7 Positions

We walk. Through the brush, the dirt, the rocks. I lost my sandals when I was ambushed but I don't complain as the skin of my feet cracks open and the mud mixes with blood to form my footwear. The pain from my feet and from my injured shoulder eat at me but I'm grateful those are the only things that hurt. I won't tell Maliah but she always knows when a part of my body is broken. She'll heal my wounds without a second thought.

I cross a creek and feel the comforting pull of my power when I realize Immortalis is suddenly not beside me. It takes me a minute of scanning the forest to find him sitting on a stump looking past me into the woods. I walk back to him and stop when I see the look on his face. It's deeper than sadness, as if he had to physically stop walking to gather his thoughts. He lets me stand there for a few seconds before he speaks.

"Did you want to kill him?" I'm caught off guard by his question. It was as if he had been in the middle of a conversation with himself and only just invited me into it. I can sense a weight behind the question and though I don't know why he asks it, for some reason my answer means a lot to him. I also know he's perceptive enough to know if I'm lying.

"I don't know." I say after considering it. "I wasn't afraid of defending my own life. Or of taking his, if he made me. I didn't see a way out of it besides death."

Immortalis pauses to digest my words and he looks from the woods back to me. His eyes are bright with intelligence and depth, the eyes of a much older man. I can feel them weighing me as he considers my answer.

"Sometimes there isn't another way but I'm glad to have provided you an alternative. You never forget the first life you take. I wanted to spare you of that burden for at least a little while longer." He quickly stands up and I think he's going to pull me in for a hug hug when he grabs my limp left shoulder and pulls, twisting, then wrenching it upward.

Pain explodes from my arm and flows to the tips of my fingers. I can't help but yell as he does this but after the initial agony the throbbing in my shoulder resigns to a dull ache. He pats the sore shoulder once, sending a shock of pain up my arm, and nods.

"We better head to the banquet. You'll be missed if you're too late." What he doesn't say is no one will miss him if he's absent. He doesn't talk for the rest of the trek but it only takes about five more minutes for us to make it to our destination.

We reach the edge of the forest where the trees meet the sand in a twisted pile of driftwood. The bonfire is already lit, a blaze of colors in the falling light. The Firestarters usually take turns lighting the nightly torches but their Rector, Reginald is always the one to light the ceremonial fires. His flames flare unnatural through a rainbow of colors, more ethereal than earthly though they burn just as hot. I look beyond the banquet area and can see the tide break erected in a half-circle around it. A clear, bubble-like substance one of the energy manipulators probably raised, or it could have been one of the light benders. Hell, Trish with her silicone manipulation could have just fused a literal ton of sand together to keep out the waves. You never know what sort of talents the elders call on when organizing these banquets.

Trish did fuse the sand in a decorative pattern around the shore to keep those little granules from getting everywhere. Tables are packed with food and arranged around the blaze. Smaller dining tables are on the periphery with elegantly designed chairs bordering each of them. It's all for show. Such an elaborate banquet would have taken mere minutes for just a couple of Chosen to set up.

We're in the shadows near the tables set for the Penta family. I can see many of the members with plates of food in front of them. Two of the women have infants, fortunate for this year. The older children are playing, plates quickly forgotten as the call to fun outweighs the monotony of sitting to eat. The children and youth in our tribe mingle together but most of the adults stick close to their given family. I spy my own family's table across the silicone floor, closer to the center and prominent in the middle of the group. Without a word Immortalis leaves, abandoning me on the edge of the gathering.

I watch him walk away. He has an odd gait. Unlike the sauntering stride of the youth that he so closely resembles—those of us who are not yet of age to marry or hold position in our society. He also doesn't walk like the elders—careful, confident in their roles. He's a merge between a graceful dancer and a predator on the hunt. I suppose he's a lot like Joss in that way.

Despite his looks he is decades older than even my parents. I tricked him once into telling me that he witnessed the birth of my father, so that put him at no less than 50 but I suspect he's much older than that. It's curious that despite his age he's not an elder.

He fills his cup with one of the wine flagons and goes to sit by himself at a non-family table. Some of the girls my age are sitting near him at a table and glance over. Instead of putting their heads together and gossiping like they would about some of the loners in our society they giggle and whisper together. Immortalis does cut a striking figure, if they're into the silent and brooding type.

I spot my sister in the distance, speaking with another elder, a man twice her age. That wouldn't have been suspicious by itself but the man has a look on his face that makes it obvious to me that he isn't interested in her for the conversation.

He's holding a wine glass, at least half-full. I wait until he gestures with it broadly then I siphon the water out of his wine and soak his crotch.

I'm lucky. He's so alarmed and embarrassed that he immediately excuses himself, discarding his glass on a nearby table as he flees to change his pants. I walk up to her and pluck the glass from the table.

"Some people can be such klutzes. Wouldn't you say sister?" I swirl the pulp from his drink around the glass before setting it back down.

"And some people don't know when to leave things as they are without interfering." Maliah glares at me as if I hadn't just saved her from the pervert's advances.

"Would you want me to just leave things if he tried to bed you too?" My anger bubbles. She's the one who always seems to bring it out in me. "It seems your place in the tribe has clouded your thoughts of familial propriety." The dig is low, crueler than I meant. Since our father is dead, the role of ceremonial head of house lies on my shoulders and it is my responsibility to protect the honor of my sister as well as approve or deny her choice in a partner.

She looks at me sadly. Though the emotion isn't directed at my words but at the anger behind them. Her look is that of an adult speaking to a child who doesn't yet understand the world. "Trust that I know what I'm doing brother. You play with your spears and I'll play my politics." I'm without words, too angry and too tired to retort. I leave her for the food table where others are grazing before the announcements of the night. I don't much care what they think of me at this point.

I grab a piece of bread and begin attacking it with butter when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Despite what everyone's saying, I think you actually tried to sink the island." I spin around, ready to lash out at what I assume is going to be the first of many perturbed tribe-members but instead I'm met with a playful smile splayed across a pair of enticing lips.

"How else would you have swept me off my feet so we could start a new life together?"

The young woman before me has chestnut hair falling in waves around her smirking face. The dress she wears is vibrant green and a teardrop emerald hangs in a gold chain down her plunging neckline. When I see her I'm made suddenly aware of how I look in my seasalt stained pants and shirt. The majority of the community takes these sort of banquets very seriously and dresses in whatever passes for formal-wear in their eyes. I usually wear something clean, if not traditionally classy. Tonight I would have even worn a suit instead of looking like the victim of a shipwreck. That thought hits me harder than I would have guessed but I bite into the bread I'm holding and try to roll with it.

"I knew you'd discover my plan, only I got cold feet at the end and decided everyone else needn't die for such an irrational romantic gesture." I shake my head somberly.

"Too bad. We could have single-handedly colonized our own desert island." She eyes me up and down before bursting into a giggle and giving me a big hug. I wince as pain flares through my injured shoulder.

"Are you okay? Do I need to get your sister?" Amina notices my grimace and glances around, trying to find where Maliah stalked off to. That's one of the problems with the people in our tribe—since we have the power to move mountains, create things with our minds, heal every ailment—if something isn't exactly the way we wish it to be, then it should be changed immediately.

I grab her arm with my good hand ,"I'm fine, really. I was just a bit clumsy before the banquet and tripped over a tree root, banged up my shoulder. It'll be fine after the next tuneup." That's one of the things Maliah does to avoid people pestering her every day for minor aches and pains. Once a week she conducts a massive healing for anyone who chooses to attend. She has everyone stand as close as they can to her and unleashes her power in a circular wave. It drains her for several hours afterwards but saves her the headache of constant requests, if she even gets headaches.

"If you're sure…" Amina trails off, eyes still searching. I can tell she still doesn't believe me.

"If we're to be married someday you're going to have to trust me you know." Her eyes connect with mine just in time for both of us to start laughing.

Amina and I have been ceremonially engaged to one another since birth. It's more tradition than anything else—our respective parents guaranteeing our futures should we be unable to find a match when it comes time to marry. I never really consider it and Amina has moved from one fling to the next ever since our generation began noticing the opposite sex. It's hard to say what she's been looking for, there are only so many eligible suitors on our small island. I can just tell it's not me, not seriously, despite the way her hands always seem to linger on me when we're talking. Flirtation is simply her first language.

Far from her roving infatuations, I've never felt more than a fleeting crush towards anyone and it's been years since even that. I suppose it has to do with the fact that the last time I met someone new was probably my sixth birthday when the Pediadans from the other side of the island came to wish me well. I think I've probably only seen a handful of them since then; they live as outcasts from the greater tribe. They're eerie, all powerless. Nothing to set them apart from the rest of the world except that they're on this island with us.

"Of course dear, however may I regain the trust I lost?" Her eyes are wide in feigned innocence.

"You must protect your lord from the angry tribesmen. What say you my lady?" On a whim I throw my arm around her, enjoying the curious looks from those nearby.

She breaks character for a second, giggling, then winks at me as her body begins to change. Her arms swell in size; muscles layered on thick, larger than even Joss's were in his hunting form.

Her gift is miraculous: bending her body to whatever shape she chooses. I have a sneaking suspicion that she frequently doesn't even wear clothes but changes her skin to adopt whatever clothing she desires to wear. Her wardrobe is certainly more diverse than it should be, living on a secluded island and all.

I make a show of feeling her biceps, now larger than my thigh, and don't have to feign my admiration at her new physique. The muscle barely depresses when I squeeze it, feeling more like rocks under her skin than flesh. "Impressive". I raise my eyebrows and she giggles again.

"So is that how you like 'em then Puddle? Stronger than you are so they can fight your enemies for you?" My mood sours as I recognize the voice.

"I don't mind if they're stronger than me Shade, at least they'd be able to touch me." I lay the emphasis before I'm able to fully see my classmate. He fades into being as I turn to face him. Even without his peculiar talent he is a ghostly figure. Skin like an eggshell and so thin I can see his blue blood vessels crisscrossing underneath. He gives most people the creeps.

"As if you've had anyone touch you." His suggestion is obvious. He eyes me up and down before turning his eyes on Amina and giving a hungry smile. "Besides in pity."

"It's not like you have to go about without being touched my dear. What is it you're afraid of?" Amina's voice is silk, confident beyond what her young face suggests. She eases herself out from under my arm and brings a hand up to caress Shade's face. With that movement her face changes, moving from the youthful girl I know to a radiant woman. The area encircling her eyes darkens and her eyelids take on a smoky matte appearance, the lashes either darkening or lengthening, possibly both. A blush rises in her cheeks and her pink lips plump, parting as they smile at him. Neither Shade or I can take our eyes off of her.

Her hand goes straight through him, stroking the ghost of where his face should be. There's a flicker in his eyes, desire, then he solidifies, closing his eyes to her touch. I'm confused and feel an odd pang of jealousy as she gently touches his face. It's short lived. With Shade's eyes still closed Amina rears back her hand and slaps him so hard across the face that he crumples to the ground.