The Wyrms of &alon

Our practice session ended up lasting a couple hours. We kept on going until I started to get tired. We made several interesting discoveries.

For one thing, try as we might, we just couldn't set things on fire. That jived with what I'd remembered from my chemistry classes. Despite that, we were still able to do quite a lot. Fire might not have been on the menu, but heat absolutely was, as was cold. Though humans tend to associate heat with fire, the two are only circumstantially connected: you don't need fire to have a great deal of heat, and vice versa. Recognizing this, Nina advised me to devote the bulk of my practice time to developing my skills as a thermomancer, focusing on creating, maintaining, and dispersing regions of extreme heat or cold. Just like with my psychokinetic abilities, I could move the areas of effect around, alter the duration of the temperature change, and augment or diminish the amount of power I put into them. The limitations on my thermomantic abilities were no different from the ones on my psychokinesis: the bigger, stronger, and longer the effect was, the more energy it took out of me.

On the plus side, though, it was quite a relief to not have to deal with the all-consuming hunger I'd experienced when using my powers as a transformee.

The heat we conjured created geysers as the plateau and its hydrocarbon rocks melted and boiled. Amusingly, the geysers never got very far, because the gas inevitably solidified as it rose up into the colder air. Grease and oils crystallized into hydrocarbon sleet and snow that drizzled back down on us.

Nina was adorably disappointed to discover that the stuff didn't form "snowflakes".

"If push comes to shove," she said, "we can use this to take down D'zd buildings."

As she said that, I pictured her human self with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Have you ever played any tabletop RPGs?" I asked her. "You'd make a killer sorceress."

Nina shook her head. "I don't know what those are, so… no, but… maybe when this is all over, you can show me."

"I'm looking forward to it."

I'll admit, practicing spellcasting with Nina—talk about a sentence I'd never thought I'd say!—gave me a newfound appreciation of just how OP my wyrmly mental prowess was. So much of the difficulty in learning a new task comes from having to incorporate new information and linking it up to your long-term memory. Wyrms' mental capacity trivialized that process, making skill acquisition effortless.

I genuinely missed it.

Even so, I wasn't going to risk bringing the AVUs down on our heads by using my wyrm-grade memory, so I had to rely on my old human wits. In theory, that should have made the learning process quite frustrating for me. However, there were two variables I hadn't—and couldn't—have accounted for.

One: Nina was a darn good teacher.

Two: mistakes were a lot less frustrating when they were awesome.

Case in point: at the moment, I was holding a spell a good dozen yards or so in front of me, right over the edge of the plateau. Though I wasn't able to physically "see" the magic as it heated the air in its proximity, its weft and weave were bright in my minds' eye. Really, it was a lot like reading a book or a musical score, and the experience I'd accumulated through using my psychokinesis in the real world made it that much easier for me to "ear train" my mind to "hear" the magic in my head like an infectious tune.

"Careful, Dr. Howle," Nina said.

"I've got it," I said as the heat buffeted us, prickling my petals. And this time, I meant it.

Lo and behold: the rock beneath the hot spot was melting and boiling away, rising in plumes of glittering vapor that rained down as sleet, only to boil back up again as they fell into the zone of heat.

As per Nina's instructions, the object of the exercise was to modulate the temperature from hot to cold. As I'd already (albeit somewhat messily) succeeded at doing the reverse, I figured the natural thing to do would be to reverse what I'd done back then, when I'd been changing cold to heat. In my confidence, I hurried a little, and ended up being too brusque and, unfortunately… well…

Oof.

In my defense, it would have worked perfectly if I'd had access to my wyrmly mental abilities.

Instead of cooling, my quivering patch of heated air shot forward into the jungle.

"Shit!" Nina cursed.

And it grew.

The effect was a lot like casting Horrid Wilting, only with explosions. Ammoniac steam burst out from the alien flora, blasting tree trunks' fraying fibers and leaving shriveled leaf blades crumbling in its wake. The vapor formed immense clouds as it rose, condensing into rain, snow, and hail that precipitated back down onto the swath of decapitated jungle below. The remaining plants in the area didn't like any of this, and made their discomfort known, retracting their leaves, tendrils and vines. Pained lights shrieked out from the disturbed undergrowth as injured critters got up and fled.

Flocks of winged shrimp-things took flight, alongside buzzing electropotato swarms.

I spread my arms and yelled. "I am become Genneth, destroyer of trees!"

Nina glared at me with a narrowed flower.

I stuck out my lower pair of arms, too. "Hear me roar!"

Nina wagged her head side to side.

"You two look like you could use a meal," Nzk'k'k said, as ze clambered up the rock. The objects ze held in zyr arms bore a distressing resemblance to chunks of animals ripped out from the bodies where they belonged. Many of the important parts appeared to be missing—legs, heads, wings. I had to admit, though, the sight of the Charge sparking through the flesh and fluids was very enticing.

Nina and I scrambled over to Nzk'k'k and plunged our stingers into the food, drink up the Charge. Any feelings of tiredness I had faded away moments later.

Once finished, Nina stepped away and clapped her hands together. "Alright, time for Round Two!"

"R-Round Two?" I asked.

She nodded. "Oh yeah, we're gonna be doing this all day long."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

And, for the record, was how I learned that even blaster magery had its downsides.

After several rounds and a great deal of steam and particulate blasts, I had to take a break and not just because my legs were getting wobbly.

Nina and I sat down like horses, with the undersides of our abdomens pressed against the rocky outcropping's flat, grainy stone. The wealth of sunlight the rock had soaked up during the day made it feel like a heated pillow against my exoskeleton, a surprisingly pleasant sensation.

Air whistled in and out of the spiracles on my flanks as I panted for breath.

"What," Nina asked, spreading the tips of her petals in what I hoped was supposed to be a smile, "are you pussying out on me? Don't forget, I was sick when I practiced, but that didn't stop me."

"No, Nina, it's not that…"

To be clear, it very much was that, but that wasn't the whole story.

"Can we talk about Lark?"

Nina's flower petals immediately drooped. Her arms sank, coming flush against her sides. "How about… no?" she grumbled.

"Do you mind if I ask why not?" I tried to be as nonjudgmental as possible, though I worried how effective that would be, considering our utterly inhuman bodies.

"Because you're gonna do shrink stuff with me," Nina said, "and I'm not really in the mood for that right now."

"Is this about your brother?" I asked. "Do you miss your parents? Do—"

"—It's not fair." Nina flicked her stinger. "Why does Lark get to be a lady when I haven't even figured out what that means? And I was born one!" She crossed her arms. "It's like he's fuckin' mocking me!"

"Nina…?" This time, I was a little bit more judgmental, mostly with respect to her continued reticence.

She looked up at the sky.

Angel, the Sun was beautiful from behind the sandy clouds.

"Ever since I was little," she said, "my Dad… he'd tell me, 'Nina, mija, you've got to be a warrior. You can't let people walk all over you. If you do, you'll find yourself in a world that's no place for a sweet little girl.'" She bent her arms, doing her best impersonation of her father's imposing personality. "Meanwhile, Mama wants me to be her little princess. 'I can't wait 'till you get little ones of your own,' she'd say," feigning a curtsy. She shook her head. "What if I don't want kids, Ma? Did'ja ever think about that?"

"Do you?"

But Nina went mum and looked away.

"I…" She paused. "I like girls… you know, like… like like."

"Oh," I said. "Oh."

Things were starting to make a lot more sense.

"You didn't share that with me," I said.

Nina somehow managed to bend the top of her flower in a way that looked like she was raising an eyebrow. "Are you judging me?"

I stuck out my arms. "No. No no no no." I shook my head. "Perish the thought. It's just… I want all of the spirits in my care to feel at ease sharing anything they want with me. How can I take proper care of them if they don't?"

Nina glanced down at the plateau underfoot. "Yeah, well… maybe some of us aren't ready for that."

"Have you told your parents?" I asked.

Nina looked up and laughed. Her words were a cone of light rings. They rose over the jungle, spreading wide.

It was not a happy laugh.

"I'll take that as a no…" I said.

She glared at me. "You're darn right, you will!"

"Nina…"

Her flowers wilted. "How am I supposed to be a woman, when I don't even know what it means!"

"I imagine you haven't told your parents that, either," I said.

"No shit." She crossed her arms.

There was a pause.

"Nina, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," she said.

"You know what I mean."

She flicked her stinger in irritation. "Fine, I guess. If you want to."

"Why does it matter?"

"Now that's a stupid question," she said.

"Is it?" I asked.

"If it isn't, why don't you try answering it for a change," she said. "Would it matter if you didn't know what it meant to be a man?"

"According to my mother-in-law, I don't."

"And… that doesn't bother you?" she asked, turning her head toward me.

"I won't say it doesn't hurt when Margaret insults me and/or my masculinity, but… it certainly doesn't keep me up at night, if that's what you're asking. I don't define myself by what my mother-in-law thinks about me."

"Lucky you," she said.

This was frustrating. I wasn't getting anywhere.

I decided to take a slightly different approach.

"Alright," I said, "let me ask you this: why does Lark bother you?"

"It's like… it's like he thinks it's easy, you know?"

I shook my head. "Nina, I promise you, that's the last thing on Lark's mind."

"I don't have anything against him," she said. "I…" She shook her head. "It's just not something I'm comfortable with." She narrowed her flower at me. "And it's not like you can wave a magic wand and make it comfortable for me."

Actually, I could do that, but I wouldn't. I refused to violate her—or anyone else—in that way.

"I just don't know what you expect me to do," Nina said, "or what you think you can do to make things 'better'." She made air quotes with her bident fingers.

"I'm not asking you to be comfortable with Lark," I said. "I just don't want you attacking her again, especially not when we're about to go to battle, ourselves. That's the most important thing. And… I'll try to talk to Lark. I'll try to get her to understand why it makes you uncomfortable."

Nina tilted her head to the side. "Wait… that's it? No brilliant takedown?"

"Do you want one?"

"I'm game if you are," she replied.

I nodded, and then told Nina what I really thought.

"Fear and anger are our most primal emotions. They're direct outgrowths of the neurophysiology of the flight or fight response that animals need to survive. Ethologists—folks who study animal behavior—and comparative psychologists might argue over whether or not any animals other than ourselves experience 'advanced' higher mental states like love and can engage in metacognition and appreciate things like beauty or kindness, but absolutely nobody argues that animals don't experience anger or fear. They're just fundamental to our particular biochemical realization of what it means to be alive. With that in mind," I looked up at the sky, "when it comes to human beings who judge others and condemn them for what they find, I think it tends to occur either out of anger, or fear, or both."

"Which ones am I?" Nina asked.

"A little of both," I said, "though leaning more toward fear."

She narrowed her flower at me and huffed. "I'm not afraid of Lark."

"I never meant to imply that you were," I said. "Rather… I think you're afraid of what Lark represents. She brings to mind your worries and insecurities. That sort of thing happens all the time, you know."

"Really?" she asked, softly.

"Yes," I nodded. "One of my long-term patients had a speech disorder due to a head injury he suffered as a child. He'd been riding a horse at the county fair, and the animal spooked and reared up and, because he wasn't safely harnessed, he fell. I oversaw his speech therapy and was able to introduce him to a couple experimental treatments that ended up greatly improving his fluency. Then, years later, he shows up in my office, stuttering and ranting."

"Why?" Nina asked.

"His daughter wanted to get a pet dog."

"So?"

I shook my head. "Right or wrong, that accident left him terrified of anything on four legs. In his mind, all the pain and suffering he endured because of his speech disorder was the fault of that one horse, and that horse walked on four legs. To him, any animal that could rear up on its hind legs like that horse had brought all of the fear and hurt into the present. Even kittens could do it to him. In that respect, you could say his own psyche had turned against him. That fear held him hostage."

"What happened with his daughter?"

I would have smiled if I could. "I convinced her to get a pet bird."

"Heh."

"Yeah, I was really proud of that idea. I still am." I nodded. "As for you, Nina: I think you should talk to Lark about your fears." Seeing the way she looked at me, I added, "It's okay to be vulnerable. No one's keeping score. Admitting weakness doesn't dock you any points."

"Papa always told me to never show weakness," Nina said.

"I can only imagine what must have happened to him to lead him to feel that way." I sighed. "Regarding Lark, though… if you want, I can have you two experience each other's perspectives. That usually helps with stuff like this, but it isn't a surefire thing. I can't do it right now, of course, the AVUs would find us if I did." I looked up at the sky again. "But… maybe later?"

The sun was getting low in the horizon.

"I… I dunno," Nina said.

"I know it isn't quite the same as directly experiencing another's perspective," I said, "but… again, I really do think you should try telling Lark how you feel. You can even ask her to share her own perspective. Who knows, you might find more common ground than you think, and maybe you'll even learn something about yourself—or being a woman—in the process."

There was a long silence.

"Dr. Howle…?"

"Yes, Nina?"

"The hospital wasn't paying you enough."

And I laughed.