“NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS”

It was the only thing Takei had written in the snow thus far. It was the only thing they knew for certain. Perhaps that wasn’t quite true. The method of the message made it fairly clear Takei truly couldn’t talk. Or at least it was obvious to Meraine.

She’d met the type before. He was a monk. Few knew they still existed. Hell, she only did because of her extensive research into the Firstborn Prophecy. It took her places. Places she didn’t want to remember. Places she never wanted to visit again. They were things taboo; things not known and so proclaimed not meant to be known. Though, these weren’t things they actually said. No. They were written in the sand and subsequently washed away with the tide. Just the way they wanted it. What were these things exactly? Hell if she knew. These were truths they decided not to waste on one as simple as her.

It was apparently not the first time they’d been visited with questions like hers. Nor was it the first time they’d turned away the people who’d asked them. In fact, if their memories served, no such question ever got answered. Of course that wasn’t entirely accurate. She knew that. They knew it too. They shared everything amongst themselves. To a limited degree this included the inductees. These were the monks with freshly cut tongues; the poor young things devoted and screaming in that horrible way. They knew things no one else on the face of the planet was privy to.

They knew things she needed to know, but somehow couldn’t. She was a seed hunter. She was seedborn. She had abilities. “Had” was the appropriate word, because she didn’t anymore. She used to be able to read minds better than anyone else she knew. Not anymore. Now nothing came to her. To make matters worse, she’d never been blessed with foresight. What was a seedborn humatran without abilities? Her answer was “unique”, but not in a good way. Meraine saw herself as a mutation gone wrong.

So she gleaned not a single thing from the monks. Nor did she try. Even had her telepathy remained, she doubted success. Their minds were trained and immensely powerful. Any answers must be freely offered, but this was not pick and choose. The idea was not to let the outsider know the simplest things everyone already knew. This was not a means to placate her so she’d go away. No. None of that. It was apparently too damned risky to let anything out. Especially for those not well practiced in the art.

For those monks too young to properly block thoughts, the elders extended their influence like an invisible shield that cloaked everything, including their fears. Not from themselves. Those fears often ran rampant among those that were new. These initiates were kept away from the influence of the outside world until they’d leaned enough to control themselves. That took years. It wasn’t something she could’ve done. Yet, she wasn’t asked to.

Even if the well-hidden compound accepted women, of which she wasn’t at all certain, they’d made it clear that for all her years and experience she was too corrupted by the outside world. Well a part of her was just fine with that, but another was deeply offended. It wasn’t her fault no one knew about these monks. They were hidden by design. All she wanted was some answers . . . concrete answers.

She’d been searching for almost 53 years by then, following vague clues that meant nothing and led to nothing. Except for one thing . . . they led her to the monks. She had a hunch they knew everything; that they harbored the hallowed bible of prophecies, not just that of the firstborn, but of all the prophecies. Maybe not programmed or otherwise written, but well protected within the confines of their minds. Meraine had a desperate desire to take a peek inside these impenetrable vaults, but they made it perfectly clear no one outside their walls had that particular privilege.

Well that just wasn’t good enough. So she did all she could . . . she stuck around. The Firstborn Prophecy had become more than her life . . . it evolved into an obsession; one that destroyed all other things just to feed it. Everything she’d ever known was lost because of it. She didn’t care. All naysayers could take their poisonous doubts with them as they gleefully walked through the gates of hell. She needed to know the truth . . . all the little crumbs of it that could be verified and believed beyond common knowledge and hearsay. All of it led her to the monks. She’d lost more than she could dream just to get there.

So no, she wasn’t leaving without some answers; or at least the next clue to lead her elsewhere. She didn’t honestly believe any other clues existed. Why should they? The answers to all her questions were right there, behind those impregnable doors.

Seemingly gracious, they’d sent someone out to her. Though he never spoke a word, he motioned for her to walk with him to the nearby beach. The part of her that denied she was being led away like some fucked up sheep was more than thrilled at the attention. Regardless of what she felt, she went along with it as there was nothing else to do. It was more or less a ten minute walk. During this time she didn’t utter a word, believing silence was a sign of respect that would later be rewarded with answers. She was dead wrong about that.

Once at the beach, the monk reached for a sturdy non-assuming stick that they apparently used for such purposes. Then he started writing in the wet sand near the shore. He did so deftly and immediately after the tide went out. Meraine got the distinct feeling he knew exactly how much time he had before the tide washed his words away. Her first thought was how quaint it all was . . . to write in the sand with a stick during this time of modern technology. That’s what monks were all about, right? She doubted they owned a single computer inside the compound. Surely nothing that could be gleaned or hacked was allowed.

The letters formed words all in upper case for the sake of speed and simplicity. These meant little to nothing . . . a polite greeting. “WE BID YOU WELCOME”. Then the tide came back in and made its initial attempt to forever erase the words. The monk had already moved on to another unblemished part of the beach. “BUT NONE ARE ALLOWED”. Far from taking offense, Meraine immediately began to plead her case as if she was the only one who should be allowed.

She later regretted her first words. They were rushed, imprecise and placating. She told them she understood all that, but how she was different. In retrospect, she wondered how exactly she could understand anything anyone had ever experienced inside those walls. She still had her tongue, after all. She didn’t understand a damned thing and wouldn’t until she accepted that fact. She figured it was the process of humbling oneself that would make one worthy, but she only thought that later on. In the beginning, well, she fucked everything up.

He only wrote one more two word sentence after that. “OUR APOLOGIES”. Then he moved to put the stick back in its place and walk back to the compound. Well, that wasn’t good enough for Meraine. She still believed he could be reasoned with as if he were the head monk or something. She was sure all of them held importance, but this monk was surely nothing more than a messenger and devoid of the authority to write anything more than he’d already written.

She didn’t understand why he didn’t just talk to her. She asked exactly that, flushed and near panic as he neared the heavy doors. He gave no response. So she moved to “politely” stop him by placing her hand on his shoulder. That never happened. It must’ve been a foresight. Without looking he suddenly dodged away. She just stood there a moment as if she couldn’t understand what just happened even though it was obvious.

What were her own visions on the matter? She had none. Not every seedborn humatran was gifted with every gift. No one had an explanation as to why that was, but she suffered endlessly for it when growing up. Humatrans were nothing if not heartless. She’d dealt with her handicap as well as she could. Just like a blind man augments his loss with acute hearing, she augmented her loss with an enhanced ability to read minds. This meant she knew how to break through the barriers people put up to protect their thoughts. There was no hope of that, though. She’d lost even that hallowed ability long ago. Try as she might, she got nothing from this monk or any other within the compound.

It was beyond frustrating to be so damned impotent. She’d once prided herself on being special, but what did it matter now? Was she really no better than anyone else? Had she never been? Well, it wasn’t that. It’s just that some people were more powerful than others. For all she’d learned of ancients, at that point she’d never met one. It was only afterwards she realized there must’ve been at least a few among the monks. She assumed this must’ve been part of the humbling process. She had to let go of everything that set her apart and made her special.

These beliefs were all well and good and probably healthy, but didn’t matter. They were all wrong. She could humble herself all she wanted, but still no response came. She didn’t know this until well after the monk walked inside with the doors slowly shutting behind him. Why not slowly? Their foresight was obviously impeccable. They knew she wouldn’t rush them. She regretted that she hadn’t tried, but only in hindsight.

The days passed far more slowly than those doors shut. Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes seemed like hours. Hours seemed like days. Days, well, they seemed more like years. No matter. She’d stay put until she had some answers. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go anyway. No one who knew her would welcome her back. Everyone who’d yet to know her would feel likewise shortly after meeting her. She was consumed and therefore failed to fit in well with any level of society. Then a thought crossed her mind. Wouldn’t she fit in well here? Could she be a monk? Did she even want to be? Was that even allowed?

These and many other questions saturated her very being. More than simple thoughts she soon began to question herself. She berated herself for the situation she was in. She’d sacrificed everyone and everything just to get here. All for what? A dead end? And all on a fucking fantastical dare that blossomed into something much more than it ever should’ve been. That much she remembered. As if she could ever forget.

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Meraine was never popular. She was the only girl in her school, and as far as she knew the world, who didn’t have visions. That segregated her; alienated her. As children will, they told her she was a freak. She believed every word of it. How could she not when her own father looked at her in the same way. Of course, he was a bit nicer about it, as if a charity founded on pity.

He believed she’d “grow” out of it; or into it, as the case may be. He seemingly needed to believe that. He was an influential man and one with both money and power. He couldn’t be seen with a daughter devoid of foresight. Though he had and still was. Everything he knew suffered for it.

It wasn’t as if all humatrans had abilities. By then, everyone knew you had to be born over an Atra seed to be made so special. Even so, Atra seeds were few and far between. It seemed a mystery any still existed. In history class, she learned every last one released their gas during the time of the global rupture. Obviously more had “popped up”, but no one had any reasonable explanation for this. When she asked her teacher she was told that’s just the way things were. That nature provided. As if that indescribably vague answer was enough.

It wasn’t anywhere close to good enough. That’s when she began to wonder why. Not just this, but everything. There were so many unanswered questions, but she lived in a world where everything was simply assumed and taken for granted. Well, what if all the seeds ruptured again? What then? Would there just be no special people anymore? She’d actually asked her teacher that. She had no answer, but a certain fear seeped into her eyes over the ensuing minute of silence. Then she seemed to recover and said, “That won’t happen. You shouldn’t talk about things like that.”

That was it. Another dismissive explanation assumed to be good enough, but somehow wasn’t anywhere close. It was then she realized she possessed a voracious appetite for both knowledge and truth. In retrospect she always had, particularly because it seemed no one else did. Everyone else feared the questions just as much as the answers. These were things wholly taboo and never asked. Little Meraine was forgiven her transgression because she simply knew no better. She did now and was expected to just get over her pointless curiosity.

Well she didn’t. She felt she couldn’t and began asking more questions, not less; to more than just her history teacher. She began to unnerve everyone with them. It was nearing the point where they’d no longer be so easily forgiven or dismissed. Eventually her father was called in to mediate. He arrived flustered and agitated at the interruption of his important day. Right off the bat she pummeled him one of the questions she’d been dying to ask, “Daddy, why can’t I see the future? All the other kids here can? Why can’t I?”

Of course, he had no answer. He didn’t really want to bother with it. Not right then anyway. He did love her in his way, but it was a halting, conditional love. She couldn’t always see it in his eyes. It made her sad. This was one of those times and it showed in more than just his eyes. It showed in his voice as he screamed, blighted by the question just as much as she was.

“Don’t talk about such things! O.K.?! No one knows! O.K.?! Believe me, I’d do anything if I could change it! You know I was dreading this moment! I saw it coming a week ago, but at home! I chose a different path just to avoid it! So now you rework things to pop the question here?! At school?! In front of all your teachers?! How the fuck could you?!”

He never swore. No. He always swore, but never at her. He’d always held back. This was the very first time he’d every failed to control himself. And he let loose here?! As school?! In front of all her teachers?! How the fuck could he?!

Meraine was utterly demoralized and it showed. Even her teachers showed regret at his behavior. Regret! That was all! Then she began asking herself if there was anyone on the planet who actually gave a damn about her? At that delicate moment she couldn’t think of anyone. So she blurted out something else taboo.

“Mom would know! Mom would tell me! But she can’t! Because she’d dead! Because she had to go and fucking advance me so that I’d fit in! Isn’t that what you told me?! Well, it didn’t work, daddy! It didn’t fucking work!”

It wasn’t the first time she’d swore, but she always kept such things to herself. Usually stored away in her head and blocked, because despite her age that ability came remarkably easy. It was just another reason she was persecuted. The teachers didn’t tolerate lying and since they were all seedborn, just like all the kids here, they read their students fragile, untempered minds to weed out the truth. They did this often. Only with her they couldn’t. That wasn’t a violation of any kind they knew of, but that didn’t stop them from silently hating her for it. After all, their minds were trained and could read the thoughts of people twice their age, but not hers? Not this freaky little bitch who wanted to know everything unknowable?

She knew that instantly. It was just as easy for her to break through their barriers. It was what some of them were thinking at that very moment. Well, it didn’t help and she wasn’t in the mood to control herself any longer, so she turned from her father, who was silenced by the debilitating pain the memory of his wife unleashed upon his conscience. She turned toward her science teacher who really didn’t know all that much and screamed at the top of her little lungs.

“I AM NOT A FREAKY LITTLE BITCH, YOU FUCKING CUNT!!!”

That stopped everyone in their tracks. Especially her science teacher, who had no idea her thought barrier wasn’t working, because even though most of the teachers thought the same way about Meraine, this wasn’t something she wanted to broadcast. Certainly not in front of her father, who from the look in his eye, suddenly knew this was more than just a random curse from his irate daughter. He knew she’d read her teacher’s mind. He knew that’s how they all felt. Not that he could break though their barriers, but he didn’t need to. Hatred flooded their eyes . . . the hatred of the little anomaly who was different from all the rest and not in a good way.

He also knew because, as much as he tried to deny it, she’d done the same with him. Then a sudden shame and guilt set in, because though he didn’t see his own daughter as a freaky little bitch he did see her as freaky. Now he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Meraine knew this was how he felt. It wasn’t something he could hide from her. He’d only hidden it from himself. She’d known for years now. Then she turned and spoke again through her own tears and the deafening silence.

“Yes, but you’re not as bad as all the rest daddy. You hurt me but not as bad. I want to leave. I don’t like this school anymore.”

Then out of nowhere as if to confirm that decision, “What is she?! Some kind of witch?! Yes! Get her the fuck out of here and do it NOW!!! Don’t EVER come back!!! She’s not welcome here anymore!!!”

So they left. Meraine’s questions remained unanswered. Reading her father’s mind, she knew he hoped the situation warranted his love and attention, enough to momentarily erase from her little mind all the adult questions he didn’t have answers for. As far as he knew no one had answers for such things. It wasn’t working. So he looked at his freaky, but somehow remarkable daughter and thought the only thing that came to mind.

“It’s just the way things are sweetheart. No one has the answers you’re looking for. I’m sorry but that’s just the way it is. And you’ve got to accept that and stop looking for them, because if you don’t . . . if you don’t. Well, I’m just going to say it. People aren’t always going to tolerate them. You will be in danger. Serious danger. So please, please stop.”

Despite her father’s warning, she didn’t stop. Not because she didn‘t believe her father. It was obvious he was right. Not because she liked danger. The thought of dying, which was always a very real threat for children, frightened her. Not because she didn’t love her father, who tried to protect her. No. He loved her badly, but more than anyone else ever had. Except for maybe her mother, but she had no memories of that. No. She didn’t stop because she couldn’t. She felt she had no choice. It felt as if the questions were eating her alive, from the inside out. It was like they were living things that starved without answers. If they couldn’t feed on answers they’d feed on little, helpless Meraine.

It was more than that. She found it unnerving that there were things she couldn’t know. No one she knew could read minds as well as her. She knew so many torturous things that were meant to be hidden. She read random minds and knew all the horrible things people wanted to do to her. All the inventive ways they planned to murder her; how they’d suck up her youth like mother’s milk. Many fantasized about raping her first. Since it was all imagination of what could happen, perhaps it was worse that the visions of what actually would happen. Yes, so much worse. A vision could ensure she’d be safe. Without them, she just couldn’t know. Her fragile mind was flooded with a million possibilities . . . of her own death. It was utterly terrifying.

As much as she hated her old school, not one of the teachers or anyone else had thoughts of murdering her. That was a prerequisite for hiring . . . a love for children and a need to protect them. People like that were hard to find. She knew from personal experience. So with enough time away she began to miss the school she could never return to. There was nothing for it.

Their lives were transient now; as if nomads on a never-ending pilgrimage. She took pride in the fact it wasn’t always her incessant questions that forced them to move on. The world was fucked up enough. There were plenty of other reasons to simply turn tail and run for the hills. Especially since her father could see the future. Still, she didn’t make things any easier.

They found a new place. It seemed nice, but before even getting out of the car he needed her to promise to end the questions. She didn’t want to. They’d become a safety net. Reading minds allowed her to know whether or not they were safe. She considered it no less effective than foresight and sometimes more so, since visions were never a guarantee. Once she knew what people thought and when a place wasn’t safe, she could simply ask a shitload of questions and totally fuck up any chance of remaining there. Not everywhere was bad, but even in the safest environment she could only hold back so long before everything fell to shit. So she reluctantly promised her father something she doubted she could avoid.

She’d really try this time. It wasn’t a bad place. It was next to impossible to find a school where at least one teacher didn’t want to murder a child. Meraine found violence was humatran nature. From time to time, nearly everyone had the desire to lash out and murder, but it wasn’t about that. It was about resisting the urge. Some people could, but many couldn’t. It’s why all schools were heavily guarded. Children died a few every minute all over the world. This was what one teacher outright told her class as need to know information, regardless of how terrifying it all was. She wasn’t attending that school anymore, but neither was that teacher teaching anymore. Meraine read enough thoughts to know she’d suffered a bad case of death and wasn’t about to recover anytime soon.

The resistance at this school was pretty strong, so she felt fairly safe. As much as she could, anyway. She never really felt safe. As if she wasn’t seedborn, her lack of visions allowed her to relate to an awful lot of those “normal” people. Her first school wouldn’t accept a non-seedborn child, but none of the others were so strict. It was par for the course. Normal humatrans vastly outnumbered seedborn. Unruptured seeds were hard to find. Once found, many communities would guard the seed with their very lives as insurance for future generations of enhanced humatrans.

That’s how Meraine came into the world. There was an Atra seed that was well protected shortly before she was born. It became a business for those who protected it. Only those pregnant couples able to afford their high entry fee could make use of that seed. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, her parents had the money.

By then it was also common knowledge that the child’s growth during pregnancy and the pain suffered during birth were both either stopped or significantly reduced when born over an Atra seed. So, Meraine thought, there wasn’t any need for her mother to die. She was haunted by this thought. Her mother just had to advance her, probably thinking she’d live because so much other pain had been avoided, but she pushed it too far. The older the child the better chance they had at life. So she hurt herself all the more thinking she could afford to do so. She was tragically wrong. Now, like so many other children, she didn’t have a mother. Her father never remarried.