Fallen Máni: Heritage

Manuel sighed, staring at the sea.

The waters, still blue, gray and cyan, had largely stagnated long ago, laying calm and restful, the small waves seldom higher than his knees even during days of strong wind - a progressively freakier occurrence as he grew up. 

In the shallows seaweed and seagrass piled up in large masses of dead vegetation, offering a nauseous salty scent, like in a littoral bog or marsh. 

There the water was tinged with marshy green and brownish hues, as if he was standing in the shores of a big lake, rather than the north american Atlantic coastline. 

The aquatic birds present, such as dabbling mallards and coots, a pair grebes making a floating mess of a nest from the seaweed, a loon diving and surfacing several feet away from said nest, and even a kingfisher perched on a nearby reed, with a small anchovy in its bill, only added more to that illusion.

From as far as his memory would go, Manuel had recalled exactly one instance when the sea was roused into action and the waves rose higher than his knees. It was a sea storm that happened when he was 10, a natural phenomenon all but extinct in the North Atlantic by that day. 

That was the one time Manuel saw the sea as it was in anecdotes and the countless books and movies and comics, as a powerful force of nature that nothing could reckon with, not even the very promontory rocks he was climbing, where the stones were still scarred by those waves. 

The sea was a living and breathing beast, now for some reason slumbering, hibernating and stagnating like a massive swamp, as if the natural engines beyond the currents and the tides had been turned off, had been severed and broken beyond repair aside from the wind, now by itself reduced to softer breezes.

This is how Manuel had always remembered the sea, an aestivating giant whose power and majesty were seemingly sucked away, until it stood dangerously close to becoming an enormous marsh. The waves, the storms, the powerful winds and the sheer raw energy of the water, had waned like the Moon’s white face, and there was no sign of revival, of waxing.

Until he was around.

“Let’s make you live” Manuel said, cracking his fingers.

As if on cue, the ducks and seagulls took flight and landed in deeper waters, the coots and moorhens came to shore, and the grebes, the loon and the kingfisher stood perplexed. Manuel smiled sympathetically at the nesting birds, which seemed to relax somewhat, as if they could read his body language. 

And, of course, then came his favorites, the terns, which always seemed to arrive when he came to enjoy the sea, gliding in circles around him or landing on the rocks and in the water, ever fearless and calm around him, one briefly flying above his head as if greeting. 

Though all birds, even the ones keeping their distance, had their eyes gleam and their heads bob with curiosity, the spectators to Manuel’s work and craft.

Inhaling deeply, Manuel began, and the ocean stirred. He extended his arms, feeling the vibrating water from afar, which responded by moving accordingly, the waves rolling in the direction of his limbs. 

He pulled, feeling the water's weight, his arms formed a circular motion forward. The water was raised, a column emerging until it was twice taller than him. 

Raising himself again, he severed the column from the sea, simply raising it while the rest of the sea water didn’t follow. 

Another deep breath, and his arms slid past each other in slow, deliberate movements, shaping the water to his whims, turning the column into an amorphous blob, rippling all around as if moved about by internal currents.

A much smaller version of what once happened across the world’s oceans, fracturing the passing sunlight into multiple small specs of colour. 

Always moving, as it should be. His arms crossed after an almost perfectly circular motion - a move he deemed quite “martial-artsy” -, triggering the transformation of the blob into a forwardly oriented spiral. 

Water span rapidly like an horizontal whirlpool, shaped further into a wormhole model. All impurities of dirt, algae or chemicals were thrown in all directions, leaving only the liquid itself.

His right arm pushed the water to the right, and the spinning vortex was broken, turned into a screen that gradually thinned, becoming an almost perfect transparent surface, rippling about in minuscule waves, before thinning further into a bubble-like surface. 

His left arm moved in the opposite direction, and the mass of water became divided in two, amorphous blobs once more that were pushed towards him as thick tentacles, which then surrounded him in a helix. 

He left it running for a while, before freezing it, turning the liquid into ice, resulting in a solid sculpture that surrounded him, rising well above his head.

As Manuel played, he began to feel rather hot, as if the Sun was burning brighter than usual. 

It was still mid-Spring, the Sun shouldn’t be that fiery, yet the last few days defied conventional Newfoundland weather patterns, the days hotter and hotter until all snow melted prematurely. 

At this point, few made a spectacle out of it, since global weather patterns had been far too weird and erratic to be easily predictable anymore. 

Manuel briefly looked above, before turning his glance aside as his eyes felt a painful pressure. 

He always felt as if the Sun was alive, as if it was watching him. He always dismissed it as pure lunacy, but with all the weirdness happening in the world, maybe there was a sliver of truth to those gut instincts. 

And, honestly, it felt comforting, in its own weird way.

The ice sculpture warded off the heat, as if radiating cold on its own, though it was already melting. Manuel simply sat, admiring the sparkling drops, filling the gaps in the helix as they fell. 

A slight breeze knocked some into his polo, hair and face, something he appreciated with a grin. 

The small drops felt like small points in his skin. The water didn’t pass through the fabrics, but the strangely intense cold did, beneath each droplet.

Footsteps came from the hills, and the birds dispersed, all flying away in all directions, except for the pair of grebes.

“Figured you’d be here” Jonathan said, panting from apparent exhaustion, “Nice sculpture.”

“Jeeze man, did you run the Olympics? At least tell me you got a gold medal. Or silver, you know I like silver more."

"I've been looking all over for you!" Jonathan said, exasperated

"Sorry, I forgot to text you" Manuel apologized, shrugging.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, before looking at the ice with a tremendous thirst.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Sure, make yourself at home” Manuel said, a drop falling on his forehead.

Jonathan complied, clumsily raising a leg through the helix. He stood up for a moment, washing his face with the melt water, before sitting down in front of Manuel. 

The air was quickly filled with his sweat, making Manuel’s heart race and his face blush a little. If Jonathan noticed, he sure didn’t seem to show it, just admiring the hellixes. Dorkily, Manuel noted

“Can I drink those?” Jonathan pointed to the drops.

“Sure, it’s clean.”

Wasting no time, Jonathan leaned towards the ice, his face cooled by the helix while drops fell on his open mouth. Manuel tried his hardest to hold back a chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Why did you went all over town?" Manuel asked, "You know I’m now always here. Or somewhere else near the sea.”

Jonathan grunted, a sound that Manuel thought was pretty weird.

“Whatever" Manuel shrugged, "You’re the one shoving your face in an ice sculpture, not me.”

Jonathan kicked Manuel in the leg playfully. The latter simply responded by melting the ice and guiding the falling water to soak his friend completely.

“Christ Manny, now my clothes will look like they’ve been on a trench or something!”

Manuel then willed the water away, flowing forth from the clothes in tendril-like extractions until Jonathan's Mystery Skulls - with a Scooby-Dum picture sewed on for "irony" - shirt and jeans were completely dry, the discharge forming a streaming that run off through the grass, down to the beach sands. 

As Jonathan watched the water run off, Manuel checked to see if there were any stains. He found none - if anything, the clothes looked cleaner than before, even if as far as he knew they would always be impure.

“There there, all clean” cooed Manuel sarcastically.

“You’re so mean” retorted Jonathan.

"You wouldn’t hang out with me otherwise”, Manuel said, sounding a little more wistful than he wanted.

Jonathan tried to speak, but said nothing. He stared at the ground, glancing at the hills sideways, as if trying desperately for his friend to avert his gaze from his face. Suffice to say, it didn’t work, as Manuel only stared more intently. 

Even though he and Manuel were still close, Jonathan had somehow become more emotionally aloof those past four days, acting oddly and making up excuses. Manuel didn't know what to think, let alone how to bring it up.

A moment of silence passed, and Manuel couldn't take it anymore.

“I guess I am” Manuel said. It sounded like begging, and as such he felt his stomach churn.

Nonetheless, something clicked within Jonathan, who looked apologetic. His hand reached behind his neck, and he looked as if he had shrunk all of a sudden.

“Aw man, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just a little… undecided, right now.”

“Undecided about what?” Manuel asked.

“N-nothing, just forget that I said anything.”

“I can’t just forget this happened! For crying out loud Jonathan, you basically shut down for a whole minute! Is everything okay!?”

“Don’t worry, just please don’t worry, okay?” Jonathan blurted, “It’s got nothing to do with you. Well, it kind of has, but I swear its mostly just me, and you did nothing wrong, okay? It’s just me being an ass, as always.”

Jonathan inhaled, as if readying to go on, but instead his face went from a pensive, pondering state to a clear oh, screw this, and he breached the personal space threshold, his body standing right in front of Manuel’s. 

Both boys were then panting, and didn’t put any resistance to the inevitable: their lips collided, awkwardly fitting in, a brief but overwhelming moment. 

It only lasted a couple of seconds, but to both of them it felt longer, as if time slowed down when their eyes were closed and they gave in to that gesture. 

The lips parted as quickly as they connected, their eyes opened slowly, and Jonathan wasn’t the only one breathing like he had just run a marathon.

“I, uh, I gotta go.”

And before Manuel could protest, Jonathan darted away, breaking through the helix. As the pieces of ice crashed into the ground, Manuel simply stared in his friend’s direction, the realization of what just happened gradually sinking in as his eyes welled.

He tried to will his tears away, just as he normally did with the water of the sea or lakes or cups, but the result was as it always was: nothing. He just gave in, crying outright, covering his face with his palms, in an almost instinctual gesture of shame. 

Once again, his perception of time began to slip, and he simply ceased to care, involving himself entirely in the need to release. He cried until his throat became coarse, feeling like sandpaper had scrapped the insides, and until he felt he couldn’t cry anymore. 

It had been so long since the last time he cried that much, and this new sensation was both bothersome and very humiliating: each time he tried to pull himself back together, to be strong, a hiccuping sob revealed his frailty, his vulnerability, his pathetic state of being.

After trying to resist it for a while, he whimpered, releasing the last of his stress, only to find a cold sort of sadness, feeling empty and weak inside.

In an instant, however, that emptiness and weakness left him, as a hand laid on his left shoulder. 

It felt like a strange sort of warm pressure, like the rays of the Sun at midday, and  filled him with a strange sensation, as if light was coursing through his veins, illuminating his insides and driving away the void. 

He turned around and saw a young woman. She had bright, waving blonde hair glowing with an almost white light, yet her skin was dark in tone, only slightly more than his own. 

She was dressed in an orange and gold tunic. At her waist was a golden belt, bearing a sword sheath. The sword itself had an ivory and brass handle, carved with waving symbols that looked vaguely like lightning bolts. On her back was a massive gold shield, tied to the cloak.

Her eyes reminded Manuel of honey, flickering occasionally either into gold or into white, but always warming and comforting.

“I saw what happened” she said, her voice lilting lightly, “Please be patient with him, he will come back to you eventually.”

Manuel nodded. He felt relief from his grief, no longer sobbing save for one final hiccup. He wiped out the last of his tears with his own willpower, his face drying up cleanly.

“Who are you?” he asked, once again regretting the weakness in his voice.

The woman froze for a moment, trying to process something. Finally, she sighed, and answered:

“I’m your sister.”

Manuel blinked. His sister?

“So, dad was busy uh?” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but come across as extremely bitter.

She rolled her eyes. Yup, definitely my sister.

“Manuel, have you’ve ever wondered why you are the way you are? Why water and shadows answer to you, why you feel drawn to the sea and the night? Why the sea is dead, why the weather is unpredictable, and why everything feels wrong to you?” 

She paused, gesturing with her right hand in circular motions, looking for the right set of words to express the truth. Manuel could relate.

“It’s because you’re my brother, trapped in a human body. I’m Sól, the soul of the Sun, and you’re Máni, the soul of the Moon. You’re a god, Manuel.”

"What!?" he said, as if someone had shot his chest and told him he'd be a billionaire at the exact same time.

His first instinct was to feel tricked, but it made a disturbing amount of sense. The sun watching over him, her knowing what couldn't logically be known by anyone else. 

Unless Jonathan had telepathy - and after that moment, Manuel knew he didn't -, there was just no other way to explain it.

“I know this is very hard to believe” the woman spoke, noticing his conflicted pondering, “and probably a bit cliché, but it's the truth."

She paused, approaching him slightly.

“Haven’t you’ve ever wondered why everything weird in these past decades happened more or less immediately after you were born?"

"Yes, you already went on about that" Manuel quipped.

"It’s because the Moon is deprived of its soul, which is you, Manuel. It can’t operate properly any more than a corpse would. We, the gods, try to keep things running in your absence, but as you can see it’s not easy, and we can’t keep going on like this forever. We need you back.”

“Why now, then? Why did you come to me only now?”

“Because your soul is within a human vessel. We need your consent before we do the rituals necessary to bring you back.”

“My consent?” Manuel asked, taken aback.

“Yes, we can’t force your soul out without you willing it. This body is now as much yours as the Moon.”

Manuel said nothing.

“I understand. This is something very important, Manny, and I don't expect you just accept this. You should think this through, but please be aware that we’re running out of time. You’re going to have to make this decision soon.”

“Why? Is there a deadline?”

Sól bobbed her head nervously.

“Well, there’s an eclipse coming, and we should probably take advantage of it in order for the rituals necessary for your ascension to work. I can't really force an eclipse, so this is about a good an opportunity as it gets.”

Manuel touched his forehead, an action too soft for a full on face-palm, but that he hoped would convey the same meaning. It did.

“And you couldn’t just tell me all of this a month ago or so?”

“Believe me, we actually thought about letting another two years roll by, when another naturally occurring eclipse would take place in the middle of the North Atlantic. But we didn’t account for several factors, like how quickly the weather and global climate patterns are destabilizing to make matters worse, and your mortal enemy has come into this world.”

“So let me get this straight: the Sun is my sister, I’m the Moon god, everything wrong with the universe is my fault for even being born at all, someone is out for my blood and I only have like four days or whatever to think about whereas I want to go through something to rip the soul from my body and stick it on the Moon."

He breathed fast, as if he was about to explode.

"Did I miss anything!?”

Sól closed her eyes, a feeling of pure shame overwhelming her. This wasn’t going as well as she’d expected. Manuel felt horrible, and the void within him returned.

“I’m sorry” he said, " this is just-”

“No, it’s okay. You have every right to be mad. This is a big deal not just to you, but nine worlds, and I wish this didn’t have to be rushed. If anyone’s apologizing, it’s me, for not being able to prevent all this chaos.”

Sól looked aside, her head down. In that moment, all of Manuel’s worries and emotional turmoils withered away. 

This woman, this strange person that appeared the hell out of nowhere, did truly feel familiar, more and more so the more he looked at he, as if puzzle pieces lost to his memory were slowly put back together. 

She reminded him of himself, in a way he couldn’t explain but that he could feel nonetheless, and he couldn’t help but hug her, comforting her just as she comforted him.

“I don’t know what to do, but one thing I know. You’re really my long lost sister.”

Sól smiled, and laid her hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll help you through this” she said, a hint of zeal in her otherwise calm voice, “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you through all these years. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Both of them smiled, and turned around, watching the birds land once again in the sea and shore.