Outed

Gail, along with most of the world, sat transfixed by the news on the television. They had outed themselves, and her, in a very public way. Her anonymity, her freedom, likely her life itself, was over.

She willed herself away from the television and made her way to the mirror in the hall. Her glamour was gone. Where she had appeared to be a small, five-foot-two, average-looking woman with ginger hair and freckles, her true self now showed. Skin the color of bleached parchment, short horns of gleaming ebon, over-large eyes with inky-black irises, pointed ears sticking out nearly as far as her horns; the only thing left unchanged was her lank, ginger hair.

The pounding on her door jerked her back into the moment. She moved as quietly as possible toward the door.

“Gail, it’s Steph, open up!”

Gail let out a sigh and unlocked the door. “You can come in, but you may not like what you see.” Before Steph could see anything, Gail slipped into the hallway.

Stephanie opened the door only enough to slip in and closed it tight behind herself. “Gail, I... why are you hiding? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Gail took a deep breath and stepped out into the open. She and Stephanie stared at each other with mouths agape.

“You’re a—an Illiran,” Gail said. Stephanie, though six inches taller, had the same bleached skin and large, dark eyes. Her ears, although pointed, were far shorter, and no horns adorned her head.

Stephanie raised her hands. “I’m not going to do anything. I came to let you know what I really am. It seems like we both have some things to discuss.”

As they stood in silence, the news reporter kept speaking. “Again, later this evening we’ll read the full statement from the Elves..., can’t believe I’m actually saying that, but it’s true. Elves have lived among us, and they have dropped what they called the ‘glamour’ that kept humans from recognizing them.

“Questions are being raised in several governments around the world, as Elves in positions of power have been exposed. More troubling, however, is their reason for removing the glamour.”

The news reader’s face was replaced with footage of someone that looked very much like Gail. “The Elves call them Wildlings, but they resemble the demons of many cultures. The Elves claim they are here to hunt the Wildlings to prevent an invasion.

“While many governments are slow to move, Iceland’s President has already announced that the killing of any sentient being, including Wildlings, in their country will be dealt with as murder. Similar calls are being made in other countries, while some, including the U.S. are divided on the issue.”

Gail waved her hand toward the television and it turned off. “I suppose you want to kill me now, ‘Elf’?”

Stephanie shook her head. “No, I—,” she stammered, “I came to tell you…, but—”

“How about I tell you why I’m here,” Gail said. When Stephanie didn’t respond, she continued. “I was sent away three hundred years ago, to protect these.” She pointed to her bookshelves. When the glamour was still active, they had appeared to be packed with paperback romance novels. What the glamour had hidden was a collection of ancient texts; each small book bound in leather with fine vellum pages filled with the tiny scribblings of an even older language.

“This is our history.” Gail stepped protectively in front of the books. “The discovery of these books by your people started the war.”

“We didn’t—,”

“No! If you’re here to destroy the books, you’ll have a fight,” Gail said, “regardless of how much I’ve valued you as my neighbor.”

Stephanie sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the door. “I was going to say that’s not how the war started… the reason we started the war. Maybe I should explain.” She heaved a sigh and focused her gaze on the past. “I ran away… a little more than a hundred years ago. I’ve been helping the F’tach cross the veil and hide here.”

“Thank you for not calling me Pittik,” Gail said, “or the English translation of ‘Wildling’. Would you prefer the English term Elf, or something else?”

“Just Steph. It’s actually my Illiran name, too.”

“Okay, Steph.” Gail eyed her with bare suspicion. “Continue.”

“How much do you know about Gailadriel?”

“My namesake aunt,” Gail said. “She was to become the next High Magician of the F’tach when her horns came in full. Instead, a Kirik, sorry…, an Illiran, Bandal, showed up at the hidden library. He was impressed with her magic and knowledge, and she let him study the history texts. Then he stole her away in the night and imprisoned her in his city. She’s probably still there, if not dead.”

“That’s partially right,” Steph said. “They left in the middle of the night, because Gailadriel knew that the elders would never let her leave with a, how do you say it? F’tach Kirik… a hornless one. They returned to the city, where Bandal kept her hidden as long as he could. Then they… had twins, a boy and girl.”

Gail showed no surprise, but she couldn’t meet the other woman’s eyes. Her jaw worked as if she were holding something back.

Steph gave her a moment to respond, but when she didn’t, she continued. “At first all was well. They seemed to be average Illiran children with slightly long ears, even if they weren’t readily accepted by anyone who knew who their mother was. Until they reached puberty.”

Gail’s face dropped. “I know what happened next,” she said. “Their horns started coming in.”

“Yes.” Steph leaned her head against the door. “First, we thought the F’tach had no magic, then we learned otherwise. Then, we didn’t think F’tach and Illiran could mate, but they could. Even then, everything was fine until their horns came in. It panicked a lot of people. Not only did they have magic far more powerful than any Illiran, but they could breed us out of existence if they wished. It was a ridiculous idea, but it caught like wildfire.”

“We’ve always known that F’tach and Illiran could mate,” Gail said. “Thousands of years ago, any F’tach who failed to start their horns in by twenty was banished. I understand that you know a little of our language, but F’tach just means person, and F’tach Kirik means hornless person. The word kirik, though, also means unclean, foul, cursed. A hornless person, by law, cannot marry or mate. So those who failed to horn were banished.”

“No doubt a recessive trait,” Steph said, “and since they would only encounter others who were banished, their children would be hornless as well. But what about the magic? Every one of you I’ve met has been far more powerful than any Illiran.”

“It’s a matter of practice.” Gail smiled. “You wouldn’t expect a person who lives in a city, works in an office, and drives everywhere to be able to run as fast and as far as someone who lives a hunter-gatherer lifestyle, right? Same thing.

“Your cities are like these human cities. Permanent structures protect you; your food is grown in cultivated fields; you travel using technologies that take the burden for you. Our shelter is made of magic; our food is gathered from the forest using magic; we travel by foot or fly by magic. Where you use electricity to send messages and make light, we use magic. When that starts from early childhood, it grows strong.” Gail crossed the room and sat in front of Steph. “You are the same as us,” she said, “and capable of the same things. When the rules about hornless ones were written, it was more to do with ending child marriages. It got twisted over the millennia into something else.”

Steph looked at Gail, her eyes boring a question into the other woman’s. “What about hornless F’tach born now? Do they still get banished? Why haven’t we heard of it?”

“Twenty-two hundred years ago, the High Magician created a stone that ‘fixed’ them. Anyone whose horns haven’t begun to sprout by nineteen is left to spend a week in the stone’s aura.” Gail sighed. “I was one of those. The field changes the DNA, the recessive trait is overwritten, and your body begins pumping out hormones. It’s torture.”

“If you know it’s a recessive gene, why do you still do it?”

“The primary poisoner of society,” Gail said, “religion. Our laws are so old they have turned into dogma and the initial writers of those laws into gods. The same reason so many humans have a problem with the transgendered, or homosexual. That’s why we always assumed the Illiran attacked after Baldan returned with our history. The fact that for six thousand years we had labeled you unclean, cursed, less than; then banished you to starve alone on the plains.”

“Baldan never shared what he learned in the library,” Steph said, “except to say, ‘Some things are best left in the past.’ After his children’s horns came in, they crossed the veil. They’ve been in hiding here for at least as long as you have.”

“My aunt is here?” Gail asked. She slouched, an invisible weight bearing down on her shoulders. “What are we going to do about the F’tach already here? If the humans think we’re demons, they’ll start hunting us, too.”

“Is there some way we could get the F’tach elders and Illiran Counsel to the bargaining table?” Steph asked. “Maybe show them the truth that Baldan knew?”

“How do you think the Illiran Counsel would react to knowing that their entire society came from the banishment of F’tach who were deemed unclean?” Gail shook her head. “The elders would kill me before I got the first word out, anyway. If my aunt had stayed, she planned on revising the laws, and destroying the hornstone. She wanted to start talks with the Illiran, too. That’s the only reason she afforded Baldan the access she did.”

“There has to be something we could do.” Steph grabbed Gail’s hand. “If we could convince them that we are the same--,”

“How do we do that?” Gail asked. “Maybe we should focus on convincing the humans that Iliran and F’tach are the same. Might at least give us a little safety.”

“I don’t know,” Steph said, “but whatever we decide to do, I think we should do it together.”