was indicating. Surely, surely she couldn’t mean her.

Slowly, deliberately, Battuhya’s father stepped in front of her, half-shielding her from the view of the court. “My apologies, revered Ketar,” he said, not quite managing to keep the hard edge from his voice. “I mean you no disrespect, but I fear you are mistaken. This is my eldest daughter, and I have chosen her tutors myself. Her education is extensive, but I’m afraid that it does not extend to such obscure subjects as sorcery.”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “I speak of potential, not of prior learning. I intend to oversee her training myself, and I will see to it that any deficiencies in her knowledge are corrected.”

She turned towards the royal seat, expectant. The king’s dining mat was separated from the rest of the feast hall by a massive curtain of blue silk, lit from behind in a way that cast a massive shadow across the fabric. For as still as it remained, that shadow might have belonged to a statue and not a living man.

The high steward, seated just in front of the royal veil, impassively swept his gaze across the room. Battuhya thought that his eyes seemed to rest on her for a moment, but he moved on so quickly that she began to wonder if she had imagined it. “You ask for much, Ketar,” he said, the sound of his voice quieting the sea of whispers from the onlooking crowd. “The daughter of a President is no small price. Perhaps you should consider your choice further.”

“Oh?” Said the woman, raising her voice theatrically as her lifelight flared in challenge, clearly visible even in the bright light of the feast hall. “Is this how His Majesty honors his promises?” As if to punctuate her question, a log in one of the nearby ornamental braziers gave off a loud ‘pop’ and a cloud of sparks, eliciting a few startled yelps from the noble ladies standing closest to it. “For services rendered, I was given leave to select an apprentice of my own choosing from among His Majesty’s subjects. Surely, he would not now forbid this old woman from passing on her legacy?”

The Ketar and the steward held each other’s gaze, and Battuhya sensed something pass between them, an understanding of some sort. It was subtle, something she doubted she’d have noticed if she hadn’t grown up in the court, and even then, she could only guess at what the exchange meant.

“His Majesty always honors his promises,” the steward said. “Those who would imply otherwise are counseled to hold their tongues, lest they lose them. Come here, girl,” he said, raising a hand in Battuhya’s direction.

Slowly, on feet that felt like they belonged to someone else, Battuhya began to walk forward.

“You do not have to do this,” her father hissed under his breath as she passed him.

Even through the dreamlike numbness of shock, she felt her heart swell. Her father loved her enough to challenge the will of the king, of a god’s reflection on Earth, if it meant sparing her this. But she loved him, too, which was why she couldn’t let him. The relationship between her clan and the crown was too tenuous, too strained these past few years. Refusing here and causing the king to lose face would bring down retribution on her family, maybe even spark a war.

She didn’t tell him any of this. To speak, to even look back, would cause her nerve to break. Instead, she moved forward, one step at a time, before falling to her knees at the base of the steps that led to the royal seat.

“Do you understand what is required of you?” the steward asked.

She wished she didn’t. Understanding made it harder. She would become ketar. The word meant either “clanless” or “heretic,” depending on how it was used. Often, both meanings went hand in hand. Everything she was, everything she had been raised to, would be stripped away. Her home, her family, even her prospects of marriage.

“I do,” she said.

“And do you accept this charge, to serve your new mistress to the fullest extent of your abilities?”

“This servant hears and obeys,” someone else said. It must have been someone else, you see. The voice that said it was far too calm to belong to someone with the storm of emotions that Battuhya felt trying to tear out of her chest.

“Then rise,” the steward commanded, and rose to his feet at the same time she did. “Hear this final proclamation in the name of your king. You are remanded to the care and teaching of this Ketar. From this day forth, you are no longer a subject of this realm.” He clapped twice to mark the end of the proclamation.

It’s funny, Battuhya thought. I never realized before now, but it’s the same sound a judge makes when they condemn someone.

A hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the satisfied face of the Ketar. The other Ketar.

“Come along,” the woman said. “I expect that we’ve caused enough commotion for one evening.” She turned and strode away, and Battuhya had no choice but to follow.

The crowd parted before the woman like a school of fish in front of a boat, leaving a clear path behind her. Some gave Battuhya looks of concern or pity. Other gave apprehensive looks, looks that said they still didn’t quite understand what had just happened, but were worried they would be swept up in it just the same. A few didn’t look at her at all, people she had once called friends or allies who were already treating her like a stranger now that she had no official standing in the court.

She didn’t know what look her father gave as she walked away. She couldn’t bring herself to look back at him.

As the heavy doors of the feast hall closed behind her with a decisive ‘thud,’ she wished she had been able to.

-----

The Ketar’s study was a small room located far from the feast hall, tucked away on the north side of the palace. Battuhya stood just inside the door, unsure of what to do or say as the Ketar rifled through an assortment of jars and wooden boxes by the light of a lamp, cursing softly under her breath. Eventually, she found what she had apparently been looking for, grabbing a small handful of dust out of one of the jars and tossing it onto the log that sat in the study’s small hearth. Then she held her hand out towards it, palm forward and fingers splayed wide, and began chanting in a strange, alien language.

Battuhya’s breath caught as the room was enveloped in a bright flash, like the sun itself had suddenly dropped down the chimney. By the time she blinked the spots out of her eyes, red-orange flames were cheerfully licking at the log, casting light across the room. Magic. Battuhya had seen magic before; it wasn’t unheard of for travelling Ketar to ply their arts on the streets or, more rarely, in court, but this… this was something else entirely. Seeing magic from a distance, in the full light of day or a crowded feast hall, was a very different thing from seeing it up close, almost alone in a dark and quiet room.

The first thing that Battuhya thought, upon getting a good view of said room in the firelight, was that it reminded her terribly of her father’s study, with the stranger details only jumping out on a closer inspection. The right-hand side of the room, from where she was standing, was lined with two bookcases that reached all the way to the ceiling, and two equally tall wooden cabinets, which was where the Ketar had found the powder to start the fire. On the left was the hearth, flanked on either side by wide bureaus covered in a collection of curios; glass bottles in shapes she had never seen before, animal bones (including, she noted with a repressed shiver, what looked like at least one human skull), and a curved piece of polished ivory with strange carvings all along it. Turning her eyes upward, she saw two stuffed birds suspended from the ceiling in a facsimile of flight, both around the size of a goose. In the middle and towards the far end of the room was a heavy wooden desk with a comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. The only things behind it were the room’s single window, and a table holding a cage so large that Battuhya thought that if she were to lay down on her side, she would be able to fit inside with room to spare. An animal of some sort sat huddled on a pile of straw and fabric against the far wall of the cage, though in the dim light of the fire and with her eyes still not fully recovered from the sudden flash, she couldn’t clearly make out where the fabric ended and its body began. The only part of it that was completely clear were its eyes, bright in the firelight and far too clever and intense for Battuhya’s liking.

----- ----- -----

So, that's what I've written so far. I was inspired to try my hand at a take on a "the protagonist is unexpectedly chosen to become a wizard's apprentice" story. The twist here being that Battuhya is not someone being freed from her previously dreary and downtrodden life, but is someone for whom learning magic is, if not a downgrade, then at the very least a sudden and unexpected exile from the society she's known her entire life.

Everything from this point onwards is spoilers for bits I haven't written yet.

If the Ketar's conduct seems a bit overblown, that's on purpose. While she does have access to a tiny bit of true magic (I'll let you guess what it does, the hints are already there in what I've written), 90% of what she does (and by extension, what Battuhya will learn) is chemistry, pharmacology, or performance art.

The 'animal' in the cage is something that Battuhya would call an "imp from the underworld," something that can (allegedly) bargain away its magical powers but can steal your soul if you aren't careful while making said bargain. As the story goes on, it rapidly becomes clear to readers—and eventually Battuhya herself—that it's essentially just a very tiny person held captive by the Ketar. Or, perhaps more accurately, she's what we would recognize as a normal person, and Battuhya and her world simply operate on a far larger scale.

Battuhya and the "imp," as might be expected, eventually overcup their mutual apprehension of one another and strike up a friendship, of sorts. Among other things, the imp teaches Battuhya thing about her mistress' powers that the latter keeps close to her chest, as well as some of the history and beliefs of the imp's people. While from the perspective of Battuhya's world they came from underground, from their perspective they climbed into the sky one day against their God's prohibitions and found themselves in a land of giants with stars in their skin, something like a cross between the Tower of Babel and Jack and the Beanstalk. That's another strange thing; the imp only believes in a single God, something that's rather alien to someone who grew up worshiping her king as the earthly reflection of one of a pantheon of gods.

Eventually, Battuhya uncovers a plot in the court that ties into why she was chosen as the Ketar's apprentice, and the two hatch a plan for escape to freedom. Among other things, their plan involves the miraculous power the imp's people received from their God for protection upon arriving in this world (I did say the Ketar has access to a bit of real power) and a lot of the more mundane tricks that Battuhya has picked up over the course of her training.

[incomingalbatross]

Castaway

Well. Here is SOMETHING for the @inklings-challenge. Thank you as always for the challenge! I had some trouble with this one, and am not sure how it ultimately came out in terms of completeness, but I am attached to it and glad that it's written.

Team: Tolkien (time travel)

Theme: Instruct the ignorant

---

The thing of it was, when a person washes up on your beach, it’s presumably your responsibility to take some kind of care of him. This goes double for unfortunate teenagers who have already taken on other extraordinary responsibilities, like “battling the forces of chaos and darkness;” as has been said more eloquently elsewhere, somehow the consequence of stepping up for hard jobs is that you turn more and more into The Person Who Does The Hard Jobs.

Which meant that, in between maintaining their equipment for sealing up cracks in reality, trying to figure out where the cause of said cracks would strike next, and looking over potential colleges for next year, Kathleen was sitting by a Mysterious Stranger’s bedside and wondering what they’d do with him when he woke up.

“What if he’s dangerous?” she observed — half to be contrary, but not without genuine anxiety — to her brother.

Brian shrugged. “He didn’t seem like it when I found him.” Maybe because he’d been the one to find the young man lying in the surf, or because he was the only one so far who’d seen him with his eyes open, Brian’s eyes held much more concern than wariness. “Seemed scared.”

“Which doesn’t contradict ‘dangerous.’”

“No, but we definitely shouldn’t start by giving him more reasons to be scared.”

Kathleen was about to answer, when something caught her eye. She could swear the man’s eyebrow had twitched, which was an odd movement for an unconscious person…

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his face and breathing.

“He’s faking,” she said accusatorily.

Brian followed her gaze. “He is?”

For a second, they both just watched the man. He remained very still.

Then he groaned and opened his eyes.

“Oh no,” he said in a monotone, looking from one ot the other of them. “Two teenagers are holding me captive. I’m so scared.”

And that was the first thing Kathleen learned about Brian’s mystery beach rescue; he was sarcastic, proud, and, if he didn’t get over those traits, likely to be killed by his own ego.

The second thing she and Brian learned was that (in keeping with her first impression) he was astoundingly uncooperative.

"Where am I?" he demanded, and then blinked at their answer (Nantucket) as if he wasn't sure it actually meant anything. "What day is it?" and "How did I get here?" also got polite responses, and no clear reactions from him. When they started asking questions, though, he apparently had never heard of fair recompense -- he clammed right up.

“What’s your name?” Hostile glare.

“Where are you from?” Silence.

“Do your remember how you ended up on the beach?” Defensively hunched shoulders, and an even more hostile glare.

Brian stood up and stretched. “Are you hungry?”

“…I suppose.”

Finally. Things their mystery guest would respond to, apparently: 1) a chance for him to make a snarky response and 2) offers of food.

Unfortunately, this was not a breakthrough. The evening continued in a frustrating vein, as their guest unbent enough for sarcasm but not for information. He seemed to be judging them on one level or another at every moment -- he was baffled by their food choices, observed dinner prep with silent scrutiny, and glared fiercely at Kathleen's phone. After dinner, he requested paper and a pen, and then huddled in a corner with the notebook Brian found for him and began scribbling away at it.

“Shouldn’t we decide what to do with him, now that he’s awake?” Kathleen urged Brian. “We should at least make him explain something.”

Brian, stubborn as always, shook his head. “There’s a ot we haven’t explained to him yet,” he answered, “and he’s a lot more disoriented than we are. I say let him think some stuff through, and then wait for a good chance to break the ice again.”

“A chance?” she repeated. “And what kind of chance is that going to be--”

The household siren went off.

“This might be it!” Brian leapt up. Kathleen hurried after him, stopping in the entryway to grab their equipment before running outside.

Evil never rests, and neither did the aforementioned forces of darkness and chaos. It had been a while since one showed up directly in front of the house, though.

Behind them, their guest -- apparently also capable of being moved by curiosity, or at leas sirens -- stumbled to a halt at the sight of the rip in the evening air. Strange lights twisted through it, like sun glittering off of waves, or snowflakes spinning in the wind, and discordant sounds came through.

Kathleen pulled a sheaf of papers out of her pack, handed one copy to Brian, and unfolded her own. “If you want to help, read over our shoulders,” she said to the guest. Then she took a deep breath…

And began, as usual in these situations, to sing the Psalms with Brian.

It didn’t have to be psalms; they’d gotten good results with anything they really knew well, sacred or secular, and sometimes you needed something you knew all the words to. But chanting the Office wasn’t hard, as long as you paid attention, and you never really ran out of material. The even, measured progression of verses worked just as well as modern music’s strict meter, if not a little better.

By the time they wrapped up the final Gloria Patri, the rip had closed itself, knitting back together into plain air without anything coming through.

Kathleen sighed in relief.

“Did you just sing that shut?” their guest demanded.

All right, so maybe it was an ice-breaker. Kathleen looked at his wild eyes, and decided to take pity on him.

“Sort of,” she explained. “We don’t know exactly what these are, but they… they destabilize things, left untreated. They mess with… order. Reality. It’s messy.”

“So we treat them with order,” Brian added. “Order and harmony and stability. Reciting poetry can work too, if you really concentrate, but singing is the best defense. It usually works as long as we catch them soon enough!”

“I know it’s freaky --“ Kathleen began.

But the man cut her off. “Singing,” he repeated incredulously. “That’s -- it’s so primitive --”

Kathleen’s eyebrows climbed toward her scalp. “Do you have a better suggestion?” she asked. “Any input on our local threat to reality that we’ve been trying to figure out for five months?”

If anything, this made him look more furiously stunned. “I -- that --”

He looked between them, as if searching for a sign. Then, abruptly, he thrust forward the notebook Brian had given him.

Kathleen took it, Brian crowding next to her, and looked down at the page.

October 25th, 2022?

Once upon a time, there was a man who had grown up in a place of darkness and dangers.

"The world is splintering," someone (who?) told him, when he was small. "All we can do is try to stop the cracks."

He believed this, solemnly, and he grew up training himself to fight. The darkness and the dangers were not natural things -- or not wholly, anyway -- there were people who encouraged them, made them worse (why? why would anyone?). Seeing the results, the instabilities of the world in their wake, filled him with horror from his youth. There were other people, of course, who thought and planned and built to repair those instabilities -- but he was a fighter to his core.

(Who did he fight?)

One day, there came a day when he was on an expedition with other fighters, and those they protected, striking out from their stronghold to stop another danger to the world. When they found the wicked people, the man took the lead in the fight. Alone at the front, the enemy surrounded him. There was a moment when he understood, fully and darkly, that he had fallen into their power.

Then all was dark.

(Who was he? What was the enemy? Who were his comrades? Where did he live? What were the dangers? What was his name?

What is my name?)

“...Oh,” Kathleen said, looking back at their mystery guest. A mystery, apparently, to himself as well.

“I recognize the disturbances,” he said, looking not at them but at where the rip had been. His fists were clenched. “Nothing else. This -- what I wrote is all I have. Just an outline, like a story in my head. Everything since waking up here has been strange to me, and what I can remember is blurred.”

Kathleen looked at Brian in silent consultation. They’d been dealing with these disturbances for months, but he’d been fighting them all his life. What he’d written sounded remote, not just in form but in content, and if his memories were true…

“There’s something else that might help,” Brian said quietly. “We think… we think the rips might be openings between worlds. Or between times.”

Their guest closed his eyes, but then nodded. Somehow, he looked steadier than he had all day. "Well," he said, straightening, "I suppose even knowing that is something."

And Kathleen realized, with a sudden twinge of empathy, that sometimes the Hard Job they had to do was, in fact, just giving the news of a new job description to someone else. Like every other Hard Job, this one promised to be more work down the road... but at least neither they nor the castaway was figuring it out alone, she supposed.

"You tell us about the rips," she said, handing back his journal, "and we'll explain frozen pizza."

[ladyminaofcamelot]

He reached out a hand to help her to her feet, and she scrambled backward. That was the hand which held the dagger, the hand that killed her husband, and killed her with its touch. He gave an amused smile at her fear. “What’s wrong? I’m only a simple poet, not some ghost or master of arms. I can’t do you any harm."

"I'm not so intimidating, am I?" “No,” she replied with a glance at the bells on his hat. “I suppose not.”

For @inklings-challenge 2024! Posted on Ao3 because I think things are easier to read there than on Tumblr (and because I wanted to add some warning tags). The story is a little bluntly allegorical (I've always struggled to be subtle) but hopefully it will still touch some in a meaningful way.

[leseigneurdufeu]

First chapter of my story for the 2024 @inklings-challenge

I'll post it all on AO3 when I'm done. Posting it now because I need to put it in the open to force myself to write the rest. estimated 5 or 6 chapters. Content Warnings: there's french people😱

Heart of Gold, Blade of Steel

Chapter 1: The Child

August 1904 – The country house of the Baron de Brûlemont's family

“Damn that gas company!” Georges de Brûlemont exclaimed as the flames burning around the dining-room all dimmed at the same time, before taking back their usual brightness. “I hope it doesn't go dark in the middle of the announcement.”

“We still have time. I'll ask the butler to monitor the lights.” Berthe, Georges' wife, said while putting a reassuring gloved hand on his forearm. “The Marcys are here, go and greet them, why don't you?”

Georges nodded and joined Mr Marcy, highest ranking police officer in Paris, and his wife, the sister of a deputy.

“Thank you for joining us tonight.” Georges said. “I hope you are better?”

Marcy scoffed.

“All just memories. But it might be time for me to consider retirement, which is why I brought Fombe... wait, where has Fombelle gone?”

He looked around until he saw a blond man looking at one of the lamps intently.

“If you'll excuse me” he said, leaving his wife in Georges' care before going and dragging the man back with him. “Monsieur de Brûlemont, may I introduce to you Augustin Fombelle. He is my second at the Préfecture and, if he keeps up with his efforts, he will probably be Préfet after I leave.”

“How do you do.”

Fombelle nodded at Brûlemont.

“Then let me introduce my children as well” Georges said.

He took Fombelle off the Marcys' arms and brought him to the buffet, where a lanky boy in dark blue was eyeing the fish terrine, unsure if he could start picking at it before the announcement that officially kicked off the evening.

“My son, Alfred. Alfred, this is Augustin Fombelle, who works under Marcy.”

The two men, the nearly-fourty and the barely twenty, shook hands in silence. Seeing her shy brother forced to make small talk to a stranger, Georges' daughter, Eglantine, swooped in.

“Monsieur.”

Georges heard her, turned to her, and made the introductions there too.

“So you're the belle of the ball, if I understand?” Fombelle asked.

“Well, it is my engagement that will be announced tonight.” Eglantine nodded. “Did Monsieur Marcy not tell you anything before inviting you along?”

“He told me the evening was in your honour, but he neglected to precise the occasion.” Fombelle said.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, then were joined by Eugène Bredin-Chantaille, only son of the famed banker, and Eglantine's fiancé. The young lady made the introductions, and the conversation went on.

Meanwhile, Alfred had sneaked out. He had been feeling rather feverish all day, and couldn't stand the heat of the ballroom now that every guest was there. Well, almost. As long as General Delbecaut and his wife hadn't arrived, the Bredin-Chantailles wouldn't announce the engagement. He still had time. Alfred loved his sister dearly, and didn't want to miss the announcement. Still, his love and devotion for her didn't extend to staying in the hot room any longer.

It was a hassle to make everyone come from Paris, but everyone so far had admitted that the country house of the Brûlemont family was worth the journey. The house was old, if not ancient; woods spread around its gardens, and the fountain in the back was the only ornament that made the house look more like a stately home and less like a fortress. Still, it was nice to go out in the night like that, flee from the heat for a moment.

Alfred was resting on the stone stairs facing the fountain and the back when he heard a soft sob. He first tried to ignore it. If one of the guests was crying, it would do more harm to witness their sorrow than it would to help them.

But the sobs were soft and high, and sounded like the sobs of a child. Alfred thought back to the list of guest, brow furrowing. There were no children invited, and so the only one at the house would be Patrice, his younger brother. What was Patrice doing out in the gardens, if it was he who Alfred heard? He was supposed to have dined early and gone to bed.

Alfred unfolded his long legs and started walking in the direction of the sobs. Padding around the house with no care for the state of his shoes, he walked through the forged iron door on the side of the garden, which for some reason sent a chill down his spine, and to the fountain outside of it, on which a silhouette dressed all in white was resting. Small as a child, and chestnut-haired as Patrice but not Patrice. Patrice was bigger, at almost fourteen.

As soon as Alfred thought that, the silhouette seemed to get bigger. Perhaps it was Patrice after all, and he had been tricked by a reflection of the light.

“Brother” a voice that was not quite Patrice's said, as the sobs interrupted. “I'm lost. Can you give me your hand?”

Alfred hadn't recognised the brother i'm lost, but the voice had changed to become Patrice's on the final question. It was... it was offputting. Of course, it was possible that Patrice's voice was just changed a bit by the crying. But still.

Alfred stopped at a distance from the child.

“Look at me.” he ordered softly.

The child turned towards Alfred.

*

“May I be perfectly candid?” Fombelle asked Eglantine.

“Of course.”

“By some aspects, you remind me of my sister. The same wit, the same disposition, dressed in blue, and... may I risk myself on the guess... same taste in champagne. Canard-Duchêne, isn't it?”

Eglantine smirked.

“Monsieur, you seem like a true connoisseur of champagne.”

“I know only two tastes in champagne: my sister's favorite, and the rest.” he joked.

He looked at his pocketwatch, and added:

“But I must not keep you from the rest of your guests. I was not even invited and I am already hogging the mistress of the house.”

“My mother is the mistress of the house, I am not.” Eglantine chuckled.

“You will be mistress of your own house soon enough.”

And I'm terrified, Eglantine thought, but did not say.

Eugène was perfectly nice. The marriage had been arranged by the parents, but only after both of the interested parties had known each other for years and had developed a mutual esteem, respect and affection. Eglantine didn't fear a marriage with him. She feared however that she would have little help to become the highest authority in the matters of the house when she wouldn't know any servant where she was going, had never balanced a budget without her mother's supervision...

Before she could speak any more word, even of farewell, to anyone, her father and Eugene's both walked to the center of the dancefloor, desert at the moment, and called for everyone's attention.

Alfred came running in through one of the great bay windows, ignored by everyone, and Eglantine smiled. At least, he'd realised it was time to come back. She was glad she would have her brother by her side, although he looked a bit too frantic to actually come and stand by her side, when the announcement would be made.

*

Georges invited everyone to go back to what they were doing, the announcement finished, when he noticed Alfred, shaking – which, with his lanky build, was rather a sight to behold – and trying to reach his sister. Georges intercepted his son, and told him, rather abruptly – it was in his manners:

“Now, calm down, the General is there and you know you have to make a good impression if you want him to take you in his staff for your military time.”

The Brûlemonts were not cowards, and every single one of the men in the family – with the exception of the ones who had become clergymen – had fought valiantly in battle. But as far as military time was concerned, Georges estimated that Alfred could get a soft, safe job and network a bit while he was there. If war there was, Alfred would prove equal to the task – Georges had taught him to shoot, fence and ride himself – but when there were no real stakes on french soil, asking a friend, general or colonel, to take his son under his wing was fair game in his eyes.

Alfred tried to say something about a child out there, but Georges didn't listen. Patrice was in his room and a maid was making sure he wouldn't come out. No guest had brought children. If there was a child, it would be a villager's, and in that case the child knew how to go back home.

“General Delbecaut” Georges said.

“Baron” the General nodded. “I'm sorry we arrived so late. At least we were there in time for the announcement!”

“And in time for the champagne.” Georges laughed, pointing at the glass in the General and his wife's hands. “I see you didn't lose any time on that front.”

“You always have a good nose for wine.” the General complimented him.

“I have no merit in this case: it's Eglantine who picked it.” Georges said. “But where are my manners! This is my son Alfred, whom you have probably already met in passing.”

“In passing, then.” the General said.

Alfred was bad enough with faces not to feel the need to remind the General that they had actually met and spoken at length a few times already. He, himself, only recognised the General because he had a peculiar hair colour and haircut combination that stood out among his parents' friends.

“Then, let's see a bit of you.” the General said. “Tell me, what do you think of the Dreyfus situation?”

Alfred bit his cheek, knowing full well that admitting he supported Dreyfus through and through was not the best answer to give to an officer, and decided to answer:

“The same as you, I'm sure.”

The General chuckled, and said:

“That might actually have been the only correct answer. I don't want people in my staff who will divide it. Diplomats, that's what I need. Very well, Alfred, we'll see you at the beginning of your military time, then. I'll fill the paperwork to have you assigned in my staff.”

And, pretending he had seen some acquaintance, he left the two Brûlemont men together.

“You could have told me he'd test me.” Alfred said.

“I didn't know he would – well, not that way.” Georges answered. “You did well.”

Alfred stayed silent. Now was not the time anymore to speak of the sobbing child, and... well, to be fair, there would probably never be a time for that. Not if he wanted people to believe in his sanity.

[heepthecheep]

Inklings 2024- (Insert title here)

Whoops, I posted this last night but I forgot to tag you @inklings-challenge

I would like to sincerely apologize ahead of time for the formating. I can only post from my phone and Tumblr isn't accepting the formating from Google docs. I have no idea what this thing looks like on a computer and I promise that I know what a paragraph break is.

I managed my time really horribly, and I hope to improve for next year. I only got to go over this thing once and it shows.

I was also attempting to write something for a younger audience than I normally go for, because out of Lewis's works I'm most familiar with his Narnia series.

Aboard the New Eden, there is never a quiet moment. At dawn-or the closest thing to dawn: the flicking on of the incandescent bulbs startled awake a chorus of birds. The birds set off the wolves, dogs, and all other manner of dog-like things. Then the whole ship comes alive, squawking and screeching until breakfast is served. At night, the dark is full of insect song and the fluttering of leathery bat wings. It’s enough to cover the sounds made by a lone person. It could cover the sounds of many people, but as far as Ada was concerned, she may as well have been the only human aboard the rocketship. The crew existed in a world entirely separate from the live cargo in the great hold of the ship, stories above in the flight deck. They didn’t even come down to take care of the animals-they left all of that up to the Spitzes.

From where she was now, she could see one, a white fluffy thing with a curled tail. It awkwardly stumbled around on delicate hindlegs, struggling to pour a bucket of chum into a seal’s enclosure. The spitz grumbled as the fish finally plopped out onto the ground, pulling back its ears as the seal loudly barked. Placing the handle of the bucket in its mouth, the spitz trotted off on all fours. Ada waited until the clicking of the dog’s nails faded before she eased open the grate covering the vent in which she was currently crouched. She crawled out and stretched, wincing as she popped. Tiptoeing past the seals and their fishy meal, she made her way to another enclosure, this one for a pair of hippopotamuses. The larger of the two opened its mouth and bared its tusks at her as she reached between the enclosure’s bars.

“Easy, “ she whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you,”

She grabbed an unpeeled orange off of the ground and wiped the rind on her shirt. She took her fruit back to the vent and sat at the opening, tossing pieces of orange peel into the animal enclosures nearest to her. It wasn’t enough. She’d have to go out and look for more later, perhaps when they fed the elephants.

Ada jumped as something clanged loudly, uncomfortably nearby. She pulled herself into the vent and pulled the door closed behind her. She strained her ears, trying to hear above the din of machinery and animals, and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Footsteps. She tilted her head and listened: not from behind her in the darker depths of the air filtration system, not from out in the vast menagerie, but from above. The footsteps were too heavy for a spitz’s, too calm to belong to some escaped animal. It was a sound she hadn’t heard since leaving Earth, a sound that she had been dreading, a sound that could only mean trouble.

“Hello, Mister!” One of the spitzes called out shrilly. “Did you come to see our work? We’ve been doing good work, lots o’ good work!”

Ada slowly inched towards the grate, and peered outwards, praying that she wouldn’t be seen.

“Yes, I came to check on you and the others,”

She could see the spitz now, running excitedly towards the stairs to greet a young man. It was the same dog before, although it looked much happier than when it was working.

“Mister! Mister!” It barked, curled tail wagging furiously.

“But first, would you be able to show me where the supplies are being kept?” The man asked, reaching out to pet the dog on the head.

“Supplies? Which part?”

The man started walking again, towards the place where Ada was hidden.

“We have lots of supplies, but we’re only allowed to touch the stuff meant for the animals,”

“The vittles,” The man said. He glanced over his shoulder nervously.

“Vit-tells?” the spitz’s head tilted at the question. “Vit-tells?”

“I mean food. Things you eat. Where do you keep what you feed to the rest of the animals here?”

“Well, there’s a big icebox for all the meat on the other side of this floor. Most of the dry stuff is two floors down, ‘sept for the oats, which we keep up here for the hooved things”.

“I see,”

The man and the dog were eye-level with the vent. Ada sat as still as possible, taking small quiet breaths. The man’s eyes passed over the vent, but he seemed not to notice her.

“Do you want to go and see the supplies now?” The man turned back to the spitz and shook his head.

“No, I can find them on my own now. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“You did such a good job of telling me, I don’t need to see it”.

The man patted the spitz’s head again, and the dog skipped happily around in a circle.

“Will the rest of the humans come down to visit us? We’ve been working so hard!”

The man shifted awkwardly and rubbed his elbow.

“I’m sure the rest will be down eventually,” The spitz’s ears and tail drooped. “We’ve been so busy, but we do appreciate your work.”

“Oh. Okay, well, there sure is a lot of work that needs to be done. You wouldn’t happen to have any treats on you?”

“No, sorry”. The man said, shaking his head again. The spitz scampered away, nails clacking over the metal floor. The man watched the dog go, then turned and looked straight at Ada. She stared back, stock-still.

“Who are you?” he mouthed.

“What?”

“Who are you? Are you one of the crew?”

Ada shook her head. “No- I’m with the spitzes”.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” Ada said. “A handler, if you will.”

“Well, I’m part of the crew, and I haven’t seen you around before.”

Ada slunk back further into the vent. “I could say the same for you. Where’s your uniform?”

“Where’s yours?” He squinted at her, leaning forward to peer through the grate.

“It’s being washed right now.”

“Which is why you’re crawling around in the dusty vent?”

Ada crossed her arms and scowled.

“That’s none of your business,”

They looked at each other for a few moments before the man spoke again.

“I’m Kaspar”.

Ada held her silence for a moment more, before sighing and crawling back out of the vent.

“I’m Ada. You’re not really with the crew up top, are you?”

“No, no, I am part of the crew…”

“You don’t sound like you do,”

Somewhere, something cawed out, setting off an echoing choir of screeches and cries. The two stood awkwardly, looking out over the menagerie. This time Ada broke the silence.

“Are you also not supposed to be here?”

“Here? On this ark?” He asked, gesturing to the vast room. “No, I’m not”.

Somewhere a donkey bayed forlornly, causing a monkey to start screeching in panic.

“I figured as much. The Spitzes wouldn’t know any better, but I do.” Ada said, brushing dust off of her shirt. “After all, I actually know-”

“Shh, shut up!” He hissed.

“Why? It’s absurd, you know. Breaking onto a rocket bound for Venus, hiding out amongst a bunch of animals,”

“Be quiet!”

“For some rich guy’s zoo-”

He pushed her into the vent and crawled in behind her, shoving her into the darkness.

“What!”

“Shut up, someone’s coming,” he whispered harshly. “C’mon, we’ve got to go”.

Ada nodded and started crawling away from the light. She looked over her shoulder, back towards Kaspar.

“Are you coming?”

“Yes, I am! I just wanted to make sure we weren’t being followed!” he whispered back. Ada continued through the darkness, Kaspar hot on her heels.

“There’s a spot ahead where it gets wider,”

A loud clang echoed behind her. Ada startled and glanced over her shoulder.

“Ow!” Kaspar swore under his breath.

“Watch out, the ceiling is low!”

Kaspar grumbled, before bumping into her.

“I said watch it!”

“I can’t see anything!”

Ada grabbed his hand and pressed it to the floor.

“Feel the pattern in the metal?”

“Uh, you mean the seam?”

“Yes. Keep your hand on it and your head low,” She whispered. Kaspar tapped the floor and nodded.

“Good, your eyes will adjust soon”.

They continued through the dark in silence. Behind them, they could hear the chattering of the spitzes. Slowly, the dark became less black, fading until the walls of the vent were once again visible. The ceiling was higher, high enough that Ada could sit up straight, although Kaspar still had a hunch in his back. Overhead, light filtered in through a different grate, along with the soft sound of bird song. She pressed a finger to her lips, listening for any indication that Spitzes or other people were above. After a moment, she dropped her hand.

“Okay,” she said softly, “Here’s my little corner of New Eden”.

“The vents! I hadn’t even thought of hiding in the vents until I saw you!” Kaspar exclaimed.

“Well, I didn’t think I could get away with hiding anywhere else”.

Kaspar glanced around the metal room and then pointed to the bedding on the ground and the small pile of clothing and supplies that she had brought with her. “You even had time to furnish the place!”

“Not really,”

“Hey, it’s more than I have! I wish I had thought of a hairbrush…” he said longingly.

“Where have you been hiding?”

Kaspar reached into his hair and pulled out a piece of straw, the same color as his messy locks.

“In the hay room,”

“Like…in the straw?”

“Yep! The day before liftoff I buried myself in the back,” He said with a grin, dropping the piece of straw into Ada’s hand.

“But then you came right out and showed yourself?” Ada asked, turning over the piece of straw in her hand. “Instead of staying hidden?”

“Well, the hay was getting used up. There wasn’t going to be much left for me to hide in.” Kaspar plucked the piece of straw out of her hand and stuck it behind her ear like a pencil. Ada snorted.

“So you decided to convince the dogs that you belonged here?”

“Correct!”

Ada rolled her eyes.

“It worked!” Kaspar exclaimed. “Earlier today I talked to one of them, and I got something to eat that hadn’t been chewed on by an animal.”

Kaspar knelt on the ragged blanket that was currently serving as Ada’s bed and smoothed out the fabric. He leaned against the wall with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Ada thought he had fallen asleep when he spoke again.

“What are you going to do when we reach Venus?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ada said crossly. “Get off my bed”.

Kaspar scooted off of the blanket without opening his eyes.

“I’m going to get a job. There’s lots of work to be done at the menagerie. If there isn’t, then there’s plenty of work elsewhere in the settlements”.

“I see,” she uncrossed her arms and leaned against the opposite wall.

“So, what about you?”

Ada didn’t answer, instead turning to look down at the darkness of the vent.

“Ada?”

“I don’t know. When I left Earth-” she paused and thought for a moment. “When I left Earth, I thought I had nothing left. But now I don’t know.”

Kaspar opened his eyes and looked at her, even as she looked off into the darkness.

“How will I explain my arrival on Venus? Surely everyone will know that I’m a stowaway.”

“So? Stowaways exist, regardless of whether they’re wanted,”

“Yes, but do I look like I’m cut out for physical labor? Can you imagine me pouring concrete at some construction site? Or welding steel beams 500 feet off the ground?” Ada asked, clenching her hands into fists. Her eyes were burning from tears that she refused to let fall.

“Who said you’d have to do something like that?”

“No one, no one did, but I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

Kaspar laughed, the first laugh either of them had heard since leaving behind Earth.

“Are you laughing at me?” Ada asked incredulously. “Really?”

“You’re so worked up about something that hasn’t even happened yet,”

“And this is funny because…?”

“Because I know you’ll figure something out. You’ve gotten this far,”

“Without getting caught,”

“Yes, without getting caught! If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

Ada finally met his gaze and smiled softly.

“I can make it anywhere,” Ada repeated. Though the tears still threatened to fall, her smile grew wider. “I can even make it on Venus”.

[inklings-challenge]

2024 Inklings Challenge Stories By Theme

Admonish the Sinner

Instruct the Ignorant

Counsel the Doubtful

Comfort the Sorrowing

Bear Wrongs Patiently

Forgive All Injuries

Pray for the Living and the Dead

[find-the-path]

Inklings Challenge 2024! My first story idea also went north out of the farthest sight so this is what we're going with. All dialogue (technically) so a lot of what I meant to put in is slightly off-screen. I think I do want to continue this though. @inklings-challenge

You asked for a tale and you’ll get one, don’t worry. Quiet now, this one’s true. There were once three brothers who lived in a bright kingdom down south. They were all moderately happy.

The eldest and most skilled with a sword longed for adventure in the north, where the kingdom used to stretch long ago. His gift was far-sight. On cloudy days he looked out east, south, west, north, and told stories of distant peoples to entertain his younger brothers.

The middle brother was the most practical of the three. His gift was swimming, as glad and airless as a fish. The whole family discovered that when he was three and the river was swollen, after much panic. His dream was to join the fleet of ships that patrolled the kingdom’s southern seas.

“---But he joined the pirates instead, and reformed the island blockade!”

What’s all this about pirates, all of a sudden? The royal navy fights the pirates, son, they don’t join them. That’d be counter-productive. Don’t interrupt the story.

The youngest, the quickest, hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to do. He had time, for his own gift had not yet become apparent.

In due time the eldest brother came of age and went off to seek his fortune. Northward, of course, as he’d always wanted. The lands were wide and empty to the north, save for small towns full of insular people and stretches of jagged mountains that the royal geologist had a personal grudge against.

He went past those mountains. Past the brown hills he found beyond them. Looking north, he saw clouds of mist obscuring the furthest stretched of his sight. In the company of a band of scouts he passed out of knowledge of homeland and family, and ceased to be heard of.

Years passed. The younger two brothers grew up and left the house, seeking their fortune afar. Rumors of war in the north grew louder. The king called his council to advise him on the matter, but what they discussed was not known in the kingdom, and the youngest brother chafed at the ignorance. The north had always held a mystery for him--- that of his brother’s death. They all assumed he was dead by now: a fairly intelligent assessment.

At last ten winters were gone by and the youngest brother was as grown as he was ever going to be. He decided he would go north himself, to discover what had the royal advisers in such disagreement, and also a hint of what had happened to the eldest.

He set out in autumn---

“But Papa, the middle brother! Did he go sailing? Did he fight the pirates?”

I don’t know if he ever went sailing, son. I suppose he might’ve found pirates but that’s not what this story is about yet.

“It’s your story, how can you not know?”

Yes, it’s my story, and it’s still being told. Shh and let me finish.

Just north of the capital the youngest brother found a caravan under attack, and helped fight off the mercenaries in return for information and dinner. He tracked the men who hired the bandits to a research town on the edge of the great forest, where he heard tell of a dragon set up in the mountains blocking his path. I can’t see the dragon, which mean it probably can’t see us, but there’s enough sources to look credible enough.

He’s trying to go around it now. If he gets across the moor--- and if that dragon doesn’t see him--- he might make it.

“But you said nobody’s got over the wall for ten years!”

Not since I did it, no. But my brothers... they’re another kind of stubborn. Your uncle’s coming, lad, and when he does we’ll be ready.

[rachellesedai]

The Seeker's Prayer

Here is part two of my story for the @inklings-challenge 2024!

Team: Lewis Genre: Space Travel Themes: Instruct the ignorant/Pray for living and dead Word Count: 3,229 [PART 1] | 3,839 [PART 2]

PART 2

Zavion awoke with a start, his datapad on his chest. A yellow blinking light indicated its power cell was drained. How long had he been asleep? The lights in the reading room were at a dim glow. The room was silent apart from the ever present soft whirr of the server banks. He stretched aching muscles and staggered to his feet. Carefully, he secured the manuscript he had requested, returning it to stasis. With a yawn, he gathered his few belongings and took a step toward the curtained entrance of the alcove. A flurry of urgent whispers anchored him to the spot. Shuffling footsteps followed a hushed exchange too low for him to make out. He peered out between the curtains and saw two emissaries with hoods drawn up hurrying down the hall.

Zavion watched as they approached a transportlift across the wide passage and entered a complex code. Zavion waited a long moment after the two had entered the lift and departed. He should really go back to his quarters and go to bed. Morning and another day of filing plastisheets would be here all too soon. With a sigh, Zavion walked over to the lift. He knew a mystery such as this would keep him awake for whatever was left of the night.

Thanks to a long afternoon helping Emissary Ilana Karri repair several malfunctioning transportlifts, he knew the admin code to recall the last destination. His hand trembled slightly as he punched in the code and entered the lift. His stomach dropped as the module descended swiftly, plunging deep into the mountain. The doors slid open onto a dark stone corridor that curved slightly to the left, making any guess to where it led impossible. The light from the lift cast a weak glow, but there was no other source of illumination. Zavion hesitated. He dug through his pockets and found his small reading light. Switching it on, he took a deep breath and entered the corridor. The lift slid shut behind him and he was alone in the dark.

Zavion reached out and placed one hand on the wall next to the lift. Holding his light high with his other hand, he followed the curve of the passage, winding ever deeper into the depths below the library. Voices brought him to a halt and he extinguished his light, feeling his way along until he could see a small group clustered in a large, open gallery carved out of the rock.

The central figure was reciting something, words that sent a tremor through him even before he recognized them. The man was speaking in High Dakari, a language only found in the Empire’s oldest records and no longer spoken by any living race. Zavion had studied it, like every serious scholar, but he had never expected to hear it outside of classroom recitations.

Translating in his head, he recognized a few familiar phrases. It was the Canticle of Avrum spoken in high chant, but a longer, more complex version than any he had ever heard. The ancient prayer was attributed to the Blessed Prophet himself. Its chief importance was in it being the oldest record of the Order’s mandate to spread throughout the galaxy and seek new species.

Zavion shook his head. What was going on here? Why were these emissaries meeting in the middle of the night? He edged closer. The rock wall was cool on his skin as he pressed against it. The chanting trailed off and silence reined for a few moments. Zavion held his breath.

A robed figure stood and raised his hands. “Let us pray together,” he said. Zavion held in a gasp. He knew that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to make out details. It had to be Steward Ebrim. The man’s build was right and the voice was unmistakable. The group knelt on the hard ground and began to speak in turn. They were calling out to the creator, asking for his help, praising his goodness.

Zavion put a hand to his mouth. This was more than just a few brother emissaries being a little too obsessed with tradition. This could actually be a resurgence of the ancient Cult of the Seekers. Indignation and disbelief warred within him. The group started singing, a haunting melody that echoed off the walls of the corridor. He turned and fled. The last thing he wanted was to be caught spying by a group of fanatics.

Safe back in his quarters, Zavion paced the room. The situation was unheard of. What was he supposed to do? Reporting the aberration would definitely get him the transfer he wanted. Zavion flushed, ashamed of the thought as soon as it formed. He took a deep breath and tried to reconcile what he had seen with what he knew of the emissaries he had met since coming to Karatu.

Whatever their religious inclinations, the people here were good. Perhaps a little boring and scholarly for his taste, but they were certainly not rebels fomenting an overthrow of the Empire. He did not want to cause a scandal and throw the entire library into turmoil. Who knew how many reputations would be destroyed or how much scholarly work discredited? 

“As long as I don’t let on I know their secret everything will be fine,” Zavion said to himself, “No one knows I saw anything. I’ll forget it ever happened.” With this decision made, Zavion changed into his nightclothes, climbed into bed, and proceeded to think about nothing else.

#

       Zavion almost jumped out of his skin the next morning when Davix clapped his hand on his shoulder as he picked at the sweet bread he had brought back to the table for morning meal.

       “Where were you last night?” Davix asked.

       “What?” Zavion almost choked on a crumb of sweet bread, his mouth suddenly dry. “I wasn’t anywhere. Why?”

      “We were going to play a game of stones before nightfall, but you weren’t in your rooms.” He laughed. “You weren’t poking around parts of the library you shouldn’t, were you?”

       Zavion shook his head, his heart racing as he feigned what he hoped looked like casual indifference. “Nothing so interesting. I fell asleep in the reading room. I’m afraid I was much more concerned with Ebrim catching me out after curfew and quite forgot about our game.”

       Davix shrugged. “No matter. We can try again tonight.” He paused, as if he were going to ask something else, but only shook his head and departed. Zavion breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long. His datapad beeped and Zavion looked to find a message from Steward Ebrim asking him to report to his study after morning meal.

       Zavion disposed of the sweet bread, unable to eat another bite and drank down the last of his hot caf. He set the cup down with a trembling hand and forced himself to walk calmly to the steward’s study. Once there, Zavion knocked and waited for the man’s soft “enter” before opening the door.

       Steward Ebrim sat at his desk, rifling through papers. He did not look up as Zavion entered, but continued to sort through the large stack of documents in front of him. Zavion stood straight, sweaty hands tightening into fists inside the sleeves of his robe.

       “Sit,” Ebrim finally said, “I assume you have some questions.”

       “About what?” Zavion stammered, folding himself into the chair opposite Ebrim.

       “Don’t play me for the fool, my boy,” Ebrim said with a sharp look that seem to pin Zavion like a fly caught in a spider’s gaze, “I know you were there last night, in the catacombs.”

       Zavion slumped. “How?”

       “I take care to erase all record of our comings and goings on evenings like last night. An extra lift transport with your borrowed admin code was a bit obvious.”

        “Oh.” Zavion sucked in a breath. He stared at Ebrim, who looked back calmly as if they were discussing an interesting point in a text they were translating. “Why?” he blurted out, “Why risk so much?”

        Ebrim sighed. “A strong desire to know the truth and live accordingly.” He raised an eyebrow, his ears drooping as Zavion’s mouth fell open.

       “What truth? There is no scientific proof that the creator exists. Even if it is the tradition of our Order to attribute our mandate to the Prophet Avrum, no one actually believes he communed with an all-powerful creator.”

      “You’d be surprised,” Ebrim said, “The number of people who do believe is precisely why what you witnessed last night is so dangerous. I half expected the Matori to be on our doorstep this morning.”

      Zavion blinked at his mention of the Empire’s elite shock troops. “The Matori?” He almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat at the sobering look in Ebrim’s eyes. “The situation might merit academic censure… a review of the participants work, perhaps…” he trailed off.

      Ebrim shook his head. “To the Empire, the Seekers, beings throughout the galaxy who believe in the original mission of Avrum, are a real and present threat. They give no quarter when eradicating any who sympathize with our beliefs.”

        Zavion took a shuddering breath. “Do you advocate overthrowing the Empress?”

       “No.” Ebrim straightened. “We would like the truth to come out, of course, but mostly we want to be able to worship the Creator in peace.”

      Zavion grasped his head in his hands. “What truth?” he almost shouted.

      Ebrim tapped his fingers on the desk, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose it will do no harm to tell you at this point.” He leaned forward. “What we are taught about early galactic history is the barest outline of the events surrounding the foundation of the Empire. What most do not know is that we possess an abundance of records, both from that time period and the centuries following its early expansion.”

     Zavion shook his head, the scholar within him offended that the texts he had spent so much time looking for might actually exist somewhere. “Why would the Empire suppress such knowledge?”

     “Because it does not fit their narrative of how they gained supremacy. It is true that Avrum lived on Dakardr and his brother, Lexrun, was a leader of their people. However, Lexrun was only a prominent figure in what was a cooperative government of the planets orbiting the star, Alestria. It was Avrum who was held in high regard, even in the neighboring star systems. His writings were carefully preserved by his followers, the original emissaries. These men went out and spread the word of Avrum, which was a message of hope and a quest for something more.

      As belief in the Creator spread, the Order became more established. They kept records on every species they encountered and soon had amassed more knowledge than any individual planet or system possessed. At first, they were consulted as intermediaries when disputes broke out between different groups. Systems came together, some more powerful than others. Dynasties rose and fell, but the Order remained. Then about six hundred years after the time of Avrum, the leaders of Dakardr decided that since their planet held all the knowledge, they should also hold all the power. Some among the emissaries agreed and allowed the government to use their knowledge of all the other species to conquer them.

       As Dakardr’s power grew, the Order was relegated to a supporting role, and, as governments are wont to do, its ruling cooperative devolved into tyranny and the first true Emperor of Alestria was crowned.”

       Zavion rubbed his forehead, trying to absorb this radically different version of what he held to be the history of his people. “Even if this is true, if the Empire’s rise to power wasn’t as clean and simple as most think, what does that have to do with your belief in the creator? How does it change the historical fact that Avrum was simply a wise man who brought people together and encouraged them to respect each species’ culture as adding to, instead of taking away from, their own?”

     “Because the Empire hid more than its dubious beginnings,” Ebrim said, slapping his desk, “They suppressed the writings of Avrum himself, which give a completely different perspective on what our Order originally believed and what our very purpose is.”

     “And what purpose is that? What are you seeking?”

     Ebrim shook his head. “I’ve said enough. Much more and you won’t be able to claim ignorance.” He paused, his ears twitching. “What do you intend to do?”

      Zavion blinked. “Do?”

      “Are you going to report us to the Empire? I understand if you feel it your duty, but I hope I have gained enough respect in your eyes that you would inform me of your intentions.”

       “I would never…” Zavion stammered, “I don’t agree with what you are doing, but I see no need to involve the Matori.”

       “Very well.” Ebrim eyed him with interest. “I would ask you not to tell anyone about what we have discussed here or what you saw last night.”

       Zavion stood and gave the steward a formal bow. “I give you my word,” he said, “but…” he paused, looking away, “May I ask more questions at a later date?”

      “Of course,” Ebrim said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “For now, you should get back to work. It wouldn’t do for today to seem any more unusual.”

     Zavion nodded and left the study, his head in a whirl.

#

      Zavion completed his daily routine, meticulously proofing plastisheets, packing them up for transport, and joining two other emissaries to help prepare the evening meal. He attended to each task with a laser focus that blocked out all other thoughts. He was beginning to think he might actually be able to proceed as if everything were normal when Davix showed up at his door for their game of stones.

       Zavion pulled his only other chair over to his desk and Davix set up the pieces on the checkered board. They played a few moves in silence, Zavion losing two pieces to a careless mistake.

      Davix eyed him as he collected the two white stones. “Head not in the game tonight?”

      “I’m just tired,” Zavion replied.

      Davix pushed an upright gray stone forward. “You were closeted with Steward Ebrim for quite a while this morning,” he said with a studied indifference.

      The hairs on the back of Zavion’s arms stood on end. The statement seemed too pointed to be coincidental. He shrugged, moving an oval pearlescent stone to counter Davix’s move. “He found out I’ve been looking into a transfer.”

      “You’ve been begging anyone who will listen,” Davix laughed. “Was he extolling the virtues of the library and the importance of the old ways?”

      Zavion nodded, wondering what he meant by old ways. Did he suspect just how traditional Ebrim’s beliefs were? “It’s not that I don’t think it’s important,” Zavion said, trying to sound as annoyed as usual, “It’s just not for me.”

      Davix nodded slowly, returning his attention to the game and Zavion’s shoulders relaxed. He was being paranoid. There was no double meaning behind his friend’s comment. He just needed a good night’s sleep and everything would go back to normal.

#

       The next day was anything but normal. Zavion awoke to the entire library buzzing like an overturned skimmet’s nest. The great hall was deserted, plates of half-finished meals left abandoned, chairs pushed out or toppled over. Emissaries rushed to and fro down the passageways. Some gathered in tiny knots of heated conversation, others carried large satchels of belongings as if they were leaving on foot. Not a few glared at him when he tried to approach.

      Panic rising in his chest, Zavion hurried to Steward Ebrim’s study. The door was ajar. He pushed it open to find Ebrim vaporizing a small pile of plastisheets.

       “What is happening?” Zavion demanded from the doorway.

       Ebrim’s eyes snapped up. “Oh. It’s you,” he said, waving Zavion forward, “I was about to come looking for you.”

       “What?” Zavion’s knees wobbled as he made his way forward and grasped the back of the chair he had occupied the morning before.

       “The Matori are coming,” Ebrim said, his voice crisp and matter of fact, “They will be here by nightfall.”

        “I didn’t say anything,” Zavion stammered, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened.

        “I know,” Ebrim replied, “Which is why I wanted to speak to you. I need you to do something for me.”

        Zavion nodded, his throat tightening on the millions of questions that flooded his mind. “Of course,” he choked out, “What do you need me to do?”

         “Take this.” Ebrim removed the Star of Avrum from around his neck and held it out to Zavion. He accepted with trembling hands.

         “I don’t understand.”

         “Switch it with yours,” Ebrim said, turning back to his desk, “No one will notice. They are all identical to the naked eye.”

         Zavion did as he was told. “What is special about this one?”

        “It contains a data crystal with the writings of Avrum and the location of where we have hidden copies off all the ancient texts. That is what we have been doing here, preserving the knowledge before it is lost forever. If you find another Seeker pass it on, if not… Knowing the knowledge is out there will be enough.”

         “Why are you trusting me with this?” Zavion swallowed. “And why can’t one of you take it out of here?”

         Ebrim shook his head. “It is too late for that, my boy. The Matori will ferret out every last one of us. They will never suspect you, a fresh recruit who has been pestering every department imaginable for a transfer out of this ancient pile.” His eyes twinkled. “As for why I trust you…” Ebrim smiled, his ears perking up. “You have a good heart and you want to believe, I can feel it.”

        Zavion held the pendant in both hands. “How do you know? That the Matori are coming,” he clarified.

        “We intercepted a transmission late last night. It was the Ahiri.”

         “Davix?” Zavion gasped. “It couldn’t be…” he faltered as he remembered his friend’s odd comments and the strange feeling he’d gotten the night before. His knees felt weak. “I don’t want to believe it,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes, “How could he betray you like that?”

          “I told you. Most see the Seekers as subversives.” Ebrim shook his head. “Poor man, he probably felt he was doing his duty.” He sighed. “What’s done is done. Do not worry about him now. He is locked in his quarters where he can do no more harm.”

Zavion sank into the chair. “What are you going to do? Is there time for you to escape?”

“No. Some may try, but I am the Steward and the leader of our fellowship of Seekers. They will not rest until they find me.”

“What about me?�� Zavion flushed, his cheeks hot. “Davix knows I have been spending a great deal of time under your tutelage.”

“Not enough,” Ebrim said, “There is so much I want to tell you, but there simply isn’t time. Remember this. We are seekers because we are looking for something.”

“What?” Zavion asked, leaning forward.

Ebrim shook his head. “There is too much to do. As for you, tell the Matori the truth about what you saw, even what I told you the next morning. Just keep what is in the star I gave you a secret. You will understand when you read it.” He put a firm hand on Zavion’s shoulder. “I pray that the Creator keep you safe.”

#

            The next few hours played out much as Steward Ebrim had predicted. The Matori, fierce in their unadorned black armor descended upon the library, sealing exits and sequestering its inhabitants. No corner was left unchecked.

Zavion waited in his quarters, pacing up and down the small room. He had been questioned briefly, faring better than most, it seemed. Zavion shivered, unable to forget the screams that had echoed down the halls as he was escorted to his interview. He had done as Ebrim instructed, though shame had burned within him, fear had frozen it out. His rambling answers had satisfied the dour Matori, and he was sent back to his room like a naughty child. As he left, he had heard Davix’s name linked with his and the thought that the man had vouched for him made his stomach roil.

The next morning everyone was herded into the great hall. Zavion watched, a painful lump in his throat, as the Matori carted away racks of servers and cartons of stasis modules. His fellow emissaries were battered and bruised, some staring with vacant eyes, others openly weeping. Davix was nowhere to be seen.

A tall Matori with a red slash across his helmet strode into the room. “Bring forth the accused,” he bellowed.

Steward Ebrim and several other emissaries were marched in, their hands bound in flexicuffs. Zavion sucked in a breath. The prisoners all bore signs of a night spent enduring the Matori’s brutal interrogation methods. Bile rose as they were lined up against the wall.

This can’t be happening, Zavion thought. The tall Matori read something aloud about crimes against the Empire, but all Zavion heard was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears. The room seemed to spin and blur. The Matori raised their weapons. He couldn’t turn away.

Ebrim held his head high, his eyes still shining with cheerful confidence. He’s going to meet his creator, Zavion thought as weapons flashed and silence reigned.

#

            Months passed before Zavion even dared to look at the data crystal. Finally given leave after his “ordeal,” he caught a ship home and trekked far out into the wooded wilderness beyond the tiny village he had hoped to never see again. Far from prying eyes, he spent several weeks translating the clue to the code to unlock the files. At last, with trembling hands, he accessed the writings of Avrum that Ebrim and the others had given their lives for.

            In the stillness, I heard the Creator’s voice and he said, “Go and seek among the varied creatures of the cosmos. Make note of their stories and traditions, and in time you will find the blessed world, made holy by my hand. Its people I have anointed and have entrusted to them the truth that may know me and learn my ways. This sign I give to you, that you may know you have found my people. This blessed world is the single place in the vast universe where I, the Creator, entered into his own creation, spirit and matter, two natures, but one God.”

            Zavion took a shuddering breath. He did not yet understand, but his heart was burning within his chest and he knew he wanted to believe. He wanted to know the Creator. He was a Seeker, like Ebrim. In a low whisper, he began to pray.

[kazewrites]

Submission for @inklings-challenge 2024. Wanted to put this through another round of editing, but I'm running out of time here. Hope it looks okay and it's not too confusing. (@ w@);

Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick.

Elyse stared at her reflection in her cup. It had sat here long enough it was starting to get cool, but now and then wisps still traveled up. Ordinarily this would have incited her appetite, but the sick feeling in her stomach prevented any such thought of enjoying her cocoa.

All she could think about was Kokuen. How her awful teacher had gypped her of a proper Taming education. How she hadn’t been able to assemble the team she liked. How she was forced to use a Fire Lumikin against her will. She liked Flame, but… it was hard to acknowledge him as her own,  especially with all that happened with Moki. She couldn’t help but feel like she was still just hanging onto Flame until Moki came and got him…

She picked up the green, grooved cup and sloshed the contents around. She turned it to take a look at the snowflake pattern on the back. Lico had gotten a set of these for her last spring. It was funny now how many things from his culture now decorated the house. She knew her mom had a few similar things, so in a way it was a familiar sight. Still. It was nice to have a little reminder of him all the way out here…

Her stomach was growing sour again. If cocoa wasn’t her favorite, she might even consider pouring it down the drain. She sighed. No, she couldn’t do that…

She propped her head up and her gaze roved over the kitchen counter. To her right was the oven, its door decorated with little clay snowmen. The pots and pans still sat on the stove-top, awaiting cleanup. The range hood vent was well-worn from years of use… She let her gaze drift further to the left. The dishes were stacked neatly in the dish rack in front of  her.

She stood, fingering her cup. Maybe she’d place this on the coffee table in the living room and play some games. Her reflection in the cup caught her eye again. The sour feeling was back.

It would be easy enough to just forget this. Her Taming Journey was over now. And yet… what had she become?

She shook her head. Worrying over a cup of cold cocoa wasn’t going to fix the past. Was there anything she could have done? Would having a different teacher have fixed anything? Maybe she should have been more supportive of Moki…

She took a step towards the living room, then remembered her cup. She turned back to get it, fingering the rim. Every time she picked it up, she lost her appetite. She should be happy, drinking cocoa out of a special cup like this. And yet… the feeling didn’t seem to want to linger.

Which was why she was going to play a game. Forget all this. It was in the past. She might not ever see Kokuen again. Why bother? Why get so worked up?

And then she remembered.

She had plenty of reason to hate her teacher.

To be fair, some of it wasn’t Kokuen’s fault… Or was it? Was every time those Pyramid psychos attacked them her teacher’s fault? Was Creme right about Kokuen still being in cahoots with those yahoos?

Lightning strike. A crazed smile on a gray-red face. Light fading from the eyes of a fallen Birdkin.

She shook her head. Really. It couldn’t be her teacher’s fault they ran into so much trouble… Or was it?

‘Damaged goods.’ Kokuen had called her damaged goods…

Elyse shook her head and headed for the door, throwing on her coat. She needed a walk. Maybe that’d clear her head.

She put her good boots on and started walking downhill. On a slippery night like this, the boots with spike treads were essential. She’d be all the way down by the plaza in a hurry if she wore something with any less traction. The spikes crunched into the ice. She could feel the icy layer atop the snow splintering and fragmenting in her wake as she made her way down. She considered if she wanted to go somewhere else once she reached the bottom or if the bench would do.

She missed her cocoa… Guess it took the cold for her to start hankering for it, huh? She shoved her hands in her pockets, shrugging her shoulders as she descended the hill.

At last she made it down to the park. The cold caught up to her with a sharp bite. Really was colder once you got down to the bottom, huh? Or maybe it was because she’d stopped moving…

She headed over to sit on the bench she’d been eying from the hill, leaning forward in a crouch to spread the heat around.

Everything was frozen and covered in snow. Which wasn’t too surprising for this time of year. The lampposts cast a yellow-orange light over everything.

This spot at least was clear, save for a little frost and a few icicles hanging down from the bottom of the bench. Elyse could feel them when she moved her legs.

She leaned back, taking everything in. …Ahh, she had to start moving again. She was thinking about Kokuen… She shut her eyes tightly. She let out a breath, feeling it wisp up and away without even looking.

She opened her eyes again, letting her gaze sweep over her surroundings. Beyond the Lumikin ring and the rest of the park, the trees rose up again, standing boldly as if to show everyone whose territory the world beyond the park’s was.

She looked to her left, watching the houses that rose up on slopes beyond the plaza. She wondered if any of the Snowdrift Crew was still up… Dela was out on her Tamer’s Journey still, right? So was Sandra and Jimmy… Johnny too, right? Hmmh… And Dela had brought her brother Danny, too… She could talk to their folks, but… eh. She pulled up one knee on the bench, knocking loose a patch of fresh snow. Even if she had her TD, it was too late to text any of them… but maybe she could leave a message? …Eh. She still wanted to brood out in the cold. Maybe later.

…Pointless to get so worked up about stuff… It was just jealousy at the end of the day, right? She remembered that first day she got her Journeying License. How those two kids had lucked out with such a nice mentor… Sometimes it felt like she was being played some big joke on. Some sick joke. People died…

She pulled her knees in, letting it play all over again. Being captured by Pyramid. She winced at the memory of the gunshot. Anubis’s eyes… She’d never forget those eyes… She felt a shiver fly up her spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. Too bundled up for that. Not that she ever really got cold-cold anyway…

…But she couldn’t blame Kokuen for any of that, could she…? If Kokuen had just been nicer—! Elyse stood up, clenching her fists. She kicked over a bit of snow and started walking again. Ticked her off every time she thought about it. What was with that woman that she always had to egg Moki on? It was a wonder she’d even survived Kokuen’s training. Sometimes Elyse really did want to believe all the Pyramid attacks were her teacher’s fault, if only because she was ex-Pyramid. Or was Elyse the crazy one for sticking around and not thinking it was a problem? …To be fair, she had other agendas, especially when it came to traveling with Taffy’s team… She sighed, listening to the crunch underneath her boots again. She kept going down the path beyond the park, into the dark. Maybe she’d check if the ski lift was open at this hour. She just wanted to keep moving.

As she reached the bottom of the slope and came under the whiter lights, she was starting to have second thoughts. Maaaybe heading all the way down the mountain at this hour wasn’t a great idea… She could go back to the park? Maybe do some training..? Maybe… mm, the Mamokin tundra was far. As much as she wanted to visit Mamo in his natural habitat, it wasn’t the kind of journey to make this late at night.

She headed up back to the park anyway. She’d need her TD if she wanted to take anybody out, anyway. And… after thinking about how Kokuen forced Flame on her… She shook her head. Ugh. She ran a hand through her hair. Kokuen was the fire expert. Why did she have to bear Flame…? She’d just wanted to train Mamo. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, had to know ice’s weaknesses… It was stupid! She didn’t want it! She kicked up more snow. Ughhh.

She kept marching up. May as well check out the stable while she was up here. It’d be nice just to see some Lumikin…

Though… they were asleep. She probably shouldn’t disturb their rest…

But in the morning, everyone’d be hustling and bustling. Would she get a chance to resolve this?

She was running out of places to go. She wasn’t heading down the mountain, it was too dark for the forest…

She came to the barn anyway. Maybe she’d just sit here for a bit. It wasn’t as bright out here, but… whatever. She needed a new brooding location.

She settled in, leaning against the trunk of a tree outside the barn. Sounded like the foxkin were still up. Made sense…

A little black nose sniffed at her from behind the fence. A pale, glowing eye peeked out from between the slats.

Aaand, there one was.

Elyse smiled, catching glimpses of its ice blue fur. She walked over to the fence, reaching a hand in to pet it.

The creature yap-laughed, play-biting her hand and wiggling. It smiled up at her.

“Hehe.” She tried again to pet it and it kept playing with her hand. Silly fox…

Eventually it darted away back to its feeder.

Elyse watched the creature for a bit, listing her head to one side. Ah, she was getting tired. Maybe she would head home now.

Besides… it wasn’t like she could get her Tamer’s Journey back now. It was over and done with. As much as she wanted to rewrite it. As much as she wanted to bring Moki back… She shoved her hands in her pockets and headed home.

—

It was her mom who had gotten her thinking about this. And it was her mom who stirred her head about it even before bed.

Forgiving Kokuen… Could she even do that? Could she just… let it all go? On the one hand, she wanted to forget it all. She wanted to forget Kokuen. Pretend the thing with Pyramid never happened. That Kokuen never treated her badly. Never pushed her head and tried to force her to recover when she was down. Didn’t keep preaching to her about how hard reality was and how she’d die being soft. Man she wanted to kick Kokuen’s head in sometimes. Not hard. Just. Just a bop. Enough to hurt. Not… not more than that. It’d feel good, she bet.

The next day, she went out to help her dad take care of the Mamokin. If she’d wanted to, she probably could have taken the teleporting ring last night to the tundra, but. It was dangerous out this way at night. Just as well she visited during the day.

The moment Mamo saw her coming, he rushed over, beating her to the punch and shoving his trunk on her face.

“Mam—”Oof. She laughed and pulled his snout off her. She rubbed his fur and leaned into him. Ahh, this was her favorite.

Mamo gave a stuttering trumpet as if laughing with her. He poked the top of her head with his trunk.

“Mmh.” Elyse buried her face in his fur. She didn’t wanna move…

He made a small, concerned noise.

Elyse gave his fur another pat. She was okay.

He blew a bit of ice at her.

Elyse laughed and threw a snowball at him. Two could play at this game!

Mamo made a happier sound and scooped up lots of snow with his trunk. He threw it at her.

“Oh no!!” Elyse ran and managed to dodge his snow spray. And this was why you didn’t challenge an ice mammoth to a snowball fight! They didn’t play fair!

Mamo scooped up another load and tried to get her with it again.

“Missed me!” Elyse said. Missed her by a mile, was he even trying to hit her?

Mamo scooped up a heftier load, waiting for Elyse to get close. He saw her trying to dart past him and covered her in snow this time.

“Dwah!” Elyse collapsed in a heap of snow. “Okay, you win.” Not like she could beat Mamo in a snowball fight of this caliber…

Mamo pawed at the snow with his trunk to dig her out, concern etching his mammoth-like face.

“I’m okay, I’m okay…” Elyse pushed herself out and sat on the heap. She rested her chin in her palms.

He blew snow at her again.

“Mmmh.” She covered herself with her hood. No more.

Mamo gave an indignant ‘bark.’

Elyse sighed. She just… mmmh… She pulled her hood up a bit to look at Mamo.

Mamo patted her head with his trunk again, then let it rest on her shoulder. He tilted his head slightly.

“Thanks for understanding, buddy…” She got up and hugged him again. She should probably get to work instead of playing around…

Mamo’s trunk bobbed curiously, but he made no more noises.

“What do you think of holding grudges?” she asked, leading him over towards the tree line where the other Mamokin were feeding.

Mamo made a curious sound in reply. Was that ’go on,’ ‘what do you mean,’ or ‘I don’t understand you’? Lumikin were pretty smart when it came to commands, but… well. Mamo was a good listener anyway, even if he couldn’t reply back like a human could.

“I mean…” She looked at him. “Remember Kokuen? Of course you do. Hang on, I’ll imitate her.” Elyse crossed her arms and looked off sullenly.

Mamo only blinked.

Elyse’s shoulders sank. She guessed he wouldn’t understand what she was doing. “Well… remember MistyKo? The…” She wiggled her hands and made a ‘wshh’ sound, trying to make an impression of a cloud of mist. …Was it working?

Mamo just blinked again.

…No. At least not with Mamo. She sighed. Maybe she’d talk to dad about it…?

—

“What do you do about grudges?”

Her dad paused his work. He hummed to himself. They both worked in silence for a while.

“That mean you have one? Look, if it’s about stealing your leftover cocoa last night—”

Elyse smiled and shook her head. “Well, actually…”

“Oh, now you’re gonna hold a grudge, huh?” He dumped out the bin of greens he was holding for the Mamokin. “Knew I shouldn’t have touched it.”

Elyse looked down, smiling still as she emptied her own bin into the growing pile of frostbitten plant matter.

“Is this about your teacher?” he guessed next, dusting off his mitts, grabbing up the empty bin and heading over to one of the sheds.

Bullseye. She guessed nothing got past her dad. Felt silly to bring up though. She sighed. “I try not to think about it too much, but…” She looked away. “Mom keeps hinting about forgiving Kokuen, but… where do I even start?” She looked up. “She was a jerk to me from the start. It’s her fault Moki ran away. She keeps going real world this, real world that… and she’s so immature!” Elyse kicked snow. “And yet she lords it over me like I’m 12! Ticks me off…”

Her dad shook a new load of frozen pine boughs into the bin in his hands. Elyse followed suit grumpily. She sighed, hefting her bin as they headed back towards the tree line. Her dad followed after her at a slower pace.

“Forgiveness comes in parts,” he finally said. “Even if someone’s only wronged you once, sometimes, it’s like… what they said hurt you in different ways.” They bustled in silence for a bit. “S’hard to forgive someone when you’re still mad at ‘em…”

Elyse kicked another patch of snow with her boot, flinging bits of it into the air. “Got that right…”

“Alright, settle down there, tiger.” He rubbed her head with his elbow since his hands were still full.

“I know it’s not right to hold grudges…” Elyse said, slowing down. “But I can’t help but feel like I was cheated out of a proper Tamer’s Journey. I want to think not all of that was her fault, but then… then I get to thinking, what if it is? She’s done so many other things to me, somehow, it feels logical for everything wrong with my journey to have been her fault,” she said, scowling.

“Well… why don’t you tell me all about it? I know I’ve heard the gist of what happened on your journey, but not what your teacher’s done to you specifically.”

“Okay…”

Once they made it back under the cover of the trees, they set their bins down and sat on one of the snowbanks.

“Some of it’s really silly… before I was assigned to Kokuen…” Elyse went on to describe the scene. An old man instructor taking out his new students for ice cream. It got her hopes up, dumb as it sounded, only to be rewarded with Kokuen. It felt like some cosmic joke.

“Moki only made things worse,” she continued on, chin resting on her palms again. “Maybe I could have stood Kokuen if it weren’t for Moki… Not that she really did anything wrong just by not getting along with Kokuen. Yeah, she was headstrong and didn’t have the best ideas, but…” She sank. “It was just one big crud show. Everything Kokuen did just added gasoline on the fire. Moki would make a bad decision, Kokuen would come down on it hard. And she’d do it trying to convince you this was some sort of ‘tough love,’ but couldn’t she read the room?” Elyse leaned back against the snowbank. She blustered. Yeah, Moki had been an amateur, but.. ugh…

Her dad listened, digesting all she had said.

“I just think if Kokuen had been nicer, things would’ve been better.” Elyse crossed her arms. “She has this high and mighty attitude and it’s really grating. I tried to be the better person, but…” She shook her head. “At a certain point… it just got worse and worse. Especially when she forced me to take on Flame… It’s like, yes, I know I need to understand ice’s weaknesses. But… mmh.” She kept trying to force her to be someone she didn’t want to be. It was annoying! “And then there’s the whole thing with Pyramid… I really want to think that wasn’t her fault. Really. But… they just kept showing up?” She shook her head. “And… mmh.”

“Why do you want to think it was her fault?” her dad asked. “Just because you had a hard time with her in so many other ways?”

Elyse squinted. There were… other reasons, but it would get into gossip territory… “There were reasons…” she said simply. Her dad was looking at her, waiting for her to go on. She closed her eyes. “But it wouldn’t be fair to say.”

“Hmm.”

“I know I shouldn’t use it against her, but…” She looked off. “Even if it wasn’t… on purpose, still… Maybe Pyramid was following her and we were just extensions.” She looked down. “It probably would’ve been responsible for her to try and get us a substitute mentor or let Taffy train us after things went down in Desa… Or maybe irresponsible. I don’t know. Surely, if she thought they were following her… I don’t know.” She sank again.

“Hmm. How old did you say your teacher was again?”

Elyse thought. She wasn’t sure exactly. “I’m pretty sure she’s only a few years older than me.”

“Hmm.” Her dad digested this information. “You had trouble respecting her. Felt like she was close enough to your age and immature enough you shouldn’t have to kiss up, right?”

“Took the words out of my mouth.” Was that wrong?

“Sometimes we have to respect people who aren’t worthy of our respect,” her dad said, propping his elbow up on his knee. “It’s just the way of the world.”

“Kinda hate it though.” Besides. Kokuen hadn’t come down on Elyse for treating her like an equal until way later. It set a bad precedent.

Her dad sighed. “Gotta turn the other cheek sometimes…”

“Don’t like being slapped at all.”

“It’s more about… putting the mirror up to what she’s doing,” her dad explained. “I’m not telling you to take hits lying down. But… don’t fight fire with fire. If you sink to her level, then… that’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

Elyse huffed. “What do you mean? Putting the mirror up to her…?”

“Well… when she gets into a tailspin, you can gently point out what her methods are doing,” her dad said, “instead of snarking back or having an attitude about it.”

“Gentle…” That was the trouble. She shook her head. “It’s all over and done now though. I can’t take back anything I said and neither can she.” Elyse slumped forward.

“And yet you’re still hanging on to every wrong thing she did to you.”

“It’s stupid. I kind of hate it. It’s like an addiction.” Elyse covered her face. “It feels good to have something to be mad at for everything that happened. Especially when it was Kokuen’s fault!”

“Mm…”

“Does that make me an awful person?” Elyse asked. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s just because I’m bored…”

“Well. No more awful than the rest of us.” Her dad cracked a smile.

Elyse gave a half-smile back. “Thanks…” She guessed that was true…

Her dad offered her a hand. “Wanna offer it up?” he asked.

“I gotta, right?” Elyse put her hand in his.

“No… you could just keep hanging onto it and chewing on it if that’s what you’d really like.” He gave her another wrinkled smile.

Elyse considered for a moment. He was right. It would be the easy way out. But… she’d probably drive her folks crazy complaining about it and being sullen all the time. Worst case scenario, she’d become just like her rotten teacher.

… “I don’t know if I can,” she finally said.

“Shall we, then?” He closed his fingers around hers.

… “I don’t know.” Elyse slipped her hand out of his. “It feels like I’m taking the easy way out…”

“Hm…”

Elyse knew he was right. She knew this was something she needed help with. But also… it was a weird source of entertainment. Almost like a toy. But… she knew it wasn’t good for her. As much as she wished things were different. As much as she wished she’d had a nice teacher, that Moki hadn’t run away, that her Tamer’s Journey hadn’t been full of so much running, pain and strife. But she knew deep down that most of it wasn’t Kokuen’s fault. To some degree at least, Pyramid themselves being awful had more to do with it than whatever Kokuen had done wrong on her part… She knew that. She knew that, best of all from the thing with Anubis… She slumped over again.

… “S’not bad to need a little help sometimes.” He slapped his knees and brought himself back up. “Well. Ready to get back to work?” He offered her a hand.

Elyse looked at his hand. She knew she shouldn’t keep letting this control her life. She knew she didn’t want these bitter thoughts to turn her into her teacher. She had to be the bigger person. She had to be. But it was so hard. She just knew she wouldn’t get anywhere trying to pray about it. She had too many walls up. “I guess so.” Maybe she’d try tonight…

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

Believe it or not, despite having some potential real life parallels, this particular part is not aimed at any of them. I tried to strike the balance between Paula being correct and people still having legitimate fears/conspiracy theories, without dismissing them out of hand. I hope I got the balance right. Please let me know. I also wrote an outtake explaining a plot hole, intended to be read after the end of this part, but which didn't fit in this part. @inklings-challenge

Two: Instruct the Ignorant

Paula kicked the speed up to maximum, dropped flat onto the hoverboard, and broke every rule her parents had ever taught her about hoverboarding.

She hurtled through the sky like a bullet, wind screaming over her and making it nigh impossible to draw a breath with ease. The hoverboard was good, better than her own personal one, and without the speed control most had, because this was an elder’s board, and had to be faster than the rest of the community. If she’d had goggles, she would have worn them; instead she closed her eyes for most of the trip back, relying on the sensors that would alarm if she got too close to anything, and occasionally shielding her eyes with one hand to squint and see where she was. The journey that had taken her nearly half an hour on the larger board with her cargo took five minutes and thirty-two seconds, and a good deal of that was accelerating and decelerating. Paula pulled to a difficult stop in front of her father, grinning and gasping for breath. 

Stephen’s eyebrows rose as he recognised his daughter. “Have fun?”

“Yeah,” Paula agreed, gulping air. “Lots of fun.”

“Is that the fastest you’ve ever gone?” Before she answered, he cut in quickly, “If it’s not, don’t tell me.”

She laughed. “It is, actually. And I had the sensors and avoidance tech on, so it was unlikely to cause a problem really.”

“Hmph,” he said, and tugged at his beard for emphasis. “Okay, I was told to get you to go around as fast as you can helping people prepare. If things are already packed and can go into underground storage, the one at the centre of the village still has space—just note down their names and the approximate size of the cargo and we’ll send someone to transport. We want you on foot, but be as quick as you can, because if possible, we want an idea of who needs further help tomorrow across the entire village.”

She glanced at the sky. “Lunch break was pretty late; there’s only, what, four hours before sundown?”

“We might be working past sundown at this rate.”

Paula reared back to stare at him. “So much to do?”

“Unfortunately. This Tide is bigger than usual, so we’ve got to take people to Onas instead of Jeran, because Jeran itself may have too small a surface with the higher flood to handle all the people. Rainfall is projected for the night, too, and might cause flooding on its own.”

She winced, taking off the gloves as she did so and cramming them in her pocket. “Onas is—what, two hours’ round trip from here? And we’ll have how many trips of folks unwilling to take their own hoverboards?”

“Worse than two hours—two and a half on the big transport hoverboards. Going to Onas instead of Jeran adds just over half an hour to every single trip.”

Paula whistled. “I thought I’d got it worked out pretty well that we’d finish all the trips we need by four or so, but—gosh! We might still be taking people at sundown.”

“We’re going to push very strongly for people to use personal hoverboards and leave us to bring pets and elderly or infirm. Speaking of, you’ve got to get going.”

“This should be easier,” she muttered in disbelief. “People should be used to it, surely?”

“You’d think so. Still, it’s once every forty-seven years. Twice, maybe three times in anyone’s lifetime.”

“How old were you at your first?”

“Sixteen: making me sixty-three at present. This one’s going to be a super tide, though, even of Big Tides. It could wipe out the village, frankly. Which means we need to do a lot more preparation than we’d anticipated. Get on wi’ ye.”

Paula asked whose house she should start with, and was told Bethany Thompson’s. She took off the protective shielding on her boots and roller skated her way down the narrow street, now-exposed wheels humming softly over the glass-like pavement. Most people were pottering around more or less usefully, or hovering in the sky helping with the transport. Bethany Thompson was out in her front garden painstakingly attaching protective cases to her magnificent and carefully maintained plants. She hailed Paula’s approach with relief.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m delighted to see you. You see, the mint-bush over in the corner is a bit too big for me to cover, and if I don’t the Tide will ruin it. My first Tide, I didn’t do anything and the entire garden was destroyed. My mother warned me about it, but you know, I was silly and didn’t listen. I suppose it wasn’t really my first Tide, because there was one when I was a baby, but that doesn’t stick.”

Paula helped her with the cover, watching her fasten it to the ground and wondering if it would be enough. The old lady chattered as they worked, finding jobs that absolutely needed two people, and commiserating about the loss of her dear departed husband, who would have helped her. When Paula finally said she had to go—keeping an anxious eye on the movement of the sun—Bethany thanked her several times and hoped audibly that she would come back tomorrow, because there was still a great deal to do that needed two pairs of hands.

Paula bit her lip and said she’d try and find someone to help her, but couldn’t promise herself. Far too late, she escaped and skated to the next house, where she found a frazzled-looking young woman who said distractedly that she didn’t need any help, and that they’d probably manage it themselves before tomorrow. The house was bare except for a large bookshelf, which Paula winced internally at. Though it had doors that could close securely on it, it would still be a pain to transport, unless the woman (whose name she had forgotten for the moment) intended to leave it there and hope it remained when she returned. Making a note on a scrap of paper from her pocket, Paula excused herself and went through three more houses that needed no assistance, pleased to see that most people were pretty organised, even though only one of them knew that this Tide was going to be particularly high. She suspected the elders had chosen not to advise people of that fact in order to manage any panic they might feel.

Her first problem appeared when Olive Bailey, a forceful personality crammed into too small a body and continually spurting out in fits of anger, answered the door with a yell the whole street could hear. “I am not doing anything about this ‘Big Tide’,” she announced, arms akimbo and hostility radiating from her. “If you’ve come for that, you can jolly well stay away.”

“Why?” asked Paula, as calmly as she could.

Olive seemed startled that Paula did not respond with antagonism. “Come inside,” she barked, and Paula followed her in some apprehension. The house was still furnished, and though she knew there would be a cellar to store most of the furniture, and a hoverboard so Olive could handle it on her own, Paula was worried about the amount of work needed by tomorrow. “Sit down.” Paula sat. “Do you believe in this conspiracy?”

“I know of no conspiracy,” said Paula carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you weasel word me,” warned Olive, dropping into the chair opposite Paula. “You believe the Big Tide is happening, don’t you?”

“I have no reason to expect otherwise.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” said Olive flatly. “The elders just want to control us.”

“Why would they do that?”

Olive shot her an exasperated look and cracked her knuckles one by one. “Why wouldn’t they? They’re power hungry maniacs. Everyone in politics is a nutcase.”

“That’s a pretty broad statement.”

“I mean, except for Jesus, if he counts as being in politics,” Olive parenthesised. “I don’t think human politics should exist. We should just love our fellow man.”

“I wish it was that easy,” agreed Paula, and smiled. Olive relaxed slightly. “I see what you’re saying,” she added seriously. “If Big Tide didn’t happen… how would we explain the fact that the projected flood didn’t happen? It doesn’t affect anyone for most of their lives, only for a fairly short time every forty-seven years. That’s pretty rare; I honestly don’t see why that would be chosen as the lie to peddle.” Her tone was patient without becoming condescending, and she hoped Olive understood.

The other woman was nodding thoughtfully. “I still don’t see why we have to relocate and all the things they tell us. Why not just use our hoverboards for the night, and wait until the tide goes down in the morning—if it does really happen?” Her eyebrows rose challengingly, and she leaned forward a little.

Paula had expected and prepared for that question. “It won’t just go down in the morning,” she said; Olive scoffed, so she changed the subject. “As I understand it, in times past they’ve transported goods and chattels to Jeran, you know, Mount Jeran, and left them there while most people just hoverboard and wait for the tide to pass. It’s projected to be a higher tide than usual, a Big Tide of Big Tides, and combining that with the amount of rainfall we’ve got recently, and the thunderstorm expected all day tomorrow—well, it could be real bad. While we can pretty much hover as long as we like, and sleep on our boards until the fuel runs out, there’s the question of food and toileting and all that. Of course if you want to stay here and hover instead of going to Onas before it starts, that’s your choice.” She smiled, and Olive smiled uncertainly back.

“I thought you said Jeran.”

“Yeah, well, they’re saying Onas now, because of the higher water level this time. I only found that out just now, so I’m still wrapping my head around it. We don’t want to bring everything there and then have the water level rise too high and have to evacuate in haste and lose things, or worse, people.”

Olive studied her. “You’re taking this pretty seriously, aren’t you?”

Paula shrugged. “I have no reason to doubt the people who tell me about these things, including my parents, and I don’t want to discover it’s true just as the water’s rising, you know?”

Olive nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it. I guess even when I’m proven right, it still won’t have been much of my time spent on packing.”

“Can you get more fuel for your hoverboard to make sure it’s full for tomorrow night, in case I’m right?” asked Paula carefully.

The other looked wisely down her nose. “Ah, no. Haven’t you seen fuel prices right now? That’s part of the conspiracy.”

“It’s logical that it’s more in demand,” tried Paula, and Olive smiled in a superior fashion.

“That’s what they want you to think.”

Paula lifted her hands in a gesture of defeat. “I can’t change your mind for you,” she said after a pause. “But I hope you’ll be willing to at least pack up your stuff—just in case. If you’re right, you get the last laugh, and maybe a chance to sort or rearrange your things even if it isn’t necessary, and if I’m right then you keep them safe.”

“When I’m right, I demand an apology.”

“If you are, I will give it,” said Paula unhesitatingly. “I just—” She paused, suddenly emotional. “I want everyone safe—even if I’m operating under incorrect beliefs.”

Olive’s expression softened. “Well, you’re right that it might give me a chance to rearrange the house when I unpack it dry in a couple of days. If I get time, I’ll do that.” She got up, and Paula matched her.

“Thank you for your time,” said Paula sincerely, making a note on her paper as she stopped on the doorstep. “In whatever manner that looks in the next few days, be safe.”

This story, for which there are seven parts, is dedicated to everyone affected by Hurricane Helene. It was not written because of that, but a water-based natural disaster is part of the plot. It does not focus on it, but is a story of hope. The text of section one is under the cut. I hope to post all sections before the end of the Inklings Challenge. Despite this being my third year, this is the first I've actually posted anything other than snippets, so I hope I'm doing this right. I haven't yet written more than this, but I do have an outline for the other six parts, so hopefully that will work. @inklings-challenge

One: Admonish the Sinner

First of all it must be understood that every world is connected, as every village is. Some are just further away.

This is not a story of Earth; this is a story of a world nobody bothered to name, in a village nobody called anything other than the village. But that does not make it any less beloved—by people or by God. Sometime, a long time before this story is set, someone from Earth came to this nameless world and gave them the greatest gift of all, truth: but that is another tale entirely.

The night sky of this world is strikingly different from ours. Most prominently, two moons watch the world below, and every forty-seven years or so, flooding hits the island. They call it Big Tide, for it is the pull of the two moons combined that does this. It is regular enough, and has enough warning signs, that everyone should be perfectly ready for it.

As is common in humans (and these are humans like us, though the world is different), not everyone believes the evidence laid out in the world.

This is a story of Big Tide, specifically the one of the year three thousand, two hundred and twenty by their reckoning. This is a story of Paula McArthur.

%%%%%%%

The wattles were flowering, and it was Paula’s favourite time of year. There were several different wattles, but this was the deep gold ones she loved the best, the ones she gathered by the armful and adorned her home with. Now she only held a single sprig and enjoyed it to the full. It was too close to Big Tide to unnecessarily damage the wattle trees; they could be badly damaged by the rushing waters, and might need everything they had to survive. But one twig wasn’t going to hurt it.

The sky was a clear pale blue shot with fine clouds, a mass of them shining near the horizon with the sun gentle on them. Paula raised her face to the sunlight and closed her eyes, smiling. It was spring, and she never felt more alive than in springtime. 

She had been working all morning to prepare for Big Tide, largely transport. Her hands were tired of the precise positions needed to be held in order to hover exactly enough to transfer items in mid-air between hoverboards rather than landing to do it, which would waste time. Tide waited on no man, but Paula was skilled enough to know when she could be sloppy about hoverboarding, and enjoyed hoverboarding in a more slapdash manner than most people she knew. She had graduated earlier than most of her classmates from a controller to haptics. Tomorrow, though, she might use the controller again to make sure she was fresh enough to hover efficiently overnight during Big Tide itself. 

Presently she took out her lunch, and ate it while walking. In the distance a kookaburra laughed; Paula came to an abrupt halt as a green-blue iridescent flash clued her into the presence of a river dragon nearby. It turned and looked at her, bright blue eyes wise and calm. After a moment of silence and mutual respect, the dragon moved properly into her view and arched its sinuous back, raising its crest. Paula lifted her chin and brushed back the dark fringe to look more intimidating. The only sign the dragon gave of seeing any change was to raise its scales in a largely vain attempt to inflate its size. Abruptly it put down its scales and ran in a blaze of colour, uttering a high keening cry that faded as it retreated.

Paula turned to see who had disturbed her, smiling as she recognised the intruder. “What brings you here, Martha?”

Her friend grinned in response, lighting up her tanned sombre face. “You, actually. I came in search of you.”

Paula half gestured to herself, merrily. “Why trouble yourself?”

Martha grew serious at once. “I care about you. Aren't I allowed to?”

“Certainly, as I do.” 

Martha smiled a little incredulously. “Anyway, surely it's time to go back now?”

Paula raised a single eyebrow, then tilted her head back and assessed the position of the sun. “I guess. Why did you come to find me, Mar?”

“Oh, you know, I hardly see you now.” Her manner was evasive, which baffled Paula. “You're always out walking.”

“It's spring.” Paula waved the sprig of wattle at her. “The best time of the year. What's your favourite season?”

“Winter,” said Martha definitively. “Cold and empty and bleak.”

“Why do you like it that way?” she asked in surprise. Last time they'd talked about the seasons, she thought Martha had waxed poetic about the dying fire of autumn. 

“It's silent,” was Martha's quiet response. “Nobody bothers you.”

Paula paused to assess the time, decided they had to go back and led the way; Martha trailed her. “I thought you liked people.”

There was a short silence. “People don't tend to like me.”

“That's nonsense,” she responded immediately. Martha smiled, sad and sarcastic. 

“I don't tend to like me.”

Her calmness bothered Paula, and she sped up slightly. “Well, I do. You're fun, conversational and well read.”

“Which is why you disappear alone for hours.” She caught up and shot Paula a sidelong look, as if to say, I know your secrets. Except there were no secrets to know. 

“I like spring. It feels so alive and fresh, like all the past year's mistakes are washed away and there's new growth instead.”

“Very poetic.” Instead of amusement, Martha's tone was sour. She dodged past Paula and trotted quickstep the whole way back.

%%%%%%%

“I don't know what I did wrong,” finished Paula, twisting her hands nervously. “She got mad and I don't know why.”

Her mother glanced hurriedly across to check the next load wasn't ready, then turned to Paula again. “When people aren't happy it can be a temptation to take it out on others, especially those who are.”

“She said she was worried, and then she just changed and didn't want to talk to me.”

“Rebecca!” The shout made her mother focus on her own work; Paula moved her hoverboard closer to her father so he could load it up. This one was three bags of flour, heavy on the back and requiring stabilisation, which Paula remained still for while her father adjusted the controls. When it was done, he gave her a thumbs up and she gestured with her gloves, rising away from the site and on the journey to higher ground. It wasn't as easy to handle the unbalanced board; she would have done a lot more, and easier, with a transport hoverboard rather than the jury-rigged family board, but it was more economical and the decree had been that fuel, not time, was of the essence, since they'd planned well in advance. Indeed, today being the day before Big Tide, they had expected to have no more transport to do apart from the people, but someone had been digging too enthusiastically in their garden and cracked an underground storage container, so all of that had to be moved. 

She was most of the way there, wind in her face, when a fast personal hoverboard raced up beside her, village elder crouched to stave off the wind. He matched her speed, then unwound and said, “I'll take over from here. Take my board and go back—we need you to persuade people to go.”

“What?” She was already moving, assessing how to swap boards without any risk of either of them tumbling into the trees below while stepping across. “Why?”

He grimaced. “Turns out there are people who haven't prepared and don't want elders coming to help. Your dad suggested you could try and help instead.”

She started to shuck the gloves, then changed her mind and pressed buttons, keying them to the elder's hoverboard instead. As ownership switched, both boards lurched violently, and Paula barely held her position. The elder was wearing magnetic boots and so didn't run the risk of falling. Once she had stabilised it, she said, “So where do I start?”

“Ask your dad when you get back.” His expression was calm and focused as he adjusted the settings to accommodate for his weight. “For now, just get going. Time is of the essence. Big Tide waits for no man.”

[flamingpudding]

Cassiopea and Orion

Ellie had a plan. She promised she had one. This wasn't like when Clocky would sent her off on a mission through time with nothing more but a little note with a cryptic message on what to do.

Danny had given her clear instruction. Before one of her many travels to see the world, Danny, in his mid twenties and she in her late teens, had taken her aside once. Telling her about specific instruction she should follow, should she ever find herself in a moment of need, and Danny wasn't able to help her.

Well, now she was in that kind of situation. Amity Park was destroyed with no survivors. Vlads castle was no more. Both Dan and her got deaged, but Dan had to be put in a frozen state when he started to destabilize. And Danny, he had gotten captured by the GIW shoving her out of harms way and telling her to remember what he told her before.

Ellie was pretty sure Danny was telling her to follow the emergency instructions.

So here she was now. In Gotham. Keeping to the shadows and trying to find her way around.

No one ever bothered to tell her how hard it was to navigate through a city like Gotham. You would think it would be easy to find some guy running around at night in an armored spandex furry costume.

But no, here she was, in a random alley. In a city, Danny had specifically told her to avoid it unless the emergency instruction came into play. Maybe she should just steal a map.

She was contemplatingly staring at a gas station for that until she noticed a shadow jumping over the roof tops. It took her only a second to decide on her next action. Ellie was pressed on time after all.

"Hey you!" She shouted loudly flying up to follow that shadow. "Wait up!"

Thankfully, the shadow listened and stopped on the next rooftop toward her. She insanity noticed it tensing. Now, she noticed that the shadow was a kid. He looked small, and Ellie figured he was probably around 11 or 12.

"You are one of the Bees and Birds, right?" She questioned once she floated a bit closer. Also the kid tensed up.

"You mean Bats and Birds." The kid clicked his tongue at her, crossing their arms.

"Bees, Bats, who cares. My question is you know the big bad bee, right?" She waved the kid of, she had more pressing matter than getting their animals right. "I need to get a message to him."

The kid clicked their tongue once more, huffing and muttering something she couldn't hear. Probably talking to someone on a com. Either way, Ellie took his silence as a form of telling her to continue.

"Can you tell the big bad bee-" "Bat" "-the following?" She ignored the kid cutting in trying to get her message across and follow Danny's instructions to a T.

"Cassiopea is calling out to Orions Nursery before Rho dies to help her youngest."

There was long, drawn-out silence, and the kid was hissing something into coms. Ellie fidget with her finger nervously. Going through Danny's emergency instructions through her mind again until she hear a thud close to her and wirled around.

With wide blue glowing eyes, she looked up at the man dressed like a bat for a couple of seconds before taking on a defensive position. Eyes now narrowed at the man that was clearly studying her.

"I was under the impression that Phantom's youngest child was older. You appear to be no older than five."

"Yea well shit happened!" She shot back, still unsure if she could trust the man even if he mentioned Danny's hero alias. Her hands started to glow slightly as she prepared to attack in case things went back. But the man didn't appear to be phased by it. Not like the kid that was tensing up.

"You will be safe with us. But what happened to Phantom?"

Ellie eyes flicked over to the other kid that had now come closer to stand next to the bat guy before looking back to the big guy. She did not drop her stance yet. Still unsure of how much trust she can put here despite what Danny had told her, she had not yet heard the right response.

The man appeared to sense her distrust, as he kneeled to be on eye level with her. "Jupiter and Rho Cas will not be harmed. Orion gave Cassiopea his word."

Finally, Ellie relaxed, dropping her defensive stance but still watching the man with narrowed eyes. She hesitated a short moment before carefully saying her next words, hoping the man knew enough to k ow the grave meaning behind them.

"Phantom lost his haunt."

[happi-dreams]

me and my sister was thinking of little master builders world building before tlm and we had the silly idea of — hey maybe they did lil fun games as moral when things looked dire ?

therefore, ✨ Brick-lympics ✨

i think they’d have little categories they’d all play in like ‘who can build the fastest?’ <- (consistently benny) or ‘who can build the most creative design?’ ‘who has the strongest build?’

n maybe in tlm2 or tlm if they weren’t invaded literally seconds after, Emmet joins in and probably switches between judging and building every now and again

[ladyminaofcamelot]

A father's desire for justice makes him hate mercy, and walk proudly in the face of it.

For @inklings-challenge 2024! Last one, I promise. I've really enjoyed writing for this event and getting to read some of the stories that have been posted so far! I can't wait to read more from all you creative people, and thank you to the organizers of this event for all your hard work putting it together!

[fiapple]

i'm getting towards the end of the skypeia arc, & i'd like to say just how much i adore the way the female strawhats have been treated.

just... every aspect of how the way their characters have been previously contextualized influences the story-line is treated with a masterful amount of consideration. we're given so many layers to both of them that enrich not only their characters specifically, but the arc, and the one piece world as a whole. without nami & robin having their specific skills, and their specific values, without those being built upon, the story would have come to a halt.

you could not have skypeia without nami & robin being who they are as individuals. not just because they never would've gotten there without nami, but also because the way these women think is itself foundational to the machinations of the arc as a whole.

to be totally upfront, if you think any other strawhats were more central to the skypeia arc than nami & robin were you are full-on fucking lying to yourself.

[zillycloud]

LEGO MOGIE

watching lego movie to feel awesome

thiinking about how emmet knows everyone's names and when he's greeting his neighbours in the beginning he all addresses them by name but NOBODY SAYS HIS NAME BACK HES JIST PAL DUDE FELLA ok i'm normal