psy·cho·tell·us noun
from psyche, from psykhē “the soul, mind, spirit; life, one's life, the invisible animating principle or entity which occupies and directs the physical body; understanding, the mind (as the seat of thought), faculty of reason,” also “ghost, spirit of a dead person;” probably akin to psykhein “to blow, breathe,” also “to cool, to make dry.” + from tellus (genitive telluris) “earth, land, ground; the earth”, probably from *telho- “ground, floor” or possibly from *telh- “to bear.” Spirit of the earth, consciousness of the planet, Gaia
My eyes flutter open. Bright light filters through, almost painful. Rolling hills of long, yellowed grass and shrubbery stretch out in all directions, punctuated by the occasional outcropping of xerophytes, some decorated with brightly coloured flowers, most relying only on their long needles for decoration. Closer to me are large dirt mounds covered in fungi, their white caps spotted with dark, earthy splotches of colour. The air nearby is filled with spores, which lazily float in the wind. Larger spores hover near my face. I blink to force my eyes to refocus.
I twist my head to look behind me. The trunk of an enormous fungus looms above where I sit, the diameter of which is easily ten feet. I brace myself on the soft, exposed mycelium. The giant mushroom’s cap sits at least fifty feet above me, its diameter three times that of the trunk. Large spores drift down from the gills.
I feel a grin on my face as I turn back to face the hills. I take a deep breath and rest my hands gently onto my thighs. Contentment flows from my lungs to the rest of my body, blooming outwards through my limbs.
Insects and birds chirp in the distance, their orchestra interrupted by the occasional cry of small mammals. Thin, wispy clouds move across the sky, their presence enough to provide respite from the twin suns, but not enough to darken the day. I stare absent-mindedly at my hands, slowly turning my palms away and towards me in a rhythmic motion as I rub my fingertips against my thumbs. A light breeze rustles my hair.
I take another deep breath through my nose and sway gently with the wind.
I’ll eventually need to go back.
I just want to enjoy this moment while I can.
I let out a long, drawn out sigh.
But I can’t. I still need to treat this world’s Æther, as I’ve done for every world I’ve visited this cycle. The state of New Kiplar‘s essence is troubling, but nothing I haven’t seen before. Plumeth’s ecosphere was much worse—a product of being the Terran Republic’s capital planet. I don’t know if I can ever go back there. So much pain. It’s any wonder my fellow keepers can stand to be there at all.
I sigh again. I’m just wasting time. I unfold my legs and stand up in one fluid motion.
Am I just burnt out? This kind of thing didn’t affect me before. Maybe I’m just old.
I snicker softly.
No, I think I’ve just been wandering for too long. There has been so much change recently. It’s stressful and distressing, novel and curious, all at once. As interesting as recent events have been, I wish I could go back to simpler, more familiar times. I feel as though at some point, I must have yearned for this. And now—I don’t know. I was curious about the terrans when they first arrived. Their presence was a novelty, a chance to break up the monotony. I was travelling when word of their arrival reached me, and I remember feeling as excited as the rest of my kind at the prospect of a new civilised alien species to interact with. Now, so many centuries later, I can’t wait for the day when I’ll be able to leave these terrans to their strange ways and return home.
I exhale sharply through my nose and look around, a sour taste in my mouth. So many worlds visited, so much pain and unwarranted destruction. This—the landscape before me, in all its pristine, natural glory—is what would be possible if terrans and those like them were more aware of their impact. I close my eyes and place a hand on my forehead. There’s no point in worrying about them. They are how they are, and it’s likely it would take millennia before this planet could reach its full potential anyway—even with keeper guidance. There’s only so much I can do. The problem is far beyond my control. I clench my jaw and re-open my eyes. Best to get to work, then.
Carefully, I turn around to face the enormous fungus behind me. I climb the mycelium strands, my footsteps leaving shallow impressions in the soft material with each step. Once within arm’s reach, I place my open palm on the trunk’s spongy surface.
Primal magic courses through me, up into my arm and hand. I feel a shift in the fungus’ magical pathways. Primal magic pools out from my hand, mixing with the fungus’ essence. I clench down tightly, grabbing onto fungal flesh and magic alike.
Intense, impossibly ancient awareness rushes into me, causing me to let out gasp.
My gills flutter in the wind, releasing my spores and carrying them away, ensuring more of me will grow elsewhere. The twin suns beat down on me, providing warmth. Something gnaws at my cap—a small mammal, I think, though it is too small for me to say for sure. Another creature, a parasite—no, an extension of myself, holds tightly against me. I am so small, so insignificant in comparison. I feel the ground below me, holding me in place, providing me nutrients and stability. And far below, my mycelium creates a never-ending web, reaching down but also around me. Spanning miles and miles, sprouting up into other caps, some small, some large, but all of them a part of me, and their numbers impossible to comprehend, so much that I feel dizzy trying to.
And beyond myself, is the world.
Pain shoots up behind my eyes. My face contracts involuntarily. I buckle under the pressure, falling to one knee. My hand stays glued to the trunk, unyielding in its contact.
Fields upon fields of alien plants stick out of foreign, unusually fertile earth. Large animals stomp around, eat our own dried, craggy plants and their roots—roots that took centuries to grow, ripped out in an instant, only to be consumed, processed and excreted as unusable, toxic waste. Parasites carried from other worlds, insects and small creatures without natural predators, left to infect, consume and reproduce without anything to cull their numbers.
They take all that we are, and give little back.
I gasp for air. My body, so small and fragile, and in so much pain, is tethered to the fungus, but more importantly, to the world’s essence. Waves upon waves of collective emotion crash into me, each pulse enough to make my stomach churn.
There’s just so much, I can’t—
Worst of all are the bipeds. They dig into us, extract our roots, plant the fields, and bring other creatures along with them. They destroy our homes, take ourselves, dump their trash, and abandon the results. They build new mountains, made of metal, toxic elements, and spite. They spew toxic gases, stomp all over us, crush, and take everything.
We—I shake my head. I can’t let this go on much longer.
We are dying. We can take action, we have the power now. With this form we can remove the infection.
I push back with as much will as I can muster. My whole body jolts from the impact of my awareness returning to its home. My vision blurs in and out of focus. The world’s essence claws at me.
No, I need to stop this.
My vision snaps back to full focus. I no longer feel our arm, as if it were no longer a part of me. I pull my entire body away from the trunk, feeling sweat drip down our back as I do.
We are one. It is my duty to protect us.
My vision begins to fade again as pieces of my essence fall away from me into the fungus.
Don’t we see what they’re doing to us? Like rot or disease, they will only spread. The time to act is now.
I shake my head violently and press our hand onto our forehead. The pain helps me focus. I no longer see the pieces of my essence falling away.
We cannot leave us like this.
I dig my nails into my forearm. Hot liquid bursts out almost immediately.
No! We are one. We cannot do this without us!
The voices unravel and fade into the wind. I slam back into my ethereal body and stumble backwards. My hand disconnects from the fungal flesh with a sickening squelching noise. My heart beats impossibly fast in my ear. Pulsing waves of emotion batter against me.
With each ragged breath, my heartbeat slows.
Breath in, and out.
The waves grow fainter. My heart rate continues to slow. I blink rapidly in quick succession. Teardrops to roll down my cheeks.
I take a big, long breath.
I look down at my arm. Blood oozes steadily out, trailing down my wrist and dripping to the mycelium below. Primal energy flows down my injured arm, numbing the pain. Small sprouts grow within the lacerations, leaves quickly taking form. Roots entrench themselves below the skin to suture the wound. I watch as the leaves fall off the wound, leaving nothing behind.
Awareness pulses on the edge of my consciousness. What was that? I’ve never seen a world so powerfully emotional before. More than emotional—it’s violent. What would cause this world to be so desperate for help?
The fungus towers above me, its shape silhouetted against the pristine skies. I take a deep breath. There’s really only one way to find out. I tentatively reach out and place my hand on the fungus again. The fungus’ essence immediately presses against me, and beyond it, the world’s essence looms, overbearing and powerful. I concentrate on my sense of self.
I am here to help, but I cannot do that if I’m a part of you.
No response. Their essences do not have a way to communicate without me as their vessel.
I sigh in relief. No time to waste.
I extend my perception through the fungus, moving past it and straight into the world’s essence. Pressure bears down on me from all sides. I swim through collective consciousness, cutting through the dense emotions effortlessly. Much as is the case in the physical world, life is concentrated around underground caverns, with fungi and nonvascular plants dominating all other life—again, except insects. Life flourishes, spilling out onto the surface and growing to a hundred times of what is possible in the physical world. It’s an absolutely perfect ecosystem, where fauna can grow and evolve, including native mammals and birds that would not survive otherwise.
I extend my awareness to encompass the entire world. A steady river of essence flows around the globe, stable and yet turbulent all the same. I sigh, and the whole world sighs with me—a sudden rush of primal energy built up, then released. The world’s essence should be peaceful, the surface of its currents harmonious. My perception moves further outwards, until I can hold the sphere of the world in my palms. My hands skim the surface as I turn the globe in my hands, magical awareness sweeping the surface.
There. A few small faults in an otherwise smooth surface. Nothing severe, but—I frown. It hasn't been that long since another keeper has been here. A little over a decade, maybe. I can feel it in the age of some of the previous corrections.
But this doesn’t make any sense. The defects shouldn’t be nearly this severe. Unless the planet’s biosphere is in more danger than I originally thought, in which case another keeper should have visited the planet since.
Then again, another keeper probably hasn’t been here since reclamation. It could be that New Kiplar has been forgotten by Erelon’s keepers, and no free agents have cared enough to come by. It could also be that rampant xenophobia has dissuaded my peers. Yes, it’s everywhere—but an outlier colony like this, on the edge of Republic space? I can see why it would be easy to justify negligence.
Of course, I’m just speculating now. It’s more likely that no keeper feels comfortable visiting colonies in Huk’Va with so much open hostility between the Republic and megor raiders. My peers have never been ones for combat. After all, whole ecosystems on Erelon went neglected for years during the k’ohman uprising.
Whatever the case may be, I am here now. I roll the sphere around in my hands and make note of the areas needing repair. The worst defects are centred near colonist settlements—as usual. There are even some small defects near here—near Korefield. I’ll begin here then, and make my way—
I snag onto something—something big. It’s a wrongness—no, not exactly. It’s strange, unusual even, but not unnatural. I shift my awareness around, stopping only when the feeling is strongest. Yes, it’s faint, but it is there, something that shouldn’t be or, at the very least, something that is crying out to be found.
Could this be the source of this planet’s issues? Maybe. If only I could zero in on it—
But I can’t. Every time I try to focus on it, my awareness rolls off, scratching the surface but never being able to find purchase.
It’s no use. Whatever it is, it’s not in the Æther—it’s simply bleeding into it. Some kind of strong, uncontrolled magical source? Perhaps, but I’ll need to get a closer look.
I untense my shoulders. There isn’t any point in worrying about it now.
My awareness shrinks, and I find myself back in my ethereal body again, staring at the fungal trunk. Fibrous threads hold fast to my hand and feet. I carefully lift my hand away and both of my feet free, the fungus emitting moist squelches of protest with each of my movements. Imprints of my hand and feet stare back at me for a moment before spongy material slowly grows back to fill them, leaving no trace of my intrusion. I take a step back and close my eyes.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
I re-open my eyes to rolling hills of yellowed grass. Hundreds of kilometres away, something cries out to be found. I can sense it, even now. What could be strong enough to influence the Æther like this? It could be some kind of corruption in the system, but—no, that can’t be. The source would have to be impossibly powerful, stronger than what I sensed. And even if that’s what it is, someone would have noticed something in the physical world.
No. Whatever this is, it’s small, localised, and possibly dangerous.
I exhale sharply. I was hoping to focus on doing necessary repairs to this world and moving on, but this—this requires special attention. But since I’m here, I might as well repair the fault I felt.
I turn my back to the rolling hills and walk down, away from the fungus, around the trunk, and towards the fungal forest behind it. Tall mushrooms reach to the sky, set several feet apart by groupings of shorter, though still impressively large fungi. I walk among the fungal beds, avoiding mycelium and sproutlings as I follow existing animal trails. Spores fill the air around me, floating gently downwards and carried away by a light breeze.
I quickly come upon the defect—the problem is immediately evident. A large portion of the fungal forest is blackened, the surrounding ground filled with sickly white strands of mould. Mushroom caps and stems are covered in discoloured spots, most of them leaking a thick, viscous black pus. The contrast between the healthy and unhealthy parts of the forest is striking. Rot isn’t completely unexpected within the Æther, but the scale here is concerning. There isn’t any evidence that these fungi are following a natural process of decomposition. It appears random, unprovoked.
I kneel down to look at a cap and lift it up using my fingertips. The cap snaps off the stem, releasing a cloud of dark spores. I recoil.
Concern rushes through me. This is worse than I thought.
I extend my hand over the desiccated mushroom, fingers splayed out. Primal magic focuses into my palm then washes over the mushroom. A magnified view of the mushroom’s fibres materialise within my mind. The magnification increases so I can see the cells that make up those fibres. Most are healthy in colour, though some are black with decay. Small specks of foreign matter float around, unfettered by any kind of immune system.
A bacterial infection. A strong one at that—strong enough to infect this entire fungal forest, if left unchecked. My magic and the image fade away. There has to be a source for this intrusion, something to mark where the invasive bacteria entered the Æther.
I stand back up and carefully make my way through the infected patch. The ground squelches in protest beneath me, letting out putrid pus with each step. The smell is almost unbearable. Still, I survey the area for the source of the infection as I slowly walk towards the centre. Dark spores explode from nearby mushrooms with each step I take.
Magic runs up my chest and throat, tickling my oesophagus and bronchial tube to form an air filter. There’s no telling what these spores could do to me—best to be cautious. My breath is more laboured as I take in the infected patch around me. Decaying mushrooms and dark spores stretch out in all directions.
I have to be at the centre now—or at least, near to it. Why can’t I find anything?
It’s possible whatever caused the infection is buried below the surface, or small enough to hide in the fungal network itself. A parasite, perhaps? It could be that whatever it is, it’s gone now but—
The world spins. I reel over sluggishly and cup my forehead with my hand as a wave of lightheadedness overwhelms me.
The spinning stops.
I rub my eyes and let out a ragged breath. This is foolish. I should just remove the infection and move on. The bacterial infection itself could be the source, an anomaly all its own, caused by the terran presence in the physical world. Ecological imbalance manifesting as spontaneous and aggressive bacterial infection. My peers would be happy with that explanation—perhaps I should be as well. Not every defect in the Æther is a crisis.
And beyond that, it’s possible that whatever is causing this world to be in so much pain has nothing to do with the anomaly—or anything at all. It could be that the terrans are truly as monstrous as the world’s essence seems to think they are. Everything they said rings true. Terrans are incredibly reckless in their colonisation efforts, often introducing alien flora and fauna without a second thought. I’ve seen it before on other worlds, even within this system. The intensity of this world’s emotions doesn’t mean there’s something particularly unusual going on here.
Right?
I shake my head and stretch out my arms in front of me. Maybe a bit too aggressively, magic flows up my arms and washes out over the field of fungus around me. Magical streams of energy extend out, flowing beautifully as they consume the infected spores, twist around mushroom caps and stems, and infuse the diseased ground.
A bright green haze slowly covers the entirety of the infected area, strands of magic shimmering in the sunlight and pinpoint wisps dancing around fungi. More and more of the dark spores fade into nothingness as spotted, decayed mushrooms regain their healthy colours and stand up straight, bloated, pus-filled earth recedes to reveal healthy dirt underneath. The effect begins at my feet and extends outwards, until I no longer recognise the previously infected area.
I let out a deep sigh, my magical air filter fading away. The mist begins to dissipate, and my arms drop back comfortably to my sides.
New, healthy spores float up, filling the air with a sweet, musty smell. Insects and other small fauna chirp continuously.
I close my eyes.
I re-open my eyes once again to rolling hills.
I frown. The anomaly. It has a stronger pull than I expected. Could it be the source of all this? Of the infection, of the moon’s anguish?
No, it couldn’t be. It’s not powerful enough for that. Am I just being paranoid? It’s most likely just a coincidence.
But what if it’s not?
This is pointless. I have to investigate the anomaly, regardless of its theoretical impact. But I can’t help but hope that I’ll find an answer as to why this world is suffering. I refuse to believe that terrans alone could have caused this kind of corruption through wilful ignorance alone.
Do I just want there to be a problem so I can resolve it?
I sigh, exasperated. There’s not really any reason for me to doubt my intuitions, and yet—I feel that I’m just making connections for the sake of it. Am I making things up in order to break up the monotony of my work? Or am I too proud to admit there’s something I haven’t encountered yet?
It doesn’t matter either way. I’ll know soon enough.