#survival lessons

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Your name is Jake Harley. You are eight years old, and you are outside, on land, standing in a field with Mother and Jane. A flock of doves rests in a tree.

“This is hunting,” Mother says to you both. “The predator culls the prey, and both species are kept alive.”

You think that doesn’t make a lick of sense. How can the prey be kept alive if it dies?

“That’s the way of life,” she says. “There are more prey than predators, and they are strengthened by the loss of their weaker members.”

“That won’t sound good to the ones who get done in,” Jane says.

Mother smiles, gently, without showing her fangs. “Sounding good is not the point, silly. Only survival and adaptation matter, in the end. Now, Jake, pick up your gun, and shoot down that dove over there.”

The dove is delicious.

---------

You learn, in not much time, to take pleasure in it. Jane never does, but she loves Mother so much that she doesn’t hesitate to please her.

You learn to read tracks and signs, to survive in the wilderness. You learn to savor the taste of fresh meat, of raw vital blood. It strengthens you, gives you life. When you are eleven, you are left on an island with nothing, not even clothes, to survive alone for a week by hand and tooth. The same happens to Jane, on a different island.

You made it through, but Jane... when Mother brings her back after the trial, she is shaking and crying.

“I’m sorry Mom, I’m so-“

“Shooooosh,” Mother is calm. “You have learned. You will try again in a month.”

Jane tells you only later, voice subdued, how close she came to death.

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Jane walks like she’s broken and talks like she’s afraid. You do not. You are stronger than her.

You practice your aim, you shoot swift and true. You kill an elephant and wear its hide. You are the eagle, blood on your feathers.

Jane takes up baking.

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Your name is Jake Harley and you are fifteen years old. You and Jane are called into the main bubble, where Mother is waiting.

“As it turns out, we were wrong about you,” she says, without preamble. “You are not the chosen ones. You are not going to become gods. Our mistake. Anyway, you’re both old enough now, to grow up. So you’re going to leave.”

Your stomach drops into a pit. The eagle pushes her young from the nest. Fly now, or fall. You know this is natural, is normal, is-

But, you are not the eagle. You never have been the eagle, you only thought you were. You are human. You are going to fall.

Jane cries out, “No, how could you, you can’t do this!”

You put your hand on your sister’s shoulder. “Mother, what did we do?”

“Mom, please,” Jane begs. “Don’t you love us?”

Mother, the Witch of Life, looks at you both with surprise. “It’s not about love,” she explains. “It’s not about you at all. I just can’t invest any more energy in you two. I’m going to take the bubble down now, so you should leave before you drown.”

Afterward, Jane adjusts the trident slung across her back and says: “It was nice of her to warn us. She didn’t have to do that.”

‘Nice’ isn’t the word you would use. But you let Jane think so.

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You live in the woods. You know how, both of you, and you’re stronger than you were at eleven. But still, the winter is cold, and one day you hurt your ankle badly. You cannot walk, cannot hunt. Jane sets snares and catches rabbits for you, and spears fish with her trident. You melt snow to drink and stoke the fire, but still, your ankle swells. You weaken.

After two days, Jane looks at the distant city lights and says, quietly. “Let’s try there.”

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The city is frightening, crowded, and loud. You are scared as you limp along, but Jane walks with her head high. She holds her trident and strides into the first unlocked door she finds, demanding medicine from the strangers inside. They shout at her, then become frightened. Strong men come in with clubs and weapons that snap with electricity. She fights like a wildcat and nearly skewers them, but they overcome her.

As for you, you try to struggle, but you are weak and wounded, so the strangers bring you away into a soft white room. They treat your broken ankle. Jane is allowed to see you a few weeks later, after you have learned about things like 'hospitals' and 'insurance' and 'courts' and 'jail'.

“They took my fork,” your sister says, mournfully. “It was Mother's."

After you recover, you wait for the police to release your sister. You visit the local church, but you don’t pray there. You can’t, not with Mo- with the Witch’s stained-glass eyes looking at you. But as you walk back to the foster center, you whisper a wish to the Seer of Mind.

The trial goes smoothly, and Jane is released.

You want to skidoo, leave as soon as you can. You want to take Jane with you, back into the wild where things are quiet and pure as morning dew.

But Jane shakes her head. “We’re humans,” she says. “Not animals, and not gods. We should try to make our lives with our own kind.”

You part ways, but not before she catches you a gift: a stray mutt, a pup, to be your hunting hound. You name it Halley.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are twenty-one years old. You work as a safari guide on the savannas of Kenya. You speak English, French, Swahili, and Bantu.

Jane sends you money, twice a year, after Midsummer’s Bleed and around Hallowhonk. As the years have passed, she’s sent you more and more, accompanied by pictures of her, of her house and her growing bakery business. You are glad for her success.

Halley is a constant companion, and your closest friend.

One day you lead a safari for some reporters, and you impress them enough that they promptly hire you to lead expeditions for them. It’s a living.

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You uncover your first major archaeological find at age twenty-seven. An ancient Egyptian tomb, older than any that had ever been found, so groundbreaking that it rewrites the history books.

It’s a form of fame, but you withdraw from the spotlight. You’ve never liked being around large numbers of people, and the archeological conferences are no exception. At least the gods seem to pay no attention your new celebrity.

Jane continues to send money, though you don’t really need it anymore.

Halley grows old, and dies in your arms.

You stuff him.

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You’re working full-time for the Smithsonian, and you have been to more countries by age thirty- two than most men ever visit.

You want to travel the stars and see other worlds, but hesitate at the necessity of catching the attention of the Sylph of Space. But eventually, wanderlust wins out over fear. After all, you reason, the gods are everywhere. The Sylph of Space is on Earth, not only in the firmament, just as the Witch of Life treads everywhere there is life, not only in the sea.

So, you apply for an off-world passport, and win one. You leave Earth for a time, hunting alien game and sending their skins back to Earthly museums.

Your travelogues sell as well as Jane’s cookies. You call and tell her that you really don’t need her money. She insists that you take it. She tells you she’s getting married to a nice man she met at the county fair. She thinks she might be in love.

You do not marry, though you take lovers from this world and from others.

Sometimes, you’re lonely.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are forty years old. You have discovered and described eighty unknown extraterrestrial species, uncovered sixteen ancient ruins from the dust, and written nine books. You have several million dollars to your name, and you live on a yacht.

You reunite with Jane around this time. By now, she is as wealthy as you, thanks to her highly successful baking corporation. You feel badly for her, confined as she is by civilization, while you travel from world to world.

You play with your young nephew for a while, then speak with Jane while the lad watches television.

“I’m going to retire,” she says. “I think I’ve had enough of baking.”

You ask her what she is going to do now, and she laughs. “Hoo hoo! I don’t know yet! I’ll do whatever I want!”

She is happy, you realize. She has found freedom, in her own way.

You both have your freedoms, so why do you feel envious?

---------

You age, but you never slow down. You hunt. You explore. You do not marry.

You never, ever pray.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are eighty-five years old. Your hands are withered, your hair has long gone white and fallen out. You still occasionally take lovers, but they never last.

One bright Sagittarius morning, out in the wide open deserts of the Australian outback, you see a meteor crash out of the sky. When you reach the crater, there is a live infant in the rubble. She is a little girl.

You know what this means, old memories of prophecies like ancient artifacts preserved in the sand. You will not let them get her. You will not let the Witch find her.

In time, you grow to love her more fiercely than you ever have loved before.

You name her Jade.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are nearly eighty-six years old.

You are attending Jane’s funeral service. There are so many people here. Was your sister really beloved by them all? You can hardly believe it, can hardly believe any of it. A factory explosion, a collapsed roof.... Little Jade, sleeping in your arms, is only thing here that seems at all real.

Your nephew is looking at you. He, too, is holding an infant, a little boy, with shaking hands. He is not praying, like most of the other funeral guests are.

He has not told you where the child has come from. You don’t think he ever married.

You shake his hand, and wish him the best of luck.

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You find a South Pacific island that bears some very interesting ruins. It seems like a good place to raise a child, so you purchase it without ceremony. Jade is less than a year old.

You find a dog there. You name him Becquerel. He is a strange dog, but he reminds you of Halley, and he is friendly. You think he will make a good hunting hound.

However, you soon learn that hunts with Becquerel are not sporting, and decide he will be a guard dog instead.

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When Jade is two, you find the Mage of Doom in her nursery, playing with her.

“She’s cute,” he lisps. “Took us a while to find you, you know.”

You tell him you are good at covering your tracks. Then you aim your rifle and fire.

He falls to the floor, dead.

Gadzooks, you just killed the Mage of Doom.

He gets up moments later, and tells you that shooting him point blank like that wasn't very sporting.

Becquerel takes him far away, and you sit down. Jade is crying. Your legs are shaking. You feel old.

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“Pa,” says Jade. “Pa!”

“Yes, Jade,” you say. “I am your Grandpa.”

Jade giggles.

“May I hold her?”

You look over at your new visitor. She is more considerate than the Mage. She knocked. You fired once, a warning bullet splitting the air over her head, and she held both hands out in surrender.

“I’m not here to take Jade,” she said. “I only want to talk, like civilized people.”

You let her in, and now she is sitting at your antique table, flipping a coin absently. Behind her opaque glasses and dapper suit, she looks bored.

You tell her she cannot hold Jade, and she shrugs. “That’s ok. You know, I’m the one who freed your sister, back when you were a kid?”

You tell her you are grateful for her generosity, but you prefer not to be meddled with. You just want to live the rest of your years in peace and quiet.

“That can be arranged. You can keep Jade, too.” You didn’t ask about Jade, though you thought it. “We only want to train her, not steal her away.”

You remind her that they were wrong, before.

She flips her coin. “I wasn’t helping, before. We are certain, now.”

You ask how certain.

“V3RY, V3RY C3RT41N, J4K3.”

You fall into silence, blinking the teal out of your mind. You look at Jade. You imagine her in the wilderness, starving, eating raw meat.

“Think about it,” the Seer says. “I’ll be back.”

Your answer is still no.

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“You can’t come in ‘cause Grandpa says not to talk to strangers!”

You put your hand on Jade’s shoulder. “Jade,” you say gently. “Why don’t you go play with your toys?”

The girl looks up at you. “Mkay,” she mumbles.

You look at your visitor, dressed garishly in violet and gold and carrying a white staff. As soon as Jade is out of earshot, he says:

“You know, you can’t protect her forever.”

You are so, so old. You nod in acknowledgement.

“You want to turn her against us. We would rather not have to force her to do anythin', but if you succeed, then we will have to be harsh. Relent now, while she is young, and we can afford to be more gentle.”

You tell him that you will defend Jade until you perish. You know you are daring him, in a sense. But he does not attack. He gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Bullshit, Mr. Harley. You are deceivin' yourself. You will perish long before we give up, and you know it. No, that’s not a threat. That’s a fact.”

You appreciate his honesty.

“Listen,” he says, his voice calm. “We’re not goin' to hurt her. We’re not goin' to take her away. We are goin' to give her the best chance she has, to live. This is goin' to happen. It's fated to happen. Whether she fails or succeeds at her task will hang on how we train her. We will help her survive.”

You pause. After a moment you say, “You are the most reasonable and tolerable of your people.”

He sighs. “I will take compliments where I can get them, Mr. Harley.”

“But the answer is still no.”

He is reasonable and tolerable. He nods. “Fine, but don’t lie to yourself. Your selfish desire to keep Jade away from us is out of spite for Feferi, no other reason. It is goin' to hurt Jade in the long run. She will suffer for your stubbornness.”

He gets up to leave. He pauses. “And don’t think that this is the last you’ll see of us, either."

Then the Prince leaves, and takes your hope with him.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are a very old man.

You haven’t seen the gods for two years. It is time to teach your granddaughter to hunt. She holds her bb gun steady and shoots down her first sparrow.

Then she bursts into tears. “Oh no! Make him better! Grandpa! Fix him!”

You never make her hunt again.

--------

You do, however, bury a chest.

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Your name is Jake Harley, and you are going fishing. It is not the first time you have done so. There is no big game on your island, but you enjoy occasionally pitting yourself against swordfish and sharks. Becquerel is watching Jade, so you have no fear.

Today, you hook a large marlin. It leaps magnificently, and you brace yourself against the railing of the skiff for battle.

Then, very suddenly, the line goes slack. Thinking you lost the fish, you reel in your line. All that remains of the marlin is its head, still hooked.

No shark, not even a Great White, could possibly swallow in one bite the entire body of a twelve- foot marlin. You feel a terrible dread creep into your heart.

Then, the dark form rises out of the deep. A black ropey arm, a tentacle, smashes off the front of your boat. The deck lists, and you stagger. More tentacles appear.

Your rifle is in your hand, and you fire. Several arms are hit, and flinch back, but it is not enough. The tentacles close in, wrap and squeeze your boat like a smaller squid might grasp a shrimp. The beast must be sixty feet long at least.

You are afraid. You can’t let them do this. Jade has no parents. You are all she has.

“Witch of Life, please, stop!” Your voice is nothing against the sound of your boat being ripped apart. “Feferi Peixes! Mother! Stop!”

And everything, absolutely everything, stops.

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The squid’s tentacles hover in midair. The flecks of sea spray are suspended. The water is no longer rushing to flood the deck. And in front of you are two goddesses.

One is the Maid of Time, She Who is Both Beginning and End. You don’t know why you add the honorifics; you never have before. It’s something about her, in particular. She commands respect, the way the others don’t.

The other is the Witch of Life. Mother. She looks exactly as she did when you were a lad.

The Maid speaks first, her voice Tinged in burgundy. “i t00k the liberty 0f anticipating y0ur last request”

This was not what you would have requested. And though you know there’s no point in asking, you ask, “Why?”

“I knew you’d never give her up,” Feferi says. She sounds, not sad, but... resigned. “We can’t have you interfering with this. Everything we’re doing hangs on Jade.”

“So this is what you do when you can’t convince someone, Witch of Infinite Mercy?” You are a bitter old man, and you simply cannot call her ‘Mother.’ Not aloud. Not again.

“Everyone becomes food someday, Jake,” she says. “That is the way of life. You know that. Besides, is there any way I could have dissuaded you?”

You know there isn’t. Your love for Jade, short sighted and utterly hopeless as it is, transcends anything the goddess could say or do.

But you failed. The Prince of Hope was right.

“Don’t hurt her,” you whisper, your heart in your throat. “Don’t let her fail.”

“we w0n’t,” says Aradia.

You nod, and brace for the blow. It doesn’t come.

“Actually,” says Feferi. “You don’t have to take our word for it. What do you say, Aradia? Shall we show him?”

"yes," says the Maid, and takes your hand.

---------

You are no longer on your shattered skiff. You are back at home, in the sitting room. You notice that the books on the shelves are different, and some of the furniture is rearranged. There is a dog bed, and Becquerel is curled up in it, sleeping.

After you recover from your disorientation, you hear Feferi calling from behind you, her voice Tinged a royal magenta. “JAD—-E!! YOU )(AV—-E A VISITOR!!!”

A voice calls out: “Coming, Fef!”

Then a young woman comes down the stairs, and you forget all about the Witch.

She grew up. The Maid took you to the future, and Jade grew up, while you were gone.

Her skin is dark from the sun, and her hands callused from working outdoors. She is wearing sensible clothes, and no shoes at all. When she sees you, she shrieks with delight, like she’s still a small child. “Grandpa!”

“My girl.” Your voice is choked with emotion. “My girl.”

You embrace her, and she is so tall. How can that be? How old is she? How can she be a young woman, so quickly?

She is talking, so fast, stumbling over her words. “Oh my gosh, can I show you my shooting range? Oh, let me show you my dream bot, and my garden! And my music! I need to show you my new songs!"

She leads you by the hand, talking the whole while. You see her shooting range, and the dream bot, and the garden, and you listen to her play the bass guitar, mournful and resonant. She is a talented girl.

Then she says, “I’m so glad you came today. I’m actually going to leave really soon. Next week! To make the new universe, and become a god and everything.”

What?

“I’m kind of nervous, really. And I'll miss the island.” She’s looking at her hands, fingers tied with string. “But I think I’m ready. Sollux says I am.”

You can’t breathe. She smiles at you, but then sees your expression and furrows her brows. “Don't worry! I’ll be fine. I’m a really good shot. I hit the bullseye almost every time! And Sollux is actually going to be coming with me, did you know? He says he’ll be by my side the whole time. I can do this.”

The gods can lie. You want to say. They lie and throw you away.

You realize that when she leaves, she may very well die, sacrificed like a calf’s brain thrown into the fire. You want to tell her, tell her everything, but you cannot. You cannot ruin her happiness, ephemeral as it is.

“...Grandpa?”

“Jade,” you say. You swallow. You want to give her freedom. Will she feel free, knowing that she is trapped by fate? Will she be free, if she is a goddess? “Show them what for, my darling.”

That's when you tell her, in a low, serious voice, about the chest. You tell her where she needs to dig, to find it. You are also about to tell her to be careful, to not give her trust away so easily. But before you can say it, you see the Maid. She taps two fingers to her wrist. The goddess is not wearing a watch, but you understand the signal.

“I can’t stay, dear.”

“Oh,” Jade looks disappointed. Her voice is quiet, solemn but steady. “Well... I guess this is goodbye, then?" She bites her lip and looks away. "I... they told me you'd visit, before the end, but... I just wish it could be longer."

You wish that, too. You wish it more than anything.

She hugs you again. “I love you, Grandpa. I’ll make you proud.” It is the gods she will make proud. You realize then how deeply and completely you have lost.

The Maid touches your shoulder. “I love you, too, Jade,” you say, leaning down. "I'm sorry." Then, you whisper to her the coordinates.