Chymaera's Overture: a Shadowed Ways novel Page 9

  “Papa, why didn’t you call? I didn’t know you’d come.”

  He looked bemused, that was a good start. “Pfft. Daughter are you suggesting that they only expect you to come home when your father is here?”

  Yeah, that caused me to stammer, and I gushed. “No, I-I just needed some time away… It isn’t like that…”

  “Shh, it’s okay.” Papa dropped his whittling and knife and stood up. Moving from the steps to the grass he pulled me to him. “I’m not angry, you needed a place of comfort and healing last night. It saddens me you could not find such in your own home. But I understand.” He held me and I slumped against him. Words on air rushed out like a balloon deflating.

  “Papa yesterday was just too much I can’t do what Nana expects of me.”

  He held me and kept shushing me like a baby. I quieted but the inner shakiness I’d been feeling since I awoke took on external proportions and I was shuddering in Papa’s arms. He lifted my chin to face him, “Chy, I think we need to work off some of this anxiety you are carrying. Go put your stuff away and change we will head over to Billy’s for sparring.” His eyes were twinkling. Sparring meant that Papa would keep me moving until I fell over exhausted, beyond thinking and fretting about anything. Then, and only then, we would talk. I groaned, “but Papa”, my voice trailed off as soon as he fixed me with his stare. You didn’t fight with Papa, you didn’t pout with Papa. He won, always “okay…”.

  He smiled, squeezing me one more time before releasing me. Turning back to the steps he picked up his whittling, a wolf- “For you mon cheri.” I looked at the piece for a moment, beautiful, like all the things that my father created and followed him in.

  I made it to my bedroom without interruption and closed the door breathing a sigh of relief. Knowing Papa, I had just about enough time for a super quick shower and raced into my bathroom. Five minutes later and I was pawing through my clothes looking for yoga gear I didn’t mind ruining. Sparring wasn’t yoga, but it required stretchy clothing easy to move in. I plaited my hair into two plaits and then twisted and pinned it all into a bun while I shoved my feet into some Converse. Though I tried to ignore them, currents of unease and hostility drifted into my room. Gone was the dream of escaping the house without dealing with Nana.

  I could have stalled; however, Papa being there buffeted me somewhat, and I went out to face the music. Rounding the corner, I paused. Papa was standing to the side and slightly behind Mama, his hand draped around her waist. It was a protective gesture and Mama’s fingers laced through his. She gazed up at him and my mom was accessible, maybe even vulnerable. It was only when he was there, that the full weight of everything wasn’t on her alone and she seemed, well, normal. Not the unyielding monolith I saw most of the time. They looked so right together, the subtle incline of their bodies reached towards each other. This, the “they” that was central to our home, had been missing, and I was glad to see it. Family. Then, when I took another step, Nana came into view. Nana was irritated, quelle surprise.

  “Simon, stay out of this. The girl needs to answer to me.”

  “Duana, I am not your child, but she is mine. If she needs to answer to anyone; it will be her mother and me.” Papa spied me kinda hiding, “Chy, wait for me in the truck. Go.”

  Lord knows I wanted to oblige and turned to leave. Let the adults battle it out. Yet, I’d barely cleared a few steps before fingers seized my arm. Nana spun me around and staked me out with her eyes.

  “What did you do yesterday? How did you do it?” Nana’s face was tight and her eyes fierce. Neither of which enabled me to produce answers I didn’t have for her. When I attempted to retrieve my arm, I was all, “What are you talking about? Let me go!” Showing her control, Nana pushed me away from her and I ended up stumbling back into the wall. Two strides forward and she was staring me down, daring me to make an escape. I peered over her shoulder and saw Papa set to explode while Mama attempted to calm him.

  “Look at me!” She was always one to demand attention. “You worked me like a puppet. Explain yourself! Tell me who taught you to do that!”

  “Nana, I don’t know!” I forced the words out through clenched teeth and I can’t express enough how much I wanted out of there. But she wouldn’t let up.

  “Why me then? If you can do that why didn’t you take over Maala? Force her to take the child within. Why did you want to humiliate me?” That was Nana going too far, I could feel it. Like a cornered animal my anger had risen to meet hers and was still rising.

  “Humiliate you?” Something in me looked at my Nana and found her wanting. I understood her anger and frustration but how could she be so blind? How could she be so petty as to make the entire situation about her? “I wasn’t thinking about YOU. Maala felt, wrong. I couldn’t budge her bond to the child. The only thing to do was to make her see taking the child in as being the only way to help it. And I had to stop YOU to make her see that. YOU were just making her more fearful and protective. I was cleaning your mess up!” I don’t think Nana had expected such a sharp reply, nor the dead tone of voice that delivered it.

  “How dare you speak like this! This wasn’t my mess, I wasn’t the Empath. Why didn’t you know of her betrayal earlier?” Her eyes were coal black as she pressed in on me. I needed to get out of there, my hair twisted and reached towards her, hissing, “Let me passss.” I wasn’t as far gone as I had been with Alyssa, but I wasn’t myself. Papa defused the situation, moving Nana aside, he was in front of me. He held my face between his hands, “Chy, my truck is out front wait for me there.” I barely remember nodding my budding Medusa head at him, but I remember how I tracked Nana until I had exited the kitchen.

  Nana didn’t call out, but I heard her muttering I needed to explain myself. How? I hadn’t a clue.

  I was shaking again by the time I reached the passenger side of my Papa’s Ford truck, but at least my hair resembled hair again. That little scene wasn’t an aspect of myself that I recognized. I had never spoken to my Nana that way-ever. I had never looked at her, and felt like she was an enemy, or worse, prey. Sure, I got annoyed with her, thought things, but what had bubbled up and out of me, had been both me and not me. And it didn’t seem under my control. I closed my eyes and tried to regain my bearings. Why did I feel like something dangerous within me was about to slip its leash?

  “Mon petit fille?” I opened my eyes to Papa, his voice filled with concern, more than a few minutes had passed and I hadn’t even noticed him climbing into the truck.

  “I’m all right Papa.” I wasn’t sure that was the truth, but couldn’t imagine discussing it right then. For distraction I turned my attention to the complicated task of buckling my seatbelt.

  “Chymaera, look at me.” I turned to my Papa and saw his eyes tinged with fear for the first time in my memory. “What you told your Nana about the birthing was true? How did it come to you to… to use Duana that way?”

  This wasn’t the first time I had faced a question like this; it wasn’t even the first time Papa had asked me such a question. I wasn’t sure what he thought I had figured out on my own. “I don’t always know what I can do Papa, sometimes I do what needs doing. A way reveals itself and I take it.” Outside was overcast, a typical morning in the LA Basin. The haze would burn off as the day progressed though I wasn’t sure if my head would follow suit and clear. “I didn’t think about it much or plan it, Papa. Everything happened so fast, Maala and Nana were ready to rip each other apart. Neither responded to my efforts to calm them. Then, it came to me, it made sense to do, and I was doing it. Kind of like the first time I rode a bike; I hadn’t done it before, but Mama had, and I had bits of her memories and my body did the right movements before I knew it. It felt like something I’d known how to do and then forgot; then remembered at the last second.”

  “But Maala, you said she felt wrong… what does that mean?”

  I shrugged and looked past him. “Just what it sounds like Papa. Maala was just so… unreachable and intent on the child
. It was almost like treading on someone else’s territory, like another Empath was already playing her emotions, and I know that is impossible. But, it repelled me… I knew I couldn’t change Maala’s feelings… I had to make them lead her in the direction I needed.” My outspoken father turned pensive as he keyed the ignition and the engine turned over. He opened his mouth, then closed it and cleared his throat. I sat expectant, but he didn’t say a word until after we’d backed down the driveway and driven about a half a block.

  “Chy, I wish I knew what this all means, but you must understand, your Nana is a kind of petty tyrant. She wants nothing to happen that she doesn’t know about. When she feels secure in her knowledge; she relaxes and is… well, as amiable as she gets. When she doesn’t know what is going on… she strikes out in fear. We can’t let her fear you Chy.” I didn’t know how to react to that. Yeah, I had bizarre “gifts” that showed up whenever they wanted to, but Nana was the leader. Her or anyone else being fearful of me was - ridiculous. She was the one that invoked fear, and on purpose at that.

  Signaling I was done with conversation for a while, I curled up on my side and stared out the window. My dear Papa drove silently out of the canyon. I couldn’t focus on anything in particular and let the gray sky and brownish green landscape wrap me in a dull fog.

  The fog lifted a few hours later, well into our “sparring” session. Papa had taken me to his friend’s place, Billy ran a legit martial arts studio in Anaheim Hills. Billy was also Thumbra and his studio had an underground gym space for Thumbras who appreciated having a safe workout space. Most of us didn’t engage in human sports, it was too easy to forget ourselves and attract unwanted attention because of our overwhelming physical prowess.

  The moment we entered the cavernous space, my father dropped his human illusion. It was always more disconcerting to see him in his Emergence skin. He didn’t transform to make a point or intimidate, so I never saw him that way outside of our little matches. Papa used to spar with me on the regular when he’d lived with us full time. Now he tried to fit in a few sessions whenever he came for a visit. It served two purposes. For one thing, he thought everyone should know how to defend themselves. He always suggested he feared for the safety of anyone who fought me, even though he always won. For another, it was a damn good way to release tension. So I squared off against my father in my yoga gear and bare feet, he met me in his jet, diamond shaped scales and tarnished brass hair. He chose the fighting sticks for weapons; we made our versions of carbon fiber. Two whirling sticks that come at you with a swish and hit harder than steel get you moving and keep your attention, believe me.

  I guess my father taught me a manner of street fighting. It certainly wasn’t about grace and form. He taught me to commit to the fight and drive the tempo. Don’t rush it. But keep your opponent moving and preferably on defense. Don’t get distracted. The idea is to get your opponent overtired and sloppy and land a critical blow. I mean there isn’t much that wants to fight a Thumbra, but it would have to be a badass to try.

  Papa, being the far more experienced fighter was always in control and therefore won our matches. But, there came a moment towards the end where I had him for about 10 minutes. He had been pushing me, prodding me and got caught up in his own momentum. I turned it against him. The pursuer became the pursued. If you think I was triumphant in that moment, you would be grossly mistaken. It was actually comical because I had spent a decade constantly on the defense and had forgotten offensive strategy. I lost the gains I had made after spending a short time attempting to mimic his earlier technique. It didn’t matter though once he disarmed and pinned me; he ended the session by offering me a hand and saying “good match”. Which was awesome because he usually just critiqued my performance.

  Most importantly, his plan worked. By the time we emerged-I felt like myself again and not so weighed down with the events of the previous day and night. My clothes were thrashed and my body had healed wounds that would have been mortal to a human but dammit if my spirits weren’t higher than they had been.

  11 - The sound of a mad world

  Kai

  Kai felt like his old self. Not the bored teen he pretended to be, but the intelligence officer who served his Queen. While his conversation with Yesmin yielded fewer specifics than he’d hoped, he at least gained a focus that helped to dissipate any lingering anxiety. Chymaera. Rather than whimper and whine about what he didn’t know or understand yet, Kai forced himself to document what he did. Sometimes groundless emotions continued to rush at him across the distance, he learned to breathe through them, not fight and he found he suffered less, and for a shorter duration. He recorded those experiences well. It was his way, to be thorough and methodical.

  His skills were in intelligence gathering, threat assessment and providing tactical solutions. For now, he focused those skills on the Queen’s ultimate objective, to contact Chymaera and move her to the Queen’s residence. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a timeline for this goal. It didn’t matter if Yesmin and Duana reconciled their differences beforehand. His job was to meet objectives, period. To accomplish this goal, he had to learn as much about Duana and her splinter group as possible. His mother anticipated this understanding and had Leah funnel him whatever information she had available.

  Although Duana was his sister of sorts, Kai had never met her nor expressed interest in learning about her. She’d defected from the larger Thumbra community hundreds of years before he’d been born. And her name had been an anathema in the family when he’d been old enough to understand her departure. She was the overindulged princess born to a sedate Queen. A Queen who had vanquished her enemies without and didn’t have enemies within, yet. No one had prepared Duana for pain, or loss, or just not getting her way. So when an expeditionary force disappeared that included both her father and mate, Duana had blamed Yesmin for sanctioning the trip. She’d refused to see Yesmin’s pain and wallowed in her own, declaring that the Queen was not willing to do what was needed to protect her people.

  Kai questioned what Duana considered necessary. From what he gathered, his elder sister and her followers believed dishonesty was a good idea. They misinformed their own children, concealing aspects of Thumbra history and knowledge from subsequent generations. She wanted her people ignorant and complacent. They discouraged exploration, and to an extent, growth as well. She also kept her people living in locations that her mother’s community wouldn’t. It was unclear if the younger generations were even aware they belonged to a splinter group. Yesmin’s people kept their distance not because of Duana, but because of conflicts with some inhabitants in those areas.

  He reeled from the stupidity. Duana wasn’t strong or skilled. She’d placed her people in a precarious situation that was made tenable based on her mother’s reputation. The creatures that surrounded the splinter group didn’t like Thumbras, but they feared the Queen.

  Kai was of the mind that a little reconnaissance was in order. Few beings could recognize a Thumbra for what they were, and Kai would have a read on anything that could be a danger to him before they realized it. He needed to see the terrain, watch the locals in action before he could figure out an extraction plan. When he approached Yesmin with his idea, she shot him down.

  It was the loss of the child that made her hesitant. As Queen, Yesmin knew of every birth and every death of a Thumbra. She was aware when either was right or wrong. The mother had to have conceived that child in malice; and the Queen needed a reason. The child hadn’t any hope for survival. The fact the child belonged to the splinter group didn’t matter. Despite what Duana might have believed when she’d left; Yesmin still bore responsibility for them all, she wouldn’t abdicate that.

  It was clear to the Queen that either Duana was an idiot or she wasn’t in control as much as she thought. That made her question, who or what was? She wondered if her daughter understood the potential danger. Yesmin had a few back channels open for communication, but her most stubborn child didn’t respon
d. Her closest contacts, the result of a few long ago intermarriages between the two groups, either knew nothing or were unreachable.

  For the first time in a long time, the rift moved the Queen to less than benevolent feelings. By mid-week she relented and decided Kai should travel south, but she changed the game on him. Oh, he would spend a few days in stealth mode and get the information he needed, but she demanded Kai present himself to Duana before he left. Leah purchased airline tickets for the following Monday.

  Kai was young, and not known to Duana, so she would not see him as a threat. She would see him as her charming younger brother and her mother’s messenger. A lackey. Meanwhile, Kai would assess Duana. While Yesmin wanted to reconcile with her daughter, her primary goal was the safety of all of her people and securing Chymaera. If Duana wasn’t in control of her community and rogue elements were causing problems; Chymaera and her parents would be evacuated immediately. And the Queen, well she would travel south and bring any stragglers to heel.

  He just hoped they were moving fast enough and finalized his plans.

  12 - Oscillate Wildly

  Chymaera

  I had close to a day of peace after that. Papa announced his decision to stay - indefinitely. His eyes sparkled like 4th of July fireworks when he told me. Something had shifted and he and Mama presented a unified front in my defense. That alone compelled Nana to retreat, giving me space to figure stuff out. Still, Nana and I moved around each other like strangers, polite and watchful. She didn’t confront me and I didn’t lose my shit.

  Me? Well, I returned to pretending to be a normal teenager, while avoiding all my teenage friends. It wasn’t difficult, being a high school senior provided me with plenty busywork to claim my time. Sunday afternoon I was completing one of my final term papers titled “The Evolution of Folk Music in the Digital Age”, when my phone pinged with notifications. I ignored it, as I had all weekend, pondering reworking the paper that was all fluff. But hell - Mr. Johannes was the instructor for the mandatory senior seminar (Music and Social Agency) and he wasn’t worthy of more of my time. He already had an ego the size of an auditorium and believed that the only music worth listening to was music with a message he approved of. A serious bore. I glanced at the phone and figured I should see what Manolo was up to – 24 hours with no communication was a long time for me back then. I’d just plopped myself down on the floor pillows when my phone vibrated signaling an actual call.