Memory for Humanity

“Papa, your ears. Were they not injured sometime past?”, the young girl asked in her best matter of fact tone.
Sehles’Ah Selef felt more a fear of an answer than she did the question. Fear that others of her crèche were correct. That her father, whom she loved and cherished was not her father. He was so very different than she and her mother. When she asked her mother this very thing she had just garnered that knowing smile and familiar look with a kindly,     “They are lovely, are they not, daughter?”
Jean smiled at his daughter and brushed her long white locks to one side of her face. She was nearly 80 years of age and her mind was beginning to open up and develop its connection to The Well. In many ways she held a strange power that he had struggled to understand, but felt eluded him as if that power was aware of his surveillance. He worried for her sanity for joinings between Mae and Humanity often resulted in defects to the children. Defects that could be seen as anything from subtle to grotesque. She seemed intelligent and bright and her form was as lovely as any of the maids in the community, but he could not allay the fear that some malady lurked on their horizon. Some defect of terrible consequence which he could not be permitted to correct nor engage by the Council and their oversight.
“And this troubles you, my dear?” He replied in a calm and soothing tone.
She looked at her feet not making a sound as if her disconnection from the conversation was enough to allow an escape from her father’s question. But he sat, waiting upon her as if the ages held no sway over him. His waiting grated against her, yet it was folly to spoil the truth; in this she gathered her strength. “Members of my crèche have suggested that you cannot be my father since you are not Mae?”, she said boldly yet with great pain.
Jean studied his daughter for a moment, and considered his words that they might not bring pain to her. He also considered how she would certainly relay his response to all future challengers of her linage and her sovereignty. He turned to her and took her hand and as she looked up he said, “Of course you are my daughter, it is the fool which denies our similarities. Do we not have the same hair, for instance?”, he concluded smiling in his wry fashion when he was up to something.
“But papa,” she replied frowning and glancing at him sideways and from her left, “your hair was black until some 14 seasons ago. It only recently has turned white like mine.” A question on her face with the tell tale mistrust that she was being teased in some way.
“Sae’sa, while the people of your mother and those of my line are indeed two people we have bound, in our love, something which is one.” A tear, ran down his cheek as he took his daughter’s hand. He ran his fingers between her long thin fingers, her hand so very lithe and graceful to be larger still than his own. He knew the question that she truly had upon her heart. He had avoided it for all these years. For while she had grown to nearly half a foot above his own stature her mind yet had over 200 years of development left to complete. She was a child and when he was dead and gone she would yet be a child. He longed to impress what he might of mankind and her heritage and connection to the people of the Earth.
“In you I will live on. My thoughts and my family’s history. I know that they will one day be yours. I …” He trailed as, meeting her eyes he saw a desperate look of some understanding within her and he retreated, for the moment, not wishing to overwhelm her with too much, too soon. She must understand before I am gone that we are not lacking in our short existence, rather we go on to a greater service and a place where pains and sadness cannot prevail. He smiled.
In a flash, as though another world opened up she saw a very little boy, scared and fearful of some thing. It was all over his little face. He was looking at her and crying. There were people all about the room whispering, some crying, hugging, some singing songs. It was very confusing outside of the exchange with the little boy.
“It is ok Jean-Jean, Gammy will be looking down upon you. I will remain here in your heart, my love.” An aged hand reached out. The hand brushed the long dark hair back and she knew then. The boy was her father. She gasped as the image departed as quickly as it had appeared.
“Jean-Jean, Gammy will be looking down upon you.” She whispered, crying in a disconnected stupor. Her hands shaking, sweat lining her brow, her eyes red as if there were a change in the well.
Jean looked at her. Stunned. He did not recognize it fully but knowing something was wrong and that he recognized the words which she spoke. He, leaping to his feet and taking a stance of protection, evoked the form of mental shielding to protect her from the well and it’s power till she might revive. She had not been trained and at a mere 79 seasons of age she did not yet posses the nodes in her mind to protect her from a shifting well. If she was indeed using the energies then it could be very dangerous for her.
He held her in his chant and shield. Radiant energies flowed over they two and a soft blue globe circled. Outside of the shield the air crackled and loud booming thunder claps issued from the contest between well and shield. It was then he caught a glimpse outside of the shell of his wife forming The Refuge and extending it over they two. It’s soft, even hues and graces slipping ever so slowly into the protection of his shield. Ever did it expand until completely within she gave him the stern, yet loving look to drop his protection of their daughter who rested now at his feet.
Jean bent down, pulled back her eyelids and looking into her eyes saw she no longer had the red lights within. He nodded to Sehles’Ah Selef’s mother and she lowered The Refuge.
“Caev’eya Nah! She has the vision! At just 79 she has the vision!”, he cried in a whispered shout, tearful, at wits end.
“Yes, my love. We all have the vision, but indeed she is the youngest I have ever seen to display it”. Caev’eya Nah looked intently upon her daughter worried that this malady might cut short her existence. They would need to place her at the side of a guardian all hours of the day or she may indeed be crushed by an advancing well. Lists formed in her head. Plans began taking shape.
“No!” Jean barked, in the same whispered tones, stern and most serious now. “She has the genetic memories of MY people!”

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