I think we should discuss how your training is progressing.

I fear there’s not much to discuss on that point.

Exactly.

The red-haired lady sighs and finally looks up from her place on the floor. Meditation would not be feasible after this.

There has been no progress at all since you started training me four months ago. I am well aware. …Yet you seem upset.

Upset? Yes. I would like to see that my training is working. I’d like to see that the wildfire that came to me begging that I teach her control, has learned something, anything from my teachings. You came to me begging to teach you – control of infinite magical powers, you said – so that you never kill again. But you’ve not changed at all. And why do you think that is? You said that a single word triggered something in you that wiped out an entire town. I took you on to help stop the next massacre. Yes, I would like to see progress!

There are many possibilities why there’s been no change. It could be that I am a horrible student. It would not surprise me. I… have not been ‘taught’ anything in so many years, I am sorely out of practice. It could take me years upon years to even reach a level that is teachable, let alone a level that makes progress. It could be that you’re…. not the teacher for me after all.  It could be any number of things. But sadly, you did not ask me what could be the reason. You asked what I thought the reason is. You have learned how to use language against me in these past months. I like that. You have certainly changed. I’ve watched as simply knowing that I exist has changed your entire outlook. It has changed how you perceive the world. And it makes me wonder if you have changed enough to finally help me. On my side, I believe that I have not made any advancements at all, because to do so would mean confronting and perhaps accepting all the mistakes I’ve made in my long, long life. And I have made a lot of mistakes, Heng. Some of which, I would do almost anything to forget. Self-sabotage is an inexpensive price to avoid all those barbs in my soul.

You’re not advancing on purpose?!

Meditation and exercise and fierce physical training, I’ve done it all before. I gained focus, but not control. This method of yours was never going to produce results.

Then why waste our time? Why make me spend months working with you, if this was never going to work in the first place? If you knew this was all for nothing, why even bother asking a mere mortal monk to be your teacher? Now that I know you, I shouldn’t just let you go back into the world, knowing you could explode again on a single word. You’ve made me partially responsible.

Four months is both a very long and a very short time. A lot can happen in so many days. The world itself can change completely in that time. And a person can transform completely a dozen times over– can become so unrecognizable that…. And yet it is such a short time compared to my life. I have wasted centuries. What are a few more months? But these four months of training have not been entirely fruitless. Does that make you feel better? I have made no progress toward my goal. That’s true enough. I’ve not taken a single step in that direction. But I think you are almost ready. I have a plan that is almost fully formed, but you needed to be comfortable with me. You needed to be able to look past the dazzle of magic – see it as mundane as using tools or singing a song. I need you to be able to see me and not the magic to move forward.

Almost ready? Almost. That may be the foulest word in all of existence. Almost. Nothing should be almost. It is. It isn’t. What more do I need to do, to actually get started? I’m not going to waste more time with you for an almost. There are so many people I could be helping instead of sitting here with you day after day. You. I see you. I see that you are lonely and needed someone that would sit down for more than a single conversation in a pub. I see that you like to scare people with what you say you can do, but when the storm comes in, you sweat like anyone else. You make yourself out to be so distant from the rest of humanity, but I think you’re just too scared to actually join in. Decide now, or I’m done. I don’t have an immortal’s patience. A few months wasted is a few lives I could have helped, could’ve changed.

Fine. But I wonder if even with four months of knowing me, if it’s enough. I don’t want to hurt you. I hope you realize that.

I am a Shaolin monk. I am stronger than you give me credit.

It’s not your strength I question. If anything, Heng, I fear I overestimate your abilities. I believe you may be the wisest man I’ve ever known. Your ability to adapt and change and then reach equilibrium once again after even the greatest shock is…. Remarkable. I suppose I am to be one more shock in your life. I suppose you’d like to start now?

Heng, finally sits down in front of his ancient student. She looks like a woman in her early twenties, with fiercesome red hair and piercing violet eyes. He knows she’s a witch of the highest level, though he’s only seen her use fire magic around his familiar docks. She’s said that she scares herself with her power. And there have been moments, just instances scattered through his time with her that for no reason he can hold on to, Li terrified him too. Regardless, she’s been training with him, cursing the cold spray of the sea as she helps him in the duties that earn his daily meals, then quietly following his every direction for meditation and exercise. She’s gone through all of his teachings perfectly, but mechanically. Control, thus far has meant detachment for her, or worse – chains. If she is willing to literally break through the barriers she has created in her soul, in her mind, in her magic, then this was his chance. This strange creature in front of him has the potential to change the world for the better, he can feel it. And helping her become the hero in his thoughts, that’s something he’s been dying to see.

By all means.

The hut was never much to look at. A few pieces of wood that were nailed into some awkward little shape that keeps the wind out and most of the rain. There was the hole in the floor for the fire and the two mats for sitting and sleeping. Outside were the ancient docks, and the older sea – always threatening to break in. Outside was the village with its fishermen and sailors, it’s fishmongers and net menders. Farther north, where the salt didn’t cut through the air quite so sharply, were the merchants and still farther the farms. And just as you rose up to the mountains… there were the ruins of the monastery. Heng’s life had been spent in the shadow of those ruins. Burned down in rebellion, leaving him and so many homeless, purposeless. Here was his chance. His destiny was to help this creature. He knew it. One fire taking away his hope, another bringing it back. He always liked to think that life worked in poetic ways like that. His own teachers would have scolded him for such thoughts. But they weren’t here now.

This is going to be hard for me. But I think it is the only way. And I think you will be able to understand, or at least, I hope you will. I’ve not told anyone about my past in years. And I’ve not ‘shown’ anyone…. Ever. As I said, the only way. I’ve given you glimpses of magic, just tiny tastes. You’ve seen me summon flames and manipulate them. You’ve seen me transport them and even heal them. Each a different form of magic – but all tied to the real. Today I’d like to show you illusion magic. It is not real. Real is what has the ability to affect the now. What I show you, will not. You will see it, feel it, hear it, even taste and smell it, but it will not be real. It will be my memories given light – just enough light that you can understand it. Does that make sense?

I believe so. What memories will you start with? What order will you go in? Surely, I cannot experience the whole life of an immortal.

We’ll start with family. Knowing them, knowing my childhood, will explain a lot of… other things. We begin in a small town, many many years ago on the living side of The River.

The river?

There is only one The River. The Nile. The life bringer, the death bringer. The One River.

With that, the sound of the waves outside seemed to crash louder and louder. The wind picked up as if a storm were breathing down on the shack. The shambles of a structure seemed to bend and buckle under an unseen weight. The air felt heavy. The sounds, so familiar, became grating. The wind, subtly changed as it whipped around the damp wood. The salt, the cutting bitterness, was shifting, was now shifting into sand. It became drier, and drier and drier until the wind itself seemed to gasp for breath. The sound of waves was now sand rolling on sand, an equally endless sound as the crashing waves and so surprisingly similar. The wood around them was consumed by the all-encompassing sand until the walls were buried and gone. There was nothing but the dunes around Heng and the infinite sky. No clouds, no moon, just the stars and the shining sand and the blackness.

Li? Li, this is amazing!

She wasn’t there– also consumed by the desert.

Li?

The winds had all but died in the transformation. Breathless. The sand covered his feet, it clung to his pants and fingertips. It was not like the sands of the beach. It felt so very wrong after all his years staring toward the sea. He stood and began to walk through the mirage. The stars were wrong, nothing like the ones he knew. This was a different side of the world, a different age. It was all terribly wrong to his mind and made him dizzier than he expected, because while it all felt wrong, it also felt incredibly… genuine. His mind reeled at the contradiction.

This isn’t real? It almost hurts just to breathe it in. Li, is there nothing here in your past but emptiness? Emptiness and heat?!

The ground shook under his feet and slowly shapes began to rise out from under the sand. Stone buildings, others of clay and wood. Merchants’ tents and vendor carts. They rose higher and higher around him until he found the stones of the street finally lifting up to meet his bare feet, all shaking off the infinite sand.

A small town, many, many years ago on the living side of the river? Sorry, ‘The River’? It’s impressive, Li. I grant you that. This landscape is amazing – nothing like the world I know. But where is this family I am supposed to meet?

Down the street, lights slowly appeared in the windows of one of the stone buildings.

Heng took one step and the house stood in front of him. He smiled at how convenient this ‘not-real’ world was and peered in through the shining window. He saw an auburn-headed woman and a dark-haired man sitting around a large wooden table – he was grinding herbs in a stone bowl, she was measuring powders on a crude set of black scales. The room smells of medicine – herbs and floral scents, not unlike his local apothecary. As he tried to see more of the room they worked in, he heard a small voice at his knee.

They were healers, my grandparents. Aurora and Horace. Aurora was a witch of frightful powers. She was an elemental – a fire elemental – like me. Even though she looks young here, she was almost 1000 years old. Horace was a wizard, and very good at his healing spells, but his real power lied in cooling even the hottest tempers – like my grandmother’s. He could supposedly talk the desert into taking a deep breath. But even he couldn’t talk The River into behaving.

He looked at the small auburn-headed child sitting near his feet. She was looking away from the happy couple going about their nightly work. She stared blankly into the darkness of the street with her arms wrapped around her knees, pulling them tight to her chest.

Li? You are a child now? …. Where is your flaming hair? Has immortality changed you that much? Is this what you were like when you knew them?

–

Alright. They were healers? Did they teach you their skills?

They were in the room with the pair now. The smell was so thick Heng could taste the bitter medicine in the back of his throat with every breath. The room was small, but very clean. Herbs hung from the low rafters in bunches. The fire in the hearth blazed merrily as the two people kept working. He could see every fiber in their clothes, each strand of thread in the blankets neatly piled in the corner. He could see the remains of a hearty stew on the dishes piled by the corner basin of water. Every detail he could imagine was there. The wood felt hard and smooth under his touch. The warmth of the fire was welcome as the window let in a cold phantom of air along his back. It was so much to take in.  And the couple, they were alive before him, you couldn’t have convinced him otherwise. They’re eyes were full of life as they sat there working. Their hair bobbed with the rhythm of their hands. Their fingers moved with the grace of someone performing the same thoughtless task for the millionth time, knowing that a million more times might follow. She had freckles on her neck. He had a scar along his left shoulder. She appeared to sneeze, but there was no sound. They laughed, no sound. Their mouths moved as if they were speaking to each other, no doubt joking about the flying herbs, but there was not a word.

We cannot hear what they say?

I was not alive for these images.

She sat as she did before, still not looking at them. Her eyes rested on a thin crack in the stone under the window, but it was doubtful she actually saw anything there.

I know what happened from stories my mother told me – against her better judgement. This is how I looked when she revealed their stories. It was before I joined with the fire. It was before many things. I don’t know what they said. I know they were happy though. This is how I imagine them. I like to think on that. They were happy. They were really happy. No, I’m not sure what that sounds like. And even if I did, they were speaking the language of their village back then. You could not understand them even if you heard. But here they are. Look at them. There is no need to translate happy.

She closed her eyes as if it was hard to even fathom the concept. She seemed to strain under the idea of making them appear as happy as she believed them to be.

I get the feeling you envy them.

There are not a lot of people in my life I can claim were ever happy. Most of them were definitely not happy ever again after meeting me. Me, I was happy for a little while. It… was why I made the biggest mistake of my life. And it was very short lived. They were happy for quite a few years. So, yes, I do envy them. Moreso, I am a bit protective of this thought. I’d like for this moment of theirs to last. I’d like to let them stay happy for just a bit longer. But I know what’s coming.

What is going to spoil all their happiness? Is it a dragon or a monster? Is it some disaster that even both their magics together can’t overcome? You said she was frightfully powerful – what is more powerful than both of them together?

Aurora stands up, apparently trying to clean the mess her sneeze has created. She breathes out heavily, both hands go to support her back as her very pregnant belly gets in the way for the hundredth time that day. Horace rushes to her and grabs the rag before she can waddle her way to it. He holds it high over her head as she frowns at him playfully. Then he kisses her and then her stomach. Dusting the remaining powder from her tunic with the absconded rag.

I see.

When you see what happens next, remember this scene. They had years of happy before it all crashed down.

Suddenly the couple is gone. The fire is barely embers in the hearth and the sun is shining outside. Sitting low on the horizon, but still stubbornly holding on. There is a knock on the door and Horace walks from the back room to answer it. Aurora follows behind holding a baby wrapped in what had to have been the softest blanket ever made.

There is an angry crowd at the door.

They barge in, obviously yelling even though, again, there is no sound.

One particularly round man with dark brown eyes and dark gray bags under them pushes through to the front, waving his hands frantically as he yells at the happy couple.

They’re scared. The annual flooding of The River is what keeps this land from being devoured by the sands. It hasn’t come. And no one can ever remember it being this late. Merchants, politicians, farmers, they’ve all been coming to their door, begging them to make it right one by one. They plead with them to force The River back into its pattern. But they can’t do it. And somehow these people think that ganging up on them and demanding it will somehow make it more possible.

Horace raises his own arms and manages to quiet the mob, now thoroughly tangled in the hanging herbs and stomping through spilled powders and medicines – mixing them into a gritty paste on the floor. Aurora goes to the back room to set the baby down, so she can better support her husband in case words are not enough.

Horace keeps speaking and a calmness settles over everyone. It’s palpable. Half the intruders leave, already satisfied by whatever he’s said. The other half seems more interested in further discussion.

He quieted them down without magic. It was just his way. He spoke so beautifully magic wasn’t even necessary most of the time. It had been his words that had won Aurora’s heart. It was his perfect calm that made them work so well together. He soothed the fires. And now the townspeople are planning with him in case The River refuses to cooperate much longer. They will create a plan B and C and even D while they stand there. But soon the baby will begin to cry.

And on que, the shrill sounds of the baby crying break through the stillness of shuffling feet and ambient noise from just outside the window.

Heng covered his ears instinctively. He hadn’t realized how quiet this world had been. How the sands seemed to muffle everything – everything but the baby cry.

Aurora and Horace abandon their guests to find the baby still asleep in her bed. They looked confused as they saw the baby still quietly dozing in the afternoon sunlight. Then it happened again. The baby wailed – still asleep. Some of the townspeople crowded in behind them to make sure everything was alright. At the next outburst, the wailing continued and continued even though the baby looked to be tranquilly asleep. Then the word ‘flood’ boomed in through the crying. Then ‘Death.’ Then she was quietly sleeping once more.

I heard that. She said flood! You translated! She’s not old enough to speak yet. What’s going on?

Aurora scooped up the child, who woke instantly at the sudden motion. She smiled ignorantly at all the faces. None of the faces smiled back.

The sands swept in through the window. They quickly buried everything, rising up and over until, again, Heng is left with only dunes and sky, though this time the sun glows angrily above him.

Li! What was that? Explain this.

Clouds gathered quickly in the distance. He could see them clearly though twenty, thirty, fifty miles away. It was as if there were a hole in the sky. Even from this distance, the thunder that started rolling over him was deafening.

Li?! Stop it! What kind of storm is that? I can feel it from here. It makes every grain of sand shake under my feet. The air, it’s at war with something.

The little girl appears again, in front of him, sopping wet, half drowned. Her eyes are closed as she looks toward the storm.

The storm came that next day. It destroyed almost everything. Almost, such a kind word. But The River, the rising waters, the flood that came next, it destroyed everything else. It made the people miss ‘almost.’ Aurora and Horace and their baby, Evelynne, escaped. They had the forethought to run as soon as they could persuade the last visitor to leave. They had headed North and East to a town Horace frequently traded with. He had created transport gates months before to more easily send herbs and elixirs to his contact there. A cautious man, Horace, he could not stand all those bottles jostling on carts for miles and miles. Caravans were clumsy. He preferred more elegant solutions. A simple doorway from his own workroom to a storehouse. Turn the latch the other way, it lead to a farmer’s basement in the Southern Hills. Better freshness that way. His favorite buyer was greatly surprised to see the young family in his storehouse in the morning rather than a shipment of cough elixirs. It was only two days later that they all heard the news of what had happened. Amar was only too glad to help his friend find a new home given the disaster he just escaped. They spent less than a week with Amar before finding a suitable home for themselves. It took surprisingly little time for them to build up a business almost as steady as in the previous town. But they weren’t happy there. Evelynne would need training and constant watching to make sure whatever powers were blossoming in the child were under control. Aurora claimed that she always knew Evelynne was a seer. But there was always that lingering doubt that she somehow may have caused the tragedies she predicted.

The sand shifts again. It swirls and dances around. It slowly erases the dunes and the storm, settling into a new landscape. And again, buildings on another street rise up from the desert’s depths. There is a new room with familiar herbs. And there is the same auburn hair and dark hair, but there is no laughter this time. Both parents are talking to the little girl sitting at the table. The girl moves her hand, and a jar floats shakily toward the other side of the table. The girl is straining, squeezing her face into all sorts of strange contortions trying to keep the jar steady. When it crashes down into shards of clay, the little girl collapses too. She moans and cries and pleads with her parents. They try to comfort, to console. They pat her head and hold her small hands. They mend the jar in an instant. The girl is not relieved, she knows that once fixed, she will have to try again.

Evelynne, foresaw the storm while still a baby. That’s very rare even among the most powerful bloodlines of witches. And she continued to have visions at the most random times through her childhood. Her divinative powers were amazingly strong, they would not be held back. Her other powers were… lacking. Her parents thought if she could control the parts of magic they understood, that she could feel how that works and use it on her visions. I understand why they thought that. It was the only logical option they really had. The few ‘seers’ they contacted hoping for more instructions were normally charlatans. No help at all. So they did what they could with what they knew. It was a case of the blind leading the eagle. One day, tired from the training her parents made her suffer through every day, the girl went to the little garden behind their house.

The house spun around in front of Heng, revealing a lovely shadowy spot filled with hundreds of different sized pots of equally many colors – all filled with rare and beautiful plants and flowers and herbs. They held trees and vines and bushes, until together, they created a lush, green hideaway, where a little girl could sit quietly with whatever thoughts and dreams and imaginings would make her smile.

I don’t see her.

She’s hiding again.

Heng wandered into the maze of pots, moving giant leaves this way and that as he tried to find a better viewpoint. Ornate ferns and conical tufts of butterfly weed swayed after him. Then he heard her crying, a whimper in the shadows. He moved faster to find the little girl.

Is she hurt? Help me find her.

She doesn’t need me to find her – this woman coming up will find her soon enough.

And there was the little old lady meant to find the child. She had wiry gray hair with a few strands every now and then of a deep black. She was hunched over as she walked, giving her a much shorter stature than was true. She had bundle after bundle in her arms, on her back, giving the impression of a walking storefront more than a woman. She was minding her own business, going about her errands for the day, when she too heard the sounds of a child in distress. She stopped and looked, then, when the sound continued, decided to go deeper into the tiny jungle. Her mouth opened and closed as she called out, but there was no sound other than the child’s crying. The old woman moved leaves and nudged pots out of her way. She squinted into the shadows but to no avail. She sat down her bundles and rummaged through them until she found and lit a small lantern. She left the bags and went deeper into the potted forest armed with this bit of light. She looked half the size she was before, fragile without her armor. But the light was there. It must have helped. She soon stumbled onto the sleeping child.

She must be having another vision. She’s crying but sleeping peacefully like she did before. Will she yell out another word, Li? Or will we have to guess what she’s seeing? I’m not sure what you will and won’t translate for me.

You won’t have to guess.

The old woman went to wake the child, just a nudge of the shoulder. She thought it was a nightmare making the poor girl cry. Good intentions. When she touched the girl, though, the fire in her lantern leapt up, creating a small column of red light. Frozen in shock, the woman just stood there with her hand still on the child and her eyes frozen on the flames. Within the fire, shapes formed. Men on horseback with torches were riding like demons over the sand. They were burning anything they could find. The buildings in the fire, lit on fire, were familiar, the weaver two doors down, this very apothecary shop, Amar’s trading business, the glass-blower. The woman yelled out and stumbled backwards. Evelynne woke with a start and yelled at the woman who yelled. More people from the street came running at the sound and were soon yelling too.

It wasn’t words, just loudness and fear. No need to translate here either. In seconds, Aurora was there holding her daughter and yelling along with everyone else.

Horace came minutes later and soothed the frayed nerves once more. He was slower than he had once been. Tired. But his words still worked. When the crowd scattered, the parents looked down at the child and knew they’d have to leave again.

The shifting sands swirled around once more, covering the sad, little family. It covered the street and buildings and the secret garden. The sands even swallowed the sun this time, leaving Heng in the darkness with only the dunes once more.

It felt bigger this time and even heavier.

Li.

She was looking into the distance, sitting half buried in the sand in that same position, clutching her knees to her chest.

They escaped again, didn’t they?

I would not be here if they didn’t.

But the town?

As his question faded into the still night air, a bright light erupted from the sands miles and miles away. It was so small from where they stood. But Heng knew the devastation that was born in those flames. He knew the sounds of the screaming people and the crumbling walls and the ruined lives all meeting his ears at once, even if he was too far away to hear them. He wondered if Li kept them so far from the mayhem for his sake, to keep him from remembering his own nights of fire or if for some reason she was staying away for herself.

Are you alright?

Me? Why would I not be fine? I was not even born yet, my own mother still a child. I never met Horace and only had 7 years with my mother. I should be able to tell this story as I do any other. Who really are these people to me after all?

Your family.

I suppose that is the point of my story, Heng. If family is the rock that you first build your life upon… I built mine on shifting sands.

He had nothing to say to that. He let his eyes rest on the distant chaos. He sighed. It was good she placed them so far away from it. Almost to herself she continued as she let the sands sift through her small fingers.

Unsteady. Impermanent.                    Weak.

The dunes vibrated with her thoughts. They shifted and danced and created mountains around the child witch. Li didn’t seem to notice. The sands below her sank, until she was at the bottom of a chasm still shrinking in around her. All the while the sand beneath Heng pulls at his feet and legs, pulling him farther from his student. He falls and it pulls him. He claws at the sand to get up and get to her, but it pulls him. He cannot get a footing.

Li!

Oh. Forgive me, I lost my focus for a second.

The desert leveled and calmed almost instantly. A new city quickly appeared around Heng as he stood on the steady stones of a new street. Then the city crumbled and a new one appeared. Then again. And again. One city after another rises out of the sand around Heng, complete with strangers selling jars, or rugs, then disappearing into the dunes before they can approach Heng with their wares.

Li?

The cities appear faster and faster, as though the buildings are pushing each other out of the way. The faces blur and the silhouettes meld into one impression of city, city, city, never home, stranger, stranger, stranger, never friend.

Do we need to stop? Is this too much for you?

For me? No.

She was standing behind him, her arms wrapped around herself as if holding herself together. The cities appear even faster as she speaks. Dizzying.

I am all too used to this. They wandered from one city to another. They never stayed too long, sometimes weeks, once almost a year. Aurora and Horace kept trying to force their daughter to control her powers. They worked with her every day. They worked only enough on their business to keep money in their pockets, but otherwise, everything was about her. At night, that restful time, they took shifts watching over her, to see if yet another vision would upturn their lives. The girl did not go out. She could not talk to anyone beyond her parents. No. The neighbors would blame her for the tragedies she predicted. They had before. Already, rumors were spreading about the wizard family that leaves destruction in their wake. The first two visions were by far the worst. But that was enough. They left after any vision now. Every city has its thieves and murderers. But somehow everyone forgot that when the wizards came and left. It was their fault. They would realize after the fact that, really, they had always been suspicious of them.

This was not the life Aurora or Horace had hoped for. It wasn’t their grand plan for the future and that, more than anything, frustrated them. They were wizards, powerful ones. They were supposed to have an easy life of helping people and being eternally thanked and praised and petted. They were supposed to raise a daughter who would learn their skills. And they would be proud. There would be mistakes, of course, bad decisions. There would be boys no one approved of and arguments and growing pains. But that would be fine. They would, overall, be happy. But they weren’t. They had no real home, they had no friends, no business to speak of. No one trusted them or liked them, let alone thanked them. And there was no sleep. That one hurt. And there was no end in sight. That hurt even worse. Evelynne wasn’t getting better. The visions still came without rhyme or reason. And it was only a matter of time before another vision would send them packing to another town, another pack of strangers.

Make it stop, Li. Get on with the story.

You don’t like the blur of places and faces? I don’t blame you. I don’t think anyone does. It wore on Horace and Aurora. Poor Evelynne hadn’t known anything else, she thought this was what life was. Fine.

One set of buildings finally stayed in place. You could hear Heng relax as he looked on at something stable. He stepped toward the new apothecary shop with relief.

I should warn you. The blur was uncomfortable, but it didn’t hurt. What comes next….

She trails off as she sees Aurora and Horace in their latest home. It’s bigger than most of the homes they’ve had before. It’s still very narrow, like all the houses on the street, and looks no different than its brothers, but it seems impossibly long. There is an indoor bath and a central garden and many, many doors that couldn’t possibly go anywhere without running into the neighbors. The parents have learned that if they are going to be trapped somewhere, they should make it nice. The doors are Horace’s work, gateways to places across the sea or across the desert or across the globe. Perhaps they do not need to run to a new place each time. Maybe if they have 4 or 5 houses, homes, they can just rotate between them. Perhaps they could keep some semblance of permanence that way. They could put down roots. They were using a lot more magic now. It made them tired. Their business was all but forgotten. He was desperate and exhausted. And trying to keep Aurora calm, while she was equally desperate and exhausted was using all the skill he had ever had, but for her sake he would hide it. He would smile and joke and pretend that he was not aching to let it all go with every breath.

They look almost happy again.

The family eats dinner together. Horace makes the spoons dance for the 10-year-old. When that doesn’t elicit enough of a response, he makes them balance on top of each other until they almost reach the rafters. She is obviously pleased, but still refuses to show it. She yawns dramatically to prove to him that she is unimpressed. He laughs and bends one of the spoons in half, making a perfect ‘v’ in its handle. He says something and the spoons bends and unbends stiffly. With a little more focus it flies from his hand, flapping like a small silver bird. Then the rest of the spoons from the balancing act join in. They circle overhead and swoop down at the now openly laughing girl. She jumps to catch them and waves her hands in the flock only to hear a tiny tink tink tink as they graze each other in their attempts to stay airborne.

Bedtime.

The room shifts and Evelynne is in a darkened room with her mother sitting in a chair next to her. Horace kisses his daughter on the forehead and then his wife on the cheek before going to his own bed to sleep before his shift.

They still have to watch her every night?

Every night.

The girl sleeps. Her mother is writing out a list with numbers by a meager candle. She is keeping the light dim on purpose. The light makes her look much older than before. You could almost believe she was a thousand years old as she sits there, scratching away with an inky reed. Then there is a small cry, much smaller than the other times a vision has come. The candle flame wavers. Tears start to run down Evelynne’s face. The flame gets hotter and hotter, filling the room with intense heat. Heng backs away, Aurora, the fire elemental steps closer to the candle. She sees Horace in the marketplace. He holds the list she’s making out right then. A crowd gathers up the street. They’re shouting. They’re pointing at the wizard. A bottle flies at his feet, sending glass flying in all directions. A jar splinters to his right seconds later. He backs up as he tries to talk to them. The butcher has a stall only a few feet behind him. They had just haggled over some birds moments ago. The butcher looked confused by all the shouting. Horace backs up again. The crowd is bigger. It’s louder now. Horace’s magic words aren’t working this time. The butcher is eagerly listening to the accusations they shout as someone throws another bottle, then 2 stones and a basketful of rotten vegetables. Horace takes another step backwards. He hasn’t been hurt, not even hit by any of the flying debris. He doesn’t want to hurt them. He really doesn’t want to fight at all. He’s just so tired. And they just won’t listen.

The butcher stabbed him in the back as he stood there. Horace, the wizard , my grandfather, died there in the street.

Tears were pouring down Aurora’s face now. You could see the pain there as she watched, then the anger. Her tears sizzled on her skin and became steam. The candle exploded in a shower of red sparks – waking the child. Evelynne woke up and knew exactly what was wrong – the vision had stayed with her. She turned and grabbed her mother and squeezed her hard.

Aurora patted her head and soothed her hair.

She said that it would be okay, darling. She said that that vision would not come true. She would go with Horace to the market tomorrow and nothing would touch him.

You know what she said?

Mother told me. She said that she’d never forget the determination and ferocity in her mother’s voice as she tried to quiet those tears. Evelynne had started crying because she saw her father die. She continued because she felt then that all the humanity in her mother had also died. She told me that regardless of what happened the next day in the market, she already considered herself an orphan.

The sands crept in over Heng’s feet. They shivered. They didn’t want to bring on the next images. The walls around Aurora and Evelynne, trembled, a tiny quake as if they were holding a weight they were not strong enough to carry. The colors of the scene seemed to grow grayer. And the beautiful details Li had made sure were everywhere… Heng looked…. Blurriness.  It was as if all the edges were made of sand, drifting off on different winds. It was subtle, but the whole world seemed to be slowly desiccating – turning into an empty husk.

She lost herself there. I know what that feels like. I know how that hurts. And I know the rage that follows when you think you have someone to blame.

The wooden floor began to dissolve like so many of the smaller details. Then even beyond sand, they faded to nothingness. It left Heng hopping from one board to another until finally there was only the blackness, the darkness of her thoughts, only that, holding him up. It felt soft and pillowy. He sank slightly into it, but it was enough to stand on as the walls fully crumbled. The bed faded into the dark. Instinctively, he knew this was a dangerous situation. He tried to yell to Li, but his own voice was silent. When he tried to reach her, the blackness held him in place like tar. When he stopped, soft and pillowy once more. She didn’t want to be interrupted.

The problem with Aurora was that she never even tried to come back. She let the anger take control and never said otherwise. I would meet her years later. I thought we could each be the family the other needed. I thought that I could bring her back to… herself. But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be herself without him. And she didn’t care if I had any family or not. Hers was already gone. She was weak. I see it now – I didn’t then, but she was so very weak. She should have been there for her daughter. She should have been there for me. She had years left. She had guaranteed time and she selfishly squandered it on self-pity. She acted as though she was the only one that hurt. She thought she was the only one that truly knew pain. And when I found her, all she wanted to do with me was show me how much I could hurt, then tell me I knew nothing of real pain.

The sands whipped around again. Heng was thankful for them. They covered the mother and child and devoured the night, leaving a sunny sky and the bustling marketplace in front of them.

I… loved my grandmother. In a way I still do. But it’s taken me so very long to realize that I hate her too. She was so very wrong. And I hate the parts of her I see in myself.

The child, Li, is walking through the market – taking a piece of fruit from one basket and biting into it as she continues. Heng, thrilled to be on solid ground again, even these miserable shifting sands, jogs along behind her. He thinks to try his voice, now that things are…. Stable.

Li, did you lose control back there? The details, the floor were all drifting away. There was a palpable darkness that held me.

Is that so? No, that wasn’t losing control, that was being too focused. I’ve thought a lot about that scene. It was that moment that changed Aurora, that turned her into the person that I would know years from now. If someone had been there trying to undo that moment as she is about to try to change another, maybe everything would be different. Maybe I would be different. Maybe the whole world would be different. Then again, we’ll see how effective she is at changing fate’s design. Maybe this is how things are supposed to be. I apologize for the blackness. Know that nothing can hurt you here. You are completely safe.

Are you safe?

She walks them to the center of the marketplace without another word.  Aurora and Horace are right in front of them. The gathering crowd of rumormongers are just behind them.

Some of the people here survived the flood. They want revenge for everything they lost. Some are from the burning town – they want to know why the family didn’t warn them. They all could have escaped. They blame them for sons and daughters lost. They’re hurt and looking for people to blame. And they’re meeting her now while she’s in a similar state – just as angry and just as willing to blame anyone or everyone else.

There’s the first bottle thrown.

Horace tries to calm the mob.

He’s backing up.

Aurora does not.

She yells at them. We didn’t make The River go wild. And we certainly didn’t tell the bandits to destroy your town. If we had told you to run, you would have called us crazy and went back to your warm comfortable beds. If you want to blame us for something, blame us for something we did do. Something like this!

She let a fireball loose on the crowd. It wasn’t enough to seriously hurt, but it singed and it frightened. It got most of the crowd to run. She sent another and another at the men still left.

The jar and the other bottles and the vegetables were thrown. Horace was pleading with her now. Trying to rein in her temper.

She said she was doing this for him. She didn’t care if they hated her, but she wouldn’t lose him.

He backed up.

The butcher raised a knife.

The butcher was instantly incinerated.

Horace stared, wide-eyed, shocked as the pile of ash dropped the knife.

What have you done?!

Horace’s words were soon echoed not just by the men of the mob, but by every onlooker in the square.

He was a good man!

You had no right!

Murderer!

She tried to tell them that the butcher was about to kill her husband. What did it matter? They had known the butcher since he was a child. They had known the witch for a month or so.

Li threw her half-eaten fruit at Aurora as she and Horace vanished in a swirl of smoke and sand. It landed with a thud a few steps behind where they had been a moment before.

They’re back at the house. They’re barricading the doors and strengthening the protective charms on the walls. It will take a moment for the people of the town to make their way over there. Idiots.

The mob or your family?

Both… and me included.

She sighs and lets the sands wash away the scene once more. The house rises up beneath their feet, placing them on the roof, with a view of all the alleyways and streets around Aurora’s home. Aurora’s standing up there with them – she screams at the people down on the ground. Horace joins her.

He’s asking to know what caused all this. He’s begging her to stop. She says that she won’t leave again. She won’t be bullied by morons that don’t even know what’s going on. He reminds her that he is currently a moron that doesn’t know.

Aurora puts a hand on his cheek.

It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. We’ll stay here until our supplies run low, then we’ll go through one of the doors and try again. By the time we go through all the doors, no one will remember any of this.

She kisses him. Then she sends a ring of fire to surround the house.

Horace goes into the garden. He’s so very tired from the morning. He reaches the cushioned chair in his favorite corner and tries to relax. He normally takes a short nap there during the day – it’s been his only way of surviving the night watches. Aurora was upstairs. She was describing the events of the marketplace to her daughter. It was greatly simplified and very one-sided. And together, the relief of having Horace safe at home after everything made their hearts laugh. They hugged each other and laughed until they cried. It was music to Horace’s ears. They were fine. Whatever had happened that morning, they’d survive it. They’d get through this. Everything would be fine. Their laughs promised such a sweet future. He was asleep almost instantly.

There was one stranger inside the house when Aurora created the ring of fire.

I didn’t see anyone. Did one of the mob slip in unnoticed?

He had been looking for a cool place to hide away. He had no interest in the events of the morning. He just wanted to rest somewhere secluded and quiet. This was not a house for quiet, nor anything cool. The water of the bath was irrationally hot. There were fires burning in every hearth. And then that blasted ring of fire, it singed the snake’s tail. The only place it found was the garden. But there was no rest to be had there. No. The snoring would wake the dead. One little bite though, and that would stop. As soon as it did, the laughing stopped too.

Heng tried to stop the bite. He grasped at the snake’s neck as it reared back. His hands went through the vision as if there were nothing there. For a second, Heng remembered there actually wasn’t anything there. Somehow that didn’t lessen the panic or the sadness.

You can’t change what happened. No one could. This isn’t real, Heng. It’s just how I remember, how I picture these bits that lead to my past.

There is a scream from above.

Aurora has realized that she didn’t stop death. He found another way in.

The house was instantly aflame.

Li takes Heng’s hand and walks him out of the house with fires burning on all sides of them. Heng is still in shock from the moment the snake struck. Now as the flames are consuming everything around, he’s fascinated with how they bite and attack but he feels nothing. Li has turned off the heat just as she turned off voices. Then he pulls back, straining against her grip.

Wait, Li, Evelynne was still in there!

I know. She’ll be alright. Well, she won’t be burned or physically hurt from the fires. She had her mother’s blood in her veins. Fire was never going to be her undoing.

She kept walking, making sure Heng was pulled along behind her. He didn’t refuse, but he still hesitated. In a few steps they were back in the center of the desert, miles and miles from the city. The fire was so bright and so big over the town that the rest of the sky looked murky. The sun itself seemed dim in comparison.

She killed them all, didn’t she?

Yes.

Is this what losing control looks like for you?

I don’t believe Aurora actually lost control. That may be the worst part of this. She knew what she was doing, and she wanted it. The fires offered to spread her pain around – to share it with every other person in the city… and the surrounding villages and even a couple of hermits who knew nothing of all the goings on. And Aurora agreed.

And her daughter was there to watch it all. The poor thing. No one should see that. But certainly not a child.

You could not call her a child after that day. You probably should not have called her a child for a few years – not since she started remembering the visions that came to her. She saw Death and destruction and it haunted her. What’s more, somehow, she knew when these visions were flexible and when they had to happen for the world to stay right. She would just know, as simply as she would know the taste of figs or the feel of the soft fur of the neighbor’s cat that would sneak in her window. Horace was supposed to die. Those other people, that entire town, that was a choice, a terrible choice. And the no-longer-child knew it.

I don’t know what to say, Li. I feel I should offer condolences, but they seem empty. This happened so many years ago, and as you said, even when I tried, there was nothing I could do.

I appreciate the thought. You care for people, all people, even before you know them. I do not mean to make you feel sad or uncomfortable or guilty. I mean only for you to know where I come from. This was the start of my story. After Aurora calmed down, she and Evelynne went to the other side of The River, the dead side of The River. They lived as hermits, Aurora sinking farther and farther into her sorrow and Evelynne yearning day after day to escape. I… I should probably end there for today. My focus is not as keen as I would like.

Can’t you go on a bit farther? I understand not wanting to move to your mother’s story. You said you had little time with her. I imagine that would be very hard to relive. But you mentioned meeting your grandmother, Aurora, later. You mentioned hating her now, but not then. Could you finish her portion of the story? She was the first person I met in this world; I’d like to see how that ends.

For the longest time I remembered Aurora as this.

Aurora appeared as she had before. She was working in the shadow of great rocks in the middle of the desert. She was thriving as a hermit. She waved madly at Li and Heng and bade them come have the soup she just made.

There never was any soup. There never was a wave or a smile. I remembered that because it was how I would have liked things to have been. It was easier and kinder, but it was never true. I suppose I should show you what really happened there. The smiling grandmother fell to dust and the sands began to dance once more.