BaTeb

A tendril, a tentacle of ink trailing behind his well crafted tool. The inky blackness couldn't be seen in the dark night. Had Elizabeth seen it, or even its bearer she wouldn't have known what she was looking at.
Elizabeth hadn't seen him. She hadn't heard him.
But part of her understood what was happening as that blackness lashed her. As it changed her.
Fluid, thick and as black as that which lashed her, flooded her mouth. She couldn't cough rapidly enough to keep it from filling her mouth. She collapsed.
Black flowed from her mouth and nose.
Her attempts to cry were foiled; her tear ducts were filled with the black.
She understood that she was drowning, she didn't understand the rest: the warmth; the calm; the how; the why.
The next feeling confounded her, and it took her quite some time to comprehend.
In addition to warmth, calm and confusion Elizabeth felt loved.
The blackness formed a pool around Elizabeth. It corroded the ground. Elizabeth sank four feet beneath the surface. The shallow pit filled to the top with the black. The top caramelized.
Elizabeth's thoughts slowed, but never ceased. Over the following weeks Elizabeth's metamorphosis continued. She began to take root.
Over the next weeks as the roots pushed against the ground below her, Elizabeth was pushed up, pressing her against the hard black surface.
She began to know more of her fate, her origin, and the creature that was leading her down her new path.
The creature was not unique, but largely unheard of.
He was the furthest from his home of all of his kind.
He was an Aas Gutú Adéli, he was BaTeb.
He and his ilk have been known only to the Tlingit peoples of Alaska and their crop, the K'eikaxwéin. Elizabeth's Aas Gutú Adéli was vigilantly protecting her from discovery, but she was not alone in this crop. The third and final K'eikaxwéin of this crop, she was cherished.
BaTeb slept near her, he sacrificed to her before he'd sacrifice to Bethanie or Loraine, before he'd feed himself. As BaTeb knew she would, Elizabeth was filling the void in his heart which remained vacant since the loss of his beloved Franchesca.

Twenty three years earlier, prior to his discovery of Elizabeth, seven crops prior to the current crop, BaTeb found Franchesca. He'd been weak, incomplete. After discovering Franchesca he was neither.
She served as his queen, and in so doing made a king of him. For five years they carved out a kingdom in Canada's south. BaTeb and his K'eikaxwéin tended to the forest, restored their river to its pre-man state, they nestled at the base of a mountain.
The crop destroyed roads and gathered unnatural products. The crop's acts did not go unnoticed, many women who saw the K'eikaxwéin soonafter joined their ranks. The women who did not join them, and those men that crossed their paths were used for other purposes.
The often seductive, always sly K'eikaxwéin lured these interloping potential resources to the crop's KagitKóok. The interlopers couldn't see as Elizabeth could, they saw the smiling faces, and heard the curious laughter of what they thought to be women.
These interlopers, despite their title, were actually very welcome, even necessary to the ends BaTeb and Franchesca set. They'd enter a clearing, the earliest to be lead there saw mounds of plastics, porcelain, road and steel. The last few saw what could best be described as a large pond, frozen solid. It appeared to be a pond of oil, not water. This pond was almost exactly the same as the shallow pit that Elizabeth later inhabited. This pond, this KagitKóok, differed from Elizabeth's temporary home in that it was inhabited by hundreds and by no means was it temporary. It was in this KagitKóok that the litter of man was to be deposited.
Regardless of whether the interlopers were seeing the mounds or the pond they were more than hesitant to move to the middle. But they all wound up there.
The fingertips of the K'eikaxwéin are coated with a grave poison. The touch of one is seldom perilous, but with the touch of each subsequent K'eikaxwéin the damage is dealt. The first few result in the softening of the interloper's free well, but should more than five lay their hands upon an interloper, free will is lost completely for a time. The temporary nature of the loss seldom matters, as a more permanent state is forced upon them.
All but five resisted. The stories of those who resisted all so closely resemble the story of Marcus Pratte, that telling them would serve little purpose. Similarly, the tales of the five that complied and volunteered unwittingly to their fate, don't warrant telling.

Marcus's four year degree from McGill, his VW and his recent divorce serve as non-factors in the final chapter of his pre-KagitKóok life. Marcus was on vacation with his friend, a road trip to the wilderness to camp and get away from all that weighed upon him. His friend Greg, pulled over at a rest stop. While stretching his legs and away from Greg, Marcus saw Samantha. He looked around and saw no car, save for Greg's. Marcus looked at the comparatively young woman, clad in a damp, mostly buttoned green plaid shirt and mud-encrusted denim jeans. Marcus felt concerned when he noticed the bear feet.
"Are you alright?"
She smiled, projecting appreciation for the genuine concern in his voice. She laughed, smiled and assured him, "I'm very well, but I could use your help with something."
"What would that be?"
"It's right over here."
"I really should wait for my friend, he'd worry if I wasn't around when he got out."
"It really will only take a minute," then Samantha began to walk away maintaining eye contact with Marcus for a moment before turning away and picking up speed.
Marcus looked at the men's room door, then to the strange woman. He smirked, then pursued. Thoughts of the possibilities scampered through his head. He failed to notice the passage of time, distance or the loss of cell phone signal.
Greg's concerned call went unanswered, and straight through to voicemail.
After fourteen minutes at a decent pace, Marcus entered the clearing. He examined the hill of plastic, the mound of steel, the slick black surface of the fledgling KagitKóok.
He looked at Samantha, but didn't find answers.
She walked toward the plastic, but after following a few steps Marcus ceased to follow.
Samantha walked back to him, she took his hand in hers. Marcus felt a jolt. He felt fizzy bubbles in his brain, Samantha's tugging brought him three steps closer to the plastic. Again he stopped.
Marcus didn't hear two other K'eikaxwéins as they crept up behind him. Two powerful jolts coursed through him. He diligently followed Samantha to the plastic pile, never turning to look at the two who'd touched him. Cheryl and Amanda. He began to sweat as he recognized his acts as completely incongruent with his thoughts.
Samantha instructed him, "Climb the hill."
"No." But his feet did as Samantha said, not as Marcus protested. Marcus scaled the hill, and there stood. BaTeb climbed the hill, with long, gliding strides. Marcus didn't know what he was seeing. He slightly recognized BaTeb, as many do. The Aas Gutú Adéli often walk the dreams of men. His skin was a dark blue, a blue so dark that it had been confused with gray or black by some. Patterns were painted on his body in an orangish maroon. These painted patterns drifted slowly across his flesh. Marcus noticed these things, more often people standing before BaTeb lack either the time or the perception to notice the drift.
He noticed the body paint, the animal pelts forming a mane, draped over BaTeb's shoulders, the flat face, the almond shaped eyes with a glow that seems to to come from twenty feet back, the absence of a nose, the wide mouth with thin lips pressed tightly together in a smile.
But BaTeb's hands drew the final attention of Marcus. BaTeb's hands looked like those of a whiteman. They looked smooth, uncalloused and unworked. One of the hands retrieved a short length of hollowed out, petrified wood, slightly covered by a strip of leather, from the pelts around his neck.
Marcus's heart raced, his breathing became erratic.
BaTeb turned the stick sideways, and ink began to pour out, never hitting the ground, instead dangled. BaTeb wasted no time and began lashing Marcus. He felt no pain, but was filled with terror. Marcus collapsed to his knees and began coughing frantically. He saw only in splotches, as each cough made him see lights. He saw black spattering out of his mouth, he saw BaTeb turn and walk away. He saw Samantha meeting his eyes. The coughing subsided as spattering became constant. The black streamed from his mouth and nose.
Marcus grew weak and fell the rest of the way, and laid flat. The black devoured the plastic and eroded quickly to the ground and ate through twelve more feet. The black filled this pit and Marcus floated in the middle.
When he settled he found that he was still very much alive. He was tranquil. Each night he looked to the sky, seeing much more than he ever had before. Each morning his head turned down, looking away from the bright sun. He found happiness in the KagitKóok. Life in the KagitKóok was good, far better than most lives out of it.
Marcus could communicate with all the others in the black, they all get along just fine. Again, Marcus's story is much the same as all those in that pit, but it edged out the others as more worth telling as Marcus had been more observant than most.

Greg and the friends of many of the inhabitants of the KagitKóok complained to authorities. Enough people had gone missing in the same region that a manhunt was conducted.
Friends, families, mounties, park rangers, highway patrol and a few park rangers from Northern Montana all participated in the hunt. Progress was not fast as the nearness of the KagitKóok and BaTeb running through their dreams clouded the minds of those that had been with the missing. Suspicions ran high in a region with no roads.

As is often the case, a helicopter provided the breakthrough. One of the spotters noticed the field of black, and directed a nearby ground team to follow up. This team was comprised of two highway patrolmen, two friends and the father of Vincent Aripoli. Vincent had a story much like Marcus, but he'd not noticed the drifting of the patterns across BaTeb's body. Vincent joined the KagitKóok almost a week after Marcus.
This team had been forged three days prior to them setting foot on black. Officers Duval and Shaw had been working on Vincent's case from the beginning. They'd volunteered extra time, they'd had dinners with Vincent's father, Anthony Aripoli. Some of the dinners had been attended by Mark Saunders and Scott Ng.
Shaw would press Mike and Scott to tell the story each time they met, often thinking up questions to get more for next time.
By the day of the breakthrough, Shaw felt pretty confidant of the account he'd gathered.

Vincent, Scott and Mark had driven to the small town of Canmore, Alberta. They dropped off their Subaru Legacy, unloaded their packs and walked into a local outdoors shop named Three Sisters Excursions. Mark had arranged for shuttle service. Ricky Samar had been the cashier. Alice 'Ali' Thompson drove the Ford Econovan to a point most typically used when people want a four day hike through wilderness. A route not frequented by bears.
Vincent, Scott and Mark were prepared for bears though. Vincent and Mark had been approached by a bear a few years back. They each carried two cans: one an air horn, the other a large can of concentrated pepper spray. The bear fled from their billowed out jackets and air horns.
Ali dropped them off at approximately 6:55am on the Friday morning. The hike went as planned until Scott and Mark woke on Sunday and found Vincent's tent unoccupied. They marked trees near their campground by climbing them and placing reflective flags on limbs.
They spent three hours spiraling out from the camp site. In what, in retrospect, was clearly wishful thinking Scott asserted the belief that Vincent went ahead for some reason. Mark argued that Vincent wouldn't have left his gear. Ultimately Scott won the argument and the two friends hustled to town.
They asked anyone they could find if they'd seen Vincent. They remained in the town and filed a missing persons report on Tuesday. It was the tenth filed in the recent weeks, but the small sheriff's department was already overburdened with a gunshot death and missing roadways to the town's east. Also, the second of those ten missing persons was Frank Gallow. Frank ran the local hardware store and hadn't been seen in twelve days.

It wasn't until five months after Vincent went missing that Duval and Shaw were assigned the case. The sheriff's department had been too proud to ask for help, but as the town's eastern roads began to vanish they finally started communicating just how bad things had become.
Anthony never gave up hope for his son, knowing how skilled he was at dealing with the elements. Mark and Scott didn't know if Vincent was alive. They wanted him to be, but feared he wasn't. Duval and Shaw were in agreement, they were looking for a body and as the enormity of missing persons cases became apparent, they were looking for Vincent's body in a mass grave.
As they reached the edge of the KagitKóok they believed they'd found that mass grave. They could see, so faintly, the tops of heads beneath the black ice.
None were willing to tread on the strange surface. Scott found a fairly long, substantially thick stick. He tapped on the surface. Pressed down on the surface. Stabbed at it.
Mark found a hefty rock, and hurled it at the KagitKóok, the rock chipped, left a scuff and did not effect the black ice. Anthony saw this and ran out onto the dark pond. He found sufficient traction, on the surface which only appeared to be like ice, but didn't share many other traits with it. Anthony didn't think about it. Anthony was looking at what he could see of those floating below, looking for his Vincent. He was so focused that at no point was he struck by just how many people he was looking at.
Anthony managed to recognize Vincent by the top of his head. His ability was more a reflection of his familiarity and less with any uniqueness or peculiarity of Vincent's head. Anthony began to cry, he couldn't have known how content his son was, or that if he could wait until sunset he would see his son look up at him. If he could wait until the sun's last rays faded, his son could see his father again.
But instead of an eye contact reunion, BaTeb and Franchesca emerged from the tree line. Scott still stood where the black ended, the rest had made their way onto the surface. BaTeb unfurled his whip and laid into Scott, who like many others fell to his knees and started hacking. Duval and Shaw saw BaTeb, though they didn't know what they were seeing they did perceive an attack. They both drew their pistols and fired twice. Three shots sunk into BaTeb, knocking him away from Scott and to the ground. Franchesca had not been noticed by anyone except Anthony. She was furious seeing her king injured. She closed on Duval. By surprise and the strength that comes with the K'eikaxwéin she pried Duval's pistol from him, pressed the muzzle hard against his ribs and tapped the trigger until bangs became clicks.
But a bang did follow.
Franchesca collapsed, releasing the gun and pressing her hands firmly against her injured stomach.
The shot had come from Anthony's Luger.
Mark ran to Scott.
Shaw ran to Duval.
Anthony's shaking hand gripped the Luger tightly, his eyes returned to his son's head.

BaTeb was gone. He'd retreated by instinct, no longer a thinking creature. He fled to his river and slept in its bed for weeks recovering from his wounds.
Scott survived the experience, as did Franchesca.
They were taken to the same hospital.
Doctors pumped Scott's stomach, scraped his lungs clean.
Scientists studied what was removed, but by then there wasn't anything special about it.

Franchesca had a bullet removed from her torso, her wrists cuffed to her bed and a guard assigned to her.
Investigators used her teeth to find her identity. Franchesca Bernall. A runaway from seven years ago. Her family had depleted its modest resources by hiring a PI, Hank Kinney. The money ran out, the family never really moved on, neither did the PI.
Hank relocated to Canada after being suspended by the West Palm Beach police department. He needed a win and the Bernall case gave him purpose. He felt good while working on it, especially compared to his more typical investigations into adultery. A month after the money stopped coming he recommitted to the case without telling the Bernalls.
At first he gave up his weekends, but by the end he was giving up cases. During his third pro bono month he had a breakthrough. A hiker near a small town told Hank that he thought he saw Franchesca. After seeing her picture at the post office that Hank asked to be put up, the hiker called the number.
The hiker wasn't sure, but Hank's gut told him to go.
He drove for more than a day to Canmore.
He explored, then had his win.
He found Franchesca, he told her how much her family missed her, then he learned what the officer posted to watch her in the hospital learned.
Franchesca no longer spoke French, nor English.
She'd let her native tongue go in favor of the whispers of the K'eikaxwéin. Hank couldn't understand her, he thought he wasn't hearing her right. He crept closer and looked around. He feared something nearby was cowing her into near silence.
Within minutes Hank met much the same fate that Marcus had. Hank was used to rid the world of just over eighteen hundred pounds of road.
When Franchesca woke in her hospital room, she began to speak. It sounded like a breeze through a dry forest. The posted officer, Dexter Myers, did as Hank had done, he cautiously approached her. As he drew very near he felt frustrated. He felt quite certain that closing the last three feet between his ear and her mouth wouldn't enable him to discern any words. Despite that feeling, Dexter continued.
Franchesca lashed out, clutching his wrist. Her grip was not so strong to cause him harm, but a jolt rushed through him. Dexter was infuriated. With his free hand he struck her twice in the face, her hold was released.
Dexter fell back to the floor and examined his wrist.
He felt strange.
Franchesca's caress was far more permanent and damaging than those of the rest of her crop. Dexter's free will was impaired for the rest of his days. He was removed from his post. He was suspended for a month and was never promoted beyond his low rank.
Three others were touched by Franchesca before she began serving her life sentence. None were as harmed as Dexter.
Franchesca was serving life after an uneventful trial. Though the hundred plus were alive when in the KagitKóok, they died promptly when removed. The excavators in charge of removing the bodies for identification and proper burial failed to notice the fleeting signs of life present in the liberated bodies.
They could've detected a meek pulse, or seen life in the eyes, but the dutiful workers did their best to not touch the skin, to not see eyes, to not comprehend people.
The case against Franchesca only circumstantially linked her to the bodies. But the dots were correctly connected, she was of course quite responsible for many of those people being there. Their deaths were not her doing, but the magistrate couldn't know.

BaTeb had the slightest of understanding of the fate of his queen. He did know that she was lost, that he was alone. His crop had scattered while he slept. His bond with them severed.
He slowly migrated south and east.
For 18 years he roamed.
He'd made crops of threes.
He'd abandon them after four months making very small KagitKóoks.
These KagitKóoks remained undiscovered.

His eighth crop proved to be different.
The eighth crop's third was to be his next queen.
The eighth crop's third was Elizabeth.