Filethelia

I know not what will happen when the power takes hold of me, though my father has been preparing me for this day for the past eighteen years. 

I stand on the clifftops of Yapeche, my home for my entire life, and that of generations of Filethelias before me. If my destiny fails me here tonight, I may be the last. 

The sun has finally fallen below the horizon, and the last colours are fading from the sky to be replaced by the dark of night. I glance down at the peninsula below me, where our men are locked in intense battle with the Rahulas. Seven months. They have battled for seven months. And tonight, it ends, with me. 

The battle started in the mountains. My people were caught unawares by the Rahulas transiting the harsh mountain ranges to the west and ambushing the small towns that bordered them. We were caught unawares by their brutality, also. Too many civilians were lost in those initial months, before the battle was drawn away from the townships, and into the valleys. It has taken everything we have to position the Rahulas as they are now, on the peninsula. They see a strategic advantage, having their backs to the ocean. They must not see our plan.

But how could they? Nobody knows that the Yapeche people have been hiding the biggest secret our continent has ever known. Even they don’t know themselves. They have been hiding me. Anathea Filethelia. Third daughter of the King, and the only Cancer born for a century. I have lived my life in isolation, locked away from all who may have been family, friend or foe. Not even my two older sisters know that I exist. The risk is too great. Once I was old enough to be told the truth, I understood my father’s reasoning. I have lived in comfort. Luxury even. I have never wanted for anything, except for human connection. 

To be born under the sign of Cancer was proclaimed illegal by my great great great grandfather after the battle of Tanthana, and the declaration of independence. With the moon transiting through Cancer once every month, the power of the Cancerians was too great. Too frequent. Yes, it had led us to our victory against the Tanthanians, but it was deemed to be incongruent with a peaceful society following it.

There is not a Yapechean alive who knows what that power was. Not even my father. It was never to be spoken of, in the hope that the collective trauma it had unleashed would heal with time. The only thing known is that the results were so horrific that to be born under the sign became punishable by death at the coming of age- a fate that no family would assign their child intentionally.  Mine included. Had I not had the misfortune of being born six weeks prematurely, I would have been born under the sign of Leo, as my mother and father had intended. As it was, my mother was forced to give birth to me in secret, with no attendant other than my father. It fell to him to break the news to our people that my mother and her unborn child had perished during childbirth, and then to secret me away in the furthest wing of the palace to live my life in hiding. 

The light is gone now, and the silvery moon is high. I can feel its energy pulsing through me. It feels different tonight. And of course, it is different. I am of age. The first moon in Cancer since my eighteenth birthday two weeks ago, and it is a full moon. 

I close my eyes and feel the energy course over my body. It feels like subtle vibrations. A pulse in my veins, stronger than that transporting my blood, but not by much. I wonder how I will know when I am ready. I may only have one chance. If I do not succeed, if the plan is exposed, our people will have no way forward. The Rahulas’ reinforcements are expected by boat any hour. Once they dock and storm up the beaches, they will make for the headlands, and the battle will be lost. We are outnumbered, and the only active power at present is coming from the transit of Venus through Taurus. The Taureans weave sensuality through all who come in contact with them. Great for reproduction of the species, but not so helpful for battle. I am our only hope. 

I turn my attention to the palace. That is where the signal will come from. My father has briefed me thoroughly on the plan. Our men are in position. The Rahulas are in position. Our plan hinges on the hope that my power will be the same as the other water signs. When being born under the sign of Cancer was banned, my great great great grandfather couldn’t have forseen how important the power to wield water would prove to be for our people. The other water signs are redundant in this battle. The transit of Pluto through Scorpio occurs only once every 265 years, rendering our Scorpios useless. So, too the transit of Neptune through Pisces- not due for another 63 years. Our civilisation will be decimated by then. 

No one remains alive from the last time Pluto transited Scorpio, but our folklore tells that during the transit, Scorpios had the power to wield the water of bodies of fresh water. Our townships certainly moved from the side of Lake Yapache into the ranges some time in the last two centuries. There is every chance that this was a necessity to avoid flooding events from unmitigated wields.

The last transit of Neptune through Pisces revealed the ability of those born under the sign to wield the water of the skies- the rain. Leading to my father’s theory- that I will have the power to wield the ocean and create a tidal wave of such height and intensity that I can eliminate the Rahulan army with one strike. Of course, I must get the magnitude just right. Too high, and I will take out our people as well. Too low, and the Rahulans will suffer from nothing worse than soggy footwear, and our plan will be exposed. 

The power is building. It sways me now where I stand. Is it the pull of the tide I can feel? I am encouraged by that thought. My gaze remains fixed on the palace. I will not miss the signal and fail my people.

There it is. A flash in the window of my father’s chambers, followed by another. I breathe in deeply, as I have been taught, and focus all of my attention on my chest. It’s happening. The power intensifies. It flows through me. I close my eyes tightly and raise my arms. I picture the ocean rising. My heart feels as though it is caught in a vortex. Is it my blood swirling, or the power? I don’t know, but I close down any other thought than the rising of the ocean. I have to see it clearly. The exact point when I need to release. 

I must trust my instinct, and hope that my whole-hearted will to save my people will be enough. It’s here. I hold it steady at what I think will be 25 metres above sea level, give or take. And then, I fill my lungs with the cool, salty night air and a release it with a roar that I don’t even recognise, as I throw my arms wide, driving the energy towards the peninsula. I don’t know for how long I roar. It can’t be an hour, though it feels like it. It must be a minute. But when I stop, it is too quiet. Not the quiet hum that I was expecting. Not the quiet hum of a distant victorious army cheering from the headland. But the quiet hum of a distant battle that continues, unperturbed. And when I think of it, the ocean didn’t roar either. Only I did. I open my eyes. The ocean is still. The tide ebbs and flows gently as it did before. There was no wave. It didn’t work. 

I sink to my knees, overcome with despair. My body still vibrates with energy. How could this be? How is it possible? I did not wield. I have failed. A cry out again, this time, a guttural roar, filled with grief. The grief that I will never know the people I should call family. Friends who I’ve yet to meet, who miss me from their life without even knowing I should be there. Love and passion that I will never know. If my people somehow find another way to win this war, I will remain in isolation. How can I show myself, knowing that I have failed? That’s if my father lets me live. If they don’t find another way, they will perish, and I will perish alongside them, never to know the feeling of connection with another human being. Never to know the divine vibration of fusion with a compatible sign. The despair engulfs my very being. I don’t know if I am still human. I think I may just be sorrow now. 

The feeling of despair builds like a wave and I feel it crest. It is going to overwhelm me. I don’t know where I will end up, but I ride it. I don’t seem to have a choice. Again, my arms rise, I stretch tall, and then, when I think I might burst, the emotion bursts forth from me as a flay my arms wide. There is an atmospheric rumble that I can’t explain. It isn’t my voice. It’s the air around me, flowing through me, but not controlled by me. 

I hear wailing. I open my eyes, my heart still clenched with emotional pain, but somehow slightly relieved from the release I have just experienced. What I see is beyond belief. Rahulas fall to the ground, clutching their chests. Their wails permeate the night air, piercing through the quiet ocean sounds, and the battle cries of the Yapeche. They fall, and they don’t rise again. They are dying. Defeated. 

I don’t let go. I don’t let go of the emotional turmoil I still feel inside me, knowing now, in my very being, that it is my despair that brings them to their knees. No wonder those like me were deemed too dangerous, too threatening to live amongst society. I don’t wield water. I wield emotion. A wave of endless hopelessness and anguish is what brings the enemy to their knees and makes them yield. 

I watch as my people take control of the peninsula and know that the war is won. My own fate is unknown. When my father knows what I have done here tonight, I know not what he will do. What can he do? Does he really have a choice? A weapon as powerful as this, with the ability to be unfurled once each month during the transit of the moon through Cancer, could be catastrophic if misused. But then, I am his daughter. Perhaps I wield some emotion for that reason alone. 

Slowly, I realise I can let go. I can surrender. My people are safe now. A fresh feeling washes over me. Relief? Triumph? Acceptance. My purpose is fulfilled. Whatever happens now is superfluous. I may never know love, but my love for those I have never known was enough.