Paradox (short story)

--Past--

Nine year old Yukito delicately picked his way through the rough growth beneath the trees, letting the bottoms of his little shoes sink into the soil. Each step released the scent of damp soil, heady with the scent of decaying leaves and fresh new growth. He paused for a moment to squish in the mud between two massive tree roots, turning in a slow circle to make a messy pattern.

The soft whistle of a meadowlark drew his attention and he immediately turned red, looking sheepish. A tall sylvan woman with a braid of long blonde hair gracefully stepped down from the overhead branches of the tree above and stood over him, looking unimpressed. His hands flew up in greeting, and he offered her a big smile, bouncing in place a little.

"This behavior is not acceptable, Yukito, my child." She chided him, pointing down at the footprints tracked back and forth across the ground, "You know that we are to leave no trace of our presence so close to the home hearths."

Before Yukito could manage to run, she scooped him up and tucked him against her side. His mother was slender, but strong, so he squirmed and giggled as she tickled him, but otherwise dangled in place as she focused a trickle of magic at the ground beneath their feet and smoothed away his childish work of "art". When she was finished, his gasp caught in his throat as she jumped high into the embrace of the trees above to travel home.

His mother did not stop to speak to anyone, instead taking him directly to their small and comfortable dwelling. There she took care to wash his face and hands, remove his muddy shoes, and prepare their evening meal. Yukito was barely tall enough to see over the surface of the smooth stone table, but he helped as best as he could, animatedly chattering in her head as they worked.

"Mum. When will I learn the heyro memory?"

The knife in his mother's hand paused and she stared at her child's earnest face for a moment.

"What do you mean, my son?" She drew the words out slowly and carefully.

Yukito bit his lip, then pouted,

"I was told that I cannot have heyro memory because I am not one of the People."

A frisson of irritation forced his mother to set aside her knife for a moment, but she kept her gaze soft as she looked down at her boy. "Hierophant memory. Our people inherit the memories of our Ancestors. You simply need to tap into those memories, and allow them to guide you."

Yukito considered that a moment, then began slicing some dense acorn bread.

"I have the memories of our ancestors, then? What does that mean? What does that do?"

She noticed that he sounded uncertain, and shook her head. "Do not worry overmuch about this thing, Yukito. I will explain it like this.." She hurriedly wracked her brain in an attempt to find a balanced way to express her thoughts. "A person cannot be taught something that they do not already know."

Yukito had stopped working on the food altogether, and set down the knife. His round face was turned in her direction in the preternaturally still manner that elven children will sometimes display when they are completely focused. Taking advantage of his momentary attention, she set down her own knife, and leaned forward to brace her hands on the table, "If our ancestral memories gives us insight into a topic, then we do not need to 'learn' about that topic. We are merely reminded about it, and we add new information on the subject for our children to learn about later."

She waited for Yukito to nod, then continued, folding her arms. "If you come across a piece of information that is not in your memories, you cannot truly understand it. At first."

This made Yukito frown and shake his head.

"Why? I do not understand."

His mother nodded. "Precisely. We do not all inherit the complete knowledge of the whole of our community. Therefore, you may have nothing to properly compare it to. This is what Ancestral memories are for. They give our thoughts a general shape that we can build from, so that we can easily and quickly understand the world around us."

She picked up the knife and held it up in front of Yukito, "Our Ancestral memories would tell us that this object is a knife. It has a cutting edge. The memories would also tell of its many purposes." His mother then turned and pointed to a sword beside one of the beds. "Let us say that sword over there is merely a bigger knife. If I have never seen a sword before, but had seen this knife, I can make many good guesses about uses for the sword. That would be true for objects resembling knives or swords. We understand basic things about them because we have an idea of what they are."

Setting down the knife, Yukito's mother tapped a piece of fruit on the table. "If I have never seen an apple, I must first learn what it is. If I have never seen a fruit before, I would be at a complete loss. Someone telling me about fruit would have to explain the concept of food that grows on a tree, perhaps. Say all my food came from squirrels? Is fruit a squirrel? Is it meat? If I do not know differently, it would be hard to convince me otherwise, and there is little chance of correcting my thoughts - no matter what is explained. Only after I learn and get an idea for myself, can I be taught.

Yukito reached greedily for the apple, making his mother roll her eyes and slice off a thick piece for him to nibble on. Apparently he'd reached the end of his intense focus. She summed it all up, "Our hierophantic memory, or... our Ancestral memory, sets us apart from others. It makes us think more quickly, because we have more information readily useful to us. You were born with that gift, Yukito."

She passed the apple slice to Yukito, "Do you understand, dear child?"

Yukito giggled around a mouthful of an apple wedge.

"I like apples!"

This made his mother giggle in response. "I like apples, too. My darling child."

--Present--

Yukito lay down on the grassy slope in South Haven, staring up at the sky. He tossed an apple up and down into the air like a ball, amusing himself for a bit. As he heard the fishcake vendor calling for customers, he caught the fruit in his hand, and bit down into one side, letting the sweet juice run messily down his cheeks.

He made a silly face and snickered, then made his mental voice as goofy as possible.

"I like apples, mum."

An exasperated, fond sigh breezed through his head.

"You are adopted, Yukito."

He covered his mouth to hold in the laughter.

"Love you, too!"