Chymaera's Overture: a Shadowed Ways novel Read online

  This, was roughly my knowledge of my people as I headed off to my first birthing ceremony.

  I didn’t think being a Thumbra was special. Sure, it was nice not having to worry about how I looked. I never had bad skin, bad hair-I never had to diet or consider plastic surgery. I also didn’t think about getting sick or growing old (not that teenagers think about that stuff anyways). Yet, being a Thumbra limited me more than anything else. My life was shrouded in secrecy with rules and realities my human friends didn’t share. Additionally, I was aware my family wasn’t being candid about their expectations for my future.

  That last part predominated my thoughts. I remember trying to zone out on the drive from my home to the B.F.E. location of the birthing by listening to Yo Yo Ma play Morricone. With focused meditation, I willed myself not screw up, make my family proud and then figure out a way to get breathing room. I thought I still had options.

  5 - This Woman’s Work Sucks

  Chymaera

  Now we return to our program already in progress.

  So, I didn’t pay attention to our location until I noticed the Subaru go off-road. And I mean off-road. We bounced and jounced hard enough to make me grab the “oh shit!” handles with gusto. That put an end to my subdued mood. We’d driven east, far into the desolate canyon ranges. Once you leave the congested coastal regions of Southern California, the landscape remains beautiful, but can seem forbidding. Life has to be scrappy out there. The tires kicked up loose dirt and dust and dinged the undercarriage with the constant pinging of rocks. Another half hour of scraggly scrub and brush whizzing by and we reached our goal. It didn’t look like much. Not a tourist destination, which was the point. The birth needed to be well out of the way of any human passerby. We parked near a canyon ridge that had suffered its share of rock slides and washouts; it was unstable enough that a daredevil would require serious equipment to make it down. We expected a rare spring storm later, so no daredevils were in attendance, just us.

  Nana, Mama and I all got out of the car and grabbed our almost identical bags. There was a thing about bringing synthetics into birthing spaces so the bags were a sturdy leather and burlap, like a tote backpack. Considering the location, they looked twee as hell. I took off my shoes and tossed them inside the rucksack. Standing in my bare feet, I shuffled the sharp stones to gauge the surface. Nana wasted no time and shifted, the configurations of muscle in her legs changed and took on a goat-like appearance. Feet became split-hooves. With a wave she clattered down the ledge. Enjoying the rare opportunity, I preferred to tumble forward on all fours like a fleet-footed mountain cat. Mama followed me, I heard, rather than saw her descend. There were no footfalls, just the barest tinkling of displaced pebbles skipping down. No matter the form, Mama was economical and graceful in her movements. In those moments I experienced a bond with them both that our daily lives lacked.

  Once on the canyon floor—there was the hard brown-brown, the stony gray-brown and the sparse greenish yellow-brown earth and plants. Gravelly and uninviting, but full of more wildlife than most eyes bother to see. We formed a small column and trekked along behind Nana. She kept her hooves, and Mama followed with massive five-toed feet that spread out like a gecko’s. They both knew the way, yet I only had an awkward familiarity gleamed from Mama’s memories. While this was one of our birthing spots, I hadn’t been born here, and there hadn’t been a birth since we’d moved. Thumbra births weren’t commonplace. Most females seemed to have few children considering the length of their lives. Nana’s only child was Mama. My mother was an anomaly though, having had four children. The births of my older brothers and myself spread over 276 years. After creeping along the canyon wall, we came to a section of scrawny trees and a buzz of activity came into view. A clutch of our clanswomen entered and left a cave entrance marked by an outcropping of rocks. Some had been there all day preparing for the event. They acknowledged Nana with a short bow and returned to their tasks. She received them with a tilt of her head and turned into the cave.

  I took a deep breath before I followed her. Per Nana, this cave was natural, but our kind had embellished it over the last 150 years. The initial passageway was narrow and dark, it seemed to curve back and forth upon itself, an undulation of rock that was unnerving. However, the patient and brave claimed their reward when it opened into a large domed cavern. It was like a cathedral inside a mountain. Because of burrowing animals that made their nests in the upper ledges of the space, there were natural skylights and plenty of airflow. The whole area glowed, awash in a soft light. Near the rear, a small secondary cave held a freshwater pool, fed by a spring. It was a pleasant space with an unspoiled charm. I breathed in the herbs strewn about, sage for cleansing and lavender for calming.

  “Not what you expected?” Nana’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Not at all, this is perfect!” I responded like an idiot. Nana snorted and smirked, “Well I am so pleased everything meets with your approval, now get to work!” She chuckled sardonically at my stupidity and glided away. This was Nana in her element, in charge and surrounded by fawning subjects, but at least she was easy enough to deal with.

  A warm blush heated my face, I hurried away and looked for a place to stash my things. Glancing at the main cavern stage, I pictured it as it would be. Maala would be in the center. There being a circular depression dug out for just this purpose. Her mother, Emily, would be to her left and her aunt, Elise, to her right. She had taken a more difficult path and her mate, Stephen, was human. His mother would not attend Maala in the birth; they couldn’t know Maala was Thumbra. No, she’d told her husband that she wanted their child born in a sacred birth circle, that it was what her family did. And the circle had to be all women, female energy. Anyway, it was a thing. He hadn’t balked much at not attending the birth. He’d been present at every midwife appointment and there was nothing to worry about. The midwife though, was one of our people. But he bought the story, and some of Maala’s male family members would join him to keep him company.

  Outside the innermost depression a few Elders anchored the first circle. Tonight would be lead by Nana, the ranking Elder, followed by Nakissa, the song leader, and then me (not yet an Elder) as the Holder of the Circle.

  If I haven’t made clear what my job was, well, giving birth is not a simple labor for us. It takes a tremendous amount of energy and focus to separate the child from its mother and prepare it to maintain its own shape. To guide it through the initial essential minutes and hours. If forced to do it alone, a mother can render an area of land barren for a considerable length of time. Surround her with a group of compliant Thumbras though, and she can sip energy from each. Not depleting anyone in particular and leaving no effect on the land at all. Despite wanting to help, the life suck is an invasion and our natural tendency is to resist. A Holder of the Circle is an Empath; someone who can fill the attending Thumbras with the warm fuzzies and lower their inhibitions to being used. It is also their job to allay the mother’s concerns and sharpen her concentration. A new mother must remain riveted on her child. Typically, adults filled this role, and an adult male Empath would have been preferable to a female child Empath. But our group had been without an Empath for quite some time and any hybrid birth could have special challenges. Nana wanted to be prepared and had drafted me early.

  We’d fill the outer circles with every adult female member of our clan who could travel. Our members stretched from the southwestern US to the southern tip of the Americas and the Caribbean islands beyond. According to hierarchy, the older, more powerful, and skilled would be towards the center. Well, except for Mama, her station was at the edge of the outermost circle, no one got past her, in or out, without her approval once the ceremony began. She was Nana’s right hand and the head Sentinel. Sentinels were guards that stood watch over our sacred ceremonies or whenever needed. On that evening, Mama had scattered those guards in the canyons and at checkpoints watching roads and trails to our location. In time more of our clanswomen would pack the cavern. The o
nly adults exempted from service during birth ceremonies were those who were also pregnant or those with a babe in the cleaving phase.

  I saw my mother at the edge of the cavern and moved over to her. In silence we stripped and shook out the silks we’d brought in our bags. Instead of dresses, we had silk fabric, several yards long, which we wore wrapped, twisted and tucked against our bodies. This was our ceremonial clothing. The periwinkle silk crepe draped against me as I pulled and refashioned it into a simple halter. There was no single way we all wore our fabrics. Some styled their silks into garments reminiscent of saris or togas, and others weren’t anything I’d ever seen before. Once dressed, I removed Fiddle from the rucksack and stuffed my clothes in. I was standing there, tuning my beloved Fiddle when I caught my mother gazing at me with a wistful look.

  “Chymaera, this has been a difficult time. When you struggle, I struggle as well, and I’m not as understanding as I could be. It is my nature to test you, push you, perhaps too much. You know this isn’t what I wanted for you yet, but I am proud of you. You have learned and you are ready.” With that, Mama turned on her heel and moved to oversee activity at the entrance to the cavern. It rocked me for a minute, to hear praise from my mother and to realize it gratified me. I closed my eyes and spent several moments fine tuning my inner strings. Joyful anticipation spilled out of me and I shared the sensation. I plucked a no name tune, it was just a song of welcome and good spirits. I felt the nervousness around me shift into hope and it was perfect. It was time.

  “Gather for the invocation.”

  Nana’s voice pierced the atmosphere, reminding us of our purpose. I opened my eyes, and the cavern was a Pantone quilt of brightly hued silk wraps and human forms. Long ago Thumbras used to wear their Emergence shells to a birthing, feeling more powerful in that guise. However, it was harder to focus on creating a human-looking child that way. Now all the females wore their favorite human face whether it was the one they wore for their current life or one past. There was no uniformity to the look of the beautiful women finding their spots. Thumbras had lived in the farthest reaches of the planet for just about as long as humans had. The skin tones went from the palest of milky flesh to true ebony. There were Amazons and pygmies. Many faces had features of extinct peoples, not seen for centuries. Those of us in our first lives often appeared to be biracial, children who were a visual product of their parents’ travels through continents and time. Full of light and grace they all drifted into place, forming rings and as I turned towards the center, towards Maala, a path opened for me to pass. Greetings and acknowledgments came from Thumbras who hadn’t seen me since my birth. I knew them, and I felt known. I floated through the varied sea and anchored the room.

  Maala drowsed in angelic peace at the center of it all, eyes closed and a smile upon her lips as Elise and Emily guided her into a kneeling position. Behind them stood Nana, a younger version of her current human incarnation.

  “We gather, always. To share, to love and to create. We will welcome new life into our circle today, Maala’s son will join us and become a part of our merged destinies. Sisters, please clear your minds and open your essence. Bear witness, always.” With that, Nana retreated from the center to join Nakissa and I.

  Nakissa lifted her voice in song.

  She was ancient, older than Nana, and even in her fresh faced shell, a sturdy young woman of Mongolian derivation, she seemed weathered. In times like these she sang bewitching melodies strung together with unintelligible words from dead languages. The rings nearest the center followed her and the rings on the outer edge chanted, “Child of beauty, child of grace” with Mama. Providing balance to both, I played a soothing harmony.

  The group followed, yielding as much as they were able, and I reigned them in easily enough. Contrary to popular belief, creating the right emotional tone isn’t about a shot of a singular feeling, it is layering a cocktail. I didn’t blast everyone with HAPPY, no I fed them a heavy sense of community, a dash of self importance, alternating spikes of hope and anticipation. And to attack the niggling fears that everyone had, well you have to fight fear with fear, so I pushed a flash of fear of the “other”. Taken together this made everyone unified and looking forward to the child while committed to protecting each other. It also lowered the defensive walls between us to allow Maala to gather into her what she needed. I had come prepared to pay special attention to Maala. Nana had warned me that first-time mothers could be as fearful as excited, but that isn’t what emanated from her. She shone with incandescent joy. The forming child spun, a perpetual whirlwind, but the mother floated on bliss, a serene fixation. It seemed odd she possessed the most tranquil mind in the cavern. Maala was just, ready.

  I am unsure how long we continued on like that. The design of the ceremony caused you to lose yourself, to lose time and give oneself over to the process. Nakissa’s singing and Mama’s chanting blended together hypnotically to create a meditative state. I didn’t even know what music came from my Fiddle; my fingers moved of their own accord and it felt right. The early evening light waned and torches were lit. Eventually, the child settled and Maala’s attention adjusted. At some imperceptible signal, Emily and Elise raised her to a squat. Her eyes remained closed and the crepey silk garment bunched around her waist. Before there was anything to see, I felt the child separate from its mother. I sensed the turmoil of the new life. The change held me spellbound for a second. I had assumed that Maala’s essence masked the maleness of her child. I was wrong. The child was female. Shocked, I stopped playing and loosed my hold on the room just as the child entered the circle.

  In the next moment, the world slowed. A dark cloud seemed to flow out of Maala. This was her child and flashes of lighting marred its surface. Though she was her formless, shadowy core, her female energy was obvious, and the room recoiled. We only permitted male Thumbra hybrids, and their parents raised them as whatever species their non-Thumbra parent was. They inherited certain benefits from our side, slow aging and adaptable genes, but limited shape shifting abilities (unless the other parent was a Keros-Ki). The form they claimed at birth was theirs for life, they could only grow up and old - no major alterations allowed. Male hybrids also couldn’t pass along any Thumbra peculiarities to their children. We forbid female hybrids. The females control the bloodline of our species, and we couldn’t allow dilution or distortion. Maala had broken one of the few laws we have and her betrayal was blatant. Her eyes opened, black and queer, clouded by a pearlescent finish. The quilt tore apart, scattering into fearful clumps.

  Everything deteriorated quickly. With Maala distracted by the sudden turmoil, the child’s unshielded core displayed her inability to attain stability. She should have been forming a shell, but she didn’t. My shocked clan provided an emotional buffet, and the newborn fed, lustily. Nana stalked to me and her touch snapped me back to reality. Lacking finesse, I pushed an apathy so powerful that everyone in the cavern, save, Nana, Maala, the child & myself, slumped to the floor. I stripped them of will because this would get ugly. It was inelegant, but it shorted out the brewing panic.

  Nana and I moved towards Maala, who crouched in front of her child, protecting her with teeth and claws. She was no longer Maala the meek. I had known this young woman for many years and this behavior made her a stranger. I roused Mama and Nakissa with a brush of thought and they moved to the exit to warn the Sentinels and prevent anyone from leaving before we finished this business.

  “How could you Maala?” Nana roared her disgust. Maala responded in kind, growling like a lioness defending her cub. Despite their combative stance, It was the child that drew my attention. Her disembodied core bobbed, dark and violently out of focus. Little flashes of what she could be were visible, a smiling red-headed infant, an echo of a spirited laugh, a slash of feline tail and fangs. A montage of possibilities, but confusion bled from the creature. She was growing stronger, feeding from the surrounding trough, though she exhibited no self control. While Maala prepared to fight, she’d aband
oned the essential shaping and nurturing of her newborn, there was no larger mistake she could have made. This child needed all of her mother’s attentions. “Maala, fix your mistake–NOW!” Nana raged.

  I swallowed a whimper. We had one way to resolve this taboo; the mother had to reabsorb the child’s energy. We could allow no female hybrid and certainly no child who was unable to reach cohesion, to leave the birth chamber.

  Maala blinked as if targeting a sight, “You will not harm my daughter. My mate wanted a daughter and I’ve given him one.” Despite the forced and sluggish sound of her voice, she primed her body to attack. Nana had shed her human skin, and the warrior paced the cavern floor as if searching for a weakness in Maala’s defense.

  Nana exacerbated the situation with her authoritarian approach, but I couldn’t tell her that. I tried to calm them both but their anger had overtaken thought; they were too far down the battle path to sneak in the back door. Manipulating emotions is a subtle discipline that takes time I didn’t have. Maala wasn’t strong, but with her maternal instincts flared, that didn’t matter. We couldn’t force her to take the child in- she would have to want to. Nana pushed back against my attempts to soothe her, aiming a crippling disappointment in my direction, but she’d forgotten who she was dealing with. I can’t say what came over me.

  Sometimes, when things go to shit and something just has to be done I make it happen, whatever it is. My frustration with Nana and Maala and the ache I felt for the child, all abated and a calm filled me. I saw a way out. Something warned me off of Maala, but Nana became my instrument. I was both in my body and enveloping hers. She became my puppet. Her wooden mouth opened, and no words came out, it clacked shut. Her anger rose inside me, but I absorbed it. The child and Maala stopped feeding off of her emotions. Maala looked at us in befuddlement and moved back slightly. Nana spoke my words, “Maala, you love your child and you cannot let her suffer this way. She doesn’t know what she is. She is formless and isolated. Take her in your arms Maala. Make her safe again.” It stunned a small part of me, or rather terrified. Nana tried to regain control, her anger heavily tinged with fear, but I held on. Maala stared without focus, but the new tone had induced her to stop her protective stance. She turned to look at her daughter, at the swiftly changing cloud of possibilities. Minutes had passed, and no shape had held. She touched her child, and it was like an electric current ran through them both. The flashes slowed, but never stopped. In my own voice I urged, “Do what you must, bring her to peace Maala.”