Rana
Rana dodged through crowds, gliding over pavement on slick slime that evaporated behind her, taking corners with her tongue, and jumping fences. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have happened.
It had happened. She’d felt it, unmistakable. The delectable sensation of someone squeezing lemon juice on her brain stem. No matter the years, she’d never forgotten.
In a secluded field, she released her Camouflage. The dim light and dampness didn’t matter as long as no one could see or hear her.
Rana faltered as if trying to start a half-remembered dance. Then she breathed slowly and found her center. Reaching into her core, into her mind’s deepest recesses, she dipped a hand into the well of her power.
A finger brushed what she’d somehow known would be there. Rana didn’t grab, lest it swim away like a fading dream, but let it approach at its own cautious pace and settle in her palm. Then, gently, she pulled it from the well, from her core, from her mind’s hand to incarnation.
Rana lost her balance and fell sprawling. She saw double, but not one thing twice—two things from two perspectives. Rana saw herself splayed on the ground as if drunk and, lying nearby, equally impaired, Rana saw a familiar little frog.
The sudden immobility frightened her, and, in that addled state, she attempted to stand and defend herself. Rana grew dizzy, then nauseous as she vomited, turning her head so as not to choke. She stopped trying to move. She forced herself still… calm and tranquil.
She ranked this the second most embarrassing moment in her life due to a lack of witnesses. She congratulated herself on the intelligent decision not to try this in the pizzeria. If she’d spat a frog onto the table and started flailing about puking everywhere, Rana would’ve had to commit seppuku.
That was how a warrior regained their honor after screwing up. They showed their bravery by doing the most painful and stupid thing imaginable. It was the sensible move, really—if nothing else, you’d go out in style.
She did as her brother taught her, isolating the problem to one finger twitch. The frog twitched its finger. She blinked; it blinked. She lifted her hand to her face, and the frog did the same. Rana felt her nose and lips and hair. Rana felt the clammy slick skin of the frog’s head.
Their senses were linked.
Rana saw, felt, smelled, and tasted everything it did, receiving twice the information—not merely environmental but internal senses of orientation. Initially, she had no way to tell the two of them apart because she was both of them, standing in her own hand. The effect felt like walking blindfolded onto the deck of a ship in a storm; she’d lost balance along with all reference points.
Shipwrecked on the ground, she struggled to untangle the confusion of their bodies. It was a matter of coordination and concentration, like moving her ring finger without budging the others. Difficult, but doable with practice. Things became easier after she’d mapped each limb by feel, re-learning her left from right as if a hatchling. Her mind now controlled one eight-legged, two-headed creature.
One being.
She stood, the frog flipped upright, and she glared at herself. Then, as an experiment, she toggled her Camouflage on and off. The frog did the same. Rana sighed.
She’d gained a new ability; or three-in-one. Some form of amphibian conjuration, Clair-like senses-multiplication, and an ability echo. She couldn’t believe this.
Learning a new ability wasn’t easy. A lecture or demonstration didn’t cut it. Efficiency dictated one to follow a teacher’s path of discovery and pray for success, but it wasn’t guaranteed. While she’d learned most of her magic from her brother this way, they each had abilities the other lacked.
Learning a new ability wasn’t trivial. At eleven, Bufo knew all the powers and forms he spent the next few centuries mastering. This was normal.
Learning a new ability wasn’t a simple matter of practice equals progress. It impacted the foundation of one’s being. Gaining a new ability required a change of mindset, perception, and conviction. To become a new person.
Yet, minds set like concrete. Kids spend their youth finding an identity called adulthood. Once established, they basically stayed that person their whole life… Unable to learn more magic.
Exceptions, those who reached so-called ‘Higher Realms,’ became legends.
Breaking through stagnant mentalities required monumental training, profound insights, extraordinary circumstances, or an immense quantity and quality of magical resources. This was the point Rana leaped to in the pizzeria, the object of her frustration.
“Are you saying pizza changed me? Alerted my very way of thinking?” She paced. “No, no, no, that’s not possible. It’s stupid. There must be another explanation, some reason this happened.”
She recalled herself sitting there, feeding Lea, a careless bite, an explosion of flavor unlike anything she’d ever tasted, but what the heck did that matter? Those sensations slipped through her defenses and caused the most embarrassing moment of her life when she’d broken her rule—never show weakness.
Daniel, with that big, stupid, adorable grin, had seen the whole performance. Fine. He’d heard her sing Toadish. He’d offered of himself the night of their escape. He’d trusted her. He could have this as long as he didn’t dig deeper.
Rana knew the others didn’t despise weakness like Toads. They wouldn’t mock her maliciously… but would she lose their respect? So little held them together without Lea. If she lost their trust, would things fall apart? Would they try to uncover her secret and come to hate her? Would she end up alone, again?
One slice of pizza nearly ruined everything. One bite gave her this power.
Rana considered… hadn’t it been food last time? After Bufo made her the offer, she’d spent a week considering it. Later, she’d found a pile of lemons in an abandoned building otherwise picked clean. That was the first time she experienced true ‘flavor.’
Though the lemons were sour and bitter, she savored them in secret to avoid sharing. Rana discovered she’d learned Camouflage that night and accepted Bufo’s deal the next day.
“Are you kidding me?” Rana shouted at the frog, “‘All you had to do was eat pizza!’ is that what you’re telling me? I was eight last time. I’ve been searching and hunting and experimenting for six years, and this is what you wanted? Pizza. Are you hungry? Is that it? Because I’ll go on a fast-food binge across the stars if that’s what it takes to satisfy you!”
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The frog sat there, unblinking.
“Do you know what I could’ve done with this power? Do you have any idea how this would’ve changed everything? If I had a frog on every adult, we wouldn’t have been separated. If I had a frog on every kid, we wouldn’t have been captured. My brother wouldn’t have left!”
The frog gave no response.
She screamed, “What do you want from me? I am your willing servant! I will bow, I will submit to anything, give anything, do anything, no matter how painful or tedious or stupid or embarrassing you want to make it—ask anything you want of me, and I’ll do it if you would just give me the power to help them! You hear me, you slimy piece of crap?”
The frog gave no response.
Exhausted, she retrieved the frog and placed it in her hair. It faced opposite her; Camouflaged so she’d literally have eyes in the back of her head. Rana headed back to the apartment building. As she went, she thought.
Daniel hadn’t just heard the Voice of his Progenitor; he’d spoken to the entity. The fact amazed her. How many times had she called out to hers with no response? Why didn’t she get this? There had to be a reason. Had to.
Rana continued mulling things over as she returned to their room. Lea wasn’t there. She poked her head into Daniel’s basement before a second or two passed; Rana didn’t count.
“Lea?” she asked.
Wendi shook her head, and Daniel explained, “We left her in the lobby since we didn’t know where your room was. Is something wrong?” Daniel had been talking to an empty stairwell since the word ‘lobby.’
Rana had passed the lobby on the way in. She thoroughly searched the whole building in a few more seconds. She stopped outside the entrance and looked around. No tracks, no clues. Lea probably flew away on her caramboles. Gone. Left her alo—
No.
Rana raised her hands and exuded power. Slime droplets formed on her palms, with black dots appearing in the center of each drop. The droplets swelled, becoming eggs that hatched tadpoles that grew into frogs that divided her mind into ten pieces and ten bodies. The exponential explosion of information battered her brain like a cudgel to the head. She reeled. How long would it take her to gain control over these ten bodies, let alone the hundreds she’d need? Hours, days, maybe never.
No.
Rana reached into their tiny amphibian skulls and dragged their little frog minds to the fore. Her awareness receded to her original body as the frogs hopped away in random directions. She saw and felt through them—good enough—but they weren’t going where she wanted. Instead, they searched for damp hiding spots in the grass and under stones. Her plan was coming apart at the seams.
No, Lea. You can’t leave me like this.
In window reflections and fleeting amphibian glimpses, a corner of Rana’s mind registered the sight of her eyes taking on a red glow.
If she was dissecting amphibian brains, she might as well go all-out. Rana picked something they’d chase, an elusive fly close enough to make them jump, but that evaded at the last second. Now her frogs were moving, and she assigned each a direction to blindly follow.
She activated her Camouflage, all her frogs echoing the magic. Rana swept through the city, throwing new minions onto corners and intersections with instructions to head in each cardinal direction. She reached a hundred frogs after a mere handful of iterations.
The flood of information washed over her, picked her up, and swept her away. She lost track of her real body… adrift in the ocean of perception.
How did Red Tail do it?
Words came to mind oddly out of synch with the situation.
“You know the heart rate of a hummingbird can reach up to 1,260 beats per minute…”
A twinge of nostalgia panged. That was Daniel from early on when the seven of them spoke every day, and the conversation drifted in a thousand courses.
‘Heart rate.’ Her mind latched onto the idea. Rana listened to the beating of a hundred hearts like a stampede of horses. She found one louder, deeper, and slower than the others.
Her heartbeat.
Rana returned to her body, leaping away before oncoming traffic flattened her. The metallic sheen of a passing car mirrored her eyeshine as their faint red light faded.
Centered, focused, and in control, Rana flowed through the city like a rising tide—rushing up the streets, crashing into the corners in a cresting wave that turned and slammed down the next road, an amphibian backwash spreading through every side street and alley. Frogs hopped along sidewalks and over trashcans and under doors wherever she passed.
They’re not as good as birds, but they’ll get this job done. As the whole city fell under her eye, her frog count hopped into the thousands. The sheer volume of sensations and images staggered Rana. Making sense of it seemed inconceivable. A frog could be staring at Lea, but it’d take hours to sort through everything to find that one. By that time, Lea would be long gone.
No!
Rana plucked at the amphibian minds again to play them like a tune, swapping the image of the fly for Lea. That is what we’re looking for. Sit still if you find her. She continued her systematic coverage of the city, enduring flashes of intense pain when a car or shoe crushed a frog by accident.
The capital city of Radio World was vast, with a haphazard layout of twisted streets. And yet, what would have taken police days, Rana accomplished in minutes. One frog found Lea, her face and smell unmistakable, hurrying through the city alone. Rana’s blood boiled over.
She was there in seconds, an implacable force pushing Lea into a deserted corner, blocking the exit with her body. Lea was safe, untouched, the torpor of so many days replaced by a fear in those eyes directed at Rana.
The question exploded forth, “Lea, what are you doing?”
For the first time in months, Lea spoke, whispering, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” the frog girl said, heat in her voice.
Seeing the confusion written on Rana’s face, Lea’s expression contorted in agony and sorrow, “I’m sorry for everything.” The Libra girl wept and crumpled against the wall, sliding to sit. “I’m sorry I lied to you.
“I have seen a Broken person. My mother. My aunt raised me. I joined the Traveling Orphanage because I couldn’t stand being in that house with my father’s handiwork.” She put her head in her hands, “I am despicable, loathsome.
“I nearly Broke you. Then, when Daniel gathered the others after I scattered them, I felt… jealous. I hate that part of myself; it takes and takes, pulling everything in. A gift from my father. It’ll hurt you all if I let it. I refused to let it, even if I must be still. Be silent.
“I took these months as punishment for abusing my power. I was so afraid of becoming my father that I turned into my mother. When I saw that, I grew to hate my human side as well. I gave up.
“I decided to leave… but you wouldn’t leave me alone, not for a second! It’s better this way. I’m not safe to be around. I’ve been nothing but a burden to you—”
“—Shut up.”
“What?” Lea’s head jerked up in surprise.
“I. Said. Shut. Up. I’ve listened to your sob story, and I’m not impressed. I thought you were mourning John and Gaja, but no—it’s all about you. Yes, you messed up, but that’s no excuse to surrender.”
“Rana, I—” she lowered her eyes.
“—Look at me,” Rana took her face in both hands and brought them nose to nose. “This isn’t you. This isn’t Leanan Libra. The Lea I know is strong and smart and kind to people she doesn’t even know, and sure, she’s way too competitive and into drama, but you know what else she is? Confident. She believes in herself and knows she won’t end up like her mom or dad because she won’t let that happen. Lea, you got knocked down, but it’s time to stand up. You don’t have to do it alone, but you have to do it. And if you can’t control your magic, turn it on me. I promise I won’t lose!”
Lea cried hard, eyelashes stuck together, face wet and leaking, but she stood and pried Rana’s hands away.
“Let’s go back.”
They walked together, Lea standing free, returning to the hotel and their shared room. Everyone else was gone or asleep. In the bathroom, Lea faced the mirror with Rana watching from the open doorway.
Rana watched her friend at work with half a mind.
She couldn’t dismiss the frogs she’d conjured. They became normal frogs once she removed her mental presence, but she couldn’t stop the constant stream of information each sent her. Rana wanted to collapse, exhausted by the night’s exertions but doubted sleep would come. Overcoming this thousand-frog migraine of blaring white noise might take a few days of recovery once she figured out how to turn it off.
Correction, if she figured it out.
Is this how Red Tail went mad? she thought in an especially bleak moment.
Lea washed away the tear stains. She took her braid in one hand—that braid she’d worn since their separation from the T.O. four years ago—and took a pair of scissors in the other.
When she’d finished, she spoke to her reflection, “I will have vengeance for the deaths of John and Gaja. No matter if my enemy is a mage, monster, demon, or god, I will find them, and I will end them. Then, Gancanagh. I’ll stop him from Breaking anyone ever again.”
She turned to Rana. “Are you with me?”
“As long as I’m needed.”
“Close enough.”