Though no physical bond existed between Shirell and Ciroc there remained a distinct connection. Yet this wasn’t by chance. Upon Acissey's conception, deep within her, genes had been altered on a level more minute than thought possible. Had she done this as perhaps some sort of experiment? She doubted it, though really, she couldn't be certain. Her memory of the event was not what it once was.

If she must venture a guess she'd say nothing in this life was free. There was always give and take. Just as a blind man's hearing becomes more acute, she supposed her memory was the price her advanced abilities demanded. Naturally she chose to believe she'd never do such a thing. She'd already murdered one fetus. Had she really experimented on another?

She chose to tell herself it was for his betterment . . . to advance him. Already at that early point she'd felt something for him. "Him", she'd known, not it. She was the only one who could really know the gender of the fetus and chose not to share that bit of information. Nor was she ever asked as all believed such a thing unfeasible. She'd wished a better life for him. Simply put, that meant gifted. Not to her caliber, and equally shunned for it, but neither devoid of abilities.

That was the concern, after all. Acissey already had three children. The first two were boys, neither of which possessed anything special within their minds. The third, a girl, had an inkling. Regardless of ability, it was believed those who could carry a child to term should, but even this was flawed and applied only to the elite. The elite were those of influence, to whom nary a one was denied the gift and in full measure.

Acissey and her husband both possessed it, but that was no guarantee of passing it on, as it obviously hadn't been. Their position within the tribe commanded deference and for it they were awarded the leniency to continue trying. Of course, that only expanded to permission, not ability, which for whatever reason had waned. So it was that Shirell was tasked to assure pregnancy.

Even so the odds were against Acissey's somehow flawed genes at actually giving birth to a child with the gift. This was, after all, the whole point of the endeavor. A gifted child would ensure the parent's position within the tribe well past their usefulness. The fact that love for the child blossomed was purely secondary and hinged directly upon what the child was capable of. Not that Acissey and her husband hadn't loved their other three children, but after Ciroc's birth all could see the favoritism. Though ever given a judging eye by the lesser class, none in power really cared because that was normal and expected.

This was what Shirell had accomplished. It was not asked of her. None believed she could do such a thing, nor was she even sure. Regardless of need, if such had been known it would've been commanded that she NOT do such a thing. Knowledge of it would've labeled Ciroc an abomination. So it was that Shirell was not acknowledged nor awarded for her success; the claim of a natural gift aided only in the most mundane fashion. Shirell was labeled little more than a nursemaid.

The proof of Acissey's lineage could not be denied as her other children existed as evidence to the fact. Still it was denied. It was believed that since her third child showed some signs of the gift that it was only natural her fourth would show even more. This was always the hope even though past generations had generally proven otherwise. It was still easier to believe in luck than invasive genetic alteration.

Whatever the case, Ciroc now lived and with the gift. With him all apprehension for his parent's future vanished. With him jealousy among his siblings was born. This was true even though he was partial to those without, as could be seen by his friendship with Diote. It was in fact his other sibling's lack of abilities that led Ciroc to believe not being gifted was perfectly normal. Strange that. For their abuse he should've loathed the lesser class, regardless of bloodline.

His parents, however, weren’t so utterly dismissive and cruel. They'd taught him to be tolerant. They'd taught him to show pity the likes of which completely ability laden families knew nothing of. Be this as it may, pity could not but inspire hatred in most, especially within a family that was elite in every other way. The three children may have lined the bottom of the upper class, but at the same time heralded their status above all others of their kind.

They existed above pity and treated it as an insult. That was only the expectation. Ciroc never pitied his older siblings. Rather he accepted them just the same as he'd accepted Diote. That acceptance was simply misinterpreted as pity. Really, what else could be believed?

This change could've been a side effect of his genetic alteration. Who could say? Not even Shirell could be certain of that. How could she be? At the time she wasn't even sure her tampering wouldn't kill him instead of advance him. Such was the guilt at having tried, as well as the relief at having succeeded. Though, it was a double edged sword. Her success resulted in Ciroc being drawn deeper within the tribe's fold and further away from the likes of her.

Even so, the connection remained and for years she'd been using it. In the beginning it was for little other than monitoring. If he was well, so too would she be well, regardless of her unjust imprisonment. Over time that expanded to subconscious communication. Everyone seemed to have that little voice in the back of their heads telling them what was right and what was wrong, but unlike all others, Ciroc's little voice wasn’t his own.

Shirell chose to believe Ciroc had naturally accepted his lesser brethren, but perhaps it helped that she'd continually suggested he do so. Regardless of her advanced mind, it was natural for Shirell to have an affinity for the oppressed. Not that those without had been much kinder to her. In fact, if nothing else, their lack of defense had multiplied their fear, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t relate to their plight. Their fear was her own. Before she'd realized her true power, she'd been convinced of theirs and feared all their retribution. How was it any different?

If Shirell had to pick a side, it would be with the lessers, and so too had Ciroc. His advanced state existed only for acceptance's sake. It was designed to make his life easier and it had. As a lesser he wouldn’t have possessed the power to change anything. Had she designed that to be his purpose? Maybe to cause revolution to the point where Shirell could return to Lagoon? Who knew?

All she knew for certain was that she wanted to know her son. So over the years she'd acted as his conscious in all things, but she'd done more than just that. She'd changed him. That change took many forms. The likes of which would eventually lead him to her own fate, that of alienation. That which was different was never accepted on Lagoon.

The most obvious of these changes wasn’t his unorthodox acceptance of the lesser class, but rather his voice. Not that it was any different in sound, but it was worlds away in how he spoke. The tongue of Lagoon couldn’t be considered cryptic. It’s simply the way things were and as such, normal. Anything else was considered cryptic.

Shirell spoke what she'd considered an unbroken tongue. She'd heard such things on occasion, as had all on Lagoon. Some traders from afar spoke in such a manner, forever setting them apart. Shirell found it invigorating; a change worthy of an advanced mind. Yet putting that change in motion didn’t in any way help her situation. It in fact helped only to widen the gap. The whole of Lagoon soon believed exactly what they'd wanted all along . . . she didn't belong and never truly had.

Regardless, she'd only ever wanted acceptance for her son. Bestowing upon him her unbroken tongue was nothing other than an accident. It was simply how she now spoke, whether aloud or not, and he'd naturally picked up on it. By the time she was aware of it too much time had passed. Ciroc had adopted her unbroken tongue. Never before had they shared a trait so intimate, but never before had he been in so great a danger because of it.

As of now he received suspicious looks. Naturally this was nothing new. His acceptance of lessers had already earned him that and he simply attributed it to the same cause, but this was something else entirely. This was enough to get some people thinking. Those that remembered the truth behind the witch, rather than the legend, could see the similarities. They knew his birth had been helped along in every way by Shirell. After her banishment hope remained that little Ciroc would remain untainted by her involvement. Certainly that little secret was kept from him as well as all others who weren't in the know, but now their worst fears seemed to be taking root. Ciroc was forever changed. Ciroc was the birthing of the witch anew. Without words the council decided steps must be taken and from it a decision was made.

# # #

Mrageden had long since set sail for the Isles of Kittamur. The guidance of such a thing was tricky indeed, since tear-hut's sported no sails. It would seem so much to bob upon the eternal ocean completely as the mercy of the tides, but such was not the case. There was a way about it that only the skilled knew.

This was more an intimate knowledge of the sea itself than the actual vessel. If the waves were seen as the many fingers of a vast and changing hand then the mind could make slight alterations to them. Water was ever a nearly impossible thing to control. Solid objects were the forte of the gifted, but as such the debris within the waters could be directed to splash upon the hull in just the right way.

Objects such as the tear-hut itself were too lofty a prize for most to move with the mind. Control was the gift and allowed for the manipulation of other minds, weaker minds, but to actually move a dead thing with the same required a great deal more concentration, that and years of training. This was the craft of Mrageden and if none else, he knew its deepest subtleties. For it he could ever so slightly guide their tear-hut so that the waves, big or small, crashed into them from just the right direction to propel them northward.

However skilled he was, it didn't seem enough. A storm was on the horizon. Not that it should hinder, as stronger waves provided more momentum, not less. Yet concentration was needed for such alterations and his attention was elsewhere at the moment. Naturally Raef still suffered the implant. That was hard enough, but this was something unexpectedly new.

Without warning her pain seemed to ease and she spoke as he'd heard a few times prior not with someone else's voice, but with someone else's intent. Her mind had been overtaken as had her very speech.

"Mrageden, you must divert. We must go back. There is a task I need performed."

At this anger began to boil within his veins.

"Undo this hold! I demand it! Far, we've sailed beyond you and all the scheming of that vile place! You need naught for what little is ours! Release her, whoever you may be!"

That did not happen.

"You are no fool. Not that I ever took you for one, but this is necessary as much for me as for you. I need this done and who else better than you? You need Raef to actually survive. That is something I can help with."

It was a strange thing to hear his wife speak of herself as if she wasn’t even present, but such was the way of this practice. It was a violation generally outlawed. It was a privilege reserved for the elite. Even so it was usually only practiced during wartime, of which this generally was, but only upon the enemy. Not that banishment branded them as anything else, but after the decree had fallen and was willingly obeyed no other punishment should've arisen. After all, banishment was Lagoon's kindest death sentence. No one expected them to survive, but who else had the best chance? Intrusion beyond this would surely damn them. Pain or no, how was death not a worse fate?

"Damnation you bring, it would END US ALL! Banishment! A crime fell from what?! A child she bears! And I . . . I alone stood against the tide arisen to claim her! Who else but I?! I would not, shall not ever, see her gone unaided to a fate so ghastly! Her death was naught but hers alone! A death it was but for two, and so it is, and too much and surely enough. NO MORE! I'll NOT sway!"

For this a pause ensued. "I am not the council and do not speak for them. If nothing else I join you in your rage, for it is just. But I have no recourse other than you. There is someone I need saved, though they do not know it. My influence does not spread so far, nor could secrecy, which is of utmost need. No other could have any hope in aiding you."

A sudden fear washed the sanity clean from Mrageden's veins. He KNEW who this was. He'd believed they were beyond her influence. The witch. Sh . . . but NO! He mustn't even think it. No aid could come from her, though there was little doubt that she had the power to lend it. If the stories were true, those whose mind she touched were marked for death. No hope remained. Kittamur was a dream unraveled.

He wanted to speak something, anything, in his wife's defense, but no words would come. That, however, was never necessary. The witch knew his thoughts as if they were her own. Of this he knew. He tried in vain to stifle his fear; all the while knowing the time for such things had well passed. Then she spoke again through Raef and though it was no different than before, every word now seemed to drip with acid.

"I am not to be feared, Mrageden. Believe the lie for it is not a lie. If nothing else trust in the only thing you know to be true . . . I can help Raef. Help or no, I'll not destroy you, but you already believe yourself damned. So, I'll let you go. I'll return your wife to you. You can be on your way and then maybe you'll see. Secrecy may be paramount, but time . . . time remains. Time is all I've ever had."

This was a lie . . . something of one, anyhow. Shirell wasn’t omnipotent. Nor was the range of her influence infinite. It was in fact waning to reach out to Raef. Should they continue too far north it wouldn't be long before she could no longer affect their fate, good or bad, but no other way remained. She wasn’t the evil thing all believed. She wouldn’t punish them or kill them. She certainly wouldn't eat them or feed them to her wraiths as she knew Mrageden believed.

It was true that even now at this distance she was straining herself to overtake Raef. She had in fact needed to travel as far north as her tiny island would allow. She had no power to alter the direction of the tear-hut. This was forever voluntary. She would've told Mrageden this, but decided it was necessary to limit the things she knew he wouldn't believe.

This was the only way. Revealing herself as the witch or Shirell would not be believed. He had to guess it. No help could be given without that knowledge. Also no trust could be gained unless the perceived threat had a chance to be dispelled. It would take time; time she wasn't at all certain she could spare.

The clock was ticking down. Without some sort of intervention, her son would soon be condemned to suffer her own fate, if not worse. She hadn’t the power to sway every mind upon the whole of Lagoon in his favor. What other recourse remained to her? He must be exiled as was she.