Imagine that - part (1)

There was someplace she could go and be safe. There was a place where she could be herself and not spend every waking moment being invisible.

This is a fan-fiction set on Terahnar the world created by L.E. Modesitt for his Imager series. I have no rights to any of it and don’t claim to. I just wanted to see what a story about a MTF transgender person set in the time just after Rex Regis consolidated Lydar into Solidar would be like.

Special thanks to Miya Jeahle and Anne Mouse for critiques & editing. Good stories happen because of good editing.

Once upon a time, in a tiny village in what was the Kingdom of Antiago and now part of a new land that stretched from sea to sea call Solidar, a young person was born to a crofter – a tenant farmer for a not very successful “Saihib” or lord. From an early age he was a bundle of confusion. Although his body had all the parts that identified him as male, he knew in his heart and his mind that he was more she than he. The only good thing was that there were mostly girls in surrounding families and in his family his two siblings, one older by two years, the other, a year younger, were sisters. As he was growing up, he didn’t mind wearing his older sister’s hand-me-down clothes. In fact even as he grew taller than Odela he selected jumpers and overalls like those she wore. He just whished that he could wear the occasional dress or skirt and blouse that she got to wear when they went to events at the Saihib’s grand house or the services at the temple.

They had named “him” Joli which was the name of a flowering bush in Pharsi, the original language of his mother and he liked to think about being as pretty as a flower. When the children would play in the nearby woods, he loved to put flowers in his hair and help with the pretend meals. In the warm weather they would splash around in the stream in their birthday suits then dry off by lying in the moss on the slope of the hill above the stream. He carefully looked at Odela’s body because she was starting have curves and little mounds under her breasts. He wanted so much to be just like her.

Joli would spend evenings working with his sisters with sewing or knitting and going over his letters and numbers under his mother’s instruction. They would learn the names and phrases in both Bovarian, the language of Antiago, and Pharsi, mother’s native tongue.

He and his sisters spent wonderful nights listening to the legends and stories of the ancient imagers who built whole cities by just thinking about them or changing the path of rivers. Then there were the stories about The daughter of the big silver moon Seliora, and her cosort, protector, lover, Erion, the hunter and lesser moon.

He had a talent for fixing things of keeping them working more so than plowing a straight furrow or hefting bundles of hay onto the cart or lugging bushels of apples or potatoes during the harvest. He was also a much better cook than Odela who was better help at harvesting the crops. His part was to lead the horse as it pulled the wagon across the fields or through the orchard and his younger sister would keep the crop stacked neatly in the wagon.

Besides his femaleness, he had to hide that he believed that he might be an imager because he could wish that something was a certain way and it would be the way he imagined. Not big things but little things. Last fall one of the traces on the wagon came apart when he was at the end of a row in the apple orchard, about as far from the barn and tack room as possible. It was also at the end of a long day and with a cart full of bushels of apples that needed to get back to the cellar under the barn and be unloaded. He grabbed the two parts of the leather strap and looked closely at the place where they had come apart. He focused on the torn ends, the way the pieces of leather had come apart. He put the ends together and thought if this section had just stayed together a little longer, if it was still one piece I wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the barn and back and most likely have a cold supper after I unloaded the apples and then it was. It was one single, seamless piece of leather.

I tugged on it to see if it really was together again and would take a strain. It was stronger than any weight I could put on it – although that wasn’t saying much as I didn’t weigh much more that my older sister. There was one way to test it and I climbed up on the seat and called to the mule and snapped the lines and the cart moved as usual. I made it back without any extra difficulties from the leather, just the usual problems of steering around the rocks, mud-holes and sandy spots between the fields and the barns.

I suspected I had imaged the leather back together and it scared me to my core.

Imagers were people who had the ability of making things happen, making things appear out of nothing or making them vanish or, or… My thoughts spun around and round. Being an imager meant slavery and death. Being an imager meant that it didn’t matter that I had a body that was betraying me because I wouldn’t likely have to worry about that little problem if anyone discovered my imaging ability.

In our land the “king” the “Grand Potentate” kept those who did something he didn’t approve of in line by sending out his military and a few of his well controlled imagers to leave a lasting message of his displeasure. Usually the message was delivered by burning the offending subject as well as his house, barns, and anything flammable plus selling his household into slavery

This was true last year, but not now. It seems that a Rex from our neighboring land took exception to having his ships and army attacked by our glorious king’s military and imagers. Apparently it came down to the old saying that no matter how big, strong, smart, wealthy and so on you are there is always someone who is more of whatever than you are. It turned out that our Rex finally found this out the hard way and he and his entire palace was turned upside down with him and all his imagers and army and everyone else in it, basically turning the entire place into a giant tomb.

Even with the new rulers, being a known imager was a death sentence. To most people, having an imager around was like having a snake at your feet or some other dangerous creature. The initial response from most people is to kill it and that applied double for imagers

He was grimy and damp with sweat by the time he had worked through the twilight and then helped move the bushels into the cellar.

“Come on Jolie” called Odela, “lets get cleaned up and some supper.”

“Ok, l’ll pump first and you can pump for me” I said as we followed Pa to the pump house. We were fortunate to have a good well that gave us good water, rather than water that was soapy and smelled of rotting eggs, like those farms closer to the bay. Papa finished up then Odela started splashing water onto her face and soaping up her hands and arms up to her elbows. I watched her soapy hands move over her arms and the line of her jaw. The way her hair bounced around in its ponytail. She had a pleasant face, not a beauty, but easy to look at. Her breasts were just becoming noticeable and she was starting to have curves although her hips were firm as most farm girls. I wished I was developing the way she was he thought to himself.

“Why are you looking at me like that” Odela asked? “Is there something wrong? Do I have something on my clothes?”

“No I was just daydreaming” I said.

“Well you looked like you weren’t paying attention to what you were doing when you were bringing the wagon into the barn yard. You better look sharp because father was worried that you might upset the wagon”

“I was paying plenty of attention but I got lost in my thoughts.” I hoped that answer would end the discussion.

“What were you doing with the traces behind the mules?” She must have been watching me as I fixed the trace line.

“The line seemed to be caught on something and I was tying to fix it” I replied, hoping that would be a good answer and stop her questions.

We gathered around the 3-plank table for supper: dumplings filled with fowl and carrots with a little onion, kitchen mushrooms and some herbs. It was plain fare but filling, and except for the flour, all from our fields and the surrounding woods. Solia, Odela and I did the cleanup after the meal to give mother a break. She was well on carrying her fifth baby and could use a sort rest. We lost our little brother when he was two to a pox that we all had but it killed him.

The three of us shared a bed in the loft, which was good in winter but could be steamy in the end of summer.

I was half asleep and was thinking of Odela cleaning up and the way her small breasts were pushing against the material of her blouse. I put my hands over my own breasts and thought wouldn’t it be nice if mine were as big as hers to my astonishment I felt a soft mound of flesh under each hand!

I peaked under my nightshirt and sure enough, I had two small breasts! I had done it again! What was I going to do now! My entire family would go crazy and probably kill me as some kind of devil! Why did I have to wish for breasts!? I really didn’t want to get into trouble. I wished they were gone and I was back to a flat chest boy. Sure enough, they disappeared.

It seemed that I had just dropped off to sleep when I heard this boom and crash. I sat up looked around but everything was pitch black and I could hear the wind and rain. I needed to see what was happening. I needed a light! A candle!

Then there was one, right in my right hand.

Both my sisters woke up and look at me holding the candle.

“What’s happening?” asked Solia and “Where did you get that candle?” Asked Odela.

I couldn’t say a thing; I just looked back and forth between the burning candle and my sisters. I blew out the candle and put it on the ledge, next to the bed. I knew that I was done for. I was an imager! I thought about sneaking out and running away but where would I go?

Breakfast was a just a bowl of porridge and some dark bread. Both Odela and Solia looked at me over their bowls as though I would turn into a monster at any moment but nether said anything. I was glad to get out f the house and start my morning chores without anyone saying anything about the candle.

“Come in here,” called Papa from the kitchen as I was gathering eggs and I knew what was coming next. I shuddered but I wasn’t brave enough to do anything but obey. I went into the house with my head down, not wanting to look at either mama or papa. When I did, I saw mixed feelings on their faces. Ma was wiping tears and papa looked worried.

“When were you going to tell us that you are an imager?” asked papa in a voice mixed with concern, frustration and anger. “Were you going to wait until you set fire to the house and killed us all?”

“I’ll leave, I’ll go away and you won’t have to worry about me” I said in a low voice.

“Not on your own you won’t,” said papa. "I’ve heard that in Axitil they are looking for young imagers and will take them to some kind of scholarium for imagers on Westisle,” said papa. “We even get a gold for our trouble." As he said that mama sobbed even more. “Put anything you want to go with you in this bag,” he said and pointed to an empty flour bag on the table, “and be ready to go in two qints.”

I climbed up the stairs and gathered my few things to wear plus a blue translucent stone I had found in the field and headed back down to meet father.

My family was waiting in the yard as I came out of the door and there were hugs and tears all around. I made sure that I didn’t look back as I followed papa down the road toward the village.