The Nibiru Effect

Memory 48

What are they?" I whisper. Arkania stands but a short distance away, yet I can't seem to take my eyes off the strange humanoids who tower above us.

They are tall—nearly two and a half metres—and very thin. Their limbs are long and sinuous. Their muscles are nearly non-existent. Their fingers and toes are webbed, though the flaky texture of their skin makes it clear they haven't seen water in quite a while. They remind me of a Québec winter landscape—white, and devoid of ridges. The bald creatures possess very few of the facial features I'm accustomed to seeing. Their almond-shaped eyes are massive and reminiscent of aquatic beings. Their noses are inexistent. From what I can tell, they breathe through the two small slits that stand where their noses should be. Their lips are thin and dry. They have gills instead of ears. They are the oddest humanoids I have ever seen.

"They're arkanes," announces Korri from his nearby centipede.

"Arkanes?" I ask. The small korrigan told me arkanes are an industrious, prosperous people. The humanoids before us wear mere rags and appear as though they have barely survived an endless march through the desert. The effect is only amplified by the fact their mouths hang open, their dry tongues dangling from their lips. But the oddest part of all is their lack of pigment.

"I thought arkanes could change colour," says Kara. I guess I'm not the only one confused by the humanoids' odd appearance.

"They can," claims Korri moments after I have repeated the comment, "usually."

That doesn't sound good.

"What does that mean?" asks Jonn once I've translated the korrigan's words.

"Something is wrong," admits Korri. "I've never seen arkanes look this ragged."

There's a moment of silence during which we stare at the weak, famished humanoids. They look like a family. The tall ones must be the parents, which makes the other two their children. The boy—his facial features and more defined musculature identify him as a male—appears to be a teenager. The girl—at least, I think it's a girl—wears a cloak. The garment is torn nearly beyond recognition, yet it somehow conceals every centimetre of the small humanoid wearing it. All four arkanes—or at least the three I can see clearly—appear to be on the verge of death. I don't know what happened to them, but it can't be good.

"Water," begs the father. His voice is feeble and crackly, yet I have no trouble understanding what he says. He tries reaching out, but his tired body barely even responds.

"What did he say?" asks Jonn.

"He wants water," says Kara. I'm surprised she understood him until I remember both she and Jonn have subdermal microchips that allow them to comprehend nearly all languages. For some reason, the highly-advanced pieces of technology can't translate the korrigan dialect, but apparently, it allows them to decipher the arkane's rather unique vernacular.

"I knew that," mutters Jonn, no doubt embarrassed by the fact that he failed to grasp the meaning of the tall humanoid's request. I suspect he's so used to not understanding the korrigans he failed to even try to decipher what the arkane said.

"Do we have any juice left?" asks Kara.

Jonn rummages through our only remaining satchel.

"This is all that's left," he says, revealing three lilis and a nearly-empty gourd of juice.

"Give it to them," urges Kara, nodding to the dehydrated arkane family that stands before us.

Jonn seems reticent to part with what little remains of our supplies, but hands them over. The arkane father takes the offerings and hands a lili to his wife and son. Keeping the third fruit for himself, he uncorks the gourd and gives it to his hooded child. A small, frail-looking arm emerges from the folds of the robe and snatches it away. It vanishes for a moment before reappearing, empty. By then, all three lilis have been consumed.

"Thank you," mutters the father, handing the gourd back to Jonn. Now that the father's thirst has been partially quenched, his voice is less abrasive. "We are grateful for your assistance... but why are you here?" I understand most of what he says, but a few of his words still sound like gibberish. Nonetheless, it's obvious the more languages I learn, the easier it is for me to understand new dialects.

"We're going to Arkania," says Kara.

"Turn back," urges the arkane. "Turn back before it's too late." I now understand every word he speaks, which proves my theory about my ability to understand foreign languages.

"Why?" asks Kara. "What happened here?"

The tall humanoid suddenly grows sad. He's about to answer when his hooded child unexpectedly collapses. In an attempt to interrupt the fall, the father unwittingly tears the cloak from the youth's frame, revealing the child beneath.

It's a girl. I can't tell her exact age, but she's young. Too young to battle the horrible disease she carries. Her delicate frame convulses, causing her frail limbs to flail. An intricate labyrinth of bright-red blood vessels mars her otherwise colourless skin. It's strangely beautiful, which makes the fact that she's going to die that much worse. Crimson bile spills from her mouth and runs down her chin in a frothy torrent. Her eyes, injected with blood, roll back in their sockets as blood-curdling cries escape her. It's a horrifying, yet familiar sight.

"NO!" wails the father as he hugs his child's body. The mother drops to her knees and cradles her daughter's head, but there's nothing she can do. The child will die, and we all know it.

As horrifying a sight as it is, seeing that poor girl soclose to death is not what terrifies me. My disbelief stems from the revelationthat we're too late. The fire plague has spread beyond the korrigan village,which proves Avalon is indeed responsible for the countless innocents that havedied because of it. It also means the death count is much higher than weinitially believed. For the first time since leaving the orphanage, Iunderstand why Jonn hates Avalon so much. She's a monster.