Prologue: The Changeling Process
All shapeshifters began life as pale, swollen-eyed monkeys. The little Shhie was no different. It sat naked in the sorrel, trying to pick a pink flower with its gangly arm. On its first attempt, its fingers snapped up only air. On its second attempt, it caught the flower but could not summon the strength to pluck it. Instead the little Shhie bent its long neck and chewed the plant off the dirt.
“That’s her.” Matthew’s eyes shone. “She’ll be a Changeling.”
Her nephew seemed to have some affinity for ugly creatures. Like the banana slugs he peeled off the bark of the redwoods and carried around in a chipped cup.
“There are other Shhie,” Magdala pointed out. “Are you sure you want this one?”
“I’m sure it’s her! I saw her.”
He stuck out his chin, looking stubborn and very much like his mother. Edith also hated when anyone questioned her visions. Was it a trait all prophets shared or just their family?
“Fine,” Magdala said. “I’ll tag her.”
She lifted a twisted cord of rope from the pocket of her robe--the sash she used to tie her curtains in the morning. Until they began the Changeling Process (three days hence, if all went well) the Shhie child could remain here, within the confines of the reserve.
Magdala tied the identifying sash around her neck.
The Shhie stared back at her with pink, vapid eyes. A strand of sorrel leaves hung from her gaping mouth. “Uh, uh, uh.” The Shhie’s fingers flapped against the robe, and her brow wrinkled. “Uh, uh, uh.”
“It’s okay.” Matthew patted her head. “The rope won’t hurt you.”
The Shhie couldn’t hear him. Like all shapeshifters on the reserve, her ears were sealed with wax. But the Shhie did notice Matthew. Her gaze fixed on him, and she reached for his face.
“Uh, uh, uh.”
Matthew caught her hand. Her skin seemed even more translucent compared to his, like the stem of a cooked mushroom. The Shhie blinked. She pulled away and ambled for the pond on all fours, where she began to lap up the water.
Matthew smiled. “I like her.”
“Most Shhie make it a point to be pleasing to their masters,” Magdala said dryly. “It does not change the fact that they are insipid creatures with no individual personality.”
“But we need them to make Changelings.”
Magdala sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
It took chemicals secreted by these dull-eyed animals for the Sage to give the child of one species the appearance of another. In the end, the Changeling Process was only a sped-up mimic of what the Shhie did naturally.
Matthew sat cross-legged on the sorrel. “How do we make Changelings?”
“I’ve explained it to you several times.”
“What if I forgot something?”
“Then you tell me how it works,” Magdala said. “And if you miss an important detail, I’ll correct you.”
Matthew nodded.
He hunched his chin onto his hand and frowned, as though trying to organize his thoughts.
“So the Shhie have a changing chemical--”
“B. Rakshontox.”
“Yes. B. Rashon… Rakshon…? Well, anyway, they store it in their brains. When the Shhie hear a language, the chemical drips into their bodies, bit by bit, like a leaky pipe. And then they change. But it’s slow. It takes them years to look like a different person. We don’t have years. So we’ll take the chemical from their brain and stick it in all at once.”
“Which is painful,” Magdala added.
“That’s why we put everyone to sleep first. Also, it’s why we can only use children. Their bodies don’t mind the change as much as adults’.”
“And how do we determine what form the Changelings take?”
“Blood. We mix the blood with the… Rakshontox?”
“Correct.”
He beamed. “Well, the blood contains the person’s blueprint. So when I change, I’ll look exactly like the human I’m pretending to be. Mercer. That’s his name.” Matthew made a face. “I don’t like it. When I take his place, I’ll make everyone call me by my real name.”
“Won’t that ruin the secrecy?”
“No.”
Magdala didn’t argue the point.
Her nephew’s eyes took on a solemn look. “I can never change back, can I?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“And humans don’t live very long. Just a hundred years.”
“If you’re lucky.”
“But at least they have ships,” Matthew added brightly. “After the prophecy is over, I’ll be able to sail to the ruins of Empyrean and find the lost islands and see the old Empire for myself.”
Magdala said nothing.
He seemed to think the prophecy was only a temporary barrier to his real dreams. And perhaps it was. But it would be eighteen years until they learned the final half of the prophecy. Eighteen years before the Changelings could return to Mediation. Who knew what would happen after that?
The little Shhie splashed her face in the pond, getting muck all over her new collar. Matthew sprang to his feet and picked her up like a cat. She flapped her arms and let loose another series of “uh, uh, uh”s. Matthew dragged her back to the sorrel.
“You can come with me. We’ll explore new lands and find all the knowledge that’s been forgotten. Maybe we’ll meet new people. You can be the translator. Won’t that be fun? Don’t you want to sail the ocean and have lots of adventures together?”
The Shhie lay quivering on her belly. Matthew stroked her back.
He was so young. Not yet able to calculate the prophecy’s cost to himself. Not fully capable of rational decision.
Magdala shook her head. At least Matthew had a choice.
Not all the Changelings were so lucky.
“That’s her.” Matthew’s eyes shone. “She’ll be a Changeling.”
Her nephew seemed to have some affinity for ugly creatures. Like the banana slugs he peeled off the bark of the redwoods and carried around in a chipped cup.
“There are other Shhie,” Magdala pointed out. “Are you sure you want this one?”
“I’m sure it’s her! I saw her.”
He stuck out his chin, looking stubborn and very much like his mother. Edith also hated when anyone questioned her visions. Was it a trait all prophets shared or just their family?
“Fine,” Magdala said. “I’ll tag her.”
She lifted a twisted cord of rope from the pocket of her robe--the sash she used to tie her curtains in the morning. Until they began the Changeling Process (three days hence, if all went well) the Shhie child could remain here, within the confines of the reserve.
Magdala tied the identifying sash around her neck.
The Shhie stared back at her with pink, vapid eyes. A strand of sorrel leaves hung from her gaping mouth. “Uh, uh, uh.” The Shhie’s fingers flapped against the robe, and her brow wrinkled. “Uh, uh, uh.”
“It’s okay.” Matthew patted her head. “The rope won’t hurt you.”
The Shhie couldn’t hear him. Like all shapeshifters on the reserve, her ears were sealed with wax. But the Shhie did notice Matthew. Her gaze fixed on him, and she reached for his face.
“Uh, uh, uh.”
Matthew caught her hand. Her skin seemed even more translucent compared to his, like the stem of a cooked mushroom. The Shhie blinked. She pulled away and ambled for the pond on all fours, where she began to lap up the water.
Matthew smiled. “I like her.”
“Most Shhie make it a point to be pleasing to their masters,” Magdala said dryly. “It does not change the fact that they are insipid creatures with no individual personality.”
“But we need them to make Changelings.”
Magdala sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
It took chemicals secreted by these dull-eyed animals for the Sage to give the child of one species the appearance of another. In the end, the Changeling Process was only a sped-up mimic of what the Shhie did naturally.
Matthew sat cross-legged on the sorrel. “How do we make Changelings?”
“I’ve explained it to you several times.”
“What if I forgot something?”
“Then you tell me how it works,” Magdala said. “And if you miss an important detail, I’ll correct you.”
Matthew nodded.
He hunched his chin onto his hand and frowned, as though trying to organize his thoughts.
“So the Shhie have a changing chemical--”
“B. Rakshontox.”
“Yes. B. Rashon… Rakshon…? Well, anyway, they store it in their brains. When the Shhie hear a language, the chemical drips into their bodies, bit by bit, like a leaky pipe. And then they change. But it’s slow. It takes them years to look like a different person. We don’t have years. So we’ll take the chemical from their brain and stick it in all at once.”
“Which is painful,” Magdala added.
“That’s why we put everyone to sleep first. Also, it’s why we can only use children. Their bodies don’t mind the change as much as adults’.”
“And how do we determine what form the Changelings take?”
“Blood. We mix the blood with the… Rakshontox?”
“Correct.”
He beamed. “Well, the blood contains the person’s blueprint. So when I change, I’ll look exactly like the human I’m pretending to be. Mercer. That’s his name.” Matthew made a face. “I don’t like it. When I take his place, I’ll make everyone call me by my real name.”
“Won’t that ruin the secrecy?”
“No.”
Magdala didn’t argue the point.
Her nephew’s eyes took on a solemn look. “I can never change back, can I?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“And humans don’t live very long. Just a hundred years.”
“If you’re lucky.”
“But at least they have ships,” Matthew added brightly. “After the prophecy is over, I’ll be able to sail to the ruins of Empyrean and find the lost islands and see the old Empire for myself.”
Magdala said nothing.
He seemed to think the prophecy was only a temporary barrier to his real dreams. And perhaps it was. But it would be eighteen years until they learned the final half of the prophecy. Eighteen years before the Changelings could return to Mediation. Who knew what would happen after that?
The little Shhie splashed her face in the pond, getting muck all over her new collar. Matthew sprang to his feet and picked her up like a cat. She flapped her arms and let loose another series of “uh, uh, uh”s. Matthew dragged her back to the sorrel.
“You can come with me. We’ll explore new lands and find all the knowledge that’s been forgotten. Maybe we’ll meet new people. You can be the translator. Won’t that be fun? Don’t you want to sail the ocean and have lots of adventures together?”
The Shhie lay quivering on her belly. Matthew stroked her back.
He was so young. Not yet able to calculate the prophecy’s cost to himself. Not fully capable of rational decision.
Magdala shook her head. At least Matthew had a choice.
Not all the Changelings were so lucky.
* * *
The Ku Rokai child dashed through the forest, hands bound behind his back. His ripped tunic shone white in the bright June moonlight; his chest rose and fell. Sweat rolled down his gray skin. Human voices yelled through the haze of fog, and the child looked over his shoulder. He did not see Magdala as she swooped out from behind a tree.
He was small; Magdala had to stoop low to catch him. As soon as her hands closed around his middle, he started to scream and butt with his hard, round head. He felt solid and heavy. As she lifted him up, he kicked her in the stomach. Magdala flinched.
“Akai dekai beh,” she said softly, in his language. “Yuht uhm akai-ut kruhst-aeh?”
The Ku Rokai boy went limp. He coughed and spat out froth. Young as he was, he still suffered from conscience. Magdala held him steady in her arms, like she’d held Matthew when he was a baby.
“I have your runaway,” she called into the forest.
Two human women in blue silk uniforms ran through the trees. Both carried rapier swords and had thick braided hair--one black, one gray. The younger one’s cheeks were red.
“What happened?” Magdala asked them.
“He ran off while we rested.”
“He’s four and he outwitted you?”
They hung their heads. “Yes.”
“And you wonder why we need the prophecy.” A deep voice reverberated through the fog.
Seth strode into the clearing, orange robes dragging at his feet. Terrestrial’s Master of War wore his title quite literally--in the lithe way he walked, in his barrel chest, in the sword that hung at his hip. Though Seth, like Magdala, was a Sage, his face carried the supple expression of a human. He showed teeth when he grinned, and his green eyes glittered.
“I do my best to train my mercenary army,” Seth continued. “But I can’t compete with the Ku Rokai Empire. They cultivate their soldiers from a young age. Soldiers just like you.”
He bent at his waist and scrutinized the snarling child in Magdala’s arms.
“Funny, isn’t it? If left to your own devices, you’d grow up to loathe us, fight us, participate in our civilization’s demise. But now we will make you one of us. Instead of attacking us, you’ll play a role in our salvation.”
The Ku Rokai gnashed tiny teeth at Seth.
Magdala set the child down, and the human women bound his legs.
“Shall I show you to the Tower of Transformation?” she asked.
“In a minute,” Seth said. “Let’s wait for the rest of my party to catch up.”
They tromped single-file up the trail--humans from Seth’s mercenary army, some carrying tables in their arms, others wearing bulky packs. A Sage in green robes followed at the end of their procession, puffing and panting.
“A fine way to treat one of the best physicians in all the provinces,” he complained.
Seth clapped a hand on his shoulder. “May I present Heskel, anesthesiologist of the once-great province of Periphery. Heskel, this is Magdala, Mediation’s newest Master of General Knowledge.”
Heskel’s sharp eyes narrowed. “You seem a little young to be leader of your province. Most don’t acquire that kind of disgrace until well into their second century.”
“I volunteered for the position,” Magdala said. “If Edith’s prophecy has taught me anything, it’s that I can no longer afford to sit back and watch the world turn. I must act.”
He snorted. “So you believe all this nonsense.”
“You don’t?”
Magdala was surprised. While it was true that most Sage dismissed anything that did not fit their view of a fundamentally knowable universe, Heskel had lived in Periphery. Edith’s prophecy was the only reason he continued to exist.
Seven years ago, Edith had cried and shouted to anyone within earshot that the scientists of Periphery needed to halt their research on a rare disease found in bees. If they didn’t, she insisted, the whole province would be destroyed: trees burned, towers shattered, people slaughtered. No one listened. Even Magdala kept her distance from the lunatic ravings of her younger sister.
Then last year, as Magdala checked to see if Seth’s spies had any news of Edith’s disappearance, she learned of a strange new illness wracking the nearby Ku Rokai city of Kahjdehre. The Utsim Honey Plague, they called it. The Ku Rokai blamed Periphery for the disease. Magdala remembered her sister’s prediction.
They had no means of preventing an attack. But Seth took what precautions he could. Aside from putting their allies the coastal Gryphons on alert, he convinced Periphery’s Medical Tower to convene at his province of Terrestrial for a special month-long conference. When the Ku Rokai barraged Periphery with cannon fire, those scientists staying in Terrestrial survived.
“If you don’t believe in prophecy, why help us?” Magdala asked.
“I told him to,” Seth replied. “Periphery’s doctors and scientists have been integrated into my Tower of War. Heskel answers to me now.”
“Besides, I consider it a great challenge. Not everyone can keep children of five different species in an unconscious state even as their bodies change.” Heskel smiled. “One little miscalculation can result in death.”
It was as though he didn’t see the children at all; preserving their lives was only the end result of his work. Magdala wished this were the first time she’d encountered this sort of attitude, but it was sadly familiar to her.
“Asisa, too, is interested in the challenge,” Magdala said. “As the Master of Transformation, she’ll be overseeing the Changeling Process. You’ll meet her tonight.”
“I hope she’s cleared out space in her lab,” Seth said. “We’ve brought in new supplies.”
He gestured toward the tables his humans brought. They were new, with unstained white sheets and restraining straps hanging down like a dog’s tongue. Seth ordered the men to open packs to show bundles of bright new needles, beakers, and sealed jars of chemicals.
“Only the best,” he said.
Magdala ran a finger along the table’s edge. She’d never seen so much new equipment in her life. Her province had been teetering on bankruptcy decades before she was born.
“This must have cost you considerably.”
He shrugged. “The Changeling Process is cheap compared to a war.”
“War might not be avoidable.”
“Just so long as we win.”
“Where’s the Gryphon child?” Magdala asked, looking around. “Weren’t you supposed to bring her as well?”
“She’s been delayed. Complications due to surgery.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s a fighter. She’ll survive until she gets a new body.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“I’ll go back and bring her in personally,” Seth said. “Provided you go to the docks and see to the arrival of my spies. They should be at Oxalis Bay by noon.”
Magdala nodded. “I’ll leave as soon as Matthew’s awake. I need to tell him where I’ll be.”
“Do you need someone to watch him?”
“He can take care of himself.”
He was small; Magdala had to stoop low to catch him. As soon as her hands closed around his middle, he started to scream and butt with his hard, round head. He felt solid and heavy. As she lifted him up, he kicked her in the stomach. Magdala flinched.
“Akai dekai beh,” she said softly, in his language. “Yuht uhm akai-ut kruhst-aeh?”
The Ku Rokai boy went limp. He coughed and spat out froth. Young as he was, he still suffered from conscience. Magdala held him steady in her arms, like she’d held Matthew when he was a baby.
“I have your runaway,” she called into the forest.
Two human women in blue silk uniforms ran through the trees. Both carried rapier swords and had thick braided hair--one black, one gray. The younger one’s cheeks were red.
“What happened?” Magdala asked them.
“He ran off while we rested.”
“He’s four and he outwitted you?”
They hung their heads. “Yes.”
“And you wonder why we need the prophecy.” A deep voice reverberated through the fog.
Seth strode into the clearing, orange robes dragging at his feet. Terrestrial’s Master of War wore his title quite literally--in the lithe way he walked, in his barrel chest, in the sword that hung at his hip. Though Seth, like Magdala, was a Sage, his face carried the supple expression of a human. He showed teeth when he grinned, and his green eyes glittered.
“I do my best to train my mercenary army,” Seth continued. “But I can’t compete with the Ku Rokai Empire. They cultivate their soldiers from a young age. Soldiers just like you.”
He bent at his waist and scrutinized the snarling child in Magdala’s arms.
“Funny, isn’t it? If left to your own devices, you’d grow up to loathe us, fight us, participate in our civilization’s demise. But now we will make you one of us. Instead of attacking us, you’ll play a role in our salvation.”
The Ku Rokai gnashed tiny teeth at Seth.
Magdala set the child down, and the human women bound his legs.
“Shall I show you to the Tower of Transformation?” she asked.
“In a minute,” Seth said. “Let’s wait for the rest of my party to catch up.”
They tromped single-file up the trail--humans from Seth’s mercenary army, some carrying tables in their arms, others wearing bulky packs. A Sage in green robes followed at the end of their procession, puffing and panting.
“A fine way to treat one of the best physicians in all the provinces,” he complained.
Seth clapped a hand on his shoulder. “May I present Heskel, anesthesiologist of the once-great province of Periphery. Heskel, this is Magdala, Mediation’s newest Master of General Knowledge.”
Heskel’s sharp eyes narrowed. “You seem a little young to be leader of your province. Most don’t acquire that kind of disgrace until well into their second century.”
“I volunteered for the position,” Magdala said. “If Edith’s prophecy has taught me anything, it’s that I can no longer afford to sit back and watch the world turn. I must act.”
He snorted. “So you believe all this nonsense.”
“You don’t?”
Magdala was surprised. While it was true that most Sage dismissed anything that did not fit their view of a fundamentally knowable universe, Heskel had lived in Periphery. Edith’s prophecy was the only reason he continued to exist.
Seven years ago, Edith had cried and shouted to anyone within earshot that the scientists of Periphery needed to halt their research on a rare disease found in bees. If they didn’t, she insisted, the whole province would be destroyed: trees burned, towers shattered, people slaughtered. No one listened. Even Magdala kept her distance from the lunatic ravings of her younger sister.
Then last year, as Magdala checked to see if Seth’s spies had any news of Edith’s disappearance, she learned of a strange new illness wracking the nearby Ku Rokai city of Kahjdehre. The Utsim Honey Plague, they called it. The Ku Rokai blamed Periphery for the disease. Magdala remembered her sister’s prediction.
They had no means of preventing an attack. But Seth took what precautions he could. Aside from putting their allies the coastal Gryphons on alert, he convinced Periphery’s Medical Tower to convene at his province of Terrestrial for a special month-long conference. When the Ku Rokai barraged Periphery with cannon fire, those scientists staying in Terrestrial survived.
“If you don’t believe in prophecy, why help us?” Magdala asked.
“I told him to,” Seth replied. “Periphery’s doctors and scientists have been integrated into my Tower of War. Heskel answers to me now.”
“Besides, I consider it a great challenge. Not everyone can keep children of five different species in an unconscious state even as their bodies change.” Heskel smiled. “One little miscalculation can result in death.”
It was as though he didn’t see the children at all; preserving their lives was only the end result of his work. Magdala wished this were the first time she’d encountered this sort of attitude, but it was sadly familiar to her.
“Asisa, too, is interested in the challenge,” Magdala said. “As the Master of Transformation, she’ll be overseeing the Changeling Process. You’ll meet her tonight.”
“I hope she’s cleared out space in her lab,” Seth said. “We’ve brought in new supplies.”
He gestured toward the tables his humans brought. They were new, with unstained white sheets and restraining straps hanging down like a dog’s tongue. Seth ordered the men to open packs to show bundles of bright new needles, beakers, and sealed jars of chemicals.
“Only the best,” he said.
Magdala ran a finger along the table’s edge. She’d never seen so much new equipment in her life. Her province had been teetering on bankruptcy decades before she was born.
“This must have cost you considerably.”
He shrugged. “The Changeling Process is cheap compared to a war.”
“War might not be avoidable.”
“Just so long as we win.”
“Where’s the Gryphon child?” Magdala asked, looking around. “Weren’t you supposed to bring her as well?”
“She’s been delayed. Complications due to surgery.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s a fighter. She’ll survive until she gets a new body.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“I’ll go back and bring her in personally,” Seth said. “Provided you go to the docks and see to the arrival of my spies. They should be at Oxalis Bay by noon.”
Magdala nodded. “I’ll leave as soon as Matthew’s awake. I need to tell him where I’ll be.”
“Do you need someone to watch him?”
“He can take care of himself.”
* * *
Boots thudded on the dock of Oxalis Bay. One of Seth’s spies, a human man with a short black beard, wore a military uniform from the recent Human-Ku Rokai War. His hand clenched the handle of a square wooden case. A case held steady, despite his brisk, swinging gait.
“Did you find the five children?” Magdala asked.
He nodded. “Exactly as Matthew said.”
The spy set the box on the dock and pried off the top, revealing five blood-filled vials nestled in the cushioned panels. If Magdala doubted Matthew’s prophecy, this was proof. How else could he have known the names and parents of children in a small desert town halfway across the world?
Magdala sighed. “And the Frore?”
“Serena’s bringing him out.”
Magdala looked to the ship. Humans loaded crates from the wave-battered vessel, its ragged sails drooping down from a crooked mast. A woman in an apron walked the pier toward Magdala. A small creature burrowed in her arms.
The Frore’s tail had been shaved. No white puff of long, thick fur: instead, the limp appendage resembled a thick rat’s tail. The arctic creature turned his head toward Magdala. His large round eyes were liquid brown. The Frore made a mewling cry and went back to nuzzling the human woman’s shirt.
“How is he?” Magdala asked.
“Sick,” the human woman replied. “Not eating well.”
Magdala nodded. “Thank you for your work. I’ll carry the Frore to the Tower of Transformation.”
Magdala took the Frore into her arms. He cried. His skin was slick with sweat, and his heart beat rapidly.
They left the salt air of Oxalis Bay. Seth’s spy swung his arm and whistled as he walked. Within minutes, they strolled amid the glass towers of Oxalis Lea--so very much like those of her own province. A few Sage in gray robes climbed the stairs outside the tall buildings. Magdala and the spy walked on, and the towers soon gave way to untamed forest.
The clouds were out today and the humidity was thick. But the long forms of redwoods shaded Magdala’s path. Ages ago, the Sage believed the trees possessed a piece of God and worshipped them as bearers of wisdom. But not anymore. Now the Sage had reason. They had no use for gods.
Still, the trees were good companions. They did not speak or judge.
It was sunset by the time Magdala, the Frore, and the spy arrived at the Tower of Transformation, a stunted, dilapidated glass building, cracked on the uppermost stories. Fortunately, the lab was situated on the bottom floor and remained in passable condition. As Magdala entered, she immediately noted that the tables were set up and new equipment lined the counter.
The Gryphon lay on a table, restraining straps pulled over her back. The buckles barely missed the bandaged areas where her wings had been amputated. Blistered patches of burned skin marred the crown of the Gryphon’s head and crawled halfway down her left eye. She opened her beak. Each wobbly note was like a marching soldier slowly bleeding to death.
Heskel, the anesthesiologist, probed the singed feathers on the back of her neck. A long needle lay between two fingers, still glistening wet at the tip.
“Hold her head down,” he told Asisa. “Make sure she doesn’t move.”
Asisa pressed the Gryphon’s beak onto the table. Heskel squinted for a moment, then stuck the shot deep into the Gryphon’s skin.
The Gryphon screamed. The Frore yelled with her, squeezing the collar of Magdala’s robe. Magdala gritted her teeth. The Gryphon’s cries eventually died down. Her eyes rolled in, and her head lolled to the side.
“Isn’t it a bit early to anesthetize her?” Magdala said.
Heskel looked up. “No. She’s in pain. Without the medicine, how can she rest?”
“Did the blood samples arrive?” Asisa asked.
Her head bobbed forward eagerly, like an owl. The head of the Tower of Transformation had hair that stuck up in the back and glasses that dropped down her nose. She pushed them back up.
Seth’s spy held up the wooden case.
Asisa smiled. “Wonderful. Bring them to the back room, and I’ll process them.”
While they walked through the curtained partition, Magdala set the Frore on one of the remaining tables. He immediately curled into a ball, his naked tail covering his head.
“This environment is too warm for a Frore,” Magdala said. “Can you take a look at him?”
Heskel frowned. “Frore aren’t my area of specialty.”
Nonetheless, he did draw closer.
While he examined the Frore, Magdala checked the Ku Rokai. He lay asleep. The restraints bit into his gray, fleshy arms, not yet hardened to muscle. Little hands were squeezed into fists, and closed eyes made thin slits in his flat face. His head might have resembled a river rock, if not for his slack jaw and open mouth. White baby teeth poked from thin lips, and drool collected in a puddle near his cheek.
“Did you drug the Ku Rokai, too?” Magdala asked.
“It was necessary. He kept screaming and trying to rip off his restraints. No one could work.”
Heskel lifted the straps to buckle the Frore down.
“The Frore’s weak,” he said. “His agitation is making his condition worse. I recommend anesthetizing him, in order to help him relax.”
“Is that your solution to everything?”
“What do you want me to do? I’m not an expert in Frore medicine.”
“But is it safe to constantly inject these drugs into children?”
Heskel rolled his eyes. “I understand that the philosophers of Mediation know almost nothing of medicine, so let me reassure you: I will not kill the Frore. Now let me do what I specialize in.”
Magdala said nothing.
The little Frore had no power to exert his will, and therefore, it was Magdala’s responsibility to protect him. But what could she do? Heskel had little compassion for the child, but he was not incompetent. The choice was between momentary pain or prolonged suffering. She stepped aside.
While Heskel prepared the needles, Magdala wiped sweat from the Frore’s body with a damp cloth. When the time came to inject him, she placed her hand on his head to comfort him. Heskel jabbed him with needles, and the Frore squealed. Magdala stood rooted and witnessing, storing every image in her mind. The Changelings might not remember this day, but she would.
The Frore’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Did you find the five children?” Magdala asked.
He nodded. “Exactly as Matthew said.”
The spy set the box on the dock and pried off the top, revealing five blood-filled vials nestled in the cushioned panels. If Magdala doubted Matthew’s prophecy, this was proof. How else could he have known the names and parents of children in a small desert town halfway across the world?
Magdala sighed. “And the Frore?”
“Serena’s bringing him out.”
Magdala looked to the ship. Humans loaded crates from the wave-battered vessel, its ragged sails drooping down from a crooked mast. A woman in an apron walked the pier toward Magdala. A small creature burrowed in her arms.
The Frore’s tail had been shaved. No white puff of long, thick fur: instead, the limp appendage resembled a thick rat’s tail. The arctic creature turned his head toward Magdala. His large round eyes were liquid brown. The Frore made a mewling cry and went back to nuzzling the human woman’s shirt.
“How is he?” Magdala asked.
“Sick,” the human woman replied. “Not eating well.”
Magdala nodded. “Thank you for your work. I’ll carry the Frore to the Tower of Transformation.”
Magdala took the Frore into her arms. He cried. His skin was slick with sweat, and his heart beat rapidly.
They left the salt air of Oxalis Bay. Seth’s spy swung his arm and whistled as he walked. Within minutes, they strolled amid the glass towers of Oxalis Lea--so very much like those of her own province. A few Sage in gray robes climbed the stairs outside the tall buildings. Magdala and the spy walked on, and the towers soon gave way to untamed forest.
The clouds were out today and the humidity was thick. But the long forms of redwoods shaded Magdala’s path. Ages ago, the Sage believed the trees possessed a piece of God and worshipped them as bearers of wisdom. But not anymore. Now the Sage had reason. They had no use for gods.
Still, the trees were good companions. They did not speak or judge.
It was sunset by the time Magdala, the Frore, and the spy arrived at the Tower of Transformation, a stunted, dilapidated glass building, cracked on the uppermost stories. Fortunately, the lab was situated on the bottom floor and remained in passable condition. As Magdala entered, she immediately noted that the tables were set up and new equipment lined the counter.
The Gryphon lay on a table, restraining straps pulled over her back. The buckles barely missed the bandaged areas where her wings had been amputated. Blistered patches of burned skin marred the crown of the Gryphon’s head and crawled halfway down her left eye. She opened her beak. Each wobbly note was like a marching soldier slowly bleeding to death.
Heskel, the anesthesiologist, probed the singed feathers on the back of her neck. A long needle lay between two fingers, still glistening wet at the tip.
“Hold her head down,” he told Asisa. “Make sure she doesn’t move.”
Asisa pressed the Gryphon’s beak onto the table. Heskel squinted for a moment, then stuck the shot deep into the Gryphon’s skin.
The Gryphon screamed. The Frore yelled with her, squeezing the collar of Magdala’s robe. Magdala gritted her teeth. The Gryphon’s cries eventually died down. Her eyes rolled in, and her head lolled to the side.
“Isn’t it a bit early to anesthetize her?” Magdala said.
Heskel looked up. “No. She’s in pain. Without the medicine, how can she rest?”
“Did the blood samples arrive?” Asisa asked.
Her head bobbed forward eagerly, like an owl. The head of the Tower of Transformation had hair that stuck up in the back and glasses that dropped down her nose. She pushed them back up.
Seth’s spy held up the wooden case.
Asisa smiled. “Wonderful. Bring them to the back room, and I’ll process them.”
While they walked through the curtained partition, Magdala set the Frore on one of the remaining tables. He immediately curled into a ball, his naked tail covering his head.
“This environment is too warm for a Frore,” Magdala said. “Can you take a look at him?”
Heskel frowned. “Frore aren’t my area of specialty.”
Nonetheless, he did draw closer.
While he examined the Frore, Magdala checked the Ku Rokai. He lay asleep. The restraints bit into his gray, fleshy arms, not yet hardened to muscle. Little hands were squeezed into fists, and closed eyes made thin slits in his flat face. His head might have resembled a river rock, if not for his slack jaw and open mouth. White baby teeth poked from thin lips, and drool collected in a puddle near his cheek.
“Did you drug the Ku Rokai, too?” Magdala asked.
“It was necessary. He kept screaming and trying to rip off his restraints. No one could work.”
Heskel lifted the straps to buckle the Frore down.
“The Frore’s weak,” he said. “His agitation is making his condition worse. I recommend anesthetizing him, in order to help him relax.”
“Is that your solution to everything?”
“What do you want me to do? I’m not an expert in Frore medicine.”
“But is it safe to constantly inject these drugs into children?”
Heskel rolled his eyes. “I understand that the philosophers of Mediation know almost nothing of medicine, so let me reassure you: I will not kill the Frore. Now let me do what I specialize in.”
Magdala said nothing.
The little Frore had no power to exert his will, and therefore, it was Magdala’s responsibility to protect him. But what could she do? Heskel had little compassion for the child, but he was not incompetent. The choice was between momentary pain or prolonged suffering. She stepped aside.
While Heskel prepared the needles, Magdala wiped sweat from the Frore’s body with a damp cloth. When the time came to inject him, she placed her hand on his head to comfort him. Heskel jabbed him with needles, and the Frore squealed. Magdala stood rooted and witnessing, storing every image in her mind. The Changelings might not remember this day, but she would.
The Frore’s eyes fluttered closed.
* * *
That night, Matthew slept with his toy boat nestled against his cheek. From her desk in the center of the room, Magdala watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing pulsed with wave-like sureness, creating a soft roar in the otherwise silent room.
His mother, Edith, once lay curled upon those same threadbare rugs. Magdala remembered finding them in an old cupboard in the cellar. No matter how much she beat the carpets, she never could rid them of their dusty scent.
Magdala had raised Edith herself. That duty was supposed to fall to the educators of the Tower of General Knowledge but the old master was so senile he could hardly care for himself. So Magdala--only a student at the time--took it upon herself to provide for and educate her younger sister.
Edith was always proud of that fact. She’d got it in her head that family meant something to the Sage--that the love and companionship found in other cultures would be provided for her here. She became frightfully dependent, interrupting Magdala’s studies, keeping her from advancing to the Tower of Philosophy. By the time her sister started screaming about her visions, Magdala had had enough. She banished Edith from the Tower of General Knowledge, forcing her into the long-discredited Prophet’s Tower. Magdala hoped the disgrace would teach her self-reliance.
Instead, Edith had a baby. Although Magdala disapproved in theory, she secretly thought this could benefit them both. Edith would want to raise her son, so she’d move back into the Tower of General Knowledge, allowing Magdala to finally depart. Edith could have her family, and Magdala could have her peace.
Three days after the birth, Magdala came to visit. As soon as she stepped into the Prophet’s Tower, a stale acidic smell filled her nose, like urine or rotting garbage. Flies zipped out the door as though grateful for the fresh air. Scrolls were torn in half, ink splashed over the curtains, papers crumpled, shelves broken. Matthew lay on the floor in soiled blankets. He made a gurgling sound but did not cry.
Magdala picked him up. “You were the one who wanted a family. And now that you have him, is this how you treat your son?”
From her cot, Edith stared dead-eyed at the cracks in the ceiling.
“What’s the point in loving him?” she whispered. “I’ll only lose him.”
Edith vanished soon after. Witnesses saw her leave the Prophet’s Tower and walk into the fog. The responsibility of raising Matthew fell upon Magdala.
Pale beams of dawn peeked through the dark curtains, shining hazy light into Matthew’s eyes. He squirmed and rolled away. His toy ship toppled down the pillow and hit the rug with a light thud. Matthew sat bolt upright in his bed.
“Today’s the day.” He threw off the blankets. “Today we make Changelings.”
“Yes.” Magdala sighed.
Her room was at the top of the Tower of General Knowledge. Magdala held onto Matthew’s hand as they descended the worn glass stairs that wrapped the building like a vine. On the ground below, Seth stood stretching.
“Good morning,” he called.
“It’s not,” Magdala said shortly.
His smile broadened. “You have no need to worry. Nothing will go wrong. If there were any flaw in the procedure, Matthew would have foreseen it.”
“The procedure is the flaw,” she muttered.
But no one heard her, and Matthew hopped down the last few steps.
“A few more days, and we’ll all ride the boat,” he said. “We’ll go together--at least as far as Brenton. And this is just the start. One day I’ll be a great explorer. You’ll see.”
He ran ahead, leaping over muddy patches and slapping away ferns.
It was not long before they reached the Tower of Transformation. Yellow rays of sunshine flashed through feathery branches of trees and hit the glass at a glare. In the laboratory, Asisa dashed from station to station. Her glasses were askew.
“Gryphon. Asleep. Ku Rokai. Asleep. Frore. Asleep.” She checked them off with her fingers. “Needles, ready. Charts, ready. O. Zmishontox… Ah, I need the B. Rakshontox. Can’t forget that.”
She bolted through the curtained partition.
Heskel stood at the back counter, pouring anesthetic chemicals into his needles. “I’m prepared for the Shhie, if someone would be good enough to go outside and get it.”
“I will,” Magdala volunteered.
The Shhie reserve was connected to the lab. Magdala had only to go through the back door before she found herself in the clearing. Large nets hung between trees, marking off the boundaries of the reserve. Shhie chomped on the ferns and basked in the sun. Magdala scanned for her sash.
It was still wound around the little Shhie’s neck. She was sleeping in a sunny spot; Magdala picked her up. The Shhie woke. “Uh, uh, uh.” She wriggled. Magdala pinned the Shhie to her chest with one arm, like a large doll. The little Shhie went limp. “Uh, uh, uh.” Her hands reached toward the adults.
They didn’t hear her. They didn’t even look up.
Magdala entered the lab. Matthew, who’d been having an earnest conversation with Seth about sailing ships, turned at the sound of the door. He smiled at the little Shhie.
“Hi,” Matthew said. “Remember me?”
Magdala placed the Shhie on the table and removed the curtain sash. Seth strapped the creature down. Her gangly legs kicked the sheet, knocking it askew. Her pink eyes roved the room.
“Uh, uh, uh.”
“Don’t cry.” Matthew hopped over to the table. “Soon you’ll be a real person. Then we’ll be able to talk. You can teach me the human language. All right?”
Heskel came up with a needle. “Hold down her head.”
Magdala clamped her hands over the Shhie’s ear and pressed the creature’s skull onto the table. Heskel pinched the Shhie’s neck, then jabbed his needle into her vein.
“Uh, uh, uh!”
The Shhie flailed.
“You’re hurting her,” Matthew shouted.
“Naturally,” Heskel replied. “Did you think it would tickle?”
“Uh… uh…”
The little Shhie went still.
Matthew’s eyes were wide. He took a step back and knocked against the table with the Ku Rokai. Matthew blinked as if seeing him for the first time. Suddenly, he cried out.
“I don’t want to become a Changeling. I won’t do it!”
“It’s too late for that now,” Seth said. “We’re already committed.”
“No!”
He shoved past Seth and bolted for the nearest door. Seth tried to grab him, but Matthew ducked underneath the table and scurried away. He ran out the back exit, into the Shhie reserve.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Heskel said dryly.
“Nerves, I’m sure.” Seth looked at Magdala. “You want to talk sense into him or shall I?”
“I’ll go after him.”
She didn’t expect Matthew to go far, and he didn’t. Magdala found him hiding in a redwood stump where fire had carved a hole into the base of the tree. He sat holding his knees, all curled up and stubborn.
“I said I wouldn’t do it!” he yelled. “You can’t make me!”
“True.” Magdala sat down on a nearby log.
Blue jays hopped from branch to branch, calling in crackled voices. The sun beat warm upon Magdala’s face. Eventually, Matthew crawled out and took a seat beside her. He leaned his head against her side, the way Edith did when she was young.
“When I wake up, I’ll be human,” Matthew said. “Forever.”
“Yes.”
“I know you told me all this before. But I didn’t think about it until now.” He looked down at the rotted mulch. “What if I’m not me anymore? What if I’m stupid and horrible?”
Magdala wished she could tell him that would never happen. But she wouldn’t lie to him.
“You’re going to be different. Your brain will change to accommodate your new body. Your mind may slow down and you may start to think like a human. But even if that happens, Matthew, no matter what, some part of you will always remain the same. It’s the essence of who you are. It’s what makes you unique from all other beings.”
“And what’s that?” Matthew’s voice sounded small.
“Your will. Your ability to choose your own path in life.”
“But I’m a prophet. I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do,” Magdala insisted. “It’s your birthright. To give up your body, your brain, and years of your life is a great sacrifice. I cannot--I will not--force you to become a Changeling. You must choose on your own, as you will.”
“But if I say no, people die.”
“I didn’t say there wouldn’t be consequences to your decision.”
Matthew let out a breath.
“I’m afraid,” he said. “But it’s okay. I know what I have to do.”
Matthew trudged into the lab. Ignoring Seth and Heskel, he walked straight up to the unconscious little Shhie.
“I’m sorry for taking away your choice,” he said. “But it won’t be so bad for you. You’ll like being human.”
“Are you ready?” Heskel asked.
Matthew nodded.
He climbed onto the table and lay down flat on his back. Seth moved to strap him in. Suddenly, Matthew’s arm shot up and he grabbed Magdala’s hand.
“Stay with me until it’s over.”
“Of course.”
Matthew shut his eyes. Seth buckled the restraints and tightened them. When Heskel swabbed the skin of Matthew’s neck, he shuddered and squeezed Magdala’s hand. It didn’t hurt; his fingers couldn’t wrap the full width of her palm.
Heskel pressed the needle into Matthew’s neck.
His mother, Edith, once lay curled upon those same threadbare rugs. Magdala remembered finding them in an old cupboard in the cellar. No matter how much she beat the carpets, she never could rid them of their dusty scent.
Magdala had raised Edith herself. That duty was supposed to fall to the educators of the Tower of General Knowledge but the old master was so senile he could hardly care for himself. So Magdala--only a student at the time--took it upon herself to provide for and educate her younger sister.
Edith was always proud of that fact. She’d got it in her head that family meant something to the Sage--that the love and companionship found in other cultures would be provided for her here. She became frightfully dependent, interrupting Magdala’s studies, keeping her from advancing to the Tower of Philosophy. By the time her sister started screaming about her visions, Magdala had had enough. She banished Edith from the Tower of General Knowledge, forcing her into the long-discredited Prophet’s Tower. Magdala hoped the disgrace would teach her self-reliance.
Instead, Edith had a baby. Although Magdala disapproved in theory, she secretly thought this could benefit them both. Edith would want to raise her son, so she’d move back into the Tower of General Knowledge, allowing Magdala to finally depart. Edith could have her family, and Magdala could have her peace.
Three days after the birth, Magdala came to visit. As soon as she stepped into the Prophet’s Tower, a stale acidic smell filled her nose, like urine or rotting garbage. Flies zipped out the door as though grateful for the fresh air. Scrolls were torn in half, ink splashed over the curtains, papers crumpled, shelves broken. Matthew lay on the floor in soiled blankets. He made a gurgling sound but did not cry.
Magdala picked him up. “You were the one who wanted a family. And now that you have him, is this how you treat your son?”
From her cot, Edith stared dead-eyed at the cracks in the ceiling.
“What’s the point in loving him?” she whispered. “I’ll only lose him.”
Edith vanished soon after. Witnesses saw her leave the Prophet’s Tower and walk into the fog. The responsibility of raising Matthew fell upon Magdala.
Pale beams of dawn peeked through the dark curtains, shining hazy light into Matthew’s eyes. He squirmed and rolled away. His toy ship toppled down the pillow and hit the rug with a light thud. Matthew sat bolt upright in his bed.
“Today’s the day.” He threw off the blankets. “Today we make Changelings.”
“Yes.” Magdala sighed.
Her room was at the top of the Tower of General Knowledge. Magdala held onto Matthew’s hand as they descended the worn glass stairs that wrapped the building like a vine. On the ground below, Seth stood stretching.
“Good morning,” he called.
“It’s not,” Magdala said shortly.
His smile broadened. “You have no need to worry. Nothing will go wrong. If there were any flaw in the procedure, Matthew would have foreseen it.”
“The procedure is the flaw,” she muttered.
But no one heard her, and Matthew hopped down the last few steps.
“A few more days, and we’ll all ride the boat,” he said. “We’ll go together--at least as far as Brenton. And this is just the start. One day I’ll be a great explorer. You’ll see.”
He ran ahead, leaping over muddy patches and slapping away ferns.
It was not long before they reached the Tower of Transformation. Yellow rays of sunshine flashed through feathery branches of trees and hit the glass at a glare. In the laboratory, Asisa dashed from station to station. Her glasses were askew.
“Gryphon. Asleep. Ku Rokai. Asleep. Frore. Asleep.” She checked them off with her fingers. “Needles, ready. Charts, ready. O. Zmishontox… Ah, I need the B. Rakshontox. Can’t forget that.”
She bolted through the curtained partition.
Heskel stood at the back counter, pouring anesthetic chemicals into his needles. “I’m prepared for the Shhie, if someone would be good enough to go outside and get it.”
“I will,” Magdala volunteered.
The Shhie reserve was connected to the lab. Magdala had only to go through the back door before she found herself in the clearing. Large nets hung between trees, marking off the boundaries of the reserve. Shhie chomped on the ferns and basked in the sun. Magdala scanned for her sash.
It was still wound around the little Shhie’s neck. She was sleeping in a sunny spot; Magdala picked her up. The Shhie woke. “Uh, uh, uh.” She wriggled. Magdala pinned the Shhie to her chest with one arm, like a large doll. The little Shhie went limp. “Uh, uh, uh.” Her hands reached toward the adults.
They didn’t hear her. They didn’t even look up.
Magdala entered the lab. Matthew, who’d been having an earnest conversation with Seth about sailing ships, turned at the sound of the door. He smiled at the little Shhie.
“Hi,” Matthew said. “Remember me?”
Magdala placed the Shhie on the table and removed the curtain sash. Seth strapped the creature down. Her gangly legs kicked the sheet, knocking it askew. Her pink eyes roved the room.
“Uh, uh, uh.”
“Don’t cry.” Matthew hopped over to the table. “Soon you’ll be a real person. Then we’ll be able to talk. You can teach me the human language. All right?”
Heskel came up with a needle. “Hold down her head.”
Magdala clamped her hands over the Shhie’s ear and pressed the creature’s skull onto the table. Heskel pinched the Shhie’s neck, then jabbed his needle into her vein.
“Uh, uh, uh!”
The Shhie flailed.
“You’re hurting her,” Matthew shouted.
“Naturally,” Heskel replied. “Did you think it would tickle?”
“Uh… uh…”
The little Shhie went still.
Matthew’s eyes were wide. He took a step back and knocked against the table with the Ku Rokai. Matthew blinked as if seeing him for the first time. Suddenly, he cried out.
“I don’t want to become a Changeling. I won’t do it!”
“It’s too late for that now,” Seth said. “We’re already committed.”
“No!”
He shoved past Seth and bolted for the nearest door. Seth tried to grab him, but Matthew ducked underneath the table and scurried away. He ran out the back exit, into the Shhie reserve.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Heskel said dryly.
“Nerves, I’m sure.” Seth looked at Magdala. “You want to talk sense into him or shall I?”
“I’ll go after him.”
She didn’t expect Matthew to go far, and he didn’t. Magdala found him hiding in a redwood stump where fire had carved a hole into the base of the tree. He sat holding his knees, all curled up and stubborn.
“I said I wouldn’t do it!” he yelled. “You can’t make me!”
“True.” Magdala sat down on a nearby log.
Blue jays hopped from branch to branch, calling in crackled voices. The sun beat warm upon Magdala’s face. Eventually, Matthew crawled out and took a seat beside her. He leaned his head against her side, the way Edith did when she was young.
“When I wake up, I’ll be human,” Matthew said. “Forever.”
“Yes.”
“I know you told me all this before. But I didn’t think about it until now.” He looked down at the rotted mulch. “What if I’m not me anymore? What if I’m stupid and horrible?”
Magdala wished she could tell him that would never happen. But she wouldn’t lie to him.
“You’re going to be different. Your brain will change to accommodate your new body. Your mind may slow down and you may start to think like a human. But even if that happens, Matthew, no matter what, some part of you will always remain the same. It’s the essence of who you are. It’s what makes you unique from all other beings.”
“And what’s that?” Matthew’s voice sounded small.
“Your will. Your ability to choose your own path in life.”
“But I’m a prophet. I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do,” Magdala insisted. “It’s your birthright. To give up your body, your brain, and years of your life is a great sacrifice. I cannot--I will not--force you to become a Changeling. You must choose on your own, as you will.”
“But if I say no, people die.”
“I didn’t say there wouldn’t be consequences to your decision.”
Matthew let out a breath.
“I’m afraid,” he said. “But it’s okay. I know what I have to do.”
Matthew trudged into the lab. Ignoring Seth and Heskel, he walked straight up to the unconscious little Shhie.
“I’m sorry for taking away your choice,” he said. “But it won’t be so bad for you. You’ll like being human.”
“Are you ready?” Heskel asked.
Matthew nodded.
He climbed onto the table and lay down flat on his back. Seth moved to strap him in. Suddenly, Matthew’s arm shot up and he grabbed Magdala’s hand.
“Stay with me until it’s over.”
“Of course.”
Matthew shut his eyes. Seth buckled the restraints and tightened them. When Heskel swabbed the skin of Matthew’s neck, he shuddered and squeezed Magdala’s hand. It didn’t hurt; his fingers couldn’t wrap the full width of her palm.
Heskel pressed the needle into Matthew’s neck.
* * *
It took five days to complete the Changeling Process. Magdala watched through the window and held her breath. One misplaced needle could lead to deformity. One miscalculation could cause death. Asisa scrambled from Changeling to Changeling, her eyes studying the charts, her fingers hovering over the needles. Every day Magdala feared disaster.
First Asisa stuck a cluster of needles into the stomachs of Matthew, the Ku Rokai, and the Frore. She placed a line of needles down the Gryphon’s spine and gave the Shhie a shot deep inside her ear.
Then the needles spread: to the children’s arms, their legs, their heads. All the while their forms changed. The fuzz of the Frore’s shaved fur fell off like dandelion seeds. The Gryphon shed feathers. The Ku Rokai’s skin peeled, first as thin as snakeskin, then in chunks. As the Shhie’s long arms shortened, rolls of skin bunched at her wrist; her bones widened and her skin stretched horizontal.
The Frore’s tail shriveled into a long black scab, and Asisa cut it off. The Gryphon’s beak fell from her face, leaving a gaping hole surrounded by swollen lumps of flesh. Slowly, these puffy things formed into lips.
Matthew changed, too, though not as gruesomely. His skin turned a pinkish brown. His hair fell out and grew back again, a similar dark color. He lost a few inches of height, but his shape remained the same.
Soon the bodies of the children began to settle into a uniform shape. Two arms, two legs, soft skin, faint hair. Human. And then on the fifth day, Asisa opened the door.
“It’s done,” she said. “The Changelings are human. We’ll begin removing the needles. Once the anesthetic wears off, they’ll be ready to leave.”
“That’s good news,” Magdala said.
But she wasn’t happy.
The most dangerous part of the prophecy still loomed before them. Now they had to travel to the desert town of Brenton, find the children whose blood they’d drawn, and switch them with these newly-made impostors. Any suspicion from the townsfolk could cause the whole scheme to topple down on them. Of course, if Magdala believed as Seth did that the future was pre-ordained, why fear at all?
But she refused to entertain that thought. A set future meant that none of their actions mattered. Why have wills if choice was obsolete?
Asisa plucked the needles one by one from the Changelings’ now-human stomachs. They did not stir. Their bodies were still frozen from the drugs. Magdala entered the room and put a hand on Matthew’s forehead. His skin felt soft as fleece, easily torn.
What would his future be? What would any of their futures be? Why had these five children been chosen to be Changelings and how would they save the Sage? So far, Matthew’s prophecy didn’t explain. If Magdala wanted answers, she’d have to wait.
Eighteen years.
By then, Matthew would know the second half of the prophecy. By then, the five Changeling children would be grown.
First Asisa stuck a cluster of needles into the stomachs of Matthew, the Ku Rokai, and the Frore. She placed a line of needles down the Gryphon’s spine and gave the Shhie a shot deep inside her ear.
Then the needles spread: to the children’s arms, their legs, their heads. All the while their forms changed. The fuzz of the Frore’s shaved fur fell off like dandelion seeds. The Gryphon shed feathers. The Ku Rokai’s skin peeled, first as thin as snakeskin, then in chunks. As the Shhie’s long arms shortened, rolls of skin bunched at her wrist; her bones widened and her skin stretched horizontal.
The Frore’s tail shriveled into a long black scab, and Asisa cut it off. The Gryphon’s beak fell from her face, leaving a gaping hole surrounded by swollen lumps of flesh. Slowly, these puffy things formed into lips.
Matthew changed, too, though not as gruesomely. His skin turned a pinkish brown. His hair fell out and grew back again, a similar dark color. He lost a few inches of height, but his shape remained the same.
Soon the bodies of the children began to settle into a uniform shape. Two arms, two legs, soft skin, faint hair. Human. And then on the fifth day, Asisa opened the door.
“It’s done,” she said. “The Changelings are human. We’ll begin removing the needles. Once the anesthetic wears off, they’ll be ready to leave.”
“That’s good news,” Magdala said.
But she wasn’t happy.
The most dangerous part of the prophecy still loomed before them. Now they had to travel to the desert town of Brenton, find the children whose blood they’d drawn, and switch them with these newly-made impostors. Any suspicion from the townsfolk could cause the whole scheme to topple down on them. Of course, if Magdala believed as Seth did that the future was pre-ordained, why fear at all?
But she refused to entertain that thought. A set future meant that none of their actions mattered. Why have wills if choice was obsolete?
Asisa plucked the needles one by one from the Changelings’ now-human stomachs. They did not stir. Their bodies were still frozen from the drugs. Magdala entered the room and put a hand on Matthew’s forehead. His skin felt soft as fleece, easily torn.
What would his future be? What would any of their futures be? Why had these five children been chosen to be Changelings and how would they save the Sage? So far, Matthew’s prophecy didn’t explain. If Magdala wanted answers, she’d have to wait.
Eighteen years.
By then, Matthew would know the second half of the prophecy. By then, the five Changeling children would be grown.
