Chymaera's Overture: a Shadowed Ways novel Read online

  He didn’t have to wait for her to wake. She didn’t sleep much and would hear him coming before he got to her. So Kai took a few cleansing breaths and made sure he was in his human facade; then he exited his room in search of explanations.

  There was no sense in bothering to go to her suite of rooms. She spent little time in there when his father was out of town. He paused at her study door and raised his hand to knock, only to hear “Come in Kai” before he could make contact. Never fails. When Kai opened the door to find his mother seated on the chaise, much like she’d been earlier, he couldn’t miss her intent. What took you so long?

  Kai slipped through the threshold and shut the door behind him. Instead of advancing into the room, he leaned against the door and folded his arms. Regarding Yesmin in silence, he knew she would wait for him to speak, but her presence invited caution.

  Yesmin was his mother, now, but that had not always been the case. While she’d been present at his birth, it had been as the presiding elder, a favor to an old friend, his father, and not as the starring attraction. His first mother had birthed and received him, perhaps tepidly, but she wasn’t the excitable sort. Normally mother and child leave the birthing circle with the strong bond formed during gestation; such a bond is more needful than sentimental because coaxing a Thumbra child to hold his or her shape initially is only the first step in a difficult road. Teaching a child to pass for human is a 24/7 job that takes several years. Everyone refers to those years as “cleaving time” or hell. During that time a Thumbra child is almost never without their mother, and both live in seclusion. In the occasional circumstance that a new mother can’t or won’t perform this task; she at least supports and assists her mate or other caregiver in developing the complex bond within days of the child’s birth.

  Perhaps Kai’s birth mother had underestimated the transformative process of raising a child. Perhaps she’d never felt the bond. Whatever the reason, she had been ill-suited to nurturing and had abandoned him when he was 3 and a half. His father came home one evening to find his son alone, not something typically done. Kai told his father that mother often left him alone, for hours at a time. By their standards, she’d neglected Kai. This time, she didn’t return. She left no explanation and disappeared. Still well within the cleaving stage, still an infant considering Thumbra development and longevity; his father had been sure Kai would lose cohesion and die. He’d taken emergency leave from his teaching position, suspended his research and attempted to care for his son. Despite his love for the child, he wasn’t able to develop the elemental bond that such young children require to connect with the world around them. Kai receded into himself. He stopped resembling a human child at all and preferred to take root in the volcanic earth in their backyard and grow limbs that were shrub-like.

  Professor Kyong had contacted the Queen in a panic. They were all in Hawaii then. His father on the big island at the University of Hawaii, and the Queen on Molokai. She’d come, and she’d hardly spoken at all. What she had done was root herself next to Kai, she’d sheltered him and allowed him to latch onto her in a way that his father could not tolerate. Never one for words, she’d fed him images of love and comfort and required nothing from the child. When she’d left his parents’ home, Kai had attached to her like a growth. His father understood that if this attempt at bonding were to save Kai, he had to stay with her indefinitely. Kai had regressed so far that the Queen communicated and cared for him as if he were her child from birth. He remained attached to her for months. Even when he could separate himself, no one wanted to risk removing Kai from the Queen. So, she raised him on Molokai; and it reduced his father to a frequent visitor. The intimacy that the Queen and the professor developed grew out of their mutual love of, and occasional frustration with, Kai.

  People unacquainted with their history, as most were, could not understand the love Kai had for a woman that many considered simply a stepmother. In reality, he was more her child than he was either of his birth parents. That is why he had a healthy wariness of her.

  The Thumbras loved their Queen; they worshiped her. But given she didn’t wear a crown or have the props of human royalty; her younger subjects forgot what made their Queen a Queen.

  Raw power and the will to use it.

  Kai preferred to think of her as his mother; thinking of her as Queen, and all that entailed, was a harrowing experience. Her power was immense and her responsibilities tremendous. Kai trusted her to tell him what she believed he needed to know. That wasn’t the same as trusting her to tell him what he believed he needed to know.

  “Well, she had an overwhelming evening.” Kai stared ruefully at Yesmin.

  “Oh. Did she?” Yesmin smoothed her embroidered coat as she adjusted herself, preparing for a long conversation, her face displaying nothing but a stonelike serenity. “Am I to suppose that you’ve felt her presence since our last conversation?”

  “A time or two. Are you sure she is… stable?”

  Yesmin raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to contemplate it, only to lower them with a pitying look. Not a smart gambit then. “She is young my son. Sometimes a singular event can cause a cavalcade of emotions. Don’t judge someone by their worst day.”

  Mollified just a tad, Kai uncrossed his arms and thrust his hands into his pockets, sliding into the room with a sigh. “I’m not judging her, I am seeking to understand, but I’ve got precious little to go on.” Needing her to relax her defenses, he moved to the rug nearest her and sat down lotus style. With a shrug he tossed his head back and brushed the hair from his eyes. “Help me understand what it is you see in her.” He figured she’d appreciate the opportunity to teach him.

  Yesmin stilled while she went in search of the right place to start. Her quiescence was preternatural, more in common with a sculpture than a living being. She settled her eyes on Kai and began.

  “There was a time when I thought it would be Martine, Duana’s daughter, who would follow in my footsteps. But she allowed her abilities to wither under her mother’s fears and her jealousies. There have been others as well. I have an awareness of you all, but the potential heirs, their existence pulls at me. They’ve all lost their flame over time though, except for Chymaera, Martine’s youngest. The others were too caught up in pleasing others or some, wanted to be… less. Not strong enough in spirit to use their… gifts. Chymaera is far stronger than her mother ever was, and her mother was strong enough. She has not wilted under Duana, she has weathered her.”

  “Then why haven’t you brought her here? Why would you allow Duana’s presence to contaminate her? I mean no disrespect, but given how, why Duana left, how can you trust her upbringing?”

  She cocked her head to one side and seemed to look through Kai. “I didn’t have an upbringing at all; I was created to lead and anointed as Queen. But I was meant to lead warriors only. She will have to lead the people we have grown into. She needs a broader base of understanding than being cloistered with me would have given her. As for Duana, if she couldn’t deal with such a capricious being, how could she lead one? I failed with Duana, not because I am her mother, but because I was unprepared for freedom and the chaos it can breed. I have been a commander, my people need something different now.”

  He accepted the truth of her words, the military style rule worked for the old ones, not so well for the more recent generations. But still they hadn’t touched on the crux of what he truly needed to know. “Why does this involve me?”

  A smile fissured across Yesmin’s face. It brought a hint of warmth to the marble. Paired with eyes that flashed with mirth, for a moment, she seemed alive.

  “So we stop the dance and get to the meat of it! The ‘bridge’ wants to know why?”

  Kai retorted dryly, “The bridge wants to know what a bridge is!”

  The smile faded, but the mirth didn’t. “My son, you are no fool. You know what a bridge is. What you have done for me, you will do for her. It is about connection. You are my emissary, in time you will become h
ers. I can teach her about the powers and responsibilities of a Queen. She can learn from me who our people were and the path they took to become… more. She will need you to show her who they are now.”

  “That sounds like a teacher or a diplomat and I am neither. Both are too gentle of an occupation. You know what I am, you trained me and developed my skill set. This is, it all sounds confusing. And, haven’t you always stressed that none can have two masters?”

  Yesmin straightened her head and interlocked her fingers. “Kai, you are a soldier and you will adjust your skills to serve however you are needed. You wouldn’t have been chosen if you weren’t capable. You need not understand how it will all work now, the way will reveal itself when it is time. There will be no conflict. I am your Queen, for now. When your loyalties shift; it will be clear to all and you will serve her. You will be my son, but no longer my subject. That is how it has to be.”

  The suggestion was perplexing to him. Without thinking, puzzlement and anger slipped into his voice, “What you are saying is not possible. Despite being my mother; it took time to develop the reverence I hold for you as Queen. No way in hell that is just going to transfer to some unknown, unproven stranger! I am not that shallow or fickle!”

  Yesmin stood and her eyes rolled black. With hands loosely clasped in front of her; she presented a false daintiness. Slowly she floated to the ancient tome she’d been studying as it rested on a display stand. When she spoke, her lips didn’t move and her voice was as hard and sharp as her countenance.

  “No one suggested you are fickle. What you are Kai is… talented and pragmatic. Your primary loyalty is your people you can only serve when you have someone concordant with those beliefs to serve. When you were young, you loved me as your mother and you knew me only as your mother. The knowledge I was the Queen was academic, just a fact, a little piece of information you carried within you. You did not revere me as your Queen. And while it may have taken time to develop such feelings that time was short and related to one singular event that changed how you viewed me. I’m sure you recall, I do. At some point, you will have your own experience with Chymaera and you will see her; you will either find her worthy or not. If you do; you will align yourself with her as your Queen and it will be as seamless and natural for you with her as it was with me. If she is not worthy; you will tell me. I suspect it would be something you would be loath to hide.”

  Kai swallowed the words on his tongue. She was more right than he’d been. He still remembered a time when “the Queen” was a vague concept. He’d had his adulthood rite, spontaneously and much earlier than typical. Bypassing the predictive period of agitation and emotional outbursts, he argued with his father one afternoon. This argument, about his future, had pushed a deep well of anger to the surface and it had taken him over. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to the level of fury Chymaera had projected. He’d struck out at everyone in the vicinity, all of whom were Thumbra (luckily) and able to bear the brunt. His mother, out on official business, had returned after he’d been consumed in destroying the family home. She’d stood before him in her tiny human frame while he towered over her in his Emergence shell. Without concern she demanded his submission and acquiescence to his Queen. He roared, quite taken by rage, “Why, why should I bow to you?”

  Yesmin had responded as only she could. She extended her left arm, elongating fingers into talons and gripped his neck. He couldn’t break her hold as she dragged his face to hers. Black orbs stared into black orbs and much like the gestational link that allows a Thumbra fetus to learn from its mother; the Queen allowed Kai to see, to feel some of the most brutal and agonizing moments of her life as a leader. Battles, losses, betrayals, etc. Decisions. The horror of what she’d done, what she’d had to do and the pain she carried over the millennia had sucked the furor right out of him. The shock of it had yanked him loose from the misery of his own pain. It had allowed him to hear her when she told him she knew what he was suffering and she could help him. At length, he returned from the abyss to sobbing in his mother’s lap.

  He teased his mother; he didn’t fuck with the Queen. Quietly, with more than just a hint of hesitation, “And if I don’t find her worthy?”

  Yesmin levitated at her tome. She stared through him as pages turned, seemingly of their own accord. “Chymaera must prove worthy.”

  Kai understood all the words that went unspoken. Either the heir apparent would step up to the plate, or the Queen would cut her down. His role as the bridge was of secondary importance. Primarily he was to be Chymaera’s jury, and if it didn’t go well, he’d get to hand her over to the executioner personally.

  Not his favorite duty, but not one foreign to him either.

  10 - Get your shit together

  Chymaera

  I awoke the next morning with something akin to a hangover and regret. Disoriented, with all the emotions from the previous day’s activities running riot in my head, I knew I was out of place. The solace I expected from being at Manolo’s was missing. Manolo still lay asleep, sprawled on his stomach and looking beatific with his wavy curls framing his face in slumber. That’s when I realized I needed to escape before he opened his eyes. I’m not ashamed of sex, but that morning after felt less like a fun hook up and more like manipulation. Manolo may have met Thumbras in the past, but he didn’t comprehend my… abilities. He was an old soul (kinda), but he was still no match for me when I wanted something. I slipped out of his bed, gathered up all of my clothes from the floor, and made my way into the living room. There wasn’t time for a shower but I would remedy that at home. So I thrust myself back into the previous night’s clothes and jammed my feet into the sneakers stored inside my rucksack. I rummaged around and borrowed a small gym bag. Into that I shoved all the clothes I had left there, and the personal items he wouldn’t want or need. I returned Fiddle to the rucksack and carried that on my back. My hair was still loose, so I stuffed it under the hoodie. Despite the desire, I denied myself a last sentimental stroll. I had had good times there; the briefest of smiles touched the corners of my lips, and nowhere else, before I turned on my heel and walked out. I didn’t have the stomach for a graceless goodbye.

  Per normal, I neither heard nor saw anyone in the hallway so I left the house the same way I came in. Once outside, I tried to put order to what I was feeling, to process everything that had taken place, but the effort stymied me. There is only so much you can hold in without letting off steam. On the back end of that, my energy stores were rather low. The birthing and my confrontations, with like everyone, had taken a lot out of me. I couldn’t think, my feelings overwhelmed me and I was starving.

  Hell, there is no point in sugarcoating it, I was in full hangry harpy mode. Music soothes the savage beast so out came the iPhone (so many messages to ignore) and in popped my AirPods. I had a Mellow playlist that usually did the job, but it couldn’t do anything for the hunger. It is kind of funny, but you know that thing I told you we tried not to do to the surrounding location for a birth? Well, I did it to Izola’s garden.

  She had a mini maze, out of place in Southern California, of rose bushes. I stood in the path’s center and reached my hands out allowing the tips of my fingers to trail across the leaves. I strolled the course, each step refilled my tank, and sated my hunger. The plants didn’t look much different, at first-perhaps a tad bit limp, less lustrous. However, despite their appearance they were dying. I sucked that little patch of ground dry. I consumed more than I needed, but oh well. Scorched earth and I was on my way. Despite the meal, I still wanted to shred something with my claws; more from agitation than anger. I was good though and did no more damage to the property. Judge me if you wish, but I think that was a rather conservative bit of “acting out” and showed a fair amount of restraint.

  It took about 45 minutes to walk, alternating between a half hearted jog and kicking rocks, before I entered my neighborhood. Early Saturday mornings were quiet, the only people out of doors were the pack of mommy joggers. My hood and e
ar buds were enough to discourage any communication, had any of them been inclined to break formation. Not that my behavior was even off enough to warrant anyone to try. Like the previous day, I planned to enter my house from the back; however, this time I wasn’t naïve, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sneak in. Someone would’ve waited for me, and although that thought grated; I figured it was better to get it over sooner rather than later. I hopped the fence and was in my backyard when I recognized who was sitting on the back steps and stopped, shocked.

  “Papa!” I whispered and even though he was damn near half an acre away-he heard me. I saw my father look up, smile in acknowledgment, and then go back to the piece he was whittling. My father, Simon, the artist, was always shaping something to match his vision. Sitting there, his hunched frame belied his height, he was a tall figure, 6’4” and lean. He was dark of hair with smoky eyes like mine, and swarthy looking with his tan. When I was a child I thought he looked like what I imagined old sea captains did. Wind blown and amused. To the world at large he was an eccentric French sculptor who preferred to work with salvaged metal. He’d always lived in the house with my mother and I until I was in eighth grade. After that Nana stayed more often, to see after my education and upbringing in Thumbra ways. Papa and Nana had butted heads on everything and it left Mama in the middle. So he had spent more and more time working away from home. A few years ago he’d built a studio in the Arizona desert that was more a home to him than this house was. I continued to move towards him, an exaggerated slowness to my gait. I loved my father and wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him like a little girl, but I couldn’t. The fact he was there was a sign that my mother had ratted me out and he’d come to town to chastise me, handle me. Not what I needed.