The woman appeared like a mirage on the horizon, a
silver-haired phantom shimmering in the heat haze. Davyd lowered his
binoculars, heart quickening as he tracked her stumbling progress across the
dunes. No one survived the wastes alone, not without water, and certainly not
in this heat.
"Outsider," he murmured to himself, wondering
where she might have come from while calculating trajectories. If he circled
east, he might intercept her before she collapsed.
The air seemed to thicken as he approached, like it did in
the moments before a storm, if storms still existed in this parched, barren
world. The woman staggered; her pale skin luminous against the rust-colored
sand. When she fell, faint blue sparks danced where her hands met the earth.
"Easy," Davyd said, kneeling beside her. This
close, he could see she was extraordinary. She had long, wispy silver-white
hair, her skin was mapped with faint traceries like lightning branches. But her
eyes were the most unusual, flickering from electric blue to a deep hued purple
as consciousness returned.
"Where am I?" she rasped, voice cracked from
thirst.
"The edge of nowhere," he replied cryptically,
offering his canteen.
She drank greedily, and it was all he could do not to snatch
the precious vessel from her hands.
"I'm Davyd,” he said, noting how the traces in her skin
began to recede with the hydration. “And you're..."
"Tess," she whispered, violet eyes fading to blue
as she handed the canteen back to him. "I think... I'm Tess."
“What do you mean, you think?” Davyd tilted his head,
studying her face in the harsh sunlight. "That's an odd way to put
it."
She looked away, fingers tracing patterns in the sand,
patterns that left tiny blue sparks in their wake. "I don't remember much.
It's all fragments."
"Nobody survives crossing the wasteland without
supplies," Davyd pressed, gesturing to her lack of pack or water.
"Yet here you are, alive. How'd you manage that?"
Tess's brow furrowed. Overhead, impossibly, a wisp of cloud
formed in the relentless blue sky.
"I don't know," she said finally, frustration
edging her voice. "I remember falling. Through darkness and light at the
same time. And before that..." She pressed her palms against her temples.
"A dome. I lived under a dome. A city made of glass and steel where the
weather never changed unless we wanted it to."
"Aetherion," Davyd whispered, eyes widening.
Everyone in the wastes had heard legends of the last domed city, a
technological paradise that sealed itself off when the world dried up.
Tess's head snapped up at the name. "Yes. That sounds
right."
"And how does someone leave paradise?" he asked,
not bothering to hide his skepticism.
"Not willingly," she murmured. Her eyes took on a
distant look. "There was a man. His name was..." She winced suddenly,
as if the memory caused her physical pain. “Marcus," she said after a
moment, the name barely audible. "He did something to me. There was a
device, and then I was falling." She shook her head. "It doesn't make
sense."
Davyd offered his hand, helping her to her feet. As their
fingers touched, static electricity crackled between them, sharp enough to make
him jerk back in surprise.
"Sorry," she said automatically. "That
happens sometimes."
"What happens?" he asked, rubbing his fingers
where the shock had stung. He looked up in astonishment. A cloud had formed
overhead, a cloud in a sky that hadn't seen proper weather in years.
For a moment, something like recognition flashed in her
eyes, then vanished. "Nothing," she said, dismissing the notion.
Davyd didn't press further, but as they began walking toward
his village, he noted how the clouds increased, growing slightly larger with
each passing hour.
"Tell me more about your dreams, what you
remember," he said later that night, after they made camp, and Davyd
shared a meal with her beside a fire under the stars.
"They don't feel like dreams," Tess replied,
staring into their small fire. "More like... memories underwater. I see a
lab with white walls and humming machines. Experiments with weather." She
looked up at him, vulnerability plainly visible. "Is that crazy? To
experiment with weather?"
"Not crazy," Davyd said softly. "Just
impossible. At least out here."
He watched as she unconsciously rubbed the luminous scars on
her forearm, scars that seemed to glow brighter as night fell.
"What's the last thing you remember clearly?" he
asked.
Tess closed her eyes. "Being up close to the top of the
dome. Buffeted by wind and rain. A man's voice calling my name. And
then..." She opened her eyes, their color now decidedly purple in the
firelight. "Then I was in the sand, and you were there."
Davyd didn't know what to make of her story. Was it
delusion, amnesia, or something stranger? But as they sat in silence, the
clouds grew darker, and a single drop of moisture, impossible, miraculous, fell
between them, sizzling as it hit the fire.
By the third day of their journey, Davyd could no longer
deny the transformation overtaking him. It wasn't just her unearthly beauty,
though that alone would have been enough, but something more elemental. Each
time their hands accidentally brushed while sharing food or navigating
difficult terrain, electricity danced between them, leaving his skin tingling
for minutes afterward. He found himself manufacturing reasons for these moments
of contact, drawn to the strange sensation of her nearness. At night, he lay
awake watching her sleep, mesmerized by how the luminous patterns on her skin
pulsed in rhythm with her breathing, like a second heartbeat just beneath the
surface.
On their final evening before reaching the village, they sat
atop a wind-carved mesa, the sunset casting the wasteland in bruised purples
and reds. Davyd pointed to a distant dust devil.
"When I was a boy," he said, "my grandmother
called those 'thirsty ghosts.' Said they were the spirits of those who died
searching for water."
Tess laughed, a full-throated sound that vibrated the air.
At the same time a cloud formed, casting a dark shadow across the mesa. Davyd
heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder, despite decades of absence, and once
again rain fell from the sky.
Davyd gasped in surprise, meeting Tess’s eyes, blazing with
purple intensity. In the next moment, her laughter faded, and just as quickly,
the rain stopped. The cloud thinned, and the tension dissipated. But something
fundamental had changed. He wasn’t sure what, but he knew she was at the center
of whatever it was.
The next day, the elders welcomed her without question,
offering her one of the empty huts near the dust-choked well.
As the weeks passed, Davyd experimented. Static prickled his
skin at a casual touch on her lower back, after which soft clouds gathered.
Heated arguments brought distant thunder. And when they finally surrendered to
the tension between them, tangled on his thin mattress as his hands explored
her luminous skin, the first real rainfall in seven years pattered against his
roof.
"It's you," he whispered afterward, watching
droplets trace patterns on his window. "You call the storms."
Tess stared at the ceiling. "I remember.” She said, her
voice small. “There was an accident. An explosion in the resonance chamber.
After that, when I... feel things... the weather responds."
"What kind of things?" Davyd propped himself on
one elbow, studying her face.
She met his eyes, challenge and vulnerability warring in her
expression. "Emotions. Especially... this."
His village was dying. Fields had been dust for years;
children were born who'd never seen rain. The elders prayed to forgotten gods
while water rations dwindled weekly. And here, in his bed, lay salvation.
*-*
The council chamber smelled of dust and desperation. Five
elders studied Tess with mingled hope and suspicion, their faces mapped with
hardship. She couldn’t read Davyd’s emotions. Pride? Hope? He had brought her
here, and she could feel the static humming beneath her skin, responding to
their scrutiny, a familiar sensation she was only now beginning to understand.
"You claim to control the weather?" asked the
eldest, Amara, her dry voice leaf-thin.
"Not control, exactly." Tess chose her words
carefully. "Influence. I can... encourage rain. With focus."
And passion, she thought but didn't say, remembering
Davyd's hands on her hips, the storm that followed.
"Our village dies," said another elder, a man with
sun-darkened skin and clouded eyes. "Three children died to thirst last
season. Our wells are empty. If you can truly bring rain..."
"I can," Tess said with more confidence than she
felt. "With practice, I can manage it."
The memories were returning piecemeal: the lab's sterile
white light; the resonance chamber's hum; Marcus's voice, clinical yet somehow
tender, guiding her through the experiment. Then the accident, and afterward,
the storms that came with passion.
"We propose a contract," Amara said, unrolling a
parchment map of dust-choked riverbeds. "Restore our lands, and you will
have a home here. Honor beyond measure. Anything you desire."
Anything I desire. The words echoed as Tess signed
their contract with a spark-inducing flourish. What she desired was control,
over the power that had exiled her from Aetherion, over the chaos inside her.
This was her chance to prove Marcus wrong, to show that she wasn't merely a
walking disaster.
"I won't let you down," she promised.
For three months, it worked. They built her an alter where
Tess learned to channel her emotions with precision, summoning gentle rains
that soaked into the parched earth without flooding. She built a routine,
meditation at dawn, then a careful climb to the altar where she would focus on
controlled desire, pleasuring herself with touch or thought.
The village transformed. Green shoots pushed through
long-barren soil. Children splashed in puddles; laughter ringing through the
streets. Nearby the river gurgled to life, a myth to the youngest generation.
Davyd watched her with something beyond desire now, a reverence that made her
uncomfortable.
As the seasons turned, the initial wonder of Tess's gift
began to warp into something darker. The village elders, once reverent, now
approached her with lists of demands: rain for the eastern fields, but sunshine
for the western orchards; a dry spell for the harvest, followed immediately by
downpours to replenish the aquifer.
"We need a frost by week's end," Mara insisted one
morning, her tone brooking no argument. "The fruit trees won't set
properly otherwise."
Tess rubbed her temples, feeling the static build beneath
her skin. "I can't just…"
"Can't?" Amara's eyes narrowed. "Or
won't?"
That evening, Davyd found Tess atop her weather altar, her
hair crackling with unspent energy.
"They're ungrateful," he said, his hands kneading
her shoulders roughly. "After everything you've given them."
Tess leaned into his touch, craving the release it promised.
"It's getting harder," she admitted. "Like trying to hold back a
flood with my bare hands."
Davyd's fingers tightened, almost painfully. "So don't
hold back." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Show them your true
power. Make them remember why they feared storms in the first place."
She turned to face him, seeing the hunger in his eyes, not
just for her, but for what she could do. It should have frightened her.
Instead, it sent a thrill down her spine.
"Show me," he breathed.
His kiss was bruising, demanding. Above them, the clouds
darkened ominously.
Weeks later, as lightning split an ancient oak and
torrential rain flooded the lower fields, Davyd laughed in exhilaration.
"More!" he shouted over the gale. "Show them
what a real storm looks like!"
*-*
Six months later, the village elders approached Davyd after
a particularly violent downpour collapsed the newly rebuilt granary.
"This arrangement isn’t working," Amara said.
"She's still learning control," Davyd defended,
ignoring the unease in his gut. "The harvests are better than ever."
"At what cost?" asked the blind elder. "The
river has overflowed three times this month. Fields are waterlogged. And
yesterday's lightning sparked a fire in the southern fields."
"I'll speak with her," Davyd promised.
But that night, when he suggested restraint, Tess laughed, a
sound like splintering wood. "Restraint? That's what Marcus always
preached." She stretched languidly on his bed, electricity crackling along
her skin. "Don't you prefer me wild?"
He did. Gods help him, he did. Instead of urging caution, he
leaned into her addiction, encouraging her excesses, celebrating her power,
ignoring the escalating damage. When a storm washed away the eastern fields, he
blamed poor irrigation. When lightning shattered the village's newly installed
solar panels, he commissioned another altar, grander than the first.
A year passed. The once-barren village now struggled with
the opposite extreme, oversaturation. Fields turned to marshlands. Mold crept
through storehouses. The river, once prayed for, became a menace that regularly
breached its banks.
And Tess... She was radiant in her addiction. She spent
hours atop her altar bringing electrical storms, arms outstretched, laughing as
lightning danced around her. She spoke less of Marcus now but sometimes called
Davyd by that name in her sleep. When he confronted her about the destruction,
she shrugged.
"You wanted a goddess," she said, her eyes
flashing dangerously. "This is what gods do."
The breaking point came during harvest. A monstrous storm
descended upon the village with Tess at its eye. Davyd found her atop the
altar, drenched and ecstatic as eighty-mile winds tore roofs from houses.
"Tess, you must stop this!" he screamed over the
gale. "You're killing us!"
For a moment, recognition flickered in her electric eyes.
Then her expression hardened.
"You used me," she said coldly. "You’re the
one who stoked this fire. You can’t complain now that it burns."
The village council met by torchlight that night, their
faces grim as they reviewed the contract.
"She has violated her terms," Amara declared.
"The rains were to restore life, not destroy it."
"Where will she go?" Davyd asked, his voice
hollow.
"Where she was found," the blind elder replied.
"Take her to the wastelands."
Dawn painted the flooded village in sickly orange light.
Tess stood at its edge, belongings bundled, face impassive as Amara read the
decree of exile. Villagers clutched protective amulets, keeping their distance
from her crackling aura.
Davyd stepped forward when it was done. "I never
meant…”
"Yes, you did," Tess interrupted softly. "You
saw a weapon and used it. Don't pretend otherwise."
"I loved you," Davyd insisted, reaching for her.
Static jumped between them, sharp enough to make him recoil.
"No," she said sadly. "You loved the
storm."
They watched her walk into the desert, silver hair
billowing. Above her, clouds gathered, following like loyal pets. The rains
would continue elsewhere, Davyd knew, for someone else. Another village,
another altar, another man who thought he could harness a tempest.
Eventually, the drought would return. They would thirst
again, pray again, perhaps even speak her name in desperate whispers. But as
Tess vanished into the haze, Davyd understood at last: some salvation came at
too high a price.
Behind him, through still-flooded streets, the villagers
began the work of rebuilding what their miracle had destroyed.