Malkhad Story: Manifestation

“All right, Malkhad,” his mother said, laying a small lump of clay on the workbench before him, “Start with something simple, like flattening it out or making a little dip in the top.”

Malkhad took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  In his mind’s eye he could see the bit of clay in front of him, soft and wet and still smelling of the ground it had been dug out of out.  Something simple, like making it flat.  Surely he could do that much.

A dish.  I’ll flatten it out and make a dish and then finish it off with my hands, the way Karakashtai –

A low thumping noise made him jump.  He opened his eyes and saw that the lump had flattened, all right.  It was as though a large mallet had struck it and sent little bits flying everywhere, leaving hardly a trace on the bench.  Malkhad gasped.  “Mother, I’m sorry, I tried to make a dish and-“

She smiled wanly and shook her head.  “Don’t worry, Mal.  It’s all right.  No one gets it right the first time.”

No one makes things explode on their first try, either, Genkashtai thought, picking wet clay out of her dark hair.

“Mother, are you all right?”  Malkhad hung his head as his older sister came into the room.  Karakashtai saw the mess and immediately began complaining, “Mal of Khad!”

        She’s the only one who can say it like a curse, he thought to himself.

       “Do you have any idea how hard this will be to clean up?  It even got on the wet pots!  I’ll have to scrape and – “

Their mother glared, and the girl fell silent.  She was actually flinching a little.  Even Malkhad could feel the frustration, tinged with anger, in the air.  He wondered what they were saying to each other in their thoughts, but he could feel the guilt, like a fog, slinking around his ankles.  But which one was it coming from?  Or was it coming from him?

The pots on the shelf began to rattle.  Karakashtai looked around.

Fear and confusion swirled around the room for a moment, as the rattling became worse.  A particularly tall water jug tipped and fell.  Genkashtai gasped, “Mal, not here!”

She was too late.  Pots, plates, bowls, jugs, and vases began to dance in place.  Soon everything was rattling and breaking, or collapsing into misshapen piles.  Karakashtai dove under the bench as a bowl flew off a shelf and smashed itself into the opposite wall.  “What is this?!” she cried, as she huddled deeper underneath the heavy table.

Other pieces began to leap from their places, and soon the broken shards began to join them.  Malkhad cried out as a few sharp edges tore through his clothes and cut his arms.  The air was a veritable flurry of pottery.  Their mother threw up a protective mental shield and hurried them out of the shop.

Once they left the small building things began to quiet down.  They sat on the ground in the afternoon sunlight, panting amid the dust that was slowly settling to the earth.  Genkashtai lay down and closed her eyes, trying to calm her mind.

       Their neighbors, alerted by the noise and the panic in the air, began to gather around.  Genkashtai opened her eyes and sat up.  Some of her neighbors had started to settle in for a meditative circle, to overpower the negative emotions that still skulked within her workshop.  A healing tattoo was crawling up Malkhad’s arm, fixing the little cuts and bruises before hopping back into the skin of its owner’s shoulder.

     Genkashtai sighed.  Do not be saddened, a voice in her head whispered, You tried.  What more can a mother do?

     She smiled.  “Merakashtai,” she said, taking her friend’s hand.

     Merakashtai smiled back and hauled Genkashtai off the ground.  Genna, is it as we suspected?

She nodded.  That and more, I’m afraid.  He’s at the point where any surge of emotion can set it off.

      The slightest of furrows appeared in the telepath’s brow.  Even the emotions of those not of his lineage?

Yes.  My slight disappointment wasn’t enough, but when Kara came into the room and got flustered, it was too much and – You know.

Just then, Malkhad ran up and bowed slightly to Merakashtai, “I’m sorry if this accident disturbed any of the Lightbringers in their work.  I know many of you had planned to meditate in the square nearby this afternoon.”  

He’s very polite.  I’m practically his aunt.

     Well, he likes to be polite, if he is a bit… Boisterous.

     Merakashtai smiled and nodded back to him.  I’m glad to see that everything is all right, young Malkhad.  Are you looking to become a Thoughtshaper like your mother?

Mal blinked.  “Uhm, no, I wasn’t, I was trying to see if I could focus on something.  I’m not very good at meditating.”

Merakashtai sat down on a nearby stone and motioned for the two to join her.  Have you tried other techniques?  Song or dance, perhaps? It troubled her that her best friend’s son was having a hard time.  Most young men his age at least knew what they were skilled at and were trying out different areas to see where their talents fit.

Malkhad shook his head and sat on the ground at the ladies’ feet.  “It doesn’t work.  I get too caught up in the music.”  A small puddle of sorrow was beginning to form underneath him.  Merakashtai caught a bit of worry from his mother.

You‘ve meditated with your father and sister in the monastery with some of the other Lightbringers.  Did that not work for you?

Malkhad bit his lip.  Genkashtai put her hand softly on his hair and laughed a bit nervously.  He almost collapsed one of the support pillars in the temple area.

Merakashtai nodded and leaned back a bit.  I see…  Well, what are you good at?  What would you like to do?

“He’s only good at making a mess!” Karakashtai called out, as she began to sweep away the debris and mentally roll together wayward bits of wet clay.  She yelped at the angry glances tossed her way and ducked into the shop.

“She’s right, you know,” Malkhad whispered, almost to himself.  “Everything I try seems to explode or catch fire or break.  I’m only good at messing things up.”  The little area of sorrow surrounding him grew much darker to Merakashtai’s senses.  The grass around him began to droop and turn brown.

     She gasped.  “Malkhad,” she said, her voice soft and raspy from years of disuse, “You are not a Thoughtshaper or a Lightbringer.”

     Malkhad jumped.  He had never in his sixteen years of life heard Merakashtai speak with her actual voice.  She was a powerful Telepath and Lightbringer. She could communicate with outsides through sheer empathy, so she had no need of a voice.  Genkashtai balked.  She and Merakashtai had grown up together, but even she couldn’t recall the last time she had heard Mera speak.

     Merakashtai had even surprised herself.  But what she had to say was important.  She carefully cleared her throat.  “You are a wilder.”