pa·ra·site noun
from par-, word-forming element, meaning “alongside, beyond; altered; contrary; irregular, abnormal,” from para- from para (prep.) “beside, near; issuing from; against, contrary to,” from *prea, from root *per- “forward,” hence “toward, near; against.” + sitos “grain, bread, food,” a word of unknown origin. A hanger-on, a toady, person who lives on others
Hurry hurry. Food.
No, wait, what’s that?
Giants, giants, avoid.
No, must look.
Yes. Noises noises, more noises.
Food?
No.
Three giants, one not so giant.
Food.
Noises noises.
Move!
Smell, bad smells.
The night sky slowly comes into view. The cliff falls a few feet ahead of where I’m sitting, cross-legged on the red-tinted, cracked ground. The valley below is tinted violet by the rising sun, fading to black near the horizon. Bright orange sun pillars peak just beyond.
Nocturnal insects perform the last few movements of their symphony. Wind howls, moving down the mountains behind me, over the cliff and into the valley. I breathe in the sweet, acrid smell of desert sand.
I unfold my legs and stand up. My limbs cry out in protest as I stretch them out and blood returns to my extremities. I close my eyes.
Breathe in. And out.
I open my eyes to the farmstead, nestled cliffside in the valley below. String lights connect light posts and a small farmhouse together, where powerful light shines brightly from the front porch—a splash of sunlight in the dark. Three speeders are parked out front, each painted in striking colours and decorated with intense, violent designs. A person stands near the speeders doing little else but smoking a cigarette. Next to speeders is a small, empty paddock and a large shed. I sense the cattle within, blissfully ignorant. A greenhouse and a barn sit adjacent to the paddock and shed, altogether taking up more space than the house itself.
The house is small by terran standards. It includes a washroom, a single bedroom, and a common living area—as far as I could gather, anyways. I don’t really have a good picture of the interior. I wish I had access to a more cognizant animal, but the blattodea insect was all that was available. I do sense a serpent nest near the house, but it would take a lot to persuade one to enter a home full of humanoids. Also, I doubt those same humanoids would enjoy the encounter any more than the serpents. In any case, the insect showed me what I needed to know.
The anomaly attracted unwanted attention.
It can’t have been that difficult for the marauders to find this place. The squall of magical energy grew stronger as I approached with the speeder—a rising sense of anxiety creeping up my chest and throat as I struggled to breathe in the rising tide. Even interfacing with the insect had been a struggle in the overwhelming waves. Anyone magically sensitive would have felt this kind of power kilometres away. It’s perhaps fortunate then that this place is so isolated. Or unfortunate, perhaps, depending on how you look at it. Someone might have identified the issue earlier if a colonist settlement were nearby.
I squat down onto the balls of my feet. A surge of magical energy washes over me, leaving me soaked. Magic drips off of me, dissipating into nothingness.
A child source. A terran, child source, strong in psi magic—incredibly strong—-but uncontrolled, raw, and rife for the taking. My heart weighs heavy, my anxiety rising to the surface. This is dangerous, more so than just because of the attention a source brings. With so much power overflowing from them, they unintentionally alter the fabric of reality itself—and with it, the Æther.
In times like this, I understand why the terrans scare my kin. Their mastery over divine magic is concerning enough, but their proclivity toward psionics is beyond reasonable. No one should have access to that kind of power—the power to bend reality and invade the minds of others. Absolute power may corrupt absolutely, but even a little of that kind of power is enough to drive the dredges of any society to be malicious.
And terrans, well—I understand my kin’s concerns, and why the Empire thought it necessary to establish a regulation protocol for psi magic wielding recondites under the guise of education. The whole endeavour has always felt too—authoritarian to me. But feeling this power—
I understand.
And yet, they are still just a child. I cannot blame them for what they are.
I sigh. There’s no way that the child could be the cause of the bacterial infection or the world’s anguish. Those issues felt more—deliberate. Or maybe I’m just chasing shadows again. Have I just become too sensitive? I have visited so many worlds, treating the Æther time and time again only to see terrans tear it all down. All that stress, all those emotions, it has to weigh down on me, even if I can’t see it directly. Because again, if there were a larger issue, a singular, solvable issue, someone else would have noticed.
Right?
Another wave crashes onto me. It tastes of fear and anger.
I shoot straight up. Two steps forward, and I fall over the edge of the cliff. Primal magic courses through me. The ground below grows closer, dry, hot air rushing past, causing my cloak to flap uncontrollably behind me. I extend my arms out. My feathers grow from the follicles along my arms—an itchy, tickling sensation—expanding quickly to become flight-capable plumage. An up draft catches onto me, halting my descent. I adjust my wings, more feathers erupting from my skin to increase my wingspan. The farmstead quickly approaches a hundred metres below.
I tilt my wings and my flight path takes me in a large circle around the farmhouse. Shapes move inside, their silhouettes illuminated against window curtains. The marauder by the speeders leans against one of them, unconcerned. I tilt again and aim for a spot just outside the light. A few metres above the ground, I fold my arms tightly against my body.
The dry, cracked ground crunches audibly under my feet and I swiftly kneel to absorb the impact. The marauder startles and drops his cigarette. His whole body turns toward me, eyes wide. My cloak drifts down to cover me as feathers moult from my arms and gently float down. The marauder takes a step towards me, his eyes squinting and his mouth wide open. His eyes glow dimly in the muggy light of dawn, the grooves along his pale jawline barely visible. Mixed aeyan-terran parentage, perhaps? He is dressed in armour salvaged from various different sources, none of which I recognise. Hastily applied paint and various trinkets attached to his outfit to declare his allegiance to a marauder gang. Chains and skulls are the most prominent motifs, contained even within his neck and head tattoos. What hair he has is coloured in alternating stripes of green and red and styled in a faux-hawk. Multiple nose, eyebrow, and ear piercings gleam in the artificial light. I do not see any indication of a translator—cybernetic or otherwise.
He creeps slowly in my direction, head bowed. The last of my feathers fall away.
“What the—the fuck is…?” the marauder asks in Terranglo, his voice shaking.
A wind sweeps through the valley. My cloak billows and I feel fine sand hit my face. The marauder’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. He reaches for a pistol holstered on his thigh.
“Oh shit—who the fuck?” he shouts as unholsters his firearm.
He raises the weapon at me, his aim is unsteady.
“H-hey, listen buddy, don’t come any closer. I’ll fucking do it, ya? This is Dusty Mero’s turf. We’ll kill you, ya?” his voice cracks. “Don’t fuck with me!”
A young adult, I think. I am truly sorry for what is to come.
My hand comes up from under my cloak, primal energy flowing through to my fingertips. The marauder takes another step back and his aim waivers further. My awareness extends out toward the ground below his feet.
“Wha—What are you—Stop that!” he yells.
I infuse magic into roots, deep below the surface.
“I mean it! I’ll—” the ground below him begins to crack and rumble “—huh?”
I shoot my hand upwards. Roots burst from the ground, wrapping themselves around the marauder’s legs and waist in a flash of movement. The marauder screams and tries to take a step forward, but is stopped by roots quickly climbing up his legs. His momentum causes him to fall forward, face first into the dirt. He gasps loudly and fires his weapon into the air. The sound of weapon fire echoes off the cliff faces. Voices erupt from the farmhouse. I thrust my hand down and more roots burst out and grow at an incredible rate, snaking around the marauder’s chest and arms. Smaller roots extract the pistol from his hand and wrap themselves around his neck, pressing his cheek firmly against the desert floor.
The front door of the farmhouse slams open to reveal another marauder. She looks in her comrade’s direction, eyes wide. She is terran, with dark amber skin and long, braided hair that cascades down one side of her head. The other side is shaved and covered in tattoos in similar style to the young marauder, though in higher quality and quantity. Her outfit is also made up of salvaged pieces of armour and is adorned with various small trophies.
My magic wanes and I let my arm drop. The roots end their accelerated growth and lock into place.
“Vidz?!” a voice yells out in Terranglo from inside the house.
I shift my attention to the house.
“Get off!” the voice yells.
The woman in the doorway is pushed aside. She braces herself to the outer wall as an older terran crosses the threshold. He is similar in appearance to the other two marauders, though his greying auburn hair is oiled and swept back over his head. A greasy, messy full beard covers the bottom half of his face. He has a tawny complexion and is marked by multiple scars, made all the more intimidating by the snarl he wears on his face.
Or at least, I think it’s supposed to be intimidating.
“What the fuck is going out th—” His eyes land on the young marauder Vidz. ”What in the void?”
He scans the area feverishly. His eyes lock with mine. A wave of magical awareness pierces through me. I frown.
A recondite.
“Dusty?! Help me, man! I can’t—I can’t breathe,” Vidz yells out, his voice muffled.
The recondite’s gaze flicks to Vidz. I look at the young marauder as well and wrap him in my awareness. His breathing is irregular, his heart rate accelerated, but his airways aren’t being compromised. I send a flash of magical energy to him. His breathing relaxes and his anxiety disperses.
I look back to find the recondite frozen in the doorway, his bulging eyes locked onto me and the corner of his mouth twitching. The other marauder shakes her head and lifts herself off of the wall. She stares at me, eyes wide, before she notices Vidz on the ground.
“Kid!” she gasps loudly, also in Terranglo.
She takes a step forward. The recondite holds out an arm, stopping her. She throws a confused, angry look at him.
“Dom?! Is that you? Please—please help me! I can’t…” Vidz sobs. “I can’t…”
“No,” the recondite says softly.
He slowly lowers his arm, his fixation on me never wavering. I feel invisible tendrils of magic twisting themselves around me. He’s strong—stronger than he needs to be. But he doesn’t know how to use that power. He’s not used to it. It fills him with confidence—no.
Hubris.
The other marauder, Dom, takes a step back. Her jaw stiffens, her lips a thin line on her face as her eyes dart between the recondite and myself. The tendrils slither away. The recondite’s posture relaxes and his face hardens into an overconfident smile.
“It’s mine,” he says, his voice deep and guttural.
Vidz’ sobs are oddly loud in the relative silence. The rising suns slowly chase away the night, a line moving down the cliff faces around us.
“Mero—” Vidz whimpers.
“Shut up Vidz!” the recondite snaps.
Vidz mumbles quietly. The recondite locks eyes with me and his magic slithers across me again, overflowing, dripping with ill intent.
“It’s mine,” he repeats. “The battery. You’d be best to leave.”
I’m stronger than you is what he means.
He’s not.
His magic magic around me, unable to penetrate my shell. His eyes twitch.
“Let the child go,” I announce in clear and crisp Erelan Imperial. My voice echoes on the cliff walls around me.
The recondite chuckles. The tendrils snake away. He shakes his head and takes a step forward.
“I can’t figure you out, delan,” the recondite says as he walks down the first step on the porch, “So I gotta ask—you one of them keepers?”
He gestures to the young marauder, rooted to the desert floor.
“I’ve heard how you guys work. That’s it, isn’t it? Plants and shit?”
His irises dilate. A pressure builds on my temples, the pain quickly spreading to the rest of my skull. My whole body begins to ache.
A psionic attack.
The recondite hands flash down. The pressure intensifies. His foul smile turns back into a snarl, his eyes glowing bright with magic. An invisible force presses down on me from every direction, binding my limbs together and weighing me down.
Such strength.
It’s not enough.
Primal magic flows through me. He shoots his hands up. My body lifts off the ground. I thrust my own hands toward the ground. Roots burst out and wrap themselves around my ankles, tethering me to the desert floor. The cracked earth tickles my feet. The pressure around my skull builds. My vision blurs. I hear the other marauder yell something, her voice muffled and distant.
I can’t give in.
The pressure subsides. I gasp loudly. The world spins. The pain in my body is gone, the one in my head, fading. Muffled, distorted voices speak incoherently. I desperately want to hold my pounding head, but I can’t—I shouldn’t. The recondite comes in and out of focus as he performs wide gestures with his glowing hands. I feel more than see the ripples of hard psionic light erupt from him. I squat down and sweep my arms out toward the ground, freeing myself of the roots.
The animal inside me takes over.
I wake up to find myself crouched over on my hands and knees, several feet away from where I was, closer to the house. My hands, knuckles, knees and feet sting—the familiar pain of scraped skin. I glance at where I had been standing. Deep gashes in the dirt shimmer with magic, with a clear trail in the sand leading to where I am now.
The recondite turns to look at me, his movements slow. I see the tension in his face muscles as his rage gives way to surprise, the ruffle of his clothing as it trails behind him. I even see how the other marauder takes a step back, her eyes wide, her attention on the spot where I once stood.
I need to disable him.
Time resumes. The recondite makes a sweeping motion with his arms. I concentrate primal energy into my core, my whole body constricting. The recondite thrusts both glowing hands at me.
I stretch my entire body out and my awareness explodes.
The serpents. Fungi. Bushes and root systems. Amphibians. Reeds, aquatic plants, insects. So many insects, still water. Small birds, flying high and far away. Crustaceans, coral, fish, and so much plankton.
Still water. Insects. Buzzing, biting insects.
My awareness returns. A large shape flies toward me. I flatten my body to the ground and the speeder crashes the ground right next to me, rolling several metres before coming to a stop, the sound of crunching metal and sparks deafening as pieces go flying in all directions. I push myself up onto my hands and knees, and jump back onto my feet. The recondite’s smug grin disappears, and his mouth opens wide. Magical energy concentrates into my hands. I send it to him. Countless, small pinpoints of life respond.
“Just fucking—” The recondite raises his arms up high above his head. “Stand still!”
He thrusts his glowing hands down violently. A weight falls down on me. My knees buckle under the intense, invisible pressure pushing down on me. My entire body screams out in protest. The air feels heavy, impossible to exhale. Darkness creeps on the edge of my vision.
My entire body shakes with the effort, but I force my head to tilt upwards. I can barely make out the glow of his eyes and hands—no. His entire body glows, an aura, a silhouette in the shape of a person. His voice is as clear as if he were next to me.
“See, was that so har—” A muffled slap. “Fuck!”
I breathe in deep. The darkness fades. The weight holds me down still—but I can move. The recondite has one glowing hand extended out toward me, his other flailing around his head, swatting at insects.
“The void is—get off!” the recondite yells shrilly.
I can move again. I shoot straight up, my vision clear. The recondite stumbles back up the porch step, his arms whipping all around his head. His greasy face is barely visible under the swarm, though there are clear red welts on his neck and around his ears, made all the more gruesome by the small splatters of blood everywhere. He takes another step back, his movements frantic. Dom stares at him, eyes and mouth wide open. The recondite shoves her aside, quickly turns, and runs back into the farmhouse.
The sounds of yelling and crashing furniture, mixed in with the faint wails, echoes from inside. Waves of magical energy pulse out erratically.
Dom scowls at me. She reaches for a pistol holstered on her thigh. I raise my hand toward her, magic flowing through me. Creeping, flowering plants erupt from the weapon as she unholsters it, stems appearing from nowhere to wrap themselves around the barrel and grip, petioles quickly sprouting from nodes. Leaves and flowers unfold, obscuring the firearm further.
Dom brings the pistol up to eye level and yelps, her whole body convulsing, causing her to drop the pistol. It clatters onto the hollow, metal porch, covered in plantlife. She takes a step back, aggressively brushing plant growth off her arm, whimpering softly all the while, her voice shaking. I lower my hand. The pistol lays inert at her feet, hidden by a small flower patch.
“F-fuck this!” Dom shouts.
She runs to the porch steps.
Should I let her be?
She jumps over the steps.
No.
Magic courses through me, electrified, the sudden force sending vibrations through me. Roots erupt from the ground to meet Dom’s feet. Her body stiffens, eyes wide as the roots wrap around her shins, slamming her face-first into the dusty dirt, and knocking the breath out of her. I throw my trembling, glowing hand downwards. Roots explode out of the cracked earth, wooden teeth that come down and instantly imprison the woman. Muffled shrieks mingle with the sound of creaking wood as the roots press down on her.
I allow my magic to dissipate, and the roots settle in place. Each ragged breath hurts my chest. Pain throbs through me at a steady beat. I straighten myself and let my arms fall loosely to my sides. The two imprisoned marauders yell and cry at each other, their voices incoherent.
I take a slow, deep breath.
A flash of magical light erupts from within the farmhouse, nearly blinding me, and a tidal wave of energy crashes into me. The whole building rocks on its foundation, sending dust flying everywhere. The recondite hobbles through the doorway, his face flushed red with more than just welts. His white lips are strained over bared teeth, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He stumbles forward and shoves the child through the doorway ahead of him. He puts his hand on the child’s shoulder, his other hand holding a pistol aimed at the child’s head.
The child is young, possibly six or seven. He has a mess of dark, short hair matted to his forehead. His eyes are red, and his dusty cheeks are streaked with tears. He is wearing terran colonist clothing, dirty but otherwise in good condition. He stares at me with huge eyes, his bottom lip trembling. Power radiates from him, infusing everything around him with magic. Energy flows from the boy’s shoulder, up through the recondite’s arm, whose eyes shimmer dimly, barely perceptible in the sunrise.
“I’ve had enough! Of you—” He points the pistol at me. “Of your plants—” He points at the imprisoned marauders “And your fucking bullshit!” he shrieks.
His arm shakes as he gestures the gun wildly in my direction.
My muscles tense. My chest heaves with each breath. Magical energy radiates over me, leaving me dripping with magic with each passing wave. I slow my breathing.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“Now, you get to fucking choose”, he says, his voice trembling, “You—” He gestures the weapon in my direction again. “Or the kid.”
He shoves the firearm’s muzzle to the boy’s temple. The boy whimpers. Fear radiates with each pulse.
My awareness extends outwards.
The nest is in danger.
“What would you gain from harming the child?” I call out.
Protect the nest.
The recondite chokes on a chuckle. The boy flinches as the pistol muzzle is pressed against him again.
“Choose!” he yells.
A predator comes for our young.
I take a few steps toward the house. The recondite’s furious breaths make his whole body tremble.
“Stop!” he yells, spittle flying out. “I said fucking stop, I’ll kill him!”
Gliding across the dirt, the warmth of the suns invigorating.
I continue toward them, my eyes fixed on the recondite. Dom whimpers and scratches at the dirt pointlessly as I walk by her. I reach the bottom of the steps and the recondite shuffles backward, taking the child with him. He raises the pistol toward me.
“I’ll kill you, stupid bitch! Don’t mess with me!”
Body contorting, lifting up.
I walk up the steps. His arm trembles as he follows my movement. Veins throb rapidly on his forehead and neck. Sweat and blood drips down a reddened, furious expression. Magic swirls in his eyes.
I stop less than a metre away. The recondite chuckles hysterically. His posture relaxes and his aim waivers. A sanguine grin stretches across his swollen face.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” he snickers.
He aims the pistol at my head.
Heart pumping, coiled.
“No,” I say in heavily accented Terranglo.
The recondite frowns and tilts his head. He lets out a chuckle that rattles his entire body.
Strike!
The recondite cries out angrily, his whole body convulsing. He kicks the air violently and releases his grip on the boy. The serpent goes flying over the porch railing. I feel it land some ways away, disoriented, but unharmed. The boy ducks under the recondite’s flailing arms and scampers back through the open doorway into the house. The recondite slaps their free hand onto their leg. A grimace of pain flashes across his face and his leg wobbles, causing his knee to buckle from under him. His pistol makes a hollow ringing sound on the metal porch where it lands. His other hand joins in so both of his hands now cradle his trembling leg.
His disfigured face looks up at me, eyes wide open and tinted red. He speaks to me, his mouth trembling.
“What…”
He gasps loudly and sends both hands to clutch at his chest. His face contorts, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. His other knee buckles and he falls onto his side. He gasps for air.
Life drains away.
The breathing stops. The recondite’s corpse twitches involuntarily. Dawning light slowly reveals the disgusting man who once was.
The ebb and flow of magic pounds steadily against me. A trail of dust, grime, and blood leads through the doorway to the house inside. I carefully step over the body and make my way to the doorway.
I recognize the general layout of the house, but new small details jump out at me. Almost all the furniture has been overturned or mistreated, with a single chair deliberately set in the middle of the room. Mud and dust hide the once-pristine floor. Belongings are scattered around—dirty clothes, alcohol, drugs and tobacco, the newest additions. Toys, dishes, and various decorative elements make up the rest. The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar, with the floor leading to it just as filthy as the rest, with signs of something heavy being dragged there. Traces of dried blood streak under the door. A sweet, sickly smell fills the small house, mixed in with the scent of smoke and the ever-present sweet, dry stench of the desert.
My heart drops in my chest. I take a deep breath. I twinge involuntarily at the awful smell.
A muffled whimper answers me.
The steady pulse of life radiates from one of the kitchen cabinets, mixed in with the ever-present tide of magic. I exhale sharply, the pit in my stomach growing. I quietly approach the cabinet, set below a hardened plastic counter. I squat down and open the door.
Bright, brown eyes stare at me.
The boy looks away and buries his head in his arms, making himself as small as his little body will allow. He whimpers constantly—something between sobbing and hyperventilation.
His power, it’s—it’s incredible. Terrans truly are terrifying.
I move a step back and sit on my haunches. I lower my hood and untuck my hair, letting it spill out around my neck and down my chest.
A faucet drips constantly, the only other sound except for the boy’s whimpers and the insects outside. Sunlight gradually brightens the room through the curtains, shining light on the awful state of the house. The last of the nocturnal insects outside quiet, bringing into focus the strained, incoherent conversation of the two remaining marauders outside.
The boy’s whimpers slow. The whites of his eyes peer at me through gaps in his clothing.
The sobbing stops. The boy lifts his head to look at me, though most of it is still hidden behind his forearms. I smile.
“Can you understand me?” I ask, reverting to Erelan Imperial. “Do you have a translator?”
His wide eyes stare at me. I exhale softly. Perhaps not.
“I’m here to help.”
I extend my hand out, palm up, towards him.
“I know you’ve experienced a lot. But I can help you. Those people won’t hurt you anymore.”
I know my words mean nothing to the boy. Even if he does understand me, he has no reason to trust me. The boy’s eyes flick to my hand, then back to my face. Has he seen an erelan before? Just like Korefield, I doubt this farmstead gets many alien visitors.
I ignore the dull pain spreading in my legs and arm, resisting the urge to move. The boy stares at me.
His eyes shift away and his body slowly unfolds. I let out a small sigh of relief. He moves out of the cabinet and I move my hand away to give him space. He crawls on his hands and knees, and then shakily stands up in front of me.
I smile at him. He stares blankly back at me.
Tears well in his eyes and he falls forward. I let out a sound of surprise as he falls onto my outstretched arm. My other arm wraps around him, and I allow him to fall onto my chest. His crying punctuates the silence in the small house, reverberating off the walls.
“I know, I know…” I whisper in his ears.
I stroke his matted hair. The waves calm. They are ever-present, but tranquil.
The front of my shirt is wet with tears. The boy’s crying quiets. I unwrap my arms and move him softly away from me. He wipes his nose with his dusty sleeve. I reach into my bag and extract a clean cloth. Holding onto him gently, I wipe the mucus, tears, and dust from his face, and then place the cloth over his nose. Without looking at me, he blows his nose into the cloth.
I reach up and place the dirty cloth on the counter above us. I come back to find the boy staring at me, eyes red. I smile sadly. He smiles back automatically—a small, sad smile to complement mine. He lifts his arms towards me. My smile brightens.
I pick him up and stand, holding him to my chest and his head overlooking my shoulder. He clutches tightly to my cloak, his breath warm on my neck. I turn to face the room, my eyes going to the bedroom door. I nudge the boy with my shoulder, pointing it out to him.
He shakes his head and buries his head in my shoulder.
As I thought.
I make my way outside.