Plume

When I woke up I couldn't place myself. I felt blurry. But my head was clearing rapidly. Clarity returned like a wave washing over.

I placed a hand to the ground.

"Don't move."

I froze.

And became aware of a sharp object injected into my left arm. Very carefully I rotated my torso and came to sit with the needlepoint still sinking into the crook of my arm. The motion made me unexpectedly sick. I looked at the hollowed out fang that had sunk into a vein in my arm. It hadn't come off as I moved. Like the proboscis of a mosquito, locked to the vein.

I followed the tube connected to it. Aconite wasn't looking at me. His gaze was transfixed to the needle in his own arm. A steady flow of indigo connected us. Morning sun filtered through the glass panes of the veranda. It glistened on the tube between us as if it had been made of hard glass and not yielding plastic. There were no shards around us, just unbroken glass sheltering us from wind.

"You were poisoned," he told me, his eyes still fixed to the flow of indigo blood. "I have been feeding you an antidote. Luckily vampires die hard and slow. Luckily you didn't meet this fate elsewhere."

Aconite tugged his end free. He held the tube in his hand for a moment longer, watching his blood being guided through the single thirsty fang into my veins. Then he detached a small needle on his end and let the tube fall. He placed the needle onto the wooden table.

Two cups and two plates.

I pried free the fang-needle on my end and collected the rest of the magical device into a neat coil. The world around me spun rapidly as I rose. I took the coil with me to the table.

I glanced furtively at the kitchen as I seated myself opposite the witch.

"It's safe. Thanks to you, I assume. I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing," I muttered. I still felt slightly lightheaded. Was it of the witch blood, of the poison or because of the supposed antidote?

Aconite had a small cut perilously close to his left eye where a shard of a broken panel had cut him. Otherwise he didn't seem harmed.

"I suppose it could have gone worse," he said, as much to himself as me.

He meant talking to his son. I was just about to ask him what had started the talk in the first place, but suddenly the idea of the son reminded me of something... When I had tasted him...

In thoughts I guided a hand to my lips, as if the gesture could bring his scent back to me.

Then it came to me. The house.

I rose.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to find my uncle. I suddenly remembered. I cannot believe I didn't... I just need to go see Timothy. Yes. Right now."

I left a dumbfounded Aconite to call after me as I opened the front door. I dashed out.

And painfully hit a barrier and bounced backwards.

I sat on the tiled floor of the entrance hall looking through an open front door to the lawn beyond, cradling my head in my hands.

"I tried to warn you. We are not going anywhere, Plume. You and I, we are going to play card games and drink tea for some time. I've sealed all liminal places: All windows, all entrances, even the chimney. Julia knows who killed her. And until Hellebore or the Queen gives me a call, I am not removing the protections I set this morning while I waited for the antidote to get properly absorbed."

I laid my back onto the tiles and cursed every immortal in Atlantis.

Julia

Late evening finally brought me to Hellebore's. His tearoom had always served late. Even when it had been an apothecary, still a hundred years ago. The little open-sign on the door declared the place would close only at two o'clock in the night and open again by half past six in the morning.

I heard Marquise barking inside as I myself hesitated on the street side of the front door.

Then I inhaled in the raw spring air and yanked open the door. I was greeted by the flowery smells of warm infusions and the sweet smells of cakes and the heavy smells of salty pies. And the tangible absence of any other customer who might enjoy the mix of these fragrances. Subtle as the sound was, I still heard my own steps echo in the empty space between chairs and tables. 

There was no one inside except for the old man and his dog. Marquise sat by Hellebore's throne, a flower patterned winged armchair. The man looked to my direction as I approached. He wasn't wearing the old fashioned blindfold and his huge golden irises glittered in the dimly lit interior.

As I seated myself Marquise lay low. She wagged her tale lazily but didn't leave Hellebore's side.

Silence reigned. I could hear warm water moving in the radiator. A couple passing by the window behind Hellebore's back chatted animatedly. The woman laughed at something the man said. The sound was high pitched. Then they passed.

"Would you like something, Julia?"

"Other than explanations? No."

"And are you willing to listen if I explain?"

"Maybe. Because I am truly puzzled. Aconite didn't hesitate to wipe away the memory of his own niece, and you didn't seem to mind sacrificing your guinea pig to fool the witches. All to keep me alive and hidden. Yet I have it understood that last time I was around, that incarnation you tracked down and butchered. For a liver? Was it really just for an organ? Did you think I wouldn't find out? Or that I wouldn't mind?"

Oh, good Iris forgive, but was I angry! Not at the man itself, not because of the act. I was angry because he confused me, because I didn't understand. It made me feel a thousand times more vulnerable than if the witches had sent an army after me. In the 18 hundreds there had been a organization dedicated to hunting down witches, demons and anything else that was close enough. That had been exciting!

But this? This man sitting calmly opposite me. He knew why I had come. He hadn't confessed anything out loud, but it was obvious Hellebore knew of what I was accusing him of. And he didn't seem about to defend himself against those charges.

Hellebore carefully interlaced his fingers on the table. His irises flickered molten gold.

"We have known each other for over 500 years. I have seen all your incarnations, talked with all of the versions of Moura there have ever existed. Excepting the original whom you left in a grave in Spain."

His voice was low and calm. It seemed to fill the interior of the room and echo in the empty space around us. The old and threadbare armchair behind him seemed suddenly made of gold as well, matching his yellow eyes in color.

"When you first came to me, we both thought you would pass away in a few decades. I had my head deep in my own research and I didn't think much of an ambitious new sorcerer working for the King. I had served a king once, and it had led me to trouble. You only served a king once and it led you into trouble as well."

"Whatever do you mean, old friend?" I interrupted him. "As I remember it, I had no troubles at all. The King gave me more wealth than I could possible put to good use for my services."

Hellebore coughed.

"As I see it, you affected the history massively, got your name, Alfonso Compostelano, written into every history book as a legendary secret weapon of Atlantis."

"And how can that possibly be a bad thing? I like my name in the history books."

Hellebore closed his golden eyes for a moment and took a breath in that he tehn released slowly.

"Yes. Well. Here is the root of the problem. Because you hang to that initial recognition of your might and have been trying to replicate it ever since. You've tried to write master pieces. Fought in many wars. Tried to become the king at a time and was only stopped by the Great Rebellion that paved the way to the current Republic of Atlantis. And now you wish to find a way to force every human being in this country to remember."

"You say it as if any of this is a bad thing. I could have been an excellent king. I at least know my history better than any of the politicians sitting in the Congress rooms right as we speak. I know first hand, from many a lived life, what it means to live in poverty, or be born with the family business growing around you. All the lives tethered to your next decision in business. I understand also how the decisions affect elves and vampires in long term. You cannot claim that Mo hasn't meddled with those in charge. She has killed and affected the nobles and then the politicians and rich business owners and powerful organizations...

"And I think everyone should have a chance of seeing for themselves how they live and affect magical beings and witches.

"And how is any of this related to the fact that you had me killed twenty one years ago?"

Hellebore had been patting Marquise on her near-white head, waiting for a chance to continue once I had said what I intended to say. His apparent calm patience infuriated me. I wished I could have read his true emotions as he was perceiving mine.

"It is related in two ways. First and foremost, you have stepped a line. I have suggested to all those you persuaded as the Duchess that they cease developing a medicine for the Memory. Whether people believe in vampires, fairies or old alchemists, should be the decision of the people."

"Oh." Now that I thought about it, he might have been against this idea.

But it didn't change the fact that he was a fool for thinking so.

"Well. I disagree with you. You don't have any idea how it feels to come home from seeing an old friend and have your boyfriend tell you off for your frivolous nightly wanderings. And you have absolutely no way of explaining to him what is the real case, because he cannot memorize any of the demonstrative part.

"And I am not even being completely selfish here. If the human society could remember magic, witches could offer solutions for challenges such as the climate change. And if people understood there were vampires amongst them feeding off the insane and lonely and feeble, maybe this would finally force politicians to see how absolutely insane the system is. Oh, it works, for the majority. But there are sacrifices."

Hellebore sighed.

"Honestly, I don't think you believe any of what you just said. Witches could never adapt to working with humans and the human society changes slowly, with or without the knowledge of vampires. All I think could be achieved by this is a massive wave of fear as people would be forced to consider something they cannot explain or control."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Well. Maybe it would finally shake them off their exaggerated belief in science. Enlighten them to understand there is more to life than numbers and measurable things and optimizing performance. There is mystery, unexplained and uncontrollable forces of nature and the unseen."

He sighed again, almost exasperated. "I don't think you have the right to decide that for them. Any more than the Europeans had the right to go 'civilize' the Americas back when we were young. I think it violates severely something very holy inside every living creatures. For now the society has decided to live with controllable scientific methods that are easy to see and discuss by the majority. Individuals, however, can seek and find alternative worldviews. I would even say that more and more are indeed approaching the magical world. The purely scientific era is coming to an end."

I almost crossed my arms over my chest. If he really thought so, then what was the point? We would both live to see if he were right or not and whether the era of science would yield to a new age of accepting the mysterious and magical.

"So. You don't want me to force the Remembering. I got that. I still don't understand why you couldn't just tell me so? You said you had two reasons for killing me, and this was one. What's the other one?"

Hellebore scratched his dog. His hand stopped then and he exchanged a long look with his pet. The alchemist seemed to draw strength from the steady eyes of his equally immortal companion, for when he turned to me his voice was full of conviction.

"I cannot let you become a man."

"What?" I hadn't expected this.

"I have really thought about it." Hellebore was looking me as straight into the eyes as he could without seeing me. "You only ever have ambitious plans, like forcing the memory, when you surface as a man. One could say Alfonso is a highly ambitious man. Whereas Julia is not. As a woman you have never tried to overturn the throne, written anything of significance, or done much anything really, except laid out plans for your next male incarnation. And once you are satisfied this plan is a solid one, you write your will for the benefit of the Court and drink the easiest poison you can locate. Usually something you ask me to provide.

"And I am done with this pattern. As your oldest friend, I need you to accept this part of your life. On this we even agree with the Queen. And we don't agree on too many things. You need to live your whole life, Julia Moura. And that includes a female incarnation every second time. You have to accept you are half woman. I did say this to you the last time. And the time before that, as I can verify from my own diaries.

"You are a powerful sorcerer, who can command spirits and fae. And I think it isn't a coincidence that Iris has degreed you come around as a woman every now and then. It could give you a unique understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of both sexes. Maybe even find a path for true equality. For women, men and the surfacing third. Your name can be in the history books again, but please, carve a name for you as the woman you are now."

I stared, my mouth hanging slightly open. I think I heard the chime of the entrance, but it was a far away sound, not connected to the here and now.

"You cannot be serious," I breathed. " You hypocrite! I can't force the memory, but you can force my gender? Do you have any idea how it is to be a woman?"

Hellebore glanced behind my back to the customer who had come to the room, but he focused back on me in a blink of his golden eyes.

"No. I do not. For I do not have the privilege of having experienced it first hand."

"Well, let me tell you. Because you would have me trapped in this meager existence. In this lesser form. You would have me bleeding and with pains for days every month, bear the pains of childbirth. You would have me take a woman's work as a translator, which is underpaid, while my partner would collect higher salary from his technical job. And we both know I don't have an equal choice to choose a better paying career. You would have men sneering down at me for speaking out of turn. I could never be accepted into a leaders position, for all of them are still reserved for those who appear male. For years I would be seen by idiots as an object, as a lesser, as a womb. You've kept slaves, you know how they were looked at. There is a high percentage of people who wont hire me for my possibility of becoming pregnant, and then only if I have pretty enough a face preferably with makeup applied by bucketfuls. And when I will ask for a reasonable raise, it will be seen by my boss as a frivolous fantasy. Every show of emotion is a proof of my weaker nature. Of me being hormonal, and for what I know, I might be exactly that.

"Because it does feel different you know. I am less sure of myself as a woman. Less certain of my own rights. I have less power in my arms. And less hight. Less appetite. I feel cold more often.

"And you, who will never bleed or be seen as anything else than a young man, would curse me to grow to be an old lady, the most despised type of a human being there is. None of my opinions would be ever valid and I would need to contend myself to knitting socks for the poor, as a proper old lady. And anything fanciful I ever did would be seen as early signs of senility."

I ran out of breath. My heart was thudding in my chest. I wouldn't be trapped as Lavender, the cute and sweet little airhead.

I told so to Hellebore.

And then a cold voice behind my back noted.

"I don't think your opinion of the potential of womanhood is that high."

I turned my head.

Valentina was standing just behind me. She had squeezed her hands into tight fists and visibly shook with anger.

"For what my woman's opinion might be worth, I do not intend to grow into an old lady who only knits by the firelight."

"Well. You know what I am talking about, don't you? You are trying to be a man yourself. Buffing yourself up and sleeping with..."

Last time she had only slapped me. But this time her fist connected sharply with my jawbone. My teeth clattered together, my head snapped back. My chair fell. I was going with it. Valentina took hold of the collar of my jacket with both hands. She jerked me back up. Then pushed.

I stumbled over chairs and between two tables until my back was against the wall. My head spun.

I held a hand to protect my face. I was short of breath and almost sure I would puke. My teeth ached and I ran my tongue through them to ensure all were there.

She took hold of my wrist and turned it in her hand out of the way. My head was turned to a side. I looked at her from the corner of an eye.

"You... How dare you. You said there would be something of Lavender in you. And you have no idea, how much more noble she was just by herself."

I turned my face to look at her. I felt small and fragile compared to the stout form of Valentina with her feet planted into the wooden floor beneath us. Her hand painfully tight around my thin wrist. I still wasn't sure my legs would have supported my weight on their own.

"You think I am less than what you would be as a man, don't you? Hormonal, was it? Well. Here is hormones for you: I bleed every month. I bind my breasts with bindings to keep them out the way, and I like the fairer sex. You know I liked Lavender. And I tell you why: Because I did. I liked Lavender because she was sweet. She was gentle and she was thoughtful. Because she had nothing to prove to anyone. She was perfect. She loved being seen as a pretty airhead because it allowed her to play she was a fairy dancing through life. She was always careful with her opinions, because she knew they could hurt people around her. She was a beautiful woman who did her research and loved life. What was there not to love? If I could get her back I would do anything.

"I gave away my illusions of an independent controlled life, when Timothy's house exploded, to save a friend. And I know Lavender would have done the same for Timothy. She didn't need anyone looking at her and telling her she was their equal. She never questioned it.

"And if you truly have her still there somewhere in your pretty little head, you better start digging. Because I tell you right now what you lack, because that is not a penis. You lack self worth.

"I see it when you go to the Castle. You love vampires calling you by your name. You love making big plans that include us bystanders. You don't mind using us. Big plans by a bold mouth. But you can't just sit down and watch Netflix for an evening. You skipped my birthday, did you know that? Didn't fit in your big agenda. And I have followed you everywhere. Not once have you opened the door for a single link. None of your business, I suppose.

"So, if you think women are just some silly fragile pretty dolls, please go for it. Make yourself miserable. But do not for a second think that I am like you. I am a woman as I am. And no man, or anyone else, will ever look down on me without consequences. I will be treated as an equal. And those who don't do it, are assholes. Please keep that in mind, for future as well. Because I will not have you tell me such bullshit about womanhood, ever again."

She let go of me. And turned her back to me as if I had been a used cleaning rag she had left in the soap water.

"I think I left my hat here. Have you seen it?" She paused suddenly, taking in Hellebore's eyes.

"Mmm... Oh. Bad choice of words."

Hellebore was containing a smile. "Not at all. While I don't think I have laid my eyes on it. I do think that Marquise brought me a hat from the street yesterday. It is in the kitchen. I'll fetch it for you."

We were left alone with Valentina for the time it took Hellebore to find her hat in the kitchen side of the establishment. The hour stretched. Valentina didn't look at me.

I wasn't sure what I was thinking or feeling. I had been angry at Hellebore, and felt wronged. But the edge of the emotion had been dulled by Valentina's intervening. Somehow, what she had said, and how she had said it, had stayed with me. I didn't feel ashamed per se. But I felt breathless.

I watched the handsome woman in front of my eyes. My chin was throbbing and would swell. I wasn't still all that sure my teeth wouldn't simply fall off. She had hit me. I didn't think she had intended to do so. Part of why she averted her eyes was probably because she felt slightly ashamed for losing her temper so thoroughly. Because Valentina knew she was powerful. She knew she could hurt people. She knew she had a strong mind and a strong body, and while she wasn't ashamed of either, she was careful in how she used them.

Much like Timothy had been careful. And Blizzard was careful. And Mo was careful.

What had she said of Lavender? That she was careful with her opinions because she knew they could hurt others?

When I left Fair Marquise, my head felt empty. My jaw was throbbing and the pain gained intensity as I sat down in the metro. I tasted blood. People stared. And I hated that I knew what they saw, the interpretation they were making. In their eyes I was the victim. Of an assault or domestic violence. But I wasn't someone who had said something extremely rude and gotten punched by an overreacting friend.

I was a fragile looking young woman, and seen as the victim. And not seen as a powerful sorcerer whose name had stayed in history as a legend.

I came home late and expected Dew to be greeting me with reproaching attitude. But maybe he was just gaming in the livingroom.

I kicked out of the way an unfamiliar pair of boots and crouched down to untie my own shoe laces. I knew there were frozen vegetables in the freezer. I shook my jacket off and let it fall on top of the shoes. Why hadn't I defended myself better? I could have given Valentina at least a bruise back. I had never liked brawls but had been in fistfights through the centuries.

Yet, instinctively, I had just cowered against the wall, waiting for her to strike again.

I found my way to the livingroom which connected to the kitchen alcove. Dew wasn't in his chair. Instead, on the couch sat a man I had never seen in my life.

We looked at each other as I entered.

A friend of Dews? Or a coworker?

"What has happened?" He asked, instead of introducing himself.

"I got hit," I said. And went to find the freezer and a bag of broccoli in it, which I wrapped in a kitchen towel and then placed against the aching jaw. "And who are you?"

"I think I am you son."

I froze. My back was still to the livingroom.

Very slowly, I turned around. He had come to stand in the middle of the room. Light hair and clear eyes. Was this Aconite's cub? Could have been. He looked too young to be over forty, but all witches looked too young. Aconite himself looked hardly forty. And he must have been approaching a hundred.

"I don't have children," I told him. "What did you do to the man that was here?"

"He is taking a nap in the bedroom. You do know who I am, don't you?"

He came a step closer. I took a step back. He was very tall. A looming figure who had broken into my home.

"What do you want?"

"To try to kill you."

I flung the plastic bag of broccoli at him. He caught the bag but wasn't prepared for the freezer flinging open and half a dozen other frozen products attacking him from the drawers.

He stumbled backwards, slipped onto a pizza and fell.

And then I attacked him bodily, with the fury I had thought I had left at the Fair Marquise. And with bare fists.

Light weight object flew at him, powered by my anger and the clear direction of action I was giving.

Until suddenly I was coughing. I fell back.

There was dust in the air that irritated my throat and lungs. I coughed violently, drawing in more of the dust.

And then felt him grip me from the back. He took a handful of my hair. I felt the edge pressed against the down side of my chin so that I could have drawn my own blood had I pressed my tongue down.

Time froze. I was trying to suppress a violent coughing fit. The dust was settling. Nothing flew around anymore and I wasn't sure I could persuade the spirits to hit him with anything new now that my own hands were laying at my sides.

I swallowed carefully some saliva.

An involuntary cough escaped from my lungs. I felt the edge cutting in. Then the pressure gave way as I coughed some more. Blood ran in a thin rail down my throat. And there was still the edge.

I could have, in theory, caught the hand and tried to twist free.

I considered it. He might cut me deep to react to the sudden movement, maybe even accidentally.

And if he truly was the child I thought he was, he would have to eventually lower the weapon. There was a binding in the witch blood that forbade them killing their own parents.

And so I waited.

Eventually he gave it up.

"You really are Moura. And we are blood related. All this time, all these years, I could have found you by our connection. I could have told the elders. And you would be dead. And now I cannot."

He wasn't talking to me. And I wasn't looking at him, but coughed the powder out of my mouth, lungs and nostrils. It smelled slightly too sweet, like something moldy.

The man who hadn't told me his name stood and watched.

Then he simply left.

I was still picking up frozen comestibles when my boyfriend came to view. He couldn't quite keep himself upright and took support from the walls.

"What the hell happened here?" His words slurred slightly together.

I looked up at him from where I was crouching by the cardboard packaging of pizza. And wondered what it was that he would make out of this scene. Was it his fragile, hormonal girlfriend who was wreaking havoc in her madness?

What else could it be?

I expected him to take the superior stance and demand answers as he had done last night. But instead he asked:

"Are you bleeding?"

Oh, yes I was, indeed. I had forgotten about the knife scratch. Valentina had hit me worse and I was pressing the bag of broccoli against that side of my face. Now I suddenly became aware of the dried trail against my chest where my blouse had absorbed the blood. I didn't think I was bleeding anymore though. It wasn't deep.

"Hey. Lavender, please, talk to me. Who did this, what happened?"

I looked around me in the room, at the fallen objects, the broken contents of our freezer scattered around. Then I looked at Dew. I swallowed down the frustrated tears.

Why, I couldn't tell him! But I had to say something...

Then I beckoned, for one of the pea packages that was just out of my reach. The peas stayed where they were but a fallen book came flying to my outstretched fingers.

Dew pressed his eyelids closed.

"I don't really feel too good. I think I am a bit sick."

And now he didn't see me as a hysterical woman. He didn't see me at all. For him I would just be Lavender. Whatever that would be.

I sighed, rose and placed the book onto a side table.

Just Lavender, was I? But the man, Aconite's son, had tried to murder someone else than Lavender, someone older.

I walked to where Dew hugged the wall.

"Come," I told him. "I'll help you back to bed."

Lavender's boyfriend leaned against me and I took him to the bedroom and sat onto the bed by him. And looked upon him as he sank deep into the soft sheets.

This man didn't have Valentina's strong, steadfast way of dealing with the reality. He only had his job, his skills as a coder, his gaming station.

His friends, his girl. He was sweet. And worried for me. And through Lavender I had grown to love him.

Just a human man. And for him Lavender was enough. A sweet airhead girl with a weakly paid translator's career as future prospects.

How would it be to grow old with him, carrying Lavender's face to my next grave?

Would I live out Lavender's dreams? Or find a new immortal purpose I could carry to my next reincarnation?

In my thoughts I pressed the broccoli bag against the throbbing in my cheek.

I didn't like to admit it, but I felt lost and confused suddenly. All breath and power seemed to have abandoned me.

Suddenly, Dew grabbed my hand. His eyes were open. I looked into them.

"Please, don't disappear while I rest."

I looked into his mortal eyes that had only witnessed twenty years on the planet Earth.

Was it really too much to ask such a fragile being to remember, to see the work of spirits around us? How couldn't he bring himself to look deeper when Valentina had faced the dark uncontrollable memories?

I pressed a light kiss onto his forehead.

"I'll be cleaning. Please sleep in the meanwhile."

No answers came to me as I put everything back in order and lifted fallen objects onto their respective shelves. There was just a deep throbbing against my jaw.

And Valentina's words haunting me. She had valued just Lavender more. Somehow the Lavender she had known had been more to her, even with her memories, than I was as I was just then.

I could still somehow see Valentina in front of me. I heard her words. Such steadiness. Just a human being, a young woman in her twenties.

How was it possible that I felt I fell short of her?

It was as I had told Hellebore, as a woman I felt less. Less secure in myself. I felt more powerfully the words of others and felt like my standing was less steady.

With what power had Valentina confronted me like she had? She had nothing supernatural to her. No memories of wars won or lost. Just a woman.

The broccoli melted in the plastic bag against my jaw and I carried the bruise to a new day.

Valentina

I was preparing for the last practice of the academic year. My black belt was nowhere to be found, and finally I had given it up. I stood alone in the middle of the hilariously yellow tatami and felt kind of curious wearing the pink belt. I considered myself and the empty room in the row of mirrors. Flexed the hand I had used to punch Julia the night before. I still felt the area where the two knuckles of my index finger and the middle one had connected with the bone.

I had hit bricks before. And sand filled sacks. Sometimes the stomachs of unfortunate practice partners. I had once accidentally kicked the air out of a friend.

But never before, no matter how badly provoked, had I used physical violence against a human being.

"Won't repeat." I promised my reflection.

Someone came in the door. I turned to the curtain separating the dojo from the rest of the oddly shaped room. It was early for the other practitioners. Too early for the students of the self defense club.

Then Julia pushed through the curtain.

Before I could react in any way, she asked:

"Can I join?"

She was wearing loose pants and an old t-shirt. Her fair hair was tied into a ponytail. Nothing in how she asked sounded like the immortal asshole.

"Of course. Better late than never." Lavender, I added in the secret corners of my mind.