Ellendr?a, Midsummer
I absently gazed out the window, now open to the early morning convective breeze stirring inside the dome. Through the dome walls, I could see the distant mountains, bluish with haze except where the early morning sun was catching the peaks and drawing out tints of rose and yellow. Turning away, I left the room and quietly padded barefoot through the corridor into the common room, and from there through the door to the gardens surrounding the house. Looking up, I could see the clear dome that enclosed the various buildings and gardens of my home. Although still very low in the sky, I could already feel the intense heat from the fierce, white-hot sun that would slowly move towards its zenith. Even now, I could hear the mechanisms for the dome’s cooling system starting to ramp up for the long, warm day ahead. The dome, built nearly a thousand years ago by my r’athaira when the planet’s atmosphere had finally deteriorated to a level that made living on the surface difficult, had developed a faint milkiness from years of erosion by blowing grit. It was one of the first domes to be constructed on Ellendr?a—now no one lived outside a dome, at least not for long.
Hauldr?n, that fiery orb overhead, was reaching the end of its stellar life. For thousands of years, it had been gradually expanding outward, well on its way to becoming a red giant. As the sun became hotter, Ellendr?a had become largely uninhabitable. Once, the planet had been abundantly supplied with rivers and lakes. However, with each passing year, the sun had grown slightly larger, and planetary temperatures had increased, leading to desertification. Now, even though nearly 62 percent of Ellendr?a’s surface is still covered by ocean, the life-giving surface freshwater is nearly gone. No streams, rivers, lakes, or swamps remain in the lowland regions, although there is still enough water vapor in the atmosphere to form clouds. I could see the haziness in the sky that indicated the presence of moisture—enough to absorb and reflect some of the intense solar radiation, thus preventing the temperatures from reaching completely intolerable levels. On the horizon, I could even see some clouds, hovering over the tops of the distant mountains. Those mountains were the only place on Ellendr?a that still had lakes and streams, and supported native plant and animal populations. Elsewhere, the resultant massive loss of forest and savanna had led to a tremendous reduction in plant photosynthesis. Ultimately, the oxygen concentration of the atmosphere had dropped to levels that made animal survival difficult. There were still a few remnants of the original animal populations, but it was clear that this would not be for long. While we Ellendrí can tolerate exposure to the planet’s atmosphere, due largely to our high efficiency hemoglobin, we prefer to live in the domes, where the growth of plant crops enhances the oxygen levels.
Walking through the food gardens, I enjoyed the moist dampness of early morning as the warmth evaporated the water from the soil, which had been irrigated during the night. As the day progressed, the water vapor would rise to the top of the dome, where cooling fins would condense and collect it to be recycled back into the system. The dome was programmed to create the occasional rain shower using this condensed water, mimicking a more natural system, which seems necessary for some of our crop plants. As I went, I checked the health of the plants, ensuring that the system was operating as expected, and collected some ripe fruit and vegetables in a container. Darí would appreciate something fresh—the rations onboard his ship, while not unpalatable, definitely didn’t compare favorably to food from our gardens.
Returning to the house, I left the fresh fruit and vegetables on a table in the main common room and headed down the corridor to the small private rooms in the west end of the building. Entering Darí’s old room, I opened the window to the gardens, letting the morning breeze wander through and clear out the stale air. This was the room where Darí had occasionally slept as a young boy, when we were growing up together, and our r’athaira had still been alive—unless he was in my room, or the two of us had ended up sleeping in a communal heap in the main sleeping area with our r’athaira. Later, long after our r’athaira had gone to the beyond, Darí and his partner Darriel had moved into the main sleeping area on the building’s east side. However, Darí never wanted to sleep there anymore.
Thoughts of Darriel still hurt intensely. It had been 10 years now, but at times, the emotional wounds seemed as fresh as ever.
There had been four of us growing up together as close childhood friends—myself, Darí, Darriel, and Farrw?n. And before that, there had been just Darí and me. Some of the Sfoení races believe that what we refer to as an an?ncára bond is strictly a sexual relationship. How wrong they are! Darí and I were an?ncára from our earliest years, before we even understood what that meant, and long before either of us had reached puberty. The an?ncára bond is a bond of the soul, of the mind, of the heart. Physicality only intensifies what already exists.
When I was eight, the world that Darí and I knew was expanded, first by the addition of Darriel, who was three years older than I, and then a half-year later, by the coming of Farrw?n, who was two years my senior. There were a number of reasons for this sudden change in our previously happy, but rather exclusive, universe. Probably the first and foremost was that the Elder Council was unhappy about the close relationship between Darí and I, fearing it might lead to incest and inbreeding. Short of separating the two of us, they felt that the best solution was to widen our exposure to other young people. However, there were other important reasons. Both Darriel and Farrw?n were struggling with their own difficulties, and it was felt that Eldark?n, who was a highly esteemed Healer, might be able to help them reach their full potential. And so, from my eighth year forward, the four of us grew up together, being taught by Eldark?n and Anaduviel until we were old enough to enter a Guild for further training.
In a culture where everyone is taught contraceptive biocontrol, and where children are valued and cherished, Farrw?n was the product of an unwanted pregnancy, an unwelcome child. His athairad was unknown, and Aleys?a Aurora, his athairan, although belonging to an ancient and powerful lineage, was, to my mind at least, mentally unstable. Unless an individual displays violent tendencies, treatment for such disabilities is voluntary. Rather than accept such aid and allow Farrw?n to be taken from her custody and nurtured in a responsible and caring environment, his athairan chose to raise Farrw?n unassisted in the family enclave. No one could deny her that choice—the opportunity to be an athaira is a coveted experience.
What takes place in the family home is generally a private affair, and no one expected Aleys?a to punish Farrw?n for her miscreant behavior. With none to protect him from his athairan’s irrationality, Farrw?n lived through years of neglect and mistreatment. Ultimately, when Farrw?n developed strong and uncontrollable turas, resulting in crisis and a series of convulsions, the Elder Council stepped in and had him removed from his athairan’s care and placed with our family. At that point, Farrw?n was in terrible shape, having had very little training in the control of his psi abilities, while at the same time being in the throes of an early onset of some clearly very potent psi powers. Although Aleys?a claimed that Farrw?n had no significant abilities, I now believe, many years later, that Farrw?n may have one of the greatest psi potentials of anyone in our generation.
While I learned Farrw?n’s history early in our childhood together, it took much longer to understand the circumstances responsible for Darriel’s troubles. At first, she seemed very normal, except for a distinct lack of psi abilities. Unlike Farrw?n’s situation, her family was supportive, caring, and visited her regularly while she stayed with us. She was happy, intelligent, and participated with wild abandon in our childhood adventures. It was only when Eldark?n tried to teach her the fundamentals of psi control that problems arose—an overwhelming sense of terror that would leave her incoherent for hours. After a number of years with Eldark?n’s careful assistance, Darriel was finally able to tell us much of her story. Other bits and pieces I was able to learn from her family, although there was a great deal of sorrow and guilt surrounding the event.
Like Farrw?n, Darí and I, Darriel’s psi abilities were early onset. This is not uncommon in the highly bred lineages to which we were born. Darriel had an elder deirfa with whom she had a strong telepathic rapport, and her other psi talents appeared to be developing normally.
Then, in a single afternoon, things went very wrong. At that time, Darriel was eight and her deirfa twelve, both reasonably responsible and mature for their age. Their r’athaira were away on a geological survey, some hours from D?arven by hover car, and their athairan-deirfan, a Healer, was left in charge of the children at the family dome. A medical emergency occurred, and with no other Healers immediately available, their caretaker, believing the children would be safe on their own for a few hours, left to undertake an emergency surgery.
Like many domes, the one in which Darriel lived had several ponds, both for storage of water and as habitats for aquatic organisms maintained within the dome environment. Darriel and her deirfa knew of the potential danger of these ponds, and stayed wisely away from their edges. However, an accidental slip on the grass while running, leading to a skidding fall, caused Darriel’s deirfa to slide into one of the reservoirs. Immediately, ey attempted to climb out, but the slope of the sides was steep, the retaining wall material was slick with algae, and ey just slid back into the water. Darriel tried to assist, but she was too short to reach her deirfa without falling in herself. She quickly ran to find a rope, or some other object, which could be used to help. In the meanwhile, her deirfa was left swimming in the pond. Unfortunately, Ellendrí are a desert people, and few of us swim well. Darriel’s deirfa was no exception, and by the time Darriel had returned with a rope, her deirfa was exhausted and starting to panic. Darriel managed to get the rope around her deirfa’s waist, but she was not strong enough to pull her quickly tiring and frightened deirfa to safety. Not yet trained in the use of her developing psychokinesis, she was unable to generate enough force to lift her deirfa out. Realizing that she was rapidly running out of options, Darriel held onto the rope with all her strength, crying out telepathically to her family, and hoping to keep her deirfa’s head above the water long enough that someone could rescue eir. The caretaker, now in the middle of a life-or-death surgery, was unable to answer Darriel’s call. Her r’athaira responded immediately, but even at the top speed of the hover car, it was two hours before they arrived. They were too late to save their eldest child, drowned and dead far too long for any hope of resuscitation. Their youngest child lay unconscious by the rim of the pool, hands bloodied by the rope she had gripped until her strength failed.
Darriel remained in a coma for several days afterwards. It was surmised that she had been in telepathic rapport with her deirfa until ey had died, and that the intense feedback from that death had damaged her psi channels. The Healers gave her the best care they could, and felt that she should recover completely. However, when she finally awoke, it was with no memory of the event, completely mind-blind, and with no capacity for telepathic speech at all. Over the next three years, Darriel recovered some rudimentary telepathy, but showed no other indications of regaining her previous psi potential. The Healers checked her psi channels numerous times, but found no sign of damage. No one could determine if there was some hidden injury that prevented Darriel’s recovery, or if she was somehow impeding her own abilities in an attempt to block out her memories of her deirfa’s death. It was at this point that Darriel came to join us.
Beyond the telepathic rapport that Darriel developed with Farrw?n, Darí, and I, she never did show signs of any other psi abilities, at least not any of which I was aware. She had become a very close friend to me—I respected her life choices, but I always wondered if she really had blocked her own abilities, and whether she could have broken through that barrier. In the end, her lack of psi abilities severely restricted her career choices. Since our lives were interwoven, ultimately her actions affected the paths that both Darí and I took as well. When I left Ellendr?a to take up my duties as a Guardian, I asked Eldark?n what he had learned about Darriel’s condition. While he refused to give me a definitive answer, I left that discussion believing even more firmly that Darriel could have had much greater potential if she had been willing to face her fears and find a way beyond them.
With a shake of my head, I brought myself back to the moment at hand, and finished cleaning up Darí’s room. It seemed to be a day for reflection upon old memories. I really wanted to be happy today, but there was so much angst in our past, it was hard to leave those memories behind and move on. I don’t think you ever forget, although maybe in time you learn to accept. Closing my eyes, I ran my hand across my forehead, pushing back sweat-dampened hair as more memories flooded through my mind.
Darí and Darriel had become very close during the days of our shared childhood. When they reached puberty, it was obvious to everyone that they were an?ncára. Later, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Darí and Darriel decided to start a family. Darí had completed his Healer’s training, and, following the path of our athairad, had become one of the best Healers on Ellendr?a. That was no surprise either—the healing talent is an inherited ability that runs in our lineage. Darriel became a Historian, and taught Ellendrí history at the Academy. There was no close familial relatedness between them, often a serious problem in the small and much inbred population of the Ellendrí, so the situation was ideal for them. It should have worked out. It hadn’t.
An?ncára—the soulmate relationship—is often described as an enduring bond of love, friendship, companionship, and eternal partnership. Was it a gift or a curse? I wasn’t sure at times. Darí and I were born three years apart, but we were so similar that we might have been twins, identical copies. Our high degree of similarity was attributed to the severe inbreeding and lack of genetic diversity in the lineages of our r’athaira. Regardless of the cause, as young children, we had been very alike in many ways, so alike that we became as one—an?ncára, inseparable. Once, this wouldn’t have been an uncommon situation amongst our family, but in recent times, an?ncára relationships between deirfa are not encouraged. And when Darriel joined our group, the situation became even more complex—Darí, it seemed, was one of those rare individuals who could form more than one an?ncára relationship. So the sanctioned relationship between Darí and Darriel was publicly honored and accepted, and the sibling an?ncára bond between Darí and I was kept quietly hidden, still strong, but never formally acknowledged.
Darí and Darriel spent many happy years together, but were never able to have children. It seemed that even as unrelated as they were, they were doomed to suffer the Ellendrí curse—infertility. But the bond between an?ncára can easily survive the hardships, struggles, and disappointments that seem to be so common in this plane of existence. Childless, they still continued to take joy in each other’s companionship, and, apparently, that was enough for them both.
The drying and heating of Ellendr?a’s crust has increased the frequency of earthquakes in D?arven. Mostly these have been small. The more modern architecture is designed to tolerate these shakings without any significant damage to their structures. However, 10 years ago, a particularly violent earthquake brought down the main historical archive on Ellendr?a. It was an old building, designed and constructed long before the sun’s outward expansion had started to impact Ellendr?a’s climate. The ancient foundation had suffered through thousands of years of the death throes of a planet, and finally could withstand no more. Five people were buried in the rubble of the collapse. Four were rescued and survived the day. The fifth was Darriel, who died in Darí’s arms.
Ellendr?a (approximately 10 years earlier), Midsummer
Compared to some of the peoples of the Ll’Ellendr?n, the Ellendrí aren’t generally considered very religious. We have plenty of myths and legends, some going back to our earliest recorded histories, but only a few simple spiritual beliefs. We believe in the existence of the beyond, a place where the spirit goes after life on this plane of existence ends, and that we can return from the beyond through a process of rebirth. We acknowledge the great oneness of all things—that we are a small part of the greater whole, interconnected with each other and all things to form the web of life. And we believe that, in some way, this great oneness, like a massive living organism composed of many tiny, individual cells, is self-aware. From this self-awareness flows both fate, that which was decided before we were born, and destiny, that which we create as we follow the path of our soul’s purpose. Sometimes fate and destiny blend together and merge, and it is hard to tell if the path we’re on is one that we’ve chosen, or one that was chosen for us. I don’t know whether it was fate or destiny, but whatever it was, Darí and I had our lives forever changed by it on the day Darriel died.
I was sent back to Ellendr?a by the Guardians, ostensibly to be an observer in the increasingly heated debate amongst our people about whether to evacuate Ellendr?a and start a new colony. The Guardians felt that someone should be present on Ellendr?a as their representative, as well as to assist in maintaining order should intense emotions lead to violence. At first, I had stubbornly refused to be the one to go—after my unexpected visit home the previous year, I really didn’t know how I would be able to live with Darí and Darriel. But I could feel the noose of fate tightening about my neck as all the other Guardians were called off to important tasks, and I was the only one remaining with the time to take on this particular project. I was sullen and miserable, but couldn’t refuse to do my duty, not without explaining something which I preferred to keep private. So I agreed to go. For a while, I had seriously considered hiding out in K?rr?l’s space flight facility, but I figured that would just eventually make Darí annoyed with me. I didn’t want to anger my deirfad; I just didn’t have any more answers to our problems than I had last year.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
Darí and Darriel were reserved—I had already stayed away too long. They knew I was avoiding them, avoiding the issues between us. I tried to pretend that everything was just the way it had been years ago, but in reality, things had been going awry with us for so long that I can hardly remember what normal might have felt like. However, they accepted my behavior as an attempt to keep things from erupting unexpectedly. After a couple of days, their tepidness warmed up to moderate friendliness. Maybe they really didn’t want me sleeping in my ship where it was stored in K?rr?l’s facility.
Several tendays later, I found myself working with Darí in the family gardens, having just returned from a meeting with the Elders and having little else to accomplish for the moment. It was a quiet time, filled with the smell of freshly turned soil and herbs warming in the sun. We were just starting to relax in each other’s presence again—I felt happy about that. However, in the back of my mind, some little warning was tickling me. I’ve had these feelings before, and they’ve seldom ever meant that something good was going to happen.
Before I could figure out what my turas was trying to tell me, the earth started buckling under our feet, heaving as though it was a living thing. Darí and I crouched down, trying to find some stability on the suddenly fluid ground, hoping that nothing would get shaken loose from the dome above and fall on us. After a few moments, the tremor stopped. I looked around quickly, but nothing in the dome seemed damaged. This was the second quake in the short while I’d been home—clearly Ellendr?a was suffering further stress from the sun’s increased warming. Then another shock rattled our home, this one worse than the first, knocking us to our knees. And that’s when it hit me. Pain. Overwhelming, engulfing pain. Not mine. I looked at Darí—his face had gone completely white, but he was clearly unhurt. And then I knew—Darriel!
“Where is she?” I gritted out against the waves of lashing pain that somehow I was receiving empathically from Darriel.
Darí’s teeth were clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut, but he managed to answer faintly. “At the history archives.” I grabbed his arm, dragging him with me as I started to move. “We’ve got to get there, now!” The waves of pain in my head were starting to get weaker, which probably wasn’t a good sign. I was running, pulling Darí behind me. Fortunately, he seemed to have found his strength, and was starting to run on his own accord.
I was heading for the dome’s exit that led to the city’s main subterranean thoroughfares. These environmentally-controlled tunnels would lead me to the dome containing the old city center, the location of the building containing the history archives. Reaching the north edge of the dome, I saw the two parallel railings that marked the ramp leading downward, out under the edge of the dome and into the tunnel that connected our dome to the rest of the underground network. Charging down the ramp, we quickly reached a narrow, flat-bottomed tunnel carved out of the bedrock. It extended, straight and level, for a short distance before exiting into a much wider, hemispherical tunnel with three traffic lanes—two narrow raised lanes, one on each side of the tunnel, and a wide central depressed roadway. This was one of the main routes into the heart of the city.
All the tunnels were well-lit, and the polished rock work gleamed in the light. As we entered the main thoroughfare, I turned left onto the nearest raised lane. This roadway was designated for small powered and self-propelled vehicles. All access tunnels merged into the main tunnel on this side. The raised way across the tunnel was reserved for walkers. Large antigrav transports carrying both people and goods moved along the broad center lane. Wherever an access tunnel merged onto a main thoroughfare, certain utilities were provided for people traveling through the system. A small alcove was located near the mouth of each access tunnel—this was a charging station. Each of these stations usually had two jet sleds—generally a single- and a double-seater—and several wheeled vehicles that were pedal-powered. These vehicles were communal—anyone could use them, but they were always brought back to the station from which they were taken, and the jet sleds were always put on charge after they had been used. On the other side of each access tunnel entrance was a stairway attached to the side of the tunnel. This led upwards to an arched overpass, which allowed walkers to safely cross the tunnel to the other side and reach the dedicated foot traffic lane.
It was some distance from here to the city center. At running speed, it would take us over a centiday to get there—much too long. So far, both of us had been running hard, and mostly blind, not worrying about anything except getting to our destination as fast as possible. Now we had to think. As I looked into the charging alcove, I was hoping that at least one of the jet sleds would be there, preferably the two-seater. My eyes quickly scanned the vehicles present, and I felt a burst of relief as I spotted the one I wanted. Moving rapidly, I straddled the sled and unplugged the charging cord. I didn’t need to look back to know that Darí was sliding onto the seat behind me—our minds were linked, and he was reacting to my thoughts before I could even verbalize them.
Touching the starting icon on the control console of the sled, I felt a gentle thrum between my legs as the antigrav unit purred to life. The sled rose off the ground and reached a stable hover. Two small electric jet engines with rotatable nozzles propelled the sled. Using these, I swiftly backed the sled out of the alcove. Once we were out in the lane, I bent low over the controls, gripping the sled tightly with Darí taking up a similar position behind me. I needed to push the jet sled as fast as it would go … I could still feel Darriel’s pain, and knew that we had to reach her soon. Sliding my finger along the throttle bar on the console, I brought the engines up to full with a muted roar.
Jet sleds are not meant to be ridden at high speeds in the city thoroughfares. But fearing that we might be too late to save Darriel, I didn’t care … whatever repercussions there would be for this wild ride, I would face them later. Luckily, the traffic in this lane was light, and some combination of my training as a pilot and my turas got us through safely.
While it seemed to take forever, we actually reached the central hub, with its many radiating tunnels, quite quickly. The hub is located just below the central dome. A long ramp leads upwards from it, opening out underneath the viewing platform in the central park. Although jet sleds are usually left parked below ground in the hub, I drove the sled up the ramp, emerging into slanting rays of sunlight broken up by the shadows of the pillars supporting the round platform above us. I blinked rapidly as my eyes adjusted, then guided the sled through the pillars and brought it to a stop on one of the park paths, another transgression that I would worry about later.
From the park, I knew it would be faster to go on foot to the history archives. We could take shortcuts that the jet sled would be unable to negotiate. We were running now, working our way eastward. Once we left the park, more people were milling around, obviously frightened and concerned by the earthquake. I was vaguely aware of people jumping out of my path, but I said nothing to anyone I passed, saving my breath to run as fast as I could. Taking the most direct route to the history archives, I dodged around confused people, jumping over flower beds and park benches, moving fast and hard. The people I passed looked shocked, stunned—by my behavior or the impacts of the quake, I didn’t know. At the time, I didn’t care. I could hear alarms in the distance now—something very serious had happened.
I was starting to outdistance Darí. He was in good shape, but hadn’t had the intensive physical training that I’d had as a Guardian, and it was starting to tell. I didn’t slow for him—he would see what I saw through our mind link—and I knew he would catch up.
Cutting through a hedge of low trees, I reached the street where the archives complex was located and came to a sudden stop. Where I had expected a building, there was an untidy pile of rubble. Shock hit me like someone had punched me in the stomach. I gasped for a moment, reaching out for Darriel. Yes, I could still sense her, quieter now, but still there. Then I was running again. There were already people working on the collapsed building—I could see that at least two people had been pulled from the wreckage and were being attended to by Healers. But no one was working where I could sense that Darriel was buried.
Plunging into the pile of collapsed rock and metal, I had my Star in my hand, readying it to enhance my psychokinesis, which would allow me to move some of the biggest rubble aside. I wanted to be careful, but I could feel Darriel quickly weakening. I didn’t have much time. Then I was ripping the collapsed section apart, heedless of the energy I was expending, guided by my sense of Darriel’s location. I felt, rather than saw, Darí arrive. He started digging with his bare hands, pulling away anything he could move. I realized that Farrw?n was there too; had probably been there when I arrived. Although he looked thin and gangly, he had the strength to move some larger pieces of debris, but his fine artist’s hands were already abraded and bleeding.
I was spurred to a renewed frenzy at the sight of Darriel’s foot emerging out from under a piece of rubble that Darí had lifted. Now we focused our energies, clearing material away from her body. But at the same time, I could feel her life force flickering even dimmer. I could tell that Darí was trying to use his Healer’s skills to restore some of her vital energy, but he didn’t seem to be able to keep pace with her ebbing levels. It was almost as though she had already given up. I sent a mental command to her to hold on, telling her that we nearly had her free, but that seemed to have as little effect as Darí’s efforts.
Finally, we had the rubble cleared, and Darriel was no longer trapped beneath it. However, when I saw Darí gather her up in his arms, I knew there was no hope. He wouldn’t have moved her, as injured as she was, if he had known that there was the faintest of chances. He was crouched down, holding her in his lap, cradling her head against his arm. I knelt beside them and put my hand gently on Darriel’s shoulder. She opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times, but I could tell that she wasn’t seeing us. I’ve watched people die; so has Darí. Something happens to their eyes, the spark of life fades, and they start looking into the beyond. Darí whispered her name. For a moment, Darriel’s eyes did focus on us. I could see that she knew we were there. She moved her lips, trying to say something. I could hear her voice, faint and weak, “I’ll wait for you.” The corners of her lips lifted in a small smile, undaunted by the pain and fear. She looked directly at me. “Both of you.”
The breath caught in my throat as her eyes closed. I thought she was gone, leaving us with that last cryptic comment, but no, I heard her voice in my mind, “Don’t let him follow me.” I knew that the “him” she was referring to was Darí. “Promise me!” her voice demanded sharply. I looked at her, and her eyes were open again, boring into mine.
“I promise,” I rasped out through dust and tears, my throat almost too tight for words. Then her eyes closed that last time, and she went limp.
Suddenly, I felt the most terrible thing I’d ever felt in my life—like a piece of my heart was ripped out of my body, leaving a huge black abyss where Darriel had once been. I cried out—a horrible, raw anguished scream that echoed off the buildings. Then I saw Darí slump forward in a faint over Darriel’s body.
At last, I understood, horribly and totally, what had happened. An an?ncára bond had already formed between Darriel and I, had quite possibly been there for many years. I simply hadn’t recognized it for what it was. But she had known, had tried to make me accept it. Where I had believed that I needed to give Darí and Darriel space to sort out their own lives, in fact, I had been a very integral part of their lives all along. Darriel had realized that we had reached an irresolvable dilemma, had felt that her lack of abilities had been the source of the problem. So when she was injured, feeling death closing in, she had made the choice to leave, thereby resolving the dilemma, but not before binding me with a promise. Not realizing that she and I were an?ncára, I promised to keep Darí from going beyond. In truth, had I known, we both would have followed her. Now we would have to learn to live without her, or I would have to break my word. Feeling myself being sucked into the black chasm of emptiness inside my soul, I wasn’t sure I could keep my promise. As darkness overwhelmed me, my mind wondered, “Wait for us where? Here or in the beyond?”
Ellendr?a, Midsummer
Darí had barely survived Darriel’s death. The strength of the an?ncára bond in a relationship as deep, strong, and long as that between Darí and Darriel is immense. The breaking of that bond creates a backlash that can destroy the mind. Even if the remaining partner survives, they often choose to follow their companion into the beyond, having little left to keep them amongst the living. Darí’s mind did not break, which would at least have given him a clean death.
My memories of the time were filled with bitterness and pain. I’d kept my promise to Darriel, and had held us precariously on this side of the beyond. And when it seemed that my an?ncára bond with Darí couldn’t hold him back from the beyond any longer, Farrw?n came and stayed with us, sitting up long sleepless nights, keeping us from seeking that final choice. Farrw?n talked with us about many things—the good times we’d had, the times to come, the call to take up our destiny. Eventually, after some weeks had passed, we were both still alive. Darí was a changed person, grim, but still somehow amongst the living.
I shuddered. The passing of Darriel had hurt me deeply as well. Although I had never been Darriel’s lover, somehow I’d become her an?ncára. Only too late had I realized the full depth of my relationship with her. I still don’t know how that had happened. Had my bond to Darí somehow linked me to Darriel? Or was I just like my deirfad, able to form more than one an?ncára bond? Had I always been destined to be Darriel’s an?ncára? Did I love her the way I loved Darí? All questions for which I had no answers. All I really knew was that I too had survived, but my world, like Darí’s, had changed.
Even my an?ncára bond with Darí seemed uncertain now, so much had changed between us. As young children, we had been extremely close, our an?ncára bond strong and sure. Our family bloodline was known to carry genes for exceptional psychic abilities—it was said that during the Genomic Enhancement Interval of Ellendrí history, our lineage had been specifically designed, and later bred, to yield very powerful talents. High levels of telepathy and empathy naturally produced intense bonds between members of our bloodline.
I have fond memories of Darí following behind me like a shadow and copying everything I did with serious intentness. Three years the elder, I had always protected and cared for my younger deirfa. However, that had all changed after we reached puberty. All Ellendrí children are neuter before puberty. After puberty, Darriel had been the first of our group of four to change—shifting into female phase. Possibly in response to this, Darí and I went into male phase, followed much later by Farrw?n. After these changes, the an?ncára bond between Darí and Darriel became more pronounced. Suddenly, the dynamics between the four of us were radically changed. I became unsure of my place in the group and of my bond with Darí, which had once been so infrangible.
I was 22, and I lacked the wisdom to make sense of the strange threesome relationship that was developing between me, Darí, and Darriel. I felt like the odd person, awkward and not quite belonging, and that stimulated further change. Traditionally, members of our family have initially become Healers, Guardians, or Psi Technicians, gradually expanding our interests and skills into other areas over time. As the eldest, I’d been naturally more outgoing and adventure-seeking than Darí, always asking questions and seeking answers. Darí, on the other hand, had been quieter, shyer—a more focused and scholarly individual. The stresses on our relationship that occurred after puberty enhanced these small differences—from being nearly indistinguishable, we gradually diverged onto very different paths. Ultimately, I trained as a Guardian, and by 25, was working primarily off-planet, a situation, which, I felt, kept me from causing complications between Darí and Darriel. Darí stayed on Ellendr?a and became a highly respected Healer.
With a sigh, I pulled myself out of my reminiscences. “I never thought I’d be the one to look after our home,” I muttered, leaning out the big window in Darí’s room and breathing in the fragrant smells of the herb garden planted along the side of the building. “I was always the adventurous one.” Long ago, when our athairan had died in a rock fall, and our athairad had chosen to join her in the beyond, it was assumed that Darí would take over the family home and care for the dome. And so he had, until Darriel died.
The original Ellendor?a human stock is referred to as the Dasení, meaning “old-ones” or “ancient-blood”. They are racially heterogeneous, but have several characteristics in common: (1) they are functional hermaphrodites; (2) they do not age; (3) they heal very rapidly; and (4) they have highly effective immune systems. It is believed that these characteristics are the result of genetic engineering by the Ellendorí used to repair “damaged” genes and chromosomes in the human genome.
A second, much more common human stock found throughout the Ll’Ellendr?n is the Sfoení, meaning “young-ones” or “young-blood”. These are humans descended and evolved from the Dasení. Although they are extremely racially diverse, they typically have separate sexes (dioecious or two-sexed) and often shorter life spans. They have high fecundity and an earlier puberty, frequently as early as twelve years of age.
Dasení and Sfoení have interbred throughout the Ll’Ellendr?n, producing races that have a mixture of characteristics from the two parent stocks. Relatively few of the peoples of the Ll’Ellendr?n retain all the characteristics of the original Dasení.
Generally an?ncára relationships occur either as a result of (1) very strong resonances between two individuals previously unknown to each other, resulting in what Terrans refer to as “love at first sight”; (2) two individuals who have been raised together as children, and whose psychic patterns have grown similar due to proximity and sharing; (3) two individuals who have been reborn who were an?ncára in their previous life together and have found each other again; or (4) two individuals who began their lives together as eng?, but whose psychic patterns have gradually become more similar over time due to intimacy.
The Ellendrí government is a form of social pacifist anarchism. Governance of Ellendr?a usually falls to committees of volunteers. The Ellendrí Council of Elders is a group composed of 10 of the eldest Ellendrí on Ellendr?a, selected for their wisdom and breadth of experience. The Elder Council meets regularly to discuss all issues impacting the Ellendrí. Generally through a process of debate and consensus, the Elder Council provides a considered judgment on any issue brought before them. Although often treated as binding, the Elder’s “decrees” are not law. It is the function of the committees to put the Elder’s pronouncements into force.
Children are generally raised and shared amongst the extended family, and are as familiar with their parents’ siblings and their children as they are with their own parents. Often the children of several families will be raised and educated together in order to allow companionship to develop between the children as they grow and mature. Even though unrelated, children brought up together tend to remain very close friends, constant companions and supporters, and even an?ncára in later life. Young children are taught in home environments, usually in small groups of four to six individuals of similar age. Parents play a significant role in the education of their children, and are assisted by a variety of learning aids, including material in audio, visual, holographic, and virtual reality formats. Learning programs are individually tailored for each child, although, by the age of 25, Ellendrí adults are expected to have an education level roughly equivalent to a Terran baccalaureate [four year] degree program.
Maternal parent’s female phase sibling; the equivalent of a maternal aunt on Terra.
Most Ellendrí “own” very little, largely just their personal clothing and a few private mementos. Land and property are held communally, or stewarded. Food, water, clothing, and other necessities are distributed freely as required. Vehicles and equipment are shared, being passed from one individual or family to another as needs change.
The Genomic Enhancement Interval is a period in Ellendrí history about three thousand years ago during which extreme genetic engineering was carried out on the Ellendrí genome.
World Building – Storytelling.
Guardians’ Destiny – Storytelling.
