FICTION
DARREN LIPMAN
LOST SIGNALS
Briera stood at the back of the hunting party. Sheera had gone off somewhere, but she could fend by herself. Now (after dealing with that disrespectful elf who’d challenged her in front of the whole party), she passed a silent signal toward Alcon and the others and then broke off herself, heading east, deliberately downwind from the hunting party.
When even their scent had passed, Briera the chieftainess looped around and began heading home. She had business to deal with, away from the prying eyes of the other elves.
A few hours later, Briera knelt down beside the black brick of plastic and glass–the cell phone. She looked around in either direction, knowing already she was alone, and then picked it up. She scuffed the ground with the toe of her boot to make it look like the phone had never been there, and then she stole away into her hut to examine the device.
It was a truth known to all elves, if never spoken aloud, that their distaste for all things human had one exception: the acquisition of knowledge trumped all else. It wasn’t the first cell phone Briera had seen, and likely not the last, and she knew time was limited before whatever magic (technology?) that kept the glass alight would be used up and it would fall dark forever.
She pressed the button at the bottom and the screen lit up. There was still the Amber Alert about Danny Williams, age 8, on the screen. She ignored it and swiped to open the phone; a myriad of small squares with different designs popped up, and she knew these were called “apps.” She wasn’t interested in any of these things; instead she looked for the news.
The headlines were confusing, many of them talking about a Supreme Court (like the Elvish courts of the English tribes perhaps?) and something about Roe vs Wade. Wasn’t roe what the humans called fish eggs? It must be, since why else would they talk about wading…must be something about overfishing. That was old news, though, wasn’t it?
Next she saw something about the EPA, which she didn’t know about, followed by the words “climate change.” That was something she knew about, too, and a few clicks later, she was reading stories about droughts and heat waves and raging wildfires.
Briera shrank down to a crouch, still poring over the cell phone, as a thought came to her: perhaps the magic water was drying up because the humans were destroying Mother Earth.
“Chieftainess?”
Briera looked up suddenly, fumbling the phone in her hands; it dropped to her feet as she saw Sheera.
“What were you doing,” Sheera started slowly, her voice picking up speed, “with that?”
Briera scooped up the cell phone and jumped up, steeling her face.
“Someone needs to dispose of it,” she said, “to protect the young ones.”
“No,” Sheera said, “you were using it–I saw you reading from it!” She shook her head. “You hypocrite–you tell us human things are forbidden, but you–you–”
Briera snorted. “I am the Chieftainess. It is my duty to oversee the tribe and ensure our safety. Sometimes, Sheera, that demands I bend a rule or two. Do you know how much information of the human world this device allows us to glean?” She brandished it in Sheera’s face but didn’t pause for the girl to respond. “Information is power, and power should not be wasted.”
“But–”
“Oh, now you’re one to talk?” Briera sneered at her. “Do you not have your own contraband?”
Sheera’s lips snapped shut and she glared at Briera. The severity passed, however, as her bravado faltered before the Chieftainess.
“I do,” Sheera admitted softly, “and it’s a good thing I do, too, because it saved me from some… from some sort of creature, or spirit, I encountered in the woods.” She lifted her waterskin. “It was guarding this.” She opened the waterskin and a soft glow came out of it as she sloshed around its contents, careful not to let a single drop escape.
“Magic water,” Briera gasped. “How did you find it?”
“Widdershins to magic,” Sheera said, as if the old saying answered everything, so Briera pressed her for more. It took a few minutes for Sheera to share her tale, stumbling over the words in her excitement, or nervousness, before the Chieftainess.
“Tomorrow you must show me where you found this,” Briera said, her tone taking on a commanding note, “and then we’ll alert the Altienna. Perhaps this will quell their fears.” She sighed, feeling the weight of the cell phone in her hands again. Looking down at it, turning it on again, she saw all the articles about climate change and shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Sheera asked.
“I fear this new source will also dry up,” Briera said and walked past Sheera to stand outside, among the trees again; there was no use in her hiding in her hut any longer. “I’ve been reading what the humans are saying, and they, too, are feeling Mother Earth’s wrath.” She explained what she had read about droughts and wildfires. “Their water is drying up, and so is ours. Only a fool would say they are not connected.”
“So what do we do?”
Briera shook her head. “Perhaps–” She bit her tongue, the thought too vile to put into words: was it time the elves confronted the humans and shared their ways, taught the city folk how to live in union with Mother Earth, rather than against her?
Sheera seemed to read her thoughts from the look on her face.
“We can’t,” Sheera said and stomped her foot on the dirt. “That you would even think it!”
“But, Sheera, don’t you see?” Briera raised her hands and shook her head. “The humans are slaughtering Mother Earth, and they’re killing the magic alongside her. They may never find us in the Deep Forest, but what does that matter if the rest of the world dies around us?”
“We will live!” Sheera shouted. “Talking to humans can only open the door for more suffering.”
“But what if we won’t?” Briera said, and she noticed with a shock that she had tears streaming down her face. She whirled away from Sheera and crossed her arms tightly; the weight of the cell phone in her hand seemed suddenly too great to hold and she let it all to the ground. With a shriek of rage, she kicked it deeper into the forest, and it fell behind some bushes.
“Briera,” Sheera said quietly, and the Chieftainess whirled around, her brow furrowed. She did not want to be comforted by the woman her younger brother fancied, of all people.
“You know what?” she said, though she wasn’t sure what she was going to say after that. Instead she stormed past Sheera and back into her hut, throwing the door shut behind her.
She paced back and forth in the tawny darkness of the hut, unperturbed by it. It was her duty to safeguard the tribe, and her responsibility as an elf to protect Mother Earth. How could she–how could any of them–stand idly by while the humans ravaged the planet?
She did not know, and she feared she might never learn the answer.
When even their scent had passed, Briera the chieftainess looped around and began heading home. She had business to deal with, away from the prying eyes of the other elves.
A few hours later, Briera knelt down beside the black brick of plastic and glass–the cell phone. She looked around in either direction, knowing already she was alone, and then picked it up. She scuffed the ground with the toe of her boot to make it look like the phone had never been there, and then she stole away into her hut to examine the device.
It was a truth known to all elves, if never spoken aloud, that their distaste for all things human had one exception: the acquisition of knowledge trumped all else. It wasn’t the first cell phone Briera had seen, and likely not the last, and she knew time was limited before whatever magic (technology?) that kept the glass alight would be used up and it would fall dark forever.
She pressed the button at the bottom and the screen lit up. There was still the Amber Alert about Danny Williams, age 8, on the screen. She ignored it and swiped to open the phone; a myriad of small squares with different designs popped up, and she knew these were called “apps.” She wasn’t interested in any of these things; instead she looked for the news.
The headlines were confusing, many of them talking about a Supreme Court (like the Elvish courts of the English tribes perhaps?) and something about Roe vs Wade. Wasn’t roe what the humans called fish eggs? It must be, since why else would they talk about wading…must be something about overfishing. That was old news, though, wasn’t it?
Next she saw something about the EPA, which she didn’t know about, followed by the words “climate change.” That was something she knew about, too, and a few clicks later, she was reading stories about droughts and heat waves and raging wildfires.
Briera shrank down to a crouch, still poring over the cell phone, as a thought came to her: perhaps the magic water was drying up because the humans were destroying Mother Earth.
“Chieftainess?”
Briera looked up suddenly, fumbling the phone in her hands; it dropped to her feet as she saw Sheera.
“What were you doing,” Sheera started slowly, her voice picking up speed, “with that?”
Briera scooped up the cell phone and jumped up, steeling her face.
“Someone needs to dispose of it,” she said, “to protect the young ones.”
“No,” Sheera said, “you were using it–I saw you reading from it!” She shook her head. “You hypocrite–you tell us human things are forbidden, but you–you–”
Briera snorted. “I am the Chieftainess. It is my duty to oversee the tribe and ensure our safety. Sometimes, Sheera, that demands I bend a rule or two. Do you know how much information of the human world this device allows us to glean?” She brandished it in Sheera’s face but didn’t pause for the girl to respond. “Information is power, and power should not be wasted.”
“But–”
“Oh, now you’re one to talk?” Briera sneered at her. “Do you not have your own contraband?”
Sheera’s lips snapped shut and she glared at Briera. The severity passed, however, as her bravado faltered before the Chieftainess.
“I do,” Sheera admitted softly, “and it’s a good thing I do, too, because it saved me from some… from some sort of creature, or spirit, I encountered in the woods.” She lifted her waterskin. “It was guarding this.” She opened the waterskin and a soft glow came out of it as she sloshed around its contents, careful not to let a single drop escape.
“Magic water,” Briera gasped. “How did you find it?”
“Widdershins to magic,” Sheera said, as if the old saying answered everything, so Briera pressed her for more. It took a few minutes for Sheera to share her tale, stumbling over the words in her excitement, or nervousness, before the Chieftainess.
“Tomorrow you must show me where you found this,” Briera said, her tone taking on a commanding note, “and then we’ll alert the Altienna. Perhaps this will quell their fears.” She sighed, feeling the weight of the cell phone in her hands again. Looking down at it, turning it on again, she saw all the articles about climate change and shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Sheera asked.
“I fear this new source will also dry up,” Briera said and walked past Sheera to stand outside, among the trees again; there was no use in her hiding in her hut any longer. “I’ve been reading what the humans are saying, and they, too, are feeling Mother Earth’s wrath.” She explained what she had read about droughts and wildfires. “Their water is drying up, and so is ours. Only a fool would say they are not connected.”
“So what do we do?”
Briera shook her head. “Perhaps–” She bit her tongue, the thought too vile to put into words: was it time the elves confronted the humans and shared their ways, taught the city folk how to live in union with Mother Earth, rather than against her?
Sheera seemed to read her thoughts from the look on her face.
“We can’t,” Sheera said and stomped her foot on the dirt. “That you would even think it!”
“But, Sheera, don’t you see?” Briera raised her hands and shook her head. “The humans are slaughtering Mother Earth, and they’re killing the magic alongside her. They may never find us in the Deep Forest, but what does that matter if the rest of the world dies around us?”
“We will live!” Sheera shouted. “Talking to humans can only open the door for more suffering.”
“But what if we won’t?” Briera said, and she noticed with a shock that she had tears streaming down her face. She whirled away from Sheera and crossed her arms tightly; the weight of the cell phone in her hand seemed suddenly too great to hold and she let it all to the ground. With a shriek of rage, she kicked it deeper into the forest, and it fell behind some bushes.
“Briera,” Sheera said quietly, and the Chieftainess whirled around, her brow furrowed. She did not want to be comforted by the woman her younger brother fancied, of all people.
“You know what?” she said, though she wasn’t sure what she was going to say after that. Instead she stormed past Sheera and back into her hut, throwing the door shut behind her.
She paced back and forth in the tawny darkness of the hut, unperturbed by it. It was her duty to safeguard the tribe, and her responsibility as an elf to protect Mother Earth. How could she–how could any of them–stand idly by while the humans ravaged the planet?
She did not know, and she feared she might never learn the answer.
Darren Lipman is a writer and high school math teacher. His poetry has appeared in Strange Horizons and the Piper Poetry Month 2020 Anthology.