Chapter Text
Of all the ways to teleport, Alder supposed that mushrooms weren’t the absolute worst outcome, but certainly, that would not have been her first choice.
The smell alone… Alder felt her throat constrict, remembering the stink of spores that clung to the insides of her nose that first time, as she was resurrected.
After the Bellweather Unit delivered her body into the mycelium, Alder surrendered to what she assumed would be a well-earned and final rest.
The mycelium wove tendrils around her body – wove into her body – and Alder felt her mind and skin tingle. Effervescent. Pleasant, really – like champagne bubbling on the tongue, or the body-buzz of a potent indica at day’s end.
Although she’d had a reputation as a dour hardass (and what General wouldn’t? A bit unfair to single her out, Alder thought…) she was not the unfeeling automaton people supposed.
Pleasure and beauty were as important to Sarah Alder as scourges and windstrikes. The right of witchkind to truly live – and not just to survive – drove her. It was why she fought. Why she had accepted the burden of living, of leading, for so many years.
Alder fought so that future generations might be able to throw caution to the wind, embrace their nature, live authentically and without fear – as she had never had the opportunity.
But that time had passed. That fight, that burden, was no longer hers to shoulder.
And as for a life of living, and not just surviving? Some were not meant to live, she thought. Alder’s body had been a vessel for centuries of resistance – her selfhood a needed and worthy sacrifice. It filled her with a deep sense of meaning and honor to have given of herself in that regard.
It would have to be enough.
Alder basked in the buzz of the mycelium cocoon, preparing for the inevitable peace that would come as her spirit lifted from her body.
After more than 300 years on earth, she no longer feared death; Alder welcomed it. She welcomed the promise of sleep, she only wished…
She only wished that she had not sleepwalked through so much of her own life.
She wished she had allowed herself more moments of simple pleasures and beauty – walks through her gardens, chocolate morsels with her whiskey, a pet cat to tame some of her aching loneliness.
She wished she had let herself love more freely. Her mind flashed to her daughter and how seldom she had shown Anacostia true affection. A pang of regret burned like one of her own lightning strikes inside Alder’s chest.
Where regret lived in Alder, so too did memories of Tally Craven. Infuriating, insubordinate tempest of a girl, encased in buoyant light. Craven’s dimpled smile flickered within her memory. So many truths Craven had yet to uncover. Questions Alder had not let Craven ask, but thought she might, one day…
Alder let the thoughts bubble up and let them go.
It was time, after so many years of battle.
It would have to be enough.
As she prepared to let go of her consciousness, Alder was vaguely aware of a strange echo coming from… inside her own head?
Disembodied, the voice seemed to form outside of her and within her all at once. A storm beating in her chest and crackling on her skin.
Was it enough, child? The voice inquired, emotionless.
What do you mean? Sarah tried to push the thought away from her mind and into whatever dimension was addressing her.
If you had time to truly live, Sarah Alder, would you?
Whether the question was self-delivered, or the provenance of some greater power, she did not know. And it did not matter. In truth comes peace, and Alder was so very tired of deception.
She had once told Craven of her prideful failings, hopeful the cadet would fixate on her inadequacy and miss the tangle of lies Alder had spun at her feet.
And it was true – Alder had her pride. But more than that, she had her fear. Fear of letting go, of opening herself to others, of allowing wonder and joy to compromise her mission readiness.
The irony, of course, is that in holding on so tight she’d alienated her allies and allowed enemies to slip through, right under her nose.
Would I live? Alder asked herself. Would I be brave enough to try another way?
The memory of Anacostia’s laugh rang through her ears. Izadora’s comforting hand on her shoulder. Her biddy Maria’s special blend of chamomile tea.
Tally Craven’s bright, adoring eyes.
Yes. Alder felt the answer coalesce. I would live.
Alder’s body convulsed and her stomach bottomed out. Where she had thought to feel the gentle embrace of peace, tendrils of iridescent spores constricted her movements. The mycelium wrapped tighter and tighter around her body until Alder felt her undead throat sing for mercy.
The stink of mushrooms infiltrated her senses as the mycelium pushed Alder out of the dark embrace of the earth and into the blazing sun.
She fell to her knees, head throbbing with the pain of light. Tears smarted at the corners of her eyes, coating her cheeks in grit. A laugh pushed its way out of her throat as the humid, afternoon air pressed into her.
Yes, Alder thought.
I will live.