Breathing in Water
Of justice, final rites, and a quest for serving others in a way that feels right.
This issue was edited by fellow author Rachel Bowdler. You can find her beautiful romance novels, other books, and services for authors, such as editing and cover design, here.
For content notes and warnings, click on the number:1
Among the rubble and the destruction, we find the Annihilator, lying on his back on a dislocated slab of concrete. Not for the first time, it strikes me how similar they all look. Limbs flopped, he stares up at the sky, his breathing so slow I can barely perceive it. Is it defeat, or is it finally peace? It is not my place to know. Some of them react to our arrival, try to muster the last ounce of fighting spirit. He does not. The Annihilator is no longer concerned with this plane of reality.
Around us, the ruins teem with first responders and paramedics. The few surviving injured cry in pain while firefighters and volunteers dig through the rubble. A cloud of dust flows in the air and coats my palate.
Husk and I sing a bubble of silence that clears the air around us and the Annihilator. As usual, a few people cast furtive glances at us, but nobody dares interrupt. Our work is delicate and requires the utmost concentration. Inside the still bubble, Husk and I take our positions: he kneels by the Annihilator’s head, I by his feet. We lightly lay our hands over him and begin our wordless chant. Sounds trickle from our mouths in translucent threads, enveloping the Annihilator head to toe in a cocoon. It is not tight or constrictive, merely intended as a conductor for our transport incantation.
We end our chant. The dome around us dissipates and we are once again plunged into the chaos of the rescue effort. I close my eyes and shake my head to focus again, then look around. Husk has already risen back to his feet and is waiting for me. I stand up and my eyes fall on the Annihilator’s face, the only part of him not covered in thread. The vague smile on his bloodied lips churns my insides for a second. Then, Husk coughs discreetly, breaking my reverie. We position ourselves with our hands reaching out again, standing silently this time. Our intention weaves through the filaments to lift the Annihilator’s body up in the air. With a wave of Husk’s hand, we take off in a line, Husk, the floating body, and I.
People stop digging, crying, carting rubble away in wheelbarrows, to watch us pass. Only the medics don’t lift their heads. We pass one of them, busy dressing the wounds of a young girl. A thick coat of white dust has turned her into a plaster statue; tears and snot streak her face, as well as dried blood. The paramedic has already placed two sticks on the sides of her leg and is busy wrapping it in gauze. His forehead is shiny with sweat. The girl’s eyes are overflowing, but her jaw is clenched tight: she is striving to be brave. Suddenly, she lifts her head and stares at us. Her eyes widen, and even under all those layers of dust, I see the colour drain from her face. The paramedic follows her gaze, sees us, and understands. Everybody knows what we do. That’s why nobody knows who we are. We relinquish our identities for the rest of our lives when we enter the Order. If, or rather when, we leave, we receive new names. New lives.
The paramedic’s lips disappear in a tight frown; he briefly rubs his forehead with a handkerchief, then goes back to his job. I saw the pure disgust in his face. I turn away and carry on. Those two pairs of eyes are burned into my head: the girl, terrified, the paramedic, disgusted. Both looks are familiar to me and everyone else in the Order, and yet, the image lingers.
Our strange parade reaches the end of the safety cordoning around the collapsed buildings. We cross a security checkpoint with no issues. The guards are young and just want us out of their sight as fast as possible. They still haven’t learned that we only come when the danger is over. Or that we’re far more equipped than them to deal with danger in the first place.
In a few hours, we float the Annihilator all the way to the edge of the countryside. No destruction has reached here; it looks like a normal day. Only the streets are completely deserted. The city will remain on high alert until our Order gives the call that the Annihilator has been disposed of.
Dusk is upon us and still, we press on. It is a journey of three days and nights to the coast, and we will not stop until we reach our destination. Each member of our Order undergoes strict training and body enhancement regimens for decades before taking on a charge. With a halo of light cast in front and around us, Husk and I walk through the night in silence.
On our second day, as we cross the plains, untouched and unmoved by the Annihilator’s rampage on the city, I begin to yawn. Peppered with grazing cows, the flat grassy landscape is hypnotising; also, the Annihilator has been immobile in his cocoon since we extracted him. It’s the best scenario, and yet, my mind aches for a distraction. I manage to keep my composure and stifle the first yawn, then the second, but by the third, a noise escapes me, and Husk stops, halting our little convoy. They turn back to pin me with a glare that dissolves every other potential yawn like salt in my throat.
‘Umbra,’ they whisper, ‘remember the Baron.’ Then, they turn and resume walking at the same pace as before.
I follow, head down, chastised, no longer perceiving the countryside around us.
The Baron was Husk’s last charge with Veil, their former cohort. The job began with the Baron unresponsive, tears ceaselessly pouring down his cheeks as the only sign of life. It ended with Veil suspended in mid-air, screaming, their skin turned inside out. I was told that their organs waved gently in the breeze, dripping blood like freshly washed laundry.
Umbra and the three cohorts of the backup team had to use all their power to incapacitate the Baron and carry him to the end of his journey. They buried him standing in his people’s ancestral forest, as their tradition required. He hurled insults and jabs of energy at them until the last shovelful of soil covered his head, sealed by the Order’s chant to be inaccessible to outsiders and unbreakable from the inside.
That burial caused the Order no small amount of trouble. Criticism from those who believed it was wrong to bury alive a person who still had fight in them, even a multi-homicidal terror like the Baron. Criticism from those who saw Veil’s end as proof that setting villains to a respectful rest, on top of being an insult to their victims, posed too significant a safety risk.
The Order pledged to never make such mistakes again. Joining requirements tightened and training became longer and more intense, more focused on fighting. The rules of the Order had always been simple:
‘Only lay to rest’
‘Only with the dignity of their people’
‘Only when they are finished’
To the last one, my training master Twilight used to add with the shade of a smirk: ‘But some of them may need a reminder.’
The Annihilator doesn’t seem to need a reminder, but Husk is right: we can’t let our attention wane. Even without reaching the extremes of the Baron, many of our charges try to go out in a blaze of glory. Or, rather, of infamy.
The sun is high in the sky the next day when we reach the cliffs.
The Annihilator has been silent the whole time; the gentle pulsing of the cocoon tells us that he is alive. On his face, where the blood has dried and is now flaking off, lingers the same hazy smile.
I think about the Annihilator’s crimes. the Order discourages active involvement, so I do not know the specific details. There are other Orders committed to combat. We are only the final link, ministers of final rites, not vigilantes.
And yet, as the path leads out far from the last fields and into a windswept plateau, I tell myself that The Annihilator deserves this end. I do not need to know the details. The face of the little girl caked in dust and the glaring eyes of the paramedic have been dancing in my mind for the past two days.
‘We need to descend, Umbra,’ says Husk. We are standing on a rugged cliff. Behind us, the wind whips tufts of grass and pink bushes of thrift. Below, steely waves spit foam like a rabid dog. No path to the bottom of the cliff; the Annihilator’s people are masters of levitation.
Husk and I stand on the edge and begin another chant. New tendrils of light envelop the cocoon, lifting it and gently lowering it down the side of the cliff. A stark contrast to what the Annihilator’s victims must have experienced; not much freezes the blood in people’s veins like flying death descending on them.
Once the Annihilator’s body is floating over the sea on a makeshift hammock of light, we follow. Our own descent is less graceful. Husk and I half-levitate, half-climb down the coarse rock. Occasionally, we stop to reinforce the chant that holds the cocoon mid-air safe from the waves.
Halfway down, when I’ve exhausted my very un-Order-like set of curses and my robe is drenched in sweat, Husk’s foot slips on a crumbly ledge. With a cry, I push myself off the cliff and levitate to them. I grab them by the waist just in time before they tumble to a likely death on the spiky rocks that peek out under the foamy water.
‘Thank you, Umbra.’ Their breath is laboured. Despite the body enhancements and masterful energy control, Husk is on their seventh decade in the Order. Weariness tinges their measured movements, and they struggle with physically demanding tasks like climbing a cliff. That—as well as their wealth of experience and wisdom—led the Order to pair them with younger cohorts nowadays. Not many last more than three or four decades as an active cohort. Husk is unique within the Order. If they wanted to retire, they would receive the highest level of new life an Order member can desire. But Husk is a cohort for life.
Slowly, I levitate us down to a more stable ledge. There is barely enough space for both our feet, so I hold onto the rock with one hand and allow Husk to gather their bearings. We stand in that precarious position for a couple of minutes, before Husk’s breath stabilises, and they begin to chant again. The chant generates a halo that buoys them in the air. They slip down from under my grip and gently float to the bottom of the cliff. I sigh in relief when I see them standing next to the Annihilator. In bursts of levitation and stretches of climbing, it seems to take me hours to reach them.
‘You will have to take over from here, Umbra.’ Husk pants. ‘That little bit of showmanship exhausted me. I only have enough energy to help maintain the cocoon now.’
‘We could take a break, Master Husk,’ I venture. ‘The descent was harsh.’
‘No,’ they reply, frowning. ‘We must complete our charge.’
‘I can maintain the hammock and the cocoon for as long as—’
‘We must complete our charge, Umbra.’ Their tone is final. ‘And we must dive to the caves under this cliff.’
I am blurting out, ‘Yes, Master Husk,’ and turning away, when my eyes fall on the Annihilator’s face and my blood freezes. His face has been polished clean of the blood by the sprays of seawater, and his eyes are fixed on me. He smiles still, only now it isn’t vacuous anymore. His eyes glint with the tiniest spark of amusement. The Annihilator is smirking at me.
‘Sorry to cause so much trouble,’ he coughs out in a spray of blood. ‘Why don’t you pious folk just leave me here? I’m sure the seagulls will take care of me.’
My mouth barely has the time to fall open before Husk silences the Annihilator with a thin whistle and a tired flick of their wrist. His mouth clamps shut, and a veil covers his eyes. Our charges sometimes require sedation, but it’s my first time seeing it happen.
‘Let’s move on, Umbra,’ insists Husk, their tone almost pleading. ‘The effect will only last a few hours.’
‘I thought we only took them when they were finished.’ I can’t explain the bitterness in my voice, unbecoming when addressing a Master. It doesn’t seem to bother Husk, who just sighs and begins the underwater chant. After a second of hesitation, I follow.
The hammock we are standing on rises around us.
Unlike the shroud-like shape wrapping the Annihilator, this external cocoon surrounds us like a tent. Husk and I stand inside and chant, me once again by the Annihilator’s head, Husk by his feet.
Gently, our light-bubble floats to the side of the rocks until it finds space, then plunges under the water. For a second, tall waves thunder against our walls, and then the water closes around us, dampening all sound.
We dive deeper and deeper. Husk directs our chant and the bubble’s meandering. We coast the cliff, looking for a gap.
I find it hard to believe that people can call such an inhospitable place home, but the Annihilator’s kind has inhabited these caves and rocks for centuries. The local marine life has been driven to the brink of extinction by their hunting, and their numbers are supposed to be dwindling, though nobody knows for sure. Despite the hardships, few of them move far from the coast. The Annihilator was one of them.
I keep my mind on the chant until our bubble stops and hovers in front of an opening in the rock. It is barely big enough to fit us, and Husk leads the bubble to shrink slightly. In the silence of the watery cave, all I hear beside the chant is the blood pumping in my ears, amplified by the pressure, and the Annihilator’s spluttery breath. Despite my earlier reaction to Husk sedating him, I know that his fate is sealed. I can hear it in every twitch and gasp of his collapsing lungs. ‘Only when they are finished.’
The cave turns out to be a corridor excavated within the rock; it opens into a wide chamber, where we emerge into a calm pool twinkling with bioluminescence. Our bubble dissolves. We have reached the burial grounds.
For a second, the paramedic’s rebuking frown flashes in my mind. What would he think if he saw the magnificent crypt where the Annihilator will rest for eternity?
Then, Husk glances at me and I shake my head. The Order doesn’t preoccupy itself with revenge, punishment, or even justice. We are ministers of the final journey.
Husk and I lead the raft to a platform on the side of the pool, and that’s when we see them: the Annihilator’s people have come to attend the ceremony.
There must be about ten of them, floating just a hair over the rock, dressed in ceremonial robes glittering with pearls and minerals extracted from the rock. The Order always sends a message to the family and people of our charges, but it is rare to see them come so numerous.
Ending our chant, Husk and I depose the cocoon on the shore and kneel, uttering a respectful greeting in the Annihilator’s language.
The group lands on the ground, and a woman steps forth. Her robe is devoid of any decoration, and her expression is sombre.
‘We care not about what Keonagh has done or how he has been punished,’ she declares with a firm voice. ‘We came to witness because he is one of our own and his essence must be returned to the source. Are you aware of the proper rites?’
Husk lowers their head in a nod. ‘My cohort and I can stand aside,’ they offer, ‘if you wish to preside over the rites yourself.’
The Order always extends this offer. Whether the people are scared of their own murderous offshoots or they’re uncomfortable with administering funeral rites to members who are not quite dead, they rarely accept.
The woman is no exception. She shakes her head vigorously. ‘If Keonagh’s essence is tainted, it is safer for an outsider to release it.’ She observes the Annihilator’s face intently. ‘Is he dead?’ she suddenly asks.
‘He does not have long,’ answers Husk. ‘He is in a slumber.’
‘Wake him up,’ orders the woman. ‘He has to be conscious of the passage.’
Husk nods. We both know what this means. Being conscious of death is reserved for criminals among the Annihilator’s people. They might not care about what he has done, but they judge him, nonetheless.
The Annihilator scrunches his face and slowly blinks his eyes open. They fall on the woman looking impassively at him, and he starts coughing blood again. I wonder at these sudden spurts of activity today after two days of stillness. Perhaps being back to his cliffs and caves is giving him more energy. Or perhaps it is the awareness that he is inching closer to death.
‘Amriach,’ he croaks. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’
The woman’s forehead crumples and her jaw clenches. Her voice trembles for the first time.
‘I didn’t think you’d come. Not back. Not like this.’
The Annihilator closes his eyes and sighs. ‘I am sorry.’
At this, the woman turns away, her long salt-and-pepper hair whipping her shoulder, and, walking back to the rest of the group, hisses:
‘It is not to me that you ought to apologise, Keonagh.’ And then to us: ‘Proceed. We’ll witness.’
The Annihilator’s jaw clenches, and he says nothing more.
Husk and I pull two small picks from our robes and get to work. We chip at the stone walls until we have collected enough splinters to cover the Annihilator in a thin translucent layer. The cocoon of light creates kaleidoscopes out of the splinters and mineral dust that cast colours on the walls of the cave. Then, we collect salt shards from shallow puddles and build a circle around the Annihilator, ending in a small path that will lead his essence to the pool. Finally, we place two splinters of shiny rock over the Annihilator’s eyes, and shards of salt under his tongue. I am on edge and ready when Husk opens his mouth, but the Annihilator doesn’t move. Perhaps he is truly finished now.
Then, Husk chants a brief low note, and the splinters and dust coating the Annihilator catch fire. Flames of mauve and indigo spread across his body, and yet he doesn’t speak nor scream. Only after the flames reach his face, does the Annihilator whimper slightly. The whimper turns into a coughing fit that shakes the stones over his eyes and I almost rush to prevent them from falling. A glance from Husk stops me. Within seconds, the stones sink into the sockets, having consumed his eyes in their fire.
The ritual does not involve chanting, so we all watch in silence. Soon, the Annihilator stops coughing and only the crackling of the fire echoes in the cave. We stand still until the end.
When the last ember has gone dead and cold, the Annihilator’s people approach the remains in a line. Indifferent to the lingering heat, each of them collects two fistfuls of ashes and embers and tosses them in the pool. The woman he called Amriach is the last. When she is done, she nods to us, and the Annihilator’s people levitate once again, disappearing in the darkness of the cave.
Husk and I conclude the rite by dispersing the rest of the remains in the pool. We leave the circle of salt. According to their beliefs, it will dissolve when the Annihilator’s essence has merged with the pool.
It takes us another day to make our way back out of the caves and up the cliff. We don’t say a word until we are standing at the top, looking down at the ever-stormy sea. Husk is tired and I am lost in thought.
‘Is this just, Master Husk?’ I can’t help but ask. ‘The victims are not coming back, and he…’ The Annihilator’s whimper as he burned will not leave my mind. ‘Will this truly bring closure to those he hurt?’
Husk turns to look at me with weary eyes. ‘How many charges have you had, Umbra?’
‘This is my tenth,’ I mumble, feeling my cheeks warm.
Husk nods, rubbing their index over their lips. ‘We better make camp,’ they say. ‘Recover for one night before the journey back. Find us an energy circle, will you?’
I turn towards land, but before I can move, they call after me again. ‘You have done well, Umbra. Consider your options.’
My options. As I wade among the grass and the thrift, I struggle to focus on my search for the energy circle. The image of the plaster girl and the Annihilator’s whimper chase each other at the forefront of my mind.
Then, it strikes me that Amriach means mother in the Annihilator’s language. I stand still. My own mother died long ago, on my second decade of training. If I could see her today, would I apologise like the Annihilator did? Would she turn away like his mother did?
Husk waves at me. They found the energy circle. I walk towards them. Instead of feeling embarrassed for keeping a Master waiting, my mind is trying and failing to glean memories of my mother’s face.
When I reach the circle, they have set up a tent and a campfire is happily crackling. The sight of the fire makes me nauseous. I look away.
‘Have you considered your options?’ asks Husk casually as they sit down and rub their hands together next to the flame.
I sit in front of him, still looking away.
‘I quit. I am quitting the Order,’ I say. The moment I say it, I realise it is true. Husk nods, staring at the fire.
Husk nods, still staring at the fire.
Writing news and musings
This story was not supposed to come out now. The box for the end of April on my editorial calendar reads ‘Hide-and-seekers 2’. And yet, Roy and Silica have evaded me for the whole month. Then, Husk and Umbra, who first came to me about a year ago and were just floating underwater for almost as long, resurfaced. Letting my stories guide me is not always a linear process, but it is always the process that feels right for me. Roy and Silica will come back on their own terms, if and when they like. In a way, this hiding feels very in character for them. They’re hide-and-seekers, after all.
In other news, I am working on a novel. It’s a more vulnerable place for me: I often wonder if I am doing the story justice, if I will manage to follow the thread until the end. It’s not the first novel I start, after all. However, there is a steady undercurrent propping me up and carrying me that I haven’t felt before. Something in me is finally convinced that this writing thing is where I belong. That these words belong to me. This one novel might work or not, but my relationship to writing will still be there, like it has been there for the past 20-30 years.
Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate your support!
I will see you in the middle of May for a new poem and again at the end of May for a new oddball tale!
Take care,
Magnolia Fay
Contains mentions and scenes with violence, death, blood, destruction, fire, execution, and one instance of a wounded child
I just love how, in every short story, you are able to create an entire fantastical world and a vibe of otherworldliness. (You’re also amazing at naming your characters so creatively; I love it.) Also love your deep exploration of different genres. Thank you for sharing this story. And I just can’t wait to read your novel when it is ready ❤️