Prince of Attania, 2
Chapter 31

Elea’s father, whose name was Tark, gazed steadily at Attan as they sat around the now cold firepit eating a bowl of grains for breakfast. Or, the others ate. Attan just picked at his. “You understand about spirits. Of course you understand. You are one.”

Attan nodded warily, though he really didn’t understand the distinction. “I’m Family,” he said. “Elemental. Which means I can transform into an elemental state. If that makes me a spirit, then I guess that’s what I am.”

Tark waved his hand impatiently. “You are spirit. Not all Family are like you.”

That was certainly true. Nobody was exactly like Attan, not even his father. It felt odd to realize he was the only one of his kind. Tark’s gaze pierced him, awaiting his response. Only men sat around the burned our firepit. Elea and the rest of the women remained behind closed doors in their cliffside homes. Attan wasn’t sure of the significance of that. Last night, Elea’s mother had made sure she kept Elea far away from Attan, sandwiching the child in the narrow bed she shared with Elea’s father. Attan was given Elea’s own bed, which was surprisingly comfortable though too small for his tall frame. He wasn’t used to having no elementals anywhere about him. He had stared at the ceiling for a long time before he drifted off to sleep.

“I don’t understand why they disappeared,” Attan replied. Tark had promised him an explanation. “Where did they go?”

“The women sang the spirits back to the sea where they came from.” Tark raised a hand as Attan started to ask another question. “None of us knew Family had ties to the spirits. I’m not sure they do, to be honest. You may have noticed our people don’t have much to do with Family if we can help it.” Tark smiled wryly. “Let me start from the beginning.

“We are an old people,” Tark began. “We are neither Family nor do we consort with Family.” He ignored Attan’s shocked gasp. Possibly he didn’t know it was impossible, either. “Our women have always been able to sense the spirits of Attania.”

The women. Not the men. “But what does the sea have to do with it?”

“I’m getting to that.” Tark leaned forward and tapped his fingers against the remains of last night’s fire, logs burnt to ash with just a hint of their original shape. They crumbled as he touched them. “We remember. There were always spirits here, or so say the women. They’re the ones who pass down the gift from generation to generation. The gift to see. Spirts sometimes grant us wishes, but that’s usually not until the very end, when they reailze they are trapped in this half-life and just want to go home.”

“Home?” Attan sat forward, eager to hear more.

Tark nodded. “The sea, where they came from. Attania is nothing more than a manifestation of spirit thought—surely you know this.” Because you’re one of them, Tark implied. But Attan had no idea what Tark was talking about. He slumped back in disappointment. “But they don’t know how to get back,” Tark added, when Attan didn’t say anything. “So we—the womenfolk—help them by singing them back to the sea. The ones who hear the call are able to replace the path back into the deep sea.”

“What’s in the sea?” Attan wondered. Attanians fished the western and southern shores, and as far as Attan knew, there was no other land mass besides Attania itself. The rest of the world was just water.

“Chaos.” Tark nodded sagely. “Nothingness.” The other men around the burned out breakfast fire nodded too, though they left the speaking to Tark.

Attan was thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Spirits don’t want to be here, in Attania?”

“Some do,” Tark replied. “Some bind themselves to its essence and become—something else. Maybe the land itself, I don’t know. But some just want to dissolve into the nothingness where they began, and unfortunately, they are all tainted with Attania’s physicality, so they can’t. That’s where our women come in. They sing the ones that want to go home back into the sea.”

Something else? Was this similar to the legends Aylard First had told of the origins of Family? Could these sentient free elementals be the first step in that evolutionary process? Attan knew from his father that Aylard had been the last to remember his true origins, and that he was lonely and wanted nothing more than to return to an elemental state.

“So, are Family the descendants of spirits?” Attan asked, thinking it was a matter of which word you chose—elementals or spirits—because Attan was sure these spirits, however aware, were ultimately a form of elemental. “Is that why you say I’m a spirit?”

Tark chuckled wearily. “Elea thinks you are a spirit. She’s the strongest one in this generation, so we feel obliged to listen to her, but I have my doubts. I know you think we’re all backwards here and in Midver, but we know what’s going on in the world. When the new King, your father, announced that Family came from elementals, it explained why Family could control the elements. Then when he showed them they could become their elements, well, that made sense too. But that’s as far as it went.” He gazed at Attan shrewdly. “You’re different. You’re not like Family much, either, except for your skin.”

My skin? Attan thought. That’s not all—oh. Tark meant his outer appearance. Attan realized he’d have to talk to Elea to get much more, but Elea was still a child. How much could she really understand? “Why didn’t Family ever know about you?” Attan decidd to change directions for now.

Tark smiled bitterly. “No one cared to know. Simple as that. Your Family are very self-centered. What doesn’t affect them doesn’t merit knowing. We stayed out of their view, we never asked for help. We don’t have anything here Family might want. So we don’t exist.”

Attan had to agree with Tark’s assessment of Family. He could see where these people tucked into the cliffs at the edge of nowhere would be missed in the great scheme of things. Even so, it didn’t seem right. “Is that why you don’t have . . . .” Electricity, television, cars. They had plumbing, but every other modern convenience came at the sufferance of Family, except of course for those inventions the Sons of Men had developed and kept hidden from common sight.

“That’s right.”

“But why?”

One of the other men barked out a harsh laugh.

Tark sighed. “We remember. I told you that. Attania is spirit. All this—“ He swept his arms out wide. “—is what we make it. That’s what your Family and non-family has forgotten.”

“So . . .” Attan thought it through. “You mean you create your own reality?”

“It’s not that easy. As I said before, the spirits grant wishes—sometimes. At least we know enough to ask.”

Embarrassed, Attan remembered answering a wish or two himself in Midver. He saw Tark’s point. “So I shouldn’t tell my father about this place?” he asked. Jet would have dearly loved to explore the mystery of the spirits who were sent out to sea. Attan hated this playing one side against the other. Had he no loyalty? But if he said anything, what would happen to these people, to Elea?

“That would be best,” Tark replied seriously. “And I suggest you forget about it as well even though your’re a spirit yourself. I know Elea would be upset if you accidentally got swept out to sea before you were ready.”

Attan started, alarmed at Tark’s perceptiveness. He hadn’t thought in exactly those terms himself, but he was curious about what was out there. He already knew at some point he would give up this ridiculous physical life of his; it wasn’t as real to him as the other—the elemental, or, he guessed, spirit world.

As they spoke, Attan felt the light brush of free elementals gather around him, and something within him relaxed. He was no longer completely alone. “You want me to leave?” he asked.

“Leave and don’t come back. Leave our Elea alone, too. She’s too young to follow an embodied spirit like you.”

“I—“ Attan was at a loss. “Uh—all right,” he agreed. “But I can’t guarantee my Family won’t stumble across this place eventually. There’s more going on than you think. Tom Jadock, Midver, something’s happened and Midver may be involed. I’ll try to keep your people out of it, but . . .”

“Tom,” Tark spat. “I know Tom. His mother has the gift, like Elea. He thinks he knows the truth, but he seeks it in dark corners.”

“Has Tom been here?” Attan asked.

“Not recently. He tried some of his nonsense once. We put him in his place. The men hold the memory. It’s the women who see. But that wasn’t enough for him. He couldn’t see so he refused to believe. He is his father’s son, after all.”

“You mean Renn Jadock?”

Tark looked at him curiously. “Who else would I mean? Renn is from Midver, but he’s not one of ours. Emma was one of ours. She stayed in Midver when she found her calling in the stones.”

“Oh.” The stones, the beautiful carvings which Midver became famous for years ago before the strain ran out and their town became an impoverished dust bowl. “How did Emma replace her calling in the stones?” he asked, curious to know if it had anything to do with spirits or elementals. He had been able to infuse elementals into the carvings he made for his parents. Had Emma been able to do something similar?

A sandy-haired man spat into the firepit. “You ask too many questions, Prince,” he sneered.

Tark agreed. “There’s nothing for Family here,” he said in dismissal. “Whatever you may be, spirit or elemental, there’s nothing for you here either, except your end. If you don’t want that, I suggest you leave and never come back.”

Attan glanced towards the cliffs where Elea remained ensconced with the other women. Maybe it was for the best. He released his physical body gladly—his skin, as Tark had named it. It felt right. He wore his physical body like a skin. It wasn’t him. It never had been. That was what his parents had never quite understood. Before Attan left the nameless village, he zeroed in on the distant sea. Surrounded by curious elementals, Attan flew over the sea as wind, looking for the chaos Tark had mentioned. But all he saw were waves and sky. He wasn’t sure how much of Tark’s story he believed. He turned back before he lost sight of the land altogether. One day, one day he would go out further. But not today.

Attan circled once over the hidden village, and it was hidden. From the air, nothing was visible except a few burned out logs. Not even a road. Attan had a lot to think about. He wanted to return to Midver and perhaps talk with Emma about her carvings. He needed to report back to Daniel at Arden, but what would he say? His father would be the harder one to face. Attan had always had a hard time hiding anything from his father. What would Jet think of these people? Attan couldn’t help wondering if it wouldn’t have been better if he had been gathered and sent out to the sea from which, apparently, all elementals—or spirits—came, if Tark was to be believed.

He spotted a lone figure at the top of the cliffs. Zooming in for a closer look, he recognized Elea who stared unerringly up at him, her blonde hair rippling in his wind. He materialized in front of her. “Elea, is what your father told me true?” he asked. “What’s out there, really?”

Elea grasped both his hands. “Home,” she answered. “But it’s not time for you yet. Stay.”

He said something to her he could never have voiced to his parents. “It’s hard.”

She nodded solemnly. “I know. I’m going to make a wish, spirit. Will you grant my wish now?”

Attan raised an eyebrow. This spirit business was getting old. “If I can,” he said cautiously.

“I wish for you to stay with me as long as I am alive,” she said.

Attan grinned. “Your father won’t like that,” he replied, before the gravity of her wish crashed on his shoulders. His smile faltered. “Stay?” he asked. “I can’t—“ He wanted to say he couldn’t promise something so contrary to his being. He only stayed for his parents, until they were ready to accept he didn’t belong here. “Why?” he settled for asking.

“Elea bit her lip. “Can’t you just be my friend?” she asked in a small voice.

Attan could do that. “I’ll stay for as long as I can,” he promised, smiling. “Just don’t tell Tark.”

Elea giggled. “I won’t.”