NOVEL NEXT B 3 C 3: Generations of Notions
B 3 C 3: Generations of Notions
I got really distracted from what I was going to do. What was it again? Oh yeah. I actually need to talk to Priscilla. We’re pretty much enemies. She ‘captured’ me and my inner circle. We were playing along because I needed to meet her anyway. When she was a condescending prick, insinuating that she was going to march her army straight through my family, I threatened to raze her city to the ground. I backed up the threat in vivid, visceral detail. I proved myself capable of backing up my threat with actual viscera, and I thought we’d never see each other again. But here I am now.
I worked to break the bad news that Leviathans destroyed her city, and then I worked to save her and her thousands of soldiers marching across our lands when the volcano went crazy. Like Lao said, somehow, the contacts I made, the choices I made were just the right ones to get just enough trust to try a ridiculously crazy suite of power combinations to save everyone. One of the side effects of that crazy suite of powers was massive deforestation to the south of where the tide had turned, as if the trees gave up their life force to preserve my life during the gathering of mana and convergence of attacks. We marched into that deforested zone immediately that eve. It’s where we now make camp. We saved everyone, well, almost everyone.
Everyone other than Sal and Har, who sacrificed themselves needlessly for me, not realizing I was having a panic attack but I was safe. Why is it that I’m saddled with responsibility? I’m a mess. No one should trust me to save anyone or anything. I frequently almost die, and even when I’m not almost dying, I’m melodramatically believing I’m almost dying. I failed to save Iakopo, Taito, Penina, Atamai, Olioli during the Night of High Water. Somehow, Olioli miraculously returned to us, we think. An egg spawned with an exact copy of Oli in it in Shellcracker Pond, but we can’t confirm if it’s really him. Oli doesn’t have memory logs, and doesn’t speak. He just chews stuff. He’s kinda adorable, probably a little bit of a menace, but all told, a total sweetie.
Oh! Luni was the one who saved Sugar and Spice back during the horrid situation that left me basically catatonic for months. Sugar and Spice are our beaver family members, the rest of us are otters, or Lucky, Lao’s hunter hound. Well I’m not any of those things. We still don’t know what I am after all these years. We thought I was a human child for the longest time. I might be an elf, we haven’t met the elves yet. I’m trying to pass myself off as naga though by self actualizing my transformation powers to slowly grow scales and a tail. The progress is slower with a lower mana capacity.
Spice is kind of like an architectural designer, he likes to draw now that we have paper and art supplies. I think he might also be an inventor. Sugar, she’s kind of like, hm, how would you describe a lovable brute who breaks and builds equally? She’s super overprotective of Spice, because Spice is a bit like me, they suffer some things, but that’s not my secret to tell. I don’t really have nicknames for them, they’re Sugar and Spice, how much sweeter can you get? I guess that makes us, as their family, everything nice.
The Mana twins, Manaia and Manameia, are wonderful. But them being with us breaks my heart, because Mataalii called them his babies. They recently evolved from spheres into otter stage, but because I was near, they seemed to evolve with cute outfits, and possibly some magical dancing powers. My nicknames for them are ‘Naia and M-Squared, or M^2. Mataalii would never have left them behind. It’s why I’m convinced that Mat is possessed by my enemy.
I try to put all other thoughts out of mind so I stop getting distracted as I approach the stately woman with the admittedly lovely curly hair. Her hair is reminiscent of Morgan’s, the captain of the Undine. I announce myself, “Madam Warden, Reggie Shellcracker requesting permission to confer. If you please.”
I try to be as polite and formal as I can in my interactions with her now. I was the one that broke the news to her that her family died to the Leviathans washing the city off the face of the map. I was still her enemy at the time. When I came rocketing out of the sky into a crashdown strike that flash froze everything in the area other than her, she wet herself. When I knelt before her with apologetic tears in my eyes, realization and disbelief fought for control of her mind. At that time, the last thing I had said to her prior to my crash was basically that if I ever saw her again, that I’d kill every last human related to the city and raze it to the ground, more or less. She thought for a moment that I had gone crazy and came to admit my act. It wasn’t my doing though. Leviathans were what took her family from her, her entire reason for the stupid war she was about to enact. She cracked under that emotional strain as badly as I frequently do. If Sir Reginald hadn’t been there at that exact moment, we wouldn’t have pulled everyone together, we wouldn’t have succeeded. He recognized the sound of my flash freeze. So many pieces had to fall into place.
Thank you future-me. I’m sorry for however much we went through. When I originally got my time traveling skill, it was utter horror reading the logs of reliving that moment over and over. Regardless, I stand awaiting Priscilla’s response.
Priscilla pretends to look disinterested, ugh, that villainous power play again. Then she does something unexpected, she treats me cordially, “Oh you horrid little thing, please drop the formalities and pretenses. I’m sure you’d be happy to call me Priss as a nickname, with its implications. Feel free, the less I have to hear from your mouth the less I have to relive our meetings.”
I gulp as I try to apologize, “Uh, yes, sorry, Priss.” Abashedly I glance around for anything to stare at to avoid eye contact with her. I’ve never been someone’s trauma trigger before. Sort of. Teuila traumatized herself about me once.
Priss asks, “Please, please just say what you have to say? I cannot stand our little dance. You win, you are a hero, there is no more war effort. You’ve even taken our supplies from us, replacing it with this quaint barter system. I’ll admit, knowing that critter, ahem, kin, are as intelligent as us, does make our practices seem a tad barbaric. I, I. Stop, don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity, you ruthless little heathen.”
I can’t help but gaze sadly at Priss, wanting all the world for us to be able to forgive each other, so that our respective factions can live in peace, without the threat of us, the leaders, accidentally starting a war. I don’t deserve her forgiveness for how I treated her and the threats I imposed, and she doesn’t deserve mine for her treatment of critterkin and her callousness.
Priss begins to break down, gulping back a knot in her throat, “Stop, please, please stop.” She turns away, attempting to maintain her poise.
I’ll try to extend an olive branch. I clear my throat for attention, signaling I’m ready to state my case, without her needing to turn around. I state, “Priss, um, we’re both in charge of beings that benefit from living together at the moment, the loss of your city was an extraordinary loss of life, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t try my hardest to offer what I think is the safest path to a peaceful coexistence for us. I have a friend, a very large feathered bear, slightly south of this location. I don’t know if she will want to join our population, but I wanted to warn you. Slightly south of her is a massive colony of beavers and beaverfolk. I don’t know the right solution to dealing with them. We’ve had some, uh, excitement, let’s say. I don’t know if they’re at more or less risk should the volcano blow again due to their colony being under the river.”
I pause, trying to find somewhere to affix my gaze. I continue, “Priss, I would dearly value your opinion in as non-biased a manner as you can muster. I am not a leader. I look somewhat like a child, and I’ve lived as if I was one. I am not the right person for this, no matter how many people put their faith in me. My personal emotional issues cost two lives on the Night of All Burn alone. That’s not counting the other times I’ve lost beings due to my own panic or slowness to act. I understand if you can never forgive me for how horribly I threatened you and yours, hell, I don’t even forgive me for that, among many other things. I constantly struggle with whether or not I should just slaughter everyone I believe threatens my family. Yes, your twitch there is appropriate. I am not a leader, I am a monster.”
Priss deliberates before answering, “Yes, I doubt the two of us will ever reconcile, but it would be unconscionable for us to let our personal differences cost more lives. For what it’s worth, I always doubted your monstrousness. You do manage the charade frighteningly well however. If you’re asking my opinion on this bear and the beavers, recruit and welcome your bear friend. Plot our march to an area you deem geographically fit. Warn the beavers, let them know your plans and let them decide. It really is that simple. I doubt you had planned anything differently than that. If you’re looking to me to absolve you of responsibility for your segment of the populace, I can not. I’m. I’m sorry. I will not take on their burden. We’ve, there are generations of, of notions, that you’ve, that we’ve. It’s all I can do to maintain peace in my fraction of the populace. Maybe in a decade, maybe two, things that I’m describing will be a long distant ache that’s on its way to being forgotten. Many of mine are struggling with grasping the implications of how we’ve lived for generations. I assume yours are, they’re.”
Priscilla gulps, “They’re struggling with having been treated as little more than renewable meat for generations.” Priss clasps her stomach and mouth while still facing away. The thought, the knowledge that she was killing and eating people, not just some magical respawning beasts sickens us both.
Priss pleads, “Please, are we done here? If you need more advice, please speak with the one I gave a job title who matches the description of your needs. Sir Reginald, the advisor. I can’t. I just can’t bear your presence. Please excuse yourself without another word if you have no further need of me.”
I silence the gulp caught in my throat, turn and leave wordlessly. It’s probably the best I could have expected from her, maybe more than I expected, definitely better than I deserve. I’ll work with Sir Reginald to plot our course. Reggie and Reggie working on cartographical planning, kind of funny, I was trying to map out our land with our most recent adventures.
As much as I’m not a fan of their old way of life, or militaries in general, Sir Reginald has my admiration. He treated me with trust and respect, despite my appearance. He offered me every opportunity to both retreat to safety, and save face. My exhibition opponents weren’t even announced until the day of, so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed if I backed out. Then, twice on the Night of All Burn he stepped in when no one else was fit to. He wasn’t even anywhere in the chain of command, relatively.
I’m getting distracted. Sir Reginald and I are plotting courses. His scouts, Priss’s scouts, report back with far more detailed mapping information than I could estimate about the region I haven’t explored yet. I suppose I could send Teuila out to scout, Or Luni, Or Lil, but I’d rather not. That’s probably selfish of me. In many ways, I want to be allowed to act childish. The route is simple enough, south by southeast until point A, east by southeast until point B, then resume scouting from there. On the way, the SAP have enough methods of far faster travel speed than the rest of the united critters and peoples, so we can easily head out ahead of the contingent and stop to see Luna and the beavers.
I really, truly don’t think I should go into the beaver dam ever again. Both times I’ve been in there, I’ve killed their leaders. Well, leaders of one faction. I mean, two for two is a pretty bad track record for unintentional, undesired assassination isn’t it? I really don’t want to make it three for three. But my SAP will be there to help me through it, and as far as I know, the MCF, that is the mind controlled faction, are essentially extinguished.
There’s something that’s bothering me, something Sir Reginald once said. He said someone who exhibited the power I did while holding back could easily jailbreak. How did he know I was holding back?
I flat out ask, “Sir Reginald? You thought I was holding back in my exhibition matches. Why is that?”
Sir Reginald responds, “You could have killed every single mage sent after you, couldn’t you?”
I mumble abashedly, “Well, maybe, probably, yeah.”
Sir Reginald continues, “You also chose to save my men, when their own attacks would have slain their compatriots, while continuing to restrain yourself, did you not?”
I gaze anywhere other than Sir Reginald’s face as I nod ever so slightly. My face is flush. I wasn’t asking for praise, I wanted to know how he suspected. “I, I didn’t mean, I’m not fishing for compliments, I wanted to know how, without admitting that I was.”
Sir Reginald scoffs, “Billie, er, Reggie, I saw you turn into an over thirty foot tall monstrosity that channeled the might of several hundred mages. It’s a bit late to pretend you were ever not holding back.”
I scratch the back of my head and chuckle nervously, “Aheh heh, hehe, ah, heh, um, okay, yeah, I suppose that’s true, but I meant that you suspected before that. I just, I wanted to know if you maybe knew someone who knew me somehow that gave you that impression.”
Sir Reginald sighs, finally coming clean, “I’d hoped to spare you, yes, the other two recruits. After your first match. They pointed out just how much you were holding back, and I think even they underestimated you.”
A knot catches in my throat as I try to gulp back a sob, realizing that it was because Sal and Har had knowledge from Sylphie. Sylphie thought of me as powerful. Even before I learned thermokinesis. But I failed her. She died trying to accomplish a goal I had set, one she need not have joined in on. My jaw locks as my lip quivers. Sir Reginald nods solemnly. I blink back several tears.
I cough to clear my throat and apologize, “I’m, I’m sorry that my difficulties cost them their lives. They were impressive, kind, courageous, and noble. They had so much life left to live. Another of my sins I suppose is sloth in some ways. Inaction. I’m sure my friends would tell me inability to act is different than inaction, but I feel the weight of their deaths all the same. There are no two ways about it, I caused their deaths.”
Sir Reginald only nods as he gathers the maps and missives required to start the marching. Why do I get the notion that if I don’t find a more tangible peace, we could be marching for generations? I suppose, there are godbeasts and catastrophe class monstrosities out there that will always threaten us. Is there any possibility that I could remove all such threats? That’s insane, right? I’m basically immune to heat and I struggled to stop some melted rock. I had to borrow the power of hundreds of human mages to do so. There’s no way I could take down a creature the size of a continental shelf. The biggest I’ve ever defeated was roughly the size of about a third of a foothill. Ugh, let’s just hope Luna is happy to see us.