Shadow
The story of a Dratini caught as a Game Corner prize who meets the perfect human trainer and, to his great distress, falls romantically in love with her.

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Thumbnail art by kenket, used with permission

—

Level 20

Runa said Pokémon were just the same as humans—let that be given. What sort of human was a crawling dependant? What sort only ate and rummaged and drained resources? An infant—that’s what he reduced to, hung off her like a human child who didn’t speak but only wanted things. Yet a child, as it went, grew up; necessarily matured in every faculty; enflamed a maternal warmth. That was a human, evolving steadily. Then what about a Dratini who didn’t battle?

It was all his fault, of course. Every time she looked at him it came in a rush: the warmth, the trembling, the thought of being apart. When she lifted him up, he seemed to fall out of his body; when she kissed him between his flares, he couldn’t see. Just to be in the room with her was exhausting. So when he had a choice in the matter, a way to please her, to improve, was it any wonder he chose wrongly?

—Oh, we do train. We spar—not with wild Pokémon! But you don’t have to, Shadow.

For she understood Pokémon like no other human, saw him flinch at the word as she said it—gym—and followed his understanding (she would find him out eventually): he couldn’t bear to battle, always hated it in the wilds. So she said he didn’t have to: the trainer, letting her team lie about, acting only to drain her.

—I won’t force you do anything, Shadow. (He couldn’t look at her.) That’s my philosophy. It’s wrong to order Pokémon about as if they weren’t people. If you don’t want to be a battler, that’s fine—I’ll help you figure out what you want to do.

What could he say? He did not move. His skin seemed to melt into one mass, like the cinnamon bun she bought him, sitting on a paper on the hotel bed as she said, to all of them, Shadow didn’t have to battle, and that was all right. And at that, her Quilava only smiled.

That was three weeks ago, and since then, he had done nothing at all.

—

There across the hill she sat with Gaia and Tanwen. It was her method of training: a spar, quit before anyone was close to fainting; a talk on strategy whilst drinking aprijuices, relaxing now in the shade of a tree in National Park; and again as felt fit—nothing whatever like what they called pondelorian, the disciplined training her family pioneered. What was it to them, he thought, to Gaia, to be that much more minded? Already she was top in the team, sharing the spot with Tanwen, much to the Quilava’s displeasure. They applied themselves to battle (a joy, Gaia said, after the cage)—made Runa proud. When she held them, or spoke to them, it had to feel deserved. But as surely as if the cage’s glass were still between them, stretching off into the sky, he was apart: his nature went two ways, one in a ribbon following her, the other stuck in the ground behind; so he would keep stretching longer and tighter, and eventually tear in two.

He was being melodramatic, of course. He took another piece of the apple, one of the yellow ones Runa sliced up for him; for he was wonderfully well off, far better than anyone in the wilds, wanted for nothing, had Runa—didn’t have her as they did, but was it necessary? None of them seemed to know their fortune, to see her qualities as he did (didn’t know humans like him). Dyna, the Flaaffy, was almost indifferent; she spoke freely about Runa’s silliness in some way or other, mistakes on her part; but between her bouts of sass he could see she was really devoted to her, really thankful to be out of the wilds. Then there was Torus, the Abra, who said nothing, did nothing, only slept and meditated. But the Abra evolutionary line was one of those whose early form was weak and cocoon-like, a sort of latter egg-stage which, at the first evolution, became a thing much more powerful. It was worth Runa carrying him about, even if he was heavy (a ball, Runa said, being totally out of the question), even if he slept eighteen hours a day, for when his powers matured he would be a great Pokémon, a valuable member of the team. As for Tanwen, she left nothing in doubt about her effort. She had always been first in the team, she said, and always would be.

—Because dragons take years to evolve. (She looked at him and Gaia.) And I’m not afraid of ice.

Runa was bound to be champion, Tanwen said, and as she didn’t need any hindering, as she needed Pokémon who carried their weight, if he must follow along, was the meaning (all in her look), he ought not to exceed his portion but make an effort; ought to puff their pillows; ought to see he didn’t weigh them down. Battlers, she said, were a different class—her meaning being that as she was bred specially on the Pondelore estate, was of the very highest quality (the breeding and testing certificates proved it, she said), she wouldn’t tolerate being shut out in attention by one who didn’t apply himself. If he thought battling a nasty business, that same institution by which human society saved them from living on rot in the wilds, he might spare Runa his sad company and leave.

The trouble in Runa giving them all such liberty, he thought, only wanting them happy, was that a useless Pokémon might only take advantage of her. And Tanwen applied herself, and Gaia, Dyna, even Torus in a few spars; whereas he only watched and slept and ate apples. And what did Runa want? That they grew, she said. Battling was one way to grow a Pokémon; apples only grew him wider.

“[Catch it!]” Dyna said.

The basket tipped over on the picnic cloth, apples and lemons rolling over him; Dyna scowled and tumbled after, said he was slow, snatched them off the grass. —I’m done with grass, she had said; —I was fed up of it years ago. For a wilder, caught with her own consent, she was unusually averse to nature. Without a word she pulled out his tail and formed a net to hold the loose fruit, pinning the tip under Torus’s foot, who only sat still, meditating; and piling the rest in, she sat on the cloth eating an apple, one of the small, bitter ones he didn’t like, directly in front of him.
“[Why are you moping, now?]” she said.

He oughtn’t speak. She looked at him and said, “[Come on, it’s a beautiful day and all that. Don’t tell me you’re sick.]”

“[I—]” he said. “[I was just wishing Tanwen liked us more. We ought to all get along, shouldn’t we? For Runa.]”

“[It’s because they try too hard,]” she said, itching her wool, “[and Tanwen’s a little princess who’s got to be the middle of everything, you know? You take her thunder one second and she’ll squeeze Aguav juice in your wool while you’re napping.]” She ate the apple core and licked her hand. “[Was good, though.]”

By the tree, Tanwen was talking and Runa listened closely, nearly seemed to follow. “[It’s better, though,]” he said, “[trying hard. I wish I could do something.]”

Dyna sucked her hand and said, “[You really like Runa, uh?]”

Of course he was transparent, couldn’t possibly hide that he was at least very fond of Runa. “[Sh— She couldn’t be a better human,]” he said. He was a clod, a dangerous fool; and both she and Tanwen knew Runa a long time, after all, several months already, so how did it look, this new one, coming out of nowhere and being suddenly devoted to her?

“[Eh,]” Dyna said. “[Maybe. I know other humans wouldn’t let you lay about. I mean she basically says we can do what we want all the time—that’s kind of a score. So why d’you say trying hard’s better?]”

Because, he thought, it was unbearable only to take; because rotten as it was to think, seeing Runa close to others seemed to mean he must recede. But Dyna—

“[Oh, I get it,]” she said. What did he let slip? “[You want to impress her, don’t you? Then you can get all up in her lap and she’ll love you and that. Ha! You’re just as bad as Tan.]”

“[I—]” he said. But she was right, of course—worse than Tanwen was all.

“[See, I know things,]” she said. “[More than that one.]” That was to Torus; the Abra did not move.

He said, “[It’s just—]” and now Dyna stood and placed an apple on Torus’s head. “[I just want to help. Runa’s done so much … everyone’s helping but me. I could have battled but, but I didn’t, and now I’m no use.]”

Dyna leaned forward and dug through the apples, pulling out a bag of miniature limes he hadn’t seen amongst them. “[Yep,]” she said, tossing one high into her mouth. “[Thash righ’.]”

He looked away. Why should they hide it, how they saw him? It was like the cage again, only Gaia really caring, and now that she had her liberty and her trainer, even she would tire of him.

“[But you know why you’re no use?]” Dyna said. “[You aren’t finding a use. You were locked up so long watching humans you didn’t know what to do if you actually got one. It’s like you atta— … at, atra—]” Then she glared at Torus and said, “[I knew it! Atrophied! Pencil face.]” Was that Torus, he thought, telling her by the psychic? Dyna threw a lime that bounced off the Abra’s carapace. “[It’s ‘cause you got all soft and lazy laying there—no one likes that. If you just did something Runa’d love you and everything.]”

“[But what?]” he said. For battling was hopeless, like building a tower on marshmallow: anything involving him was weaker. In the cave, he recalled, he rarely succeeded; only avoided injury when the other spooked and thought he was powerful, fled the spot; fainted constantly, he was sure, and couldn’t remember because the memory, they said, was the first thing to go.

“[What’s she always say?]” she said, now balancing another apple on the first. “[She says she’s happy if we’re happy. That means, like, our dream or something. And what’s yours?]”

To fly into Runa’s arms, he thought: to slip under her shirt and bury his nose in her neck. He looked at Torus. Did Abra hear that sort of thinking? But the psychic never moved. He said, “[I don’t know.]”

“[That’s why Runa’s silly,]” she said. “[I mean, we’re not even all evolved yet. How are we supposed to know?]”

It was rotten, he thought, saying things like that, as if Runa didn’t understand her own philosophy—one about the wants of Pokémon, about what they wanted in life. It was nothing like the other trainers, not even the champions; it was something they ought to defend without question.

“[D’you know what my dream is?]” she said, sitting in front of him. “[When I was in the wilds, Route 32, it wasn’t easy—eating grass and that, lots of punk trainers about. Back then I just wanted a nice orchard or some place, you know? Just something better. Well, Runa fixed me right up—I guessed right when I saw her! She always has what we want because her family’s loaded and pays for everything. So I’ve got it already, my dream—I’m already happy, you know? Basically it’s just to keep it now.]” She looked across the hill. “[I mean … I mean I don’t really like battling. Don’t tell Tan! I’ll clock you! It’s just for Runa I do it. ‘Cause whatever our dream and that is, what Runa really wants is us to grow, and battling’s the quickest way. So I train for Runa and she thinks it’s my dream, and that way we’re both happy. And I’m being a use.]”

Of course for her it was that simple, he thought, she who was the very opposite of timid. She secured her position—that was all it was—put herself out and battled, tricked Runa, yes, but for her own happiness by letting her think it was what she wanted when her dream, for all purposes, was already accomplished: out of the long grass, and now to enjoy herself. Still, he thought, to mislead Runa! to trick her and make out his want as something different was the very definition of rot: it was only compounding the lies, how he really tricked her into taking him, and that could hardly make it better, could it? And this was all ignoring that if he tried, actually battled for her, he would certainly fail, and become even less in her eyes—not for failing, but as would become clear for proving incapable of action at all, incapable of growth, amounting to nothing.

Yet suppose, he thought, seeing again the apple slices (still fresh, as Runa saw he sometimes didn’t finish them quickly, and now she prepared them in some sort of special water), suppose she thought like a mother? In human society, as he understood it, mothers were always some degree apart, had to be to raise one properly; and at the same time, they did not abandon. Supposing his sickness became clear to her, she ought to let him go, for her sake—which was proof he really cared, he felt, that he could admit it—but as a mother she may not. As a trainer was the thing: trainers were practical, prepared to think of the unity together and what didn’t match it … though one had the sense with Runa, he thought, that to her training was only a temporary thing, that her future had far greater awaiting. Some great accomplishment, something with Pokémon, would be her legacy—her philosophy spreading throughout the world. Runa, as was perfectly fit, would change everything. And to think he was one of the few she chose, would accompany her to greatness and see her evolve! But it would be next to impossible if all the while she kept a useless scarf-Dratini around her, diminishing her in others’ eyes.

“[I’ve got to train,]” he said. He’d been a fool and a rot, he thought—he had to fix his error. “[She’ll never— I’ll never grow, if I don’t.]”

Torus teleported away and all the fruit tumbled on the grass, and Dyna said “Flaaf!” and went after them. That was Torus, he thought—the Abra appeared a short distance away, still meditating—probably weary at the rambling talk of those who didn’t know their own minds. No, he thought, the psychic didn’t hear his thinking, not yet, or he would show a sign—that was another thing to fear. Some day he would inform her, for her protection, perhaps; calculate and determine he was this much more a risk than a benefit; find out how to get rid of him with a minimum of difficulty, so that Runa was rather glad than upset about it. How absurd it all was, he thought, this thinking! as if he could only rationalise, work out how things ended months ahead like an Alakazam. If she left him, if something happened to her, he would die—no time of grief, no comfort from the others: he would become a husk of skin. His heart would stop and they would have to uncurl his stiff body from her leg, or from whatever jagged rocks he threw himself over. The only chance was to be essential to her, to grow and evolve and, if there was slightest chance, to wipe it all out.

“[So you’re going to battle?]” Dyna said.

But it was all very sudden to be talking like this! he thought, not to mention that he’d fail at once, that it was the last thing he wanted, the whole institution of battling always seeming to him abhorrent, all worked up on the screens. Yet it was really only by battling, by experience and exercise against other Pokémon as in the wilds, that a Pokémon naturally grew and evolved; and wasn’t to grow the entire reason Runa wanted them to pursue a dream? And with Runa it was not regular battling anyway; there was not as much to gain with only spars stopping short of the faint, but it was a steady way, certainly with exercises enough to fix on a particular strength, not the random sort of training other trainers’ Pokémon received on the routes. Runa didn’t like to battle wilders, said to force one into battle was no different from beating up strangers; but in a family, as it were, with everything mutual, there were no hard feelings. And she gave medicine after every spar! Wasn’t it the most wretched, feeble Pokémon in the world who couldn’t bear that? Was that how he looked to Runa?

“[Yes,]” he said. It was going to start today; Runa couldn’t think of him like that any longer. “[I’ve got to start! You … you don’t mind, do you?]”

And Dyna laughed, bit her lime sharply: a spark came out. “[You’re the one hardly minding!]” she said. “[If you’re really serious you’re gonna have to step up, or roll or whatever. You’re gonna have to pull your weight, you know? It’s a long way before you can impress Runa, but maybe. So here,]”—she stood and dropped directly in front of him, nearly touching, and he couldn’t help but pull back—“[pretend I’m a scout, you know, looking for potential. You’ve got to impress me first! You’ve got to show you’ve got ability.]”

“[A— Ability?]” he said. Did she mean the shedding skin? For not even that he did well, lost it all in patches at random, never a use in battle.

Dyna crossed her arms. “[How ‘bout Oblivious?]” she said. “[Let me lay it out for you, Shadow, how those two see it. There’s five of us, okay? Right now Tan is mostly number one, and Gaia’s right behind her and they’re both trying hard as they can, and between us Tan’s going to lose in the end and she knows it and it’s driving her wild and it’s hilarious. So then I’m third, ‘cause I fight but I’m not a bug about it, and then Torus because he’s a lump and only comes into battles to look or something. And then there’s you, and you’d be fifth but you don’t actually battle so it’s more like four plus one where the one is you alone on some rock, watching. But if you were battling … you know, Dratini are kind of weak. You are! You’re just stronger in the end is all. But dragons can learn lots of moves—even electricity! That’s what I mean by abilities, your special powers. I’m the scout—it’s you against them! What’ve you got no one else has?]”

But what was there? he thought. Only what Gaia said set him apart from the other Dratini, of having a mind (only being kind to him) because he followed human things, and what was that in battle?

“[Runa says I’m six-foot seven,]” he said. And twelve pounds, she measured; he ought to be eight.

Dyna jabbed him in the middle, to make him flinch, he knew, and of course he couldn’t prevent it. And (now he was turning pink) she said, “[Please. You’re like a Caterpie. Did you used to faint every time you saw a Feebas? How you survived in the wilds I don’t know but you won’t make it till you fix your nature.]”

She was right, of course; Runa didn’t need a battler who effected his own paralysis. But imagine that, he thought—just to change one’s nature! If it was so simple there was another thing he’d remove before his timidity. And yet—yet—why did that seem a frightful thing itself, to lose even this unnatural attraction to humans? (Certainly that set him apart.) For there was something in it, that to lose such a large part of him, that somehow he himself——Runa and the others had finished training.

She was reading a book, had her glasses on again, as Gaia and Tanwen ate their lunches. She stayed with them, he thought, for after all they were really the team: he and Dyna were the ones on another blanket. It was the privilege of the hard-trying to have first attention. She only worried, she had said, he might be bored without training; and so every night she read to him, just a chapter or two of some story, the sort of thing families did on the shows. Oh!—but that, he thought, taking one of the apple slices, that was a thing she must never feel, that she had to work for his happiness, a constant drain—

“[That’s another thing,]” Dyna said, grabbing his middle. “[There’s no muscle here at all. Eating apples every day isn’t going to help if you aren’t spending that energy! She goes through all that effort making them and how’s it paying back?]”

“[I—]” he said; but with such an abundance of flaws, he thought, what would a true observer think, like those humans who could judge a Pokémon’s quality with just a look? And she was right: he was too large for a Dratini, was actually thicker than the rest even the day he arrived in Goldenrod despite always starving in the wilds, so that, as Tanwen and Dyna looked at him and Gaia said
—It’s a condition. And there wasn’t exactly a gym in there,
yet even Gaia sometimes thought the same, he knew, that he didn’t make enough effort, though even starving himself there was a part that never shed away. Some Pokémon were just that way, Gaia said. But until they evolved Runa was stuck carrying all their necessities: fruit and rice and bottles of aprijuice, medicine, the portable shelter and blankets, all kinds of effects, and of course Torus in her arms—all carried about while the rest of them gaily followed wanting snacks and entertainment and attention, and none more burdensome than him. If only he was born a good Dratini! Then everything would be different: he’d be right beside Gaia, under the tree, and Runa would always read beside him.

“[I’m a big gummy, I know.]” he said. “[I’m sorry.]”

“[Don’t say you’re sorry!]” she said, falling back and chewing her lime.

For a long moment she seemed to regard him, as if trying, he felt, to find a single good quality and—being the fairer judge, after all—drawing short. “[Look, it’s not a bad thing,]” she said, kindly he thought—“[being kind of fat. Maybe it’ll help with ice attacks, you know? Dragons hate all that. And you’re really long! That helps, if you aren’t too slow. What you need,]”—she poked him—“[is to be super fast. Or don’t you know the quicker one always wins?]”

On the hill the others were moving. Runa checked her bag, the supplies, possibly calculated the rate of depletion. The medicine pouch was foremost on her backpack, and the food was most buried away. Was it possible, he thought, if he did not make an effort soon, she would release him? say it was not what she meant by helping him, only enabling his bad habits? Suppose he lead her to break her ethic by commanding a Pokémon, even something so simple as to exercise? No, he thought; no, he was being absurd. He would finish the apple, not let it go to waste (that was a worse thing, spoiling supplies); but this state of things, he felt, was as bound to fail eventually as if evolution didn’t check his sickness.

“[Look,]” Dyna said, and she was, he saw, actually frowning. “[I feel … bad for you, okay? Be glad I care! But what can I do? I mean, this is all change in yourself stuff and that. But maybe if you ask her Gaia can help. Tell her you want to battle, and I bet she will. I mean, you’re not really a threat to her, you know? No offence.]”

—

The last twenty years, the screens said, had seen a surge in transportation and development throughout all the regions. Why walk when you can ride? went the thinking; but then, Why cut a forest when you can fly over it? was the addition. They called it progressive infrastructure; and for years now the Pondelores and the Stones had pressed for extensions of the Magnet Line, Runa said, partially funded it themselves. The great legs of the line stood high above the landscape, a sort of bridge they passed under shortly into the forest. The line would pass through Olivine City and all the way down the coast; in five or six years, they said, it would reach all the way to Hoenn Region, crossing what would be the longest rail bridge in the world to merge with the high-speed line between the cities of Rustboro, Slateport, and Lilycove—thus connecting the Pondelore and Stone commercial empires to the other regions in a powerful way. Runa didn’t like it, so many rails; but it was better, she said, than the alternative, that under the inexorable want to expand and develop, humans trampled and paved such natural paths as Route 36 through the great forest, which, she said, pointing up, had much the same canopy as it did a thousand years ago, even though it was the main road from Goldenrod to Ecruteak. —At least this way the habitat is safe, Runa said; better a few rails than highways everywhere as in Unova. They would just walk, she said, and avoid the long grass, and not approach any wild Pokémon.

—Yes, let’s not hurt their feelings, Tanwen said. (Runa put wilders, the Quilava felt, over her own Pokémon.)

For all his conversation with Dyna, he couldn’t speak to Gaia, and now the Flaaffy grew impatient. Any other team, she seemed to say, and they’d be battling things left and right, and he’d be expected to join in at any moment and like it; yet here he was afraid of sparring with friends, of even speaking to Gaia as Runa paused to check her guide. Here the wilders watched them pass, and Tanwen was spoiling for a fight, and Runa said, —Only if they want to, and Gaia stayed near because there were powerful fire-types and she may be needed, and how could he approach when she was right beside Runa? Suppose Runa looked when he came near and he froze up, as of course he would; suppose he stammered and made a wreck of it, said something about wanting Runa, and Gaia rebuffed him, came to suspect, and checked that Runa kept him at a distance?

They were slipping away, he felt, both of them, together growing closer and away from him. So it would be, he thought: a pink Dratini becoming a pink Dragonair, and a pink Dragonite, or was it another colour? but standing out at any rate, up on all the screens: Runa and her Dragonite, and he, curled up round Gaia’s foot (as she would have feet) like a warmer. And suppose, as this was a horrid fate already, she tread on him, squashed him flat—how far would they really be affected? Runa would lose a hanger-on, a Pokémon who only demonstrated that her philosophy of training failed in certain cases; whereas lacking Gaia, or finding her bothered in any way, Runa was harmed directly.

But now (the whole talk was an error!) Dyna pressed him: a real gum, she called him; she would use him as an exercise bag, she said, club him on the brain if he lingered any longer, or grab Runa herself. —Don’t make me tell her you’re tired, she said, and even that did not do it: every time he tried he couldn’t move.

Finally Dyna gave a great groan, and Runa looked; and seeing her Flaaffy doubled over, she said they could rest a while, and she reopened the map on her phone.

“[Hey, Gai!]” Dyna said, and pushed him flat. Before he righted himself he found Gaia’s white nose above him. “[He’s got a question—you know, in private.]” And the Flaaffy made a great show of walking off, interfering with Runa’s bag.

“[Oh?]” Gaia said.

“[I—]” he said.

And why, he thought, should it be so difficult to speak? How many months of solid conversation did they have in the cage? But now they were out of the Corner, he felt, and she had her trainer, no longer forced to get along, nothing could be taken for granted in friendship. She had a name now—always had been just her or she, only one girl in the cage—after some myth: Gaia, the goddess. A torus was some unusual shape in mathematics; Tanwen meant white fire; Dyna, she said, came from dynamo, that human generator of electricity; and he was Shadow: a lack of light. For perhaps Runa felt him cold and clammy, lifting him up, like he just came from the cave, like she imagined he would always be hiding from sight. For all their time together in the Corner, so Gaia had fully expected, once she had a trainer, to leave them all behind, and so she nearly did without the slightest difficulty—and then he came along as well, and she had to keep talking. But she was looking at him; and she was patient, but at the same time, she knew she would hear it eventually.

“[I was thinking maybe I could battle,]” he said.

She looked at him … she needn’t take so long! “[Really?]” she said.

“[I was being a rot,]” he said, his regular admission, of course, which knowing him so long she hardly noticed now. “[I want to be a use to Runa. Are you— Is that okay?]”

But Gaia frowned. She was glad he came, she had said, but it had to look odious, as if he played pathetic in the cage to steal her trainer, and now was even after her training. She said, “[It’s your decision. Honestly this is a surprise. Runa said it’s okay if you don’t battle, and I know you don’t want to. How many times did you say it was horrible?]” She looked to Runa, Dyna watching from behind her knee. “[But if you’ve really changed your mind, it’s good you did now instead of months from now. I don’t think we’re sparring in the forest, but in Ecruteak Gym I’m sure you’ll get lots of time.]”

“[You aren’t mad?]” he said. She ought to be more cross, he thought, had a right to be, for wasn’t he really intruding? She had to know that any battle he took was one less for her, the same species. “[I mean, for taking time. I don’t want you to get less attention!]”

But Gaia smiled. “[I can wait,]” she said. Didn’t she say once it was a lifelong thing, to grow? A Dragonite lived for three hundred years. “[In fact, I think you battling is a fine idea. It’s Tanwen you ought to worry about. She won’t approve at all.]”

He looked: Tanwen was watching them, wondering, perhaps, if they meant to somehow complicate her. You are a rot, she would say, changing your mind like that. For she liked if he was harmless, not a threat to her position—now he had to be accounted for, kept in line, as she tried with the others. It would ruin the team, she said, by that look (of course she knew); and she must protect it, argue every time he wanted training, harass Runa on his account, and doubly so for his being a liar. But then Tanwen looked away, to Torus, who was sleeping on the grass.

The air moved, and—oh! Runa was right beside him! She knelt next to Gaia.

“I think she’s decided,” Runa said. What was that? “Tan will battle, all right? We don’t want anyone hurt.” Then Runa went to Tanwen.

But what did it all mean? he thought. Gaia looked at him and leaned close. “[It’s a Vulpix,]” she said, nodding toward the grass. “[She’s been following a while now. Runa thinks she wants to be captured—come on.]”

The fox Pokémon must have tracked them for hours without his noticing, so fixed he was on Runa. She stood a short distance from the trees. And why not? he thought: who wouldn’t want to follow this girl, a human who dedicated her life to the dreams of Pokémon? If the wilders only knew her they would all be in a line; and as if the trees bowed over to shelter this spot for this encounter, kept in waiting how many years? this one Vulpix, out of all, arranged to meet her. Possibly she followed and rejected dozens of trainers before her, knew none of them were right; was once a battler and, fleeing her trainer, sought a good human; judged Runa the best she ever saw. And Runa’s team would be full once he and the Vulpix joined; it would be if they all met in the Corner, beginning to battle the same day; they would become the very best of friends!

“Just so the ball can work, Tan,” Runa said, reaching into the very bottom of her bag. (Was that where she kept them?)

And this, he thought, was perhaps the most amazing thing about Runa, of all her qualities: unlike every other trainer in the world, not a champion or leader to compare, she never commanded battles. It was against her philosophy, she said, to order Pokémon, and why should it be any different in a battle? Rather the whole point was to teach them to think independently: that was what the conversations were for, discussing and training tactics so that, just as a wilder must, they would make a good decision on the spot. For in all the battles he saw it was, Go, Gengar! or, Quick Attack!—and yet, said Runa, who was more fit to choose in battle than Pokémon themselves? And what if there was a mist, she said, or a block to her sight? It was terrible when a Pokémon was only knocked about, unable to be directed by a blind trainer. So she only spoke to end a spar, or if she worried that they were injured.

But that with Runa a battler had greater liberty than any other in the world didn’t wipe away the brute horror of the thing itself, one Pokémon flying at another with snarls and fire! Tanwen set off a flame wheel at once—for bred Pokémon in particular enjoyed it, relished the fight when any born wilder knew it was an evil—drowned out the Vulpix’s little ember. She jumped back and growled; couldn’t match the Quilava’s leer, didn’t know what she was up against. Now Tanwen rushed forward and knocked her in the middle, and she gave a cry and fell back.

How pointless it was, all this! (Runa hated it as well, he knew, looking up at her.) Why must Pokémon fight each other just to grow, to build up energies and evolve? Humans did it gradually only by living and learning; it was called bad behaviour if a human fought another, pulled apart by a Jenny. The Vulpix only wanted to join them; but the Poké balls, the only way Runa could claim to protect them in human law (had them in her bag somewhere and never took them out), required a weaker energy to work, and that meant a battle. (That he was captured at once was proof his energies were weak.) Runa had to relink them in the Poké Centre and the feeling was just as he recalled: suspended and floating and unsure whether he was conscious at all. And Runa would let the Vulpix out at once; but with any other trainer, that would be most of her life.

The Vulpix was already tired out, and Runa said it was enough. But what a different life she would have, this wilder! She already knew it; was pleased, he saw, to see the ball. In a flash of red light, the Vulpix was inside, and presently it settled and clicked—Runa’s team was finished.

In a second the Vulpix was out again and Runa applied a potion.

But … and how did that drama once put it? Could his sickness be all bad (so he reasoned, so he rationalised) when, insofar as it raised in nearly everything Runa did, it succeeded to show most strongly not when she spoke, nor touched him, but when she did a thing that could only be called noble or good? A minute ago she didn’t even know this Pokémon: now she committed to tend her indefinitely. The wellbeing, the want of Pokémon was not an abstract to Runa, but her want, her wellbeing to provide. And suppose he did battle; fell spent after a long match, nearly failed but felt Runa watching and rallied to win; lay down as she tended to him, applied potions and creams (stroked them in) and said he was wonderful, and won’t you rest in my lap?

He really had no shame, he thought. The Vulpix recovered under Runa’s medicine and everyone surrounded the new arrival. The Vulpix seemed radiant, victorious, though she lost the battle: her plan succeeded, had her human. Runa introduced them, Gaia, Tanwen standing close with her arms folded, Torus who was awake again, Runa touching each as she named them, Dyna—and Shadow, who, being such a wreck that he hid behind the Flaaffy (so she must think), Runa did not touch him.

“There’s a Ninetales in my family’s history who had a part in founding it,” Runa said. “She was there when they helped bring peace to the factions in Kalos. Some of the ladies were called Marguerite after her, but maybe you’d prefer the original—Rita. What do you think?”

“Vulpix,” Rita said. Runa put her ball in a cloth, hid it away in her bag.

But Dyna looked at him. One more, she meant: that’s one more taking Runa; and you’ll be sixth in a minute, if you don’t step up. And suppose she turned out to be a great battler? Suppose others in the forest came? Runa was taking a picture of the scene, something perhaps to mark the occasion. Oh, he thought—would she carry her? She carried him for hours the first day. Was he going to be forgotten?

Tanwen with some apparent effort said, “[From one fire type to another, I welcome you out of the wilds. If you thought you understood humans from watching, forget it—Runa’s not like other trainers. She won’t mind you being lax, particularly as fire’s already covered. If you follow.]”

Rita looked about slowly. “[O yes,]” she said, and placed her paw on Tanwen. “[I shan’t impact your pleasure. I’ve seen enough humans in these rotten woods to know that yours wasn’t a hard one—I’m sure my getting involved isn’t necessary.]” And she looked at him.

But he was responsible, he thought, looking away. She only meant to take advantage of Runa, never thought of her at all!—only saw two dragons and, as he clearly didn’t battle, saw Rita, only lived on charity, Runa had to be a mark, like the sort of hopeful child Mr. Game smiled at. To this Vulpix, Runa was just a ticket out of the wilds, and into human luxury. She would never battle or assist; probably leave as soon as she learned Runa’s family was wealthy and had a grand estate; solicit her for a fire stone; laugh and think she played her, had profited, that they were all for her amusement!

But—he looked about the group, all but Torus asking things—surely they did not think the same of him, that he only took advantage of Runa? More than once Tanwen looked directly at him, as if to say, The only way you’d be worse is if you took time. (Never mind Tanwen, Gaia said.) Now

Tanwen looked pleased, hearing Rita: a competitor quit the field from the start; they would never argue.

Rita said, “[Tell me, a lot of trainers live rather hand to mouth, foraging for things on the ground. Yours is rather weller off, isn’t she?]”

Yours! he thought. Dyna said, “[Yeah, she’s loaded. Her family owns like fifty valleys and a big mansion in Hoenn.]”

“[O,]” said Rita, “[well, I hope to see Hoenn some day.]”

They continued toward Ecruteak, Dyna and Tanwen hanging back to probe Rita as Runa carried Torus as before; some part of him, he felt, some vital fluid, drew out behind them in a rotten trail. Dyna’s vision of the team stretched up like a ladder: he at the bottom rung, and now another, this Rita. If he could not even clear some selfish Pokémon who wanted nothing but luxury, he was nothing, worse than a rot.

Or perhaps, he thought (for Runa was happy, looking back every minute), perhaps Rita was just what he needed: a rung below him. He would be fifth of six, then, with just a little effort—no higher but no longer least of all. Then with effort he might overtake Dyna, as she said, or Torus until he evolved. Then he would be third of six—the top half! He would be right under Tanwen and Gaia, Runa’s champions, one of those (just a few feet farther) to whom she turned before anything. She would ask him what he was thinking, how he felt, and then, feeling his devotion … But what, he thought, could he do? (He fell back again.) To advance in the team, to move up Dyna’s hierarchy of players, not even to be a major character (those melodramas again that Gaia called rot but really had a powerful insight into humans) but to hold even the smallest part in it, seemed a project so absurd it wasn’t sane to consider. He had surely fled more battles in the wild than won; never had he produced the dragon’s fire; Runa was quite inaccessible.

(The party turned north at the junction, toward Ecruteak City—a historical city, Runa said.)

Still, he thought, she was happy to have him; still it was all she wanted. Her warmth for Pokémon was unlike any other human. And she said, more than once, that she really thought Pokémon were like them, and they were like Pokémon.

—As far as I know we all have brains. We all understand things, and speak in languages. What difference really is there?

So at least his sickness agreed; but no one could look at him and think he was like a human, not in any sensible power. It was only Runa’s love for all Pokémon that let her think it. So long as they were happy, she said, so she would be too. But suppose he felt the same, only wanted her happy—how would that work? Only by taking on another thing, something that helped him grow, as Runa also liked but didn’t say, and letting her think she wanted it: to battle. Then Runa would be happy and he also. To grow, to battle was the thing. He would evolve when flushed with strength, being comfortable around Runa, not thinking that way at all but honouring her, making her proud; and then the evolution would come and wipe it all out, all the fear and trembling wash away and——But there was a Growlithe in the grass ahead. Runa stopped between them.

He oughtn’t feel such a fright, just to see another wilder! but he was leering at them, wanted them gone, looking right at him. But this was one of the thoroughly wild ones, he thought, with the roughest natures who only loved to battle, that every wilder learned to avoid—what Tanwen would be without her breeding. In a moment Runa would only say to give the wilder a wide berth. And why was Gaia looking back at him? he thought, when in a minute—oh! but she meant he ought to volunteer! It was his chance to impress Runa, she meant.

Now it was not so straightforward; now it all seemed a horrible idea. To be a battler in principle, he thought, was all very well, but to actually do it, to throw himself in! It was a year at least since he even accessed the energies; he would fail to make a single move, use up all of Runa’s medicine, her goodwill; bring all the others into half-finished battles and anger them and bust up the team. Until now, he could say, it was only unknown to them if he was very useless—after this they would know.

But Gaia didn’t move, only looked at him. He would be nothing to Runa without it, she meant, and didn’t you say you wanted to help Runa? This is how to show. But another time, he thought, backing up; he was pathetic, he knew, going back on it, would apologise, if only not this one, and wasn’t she a better match? or even Tanwen, or just to pass on by, if only Runa—

And then rotten Dyna (a mistake ever to talk!) sparked his tail, so that he jumped forward; and now he lay under Runa on the grass, she looking down at him.

“Shadow?” she said.

She hesitated; didn’t want to put him on the spot but guessed his thinking. She didn’t mind them battling wilders if the other wanted it, usually to Tanwen. And as she didn’t laugh or say at once he was being silly, that he needn’t battle, it was already done, for wasn’t it always what she wanted that he did something, anything, only didn’t lie about wasting apples?

“Did you change your mind, Shadow?” she said.

But what could he say to that? he thought. It was impossible to disappoint her, now that she was kneeling down, actually on one knee hovering over him, touching his middle, looking back to the others where, he felt, Tanwen had paused in coming to take the battle and now was giving a look like she wanted to destroy him, call him every name for intruding in her domain. But Gaia looked up, as if to say she knew things Runa could not, had spoken in confidence, and trilled. So he looked at her, and nodded.

“Then we’re right behind you,” Runa said, stroking his tail, stepping back behind him.

But it was such a miserable thing, he thought, inching forward, the Growlithe watching, to battle just because they couldn’t think of better! For suppose instead he tried something else Runa liked, took an interest in her books (did she know he could read?), simply applied himself to something, anything—why battling? Looking back she smiled at him, was proud of him already, just to volunteer … she didn’t know. The world’s shortest battle, it would be; the first Pokémon ever to faint before a move.

He remembered this fear from the wilds, he thought, this sense of impending battery. The Growlithe’s eyes seemed to turn red and a quiver went right through his length, as if his body weakened further, reverted to some natural state of jelly.

“Don’t let him intimidate you!” Runa said. She was standing a mile away, he felt. “Just hold your ground!”

She never said that to the others; spent hours preparing them, giving guidance—he stuffed her plans. But focus on that, he thought, the long hours: directly to evolution and fixing everything. (Still he shook; still he trembled.) The Growlithe began to run forward, was making to bite, he knew; and now everything, he felt, flew right out of him: as if a shock went through his spine, he coiled up, couldn’t command himself, failed Runa at once. That was his battling career, he thought: ten seconds. But as he heard the Growlithe’s breath almost reach him, he felt the energy snap; released with a sort of discharge—there it went ahead! The Growlithe howled, jumped back; and now he saw the Growlithe’s fur was sticking up in ridiculous ways, all puffed up from the discharge. He’d forgotten how the Thunder Wave felt, he thought—his first and only defence in the cave, the only aid to fleeing.

Runa said, “That’s good, Shadow! Keep going!”

She was happy, actually proud of him!—but now she expected more, thought it was a special plan when really he had no intention. She wanted a powerful attack, but there was nothing behind him, never managed a twister in his life, would only look ridiculous trying if she hadn’t said she wanted it. But perhaps he had grown? He unwound his tail and began to spin it, tried to build up speed … And like spinning a wet cloth, of course it failed! The grass didn’t move at all. And it was trivial, ought to be accessible to any good Dratini, was the simplest thing to Gaia, and here he failed in front of Runa. The Growlithe was already charging—what could he do? He looked back to Runa. She was shouting to him but he could not hear. But Runa, he thought, never actually ordered a twister.

Ah! the Growlithe bit his tail right off! Wasn’t it right through, all maimed? But this was what ruined him in the wilds (Gaia started, pulled against Runa), a loss of all proportion, feeling even a simple bite so sharply that even if Runa ordered him directly he could not obey her. Now the Growlithe pulled him through across the grass away from Runa. She blamed herself: it was on her face, he saw. She didn’t oppose him, and now he’d be mauled unconscious unless another saved him, too weak to defend himself.

“[Let me go!]” Gaia said; and Runa, hearing one Dratini cry, looking to the other, called out.

But battling, he thought—seeing Runa through the blades, he felt as if a part of his reason held on, buoyed, perhaps, by the diseased part of him sticking to senses—battling was not about the contest, nor to please a trainer, nor to obey. For Runa said what Tanwen called a lot of flowers: that battle was not about winning or losing, but growth, and that was all. Different bodies produced different actions, and the surplus released in battle (whether bursting in a faint or in regular practice) fed the energies of other Pokémon, and they grew; beyond a threshold, they evolved; and that was what they called experience, the increase in energies of Pokémon. All this the scientists concluded. But the growth was double, Runa said: the energies applied to body, yes, but the mind too changed with experience, and that was learning. Then even one’s nature evolved—could become anything, even learn to overcome fear. And that was the better kind of growth, Runa said: that was the proper use of battling, to change mind, since after all what was a person, Runa said, but mind?

—Any Pokémon in the world can be a champion. (He had thought Runa omitted him.) It’s your character that decides if you succeed, more than genes, and that’s a thing you shape yourself.

Then even timid Pokémon could make a champion, those perhaps once continually terrified but who by a thousand battles’ experience and however many losses succeeded to manage their fears. It didn’t matter if he failed, Runa meant (had said it for him the whole time): what mattered was sticking to it, working to affect one’s nature, regardless of a single battle’s outcome. And what better case than when he was already bound to lose, was already resigned to the pain? Then it was only to make an effort at all.

He twisted and threw himself over the Growlithe’s back and around the middle. The Growlithe let go of his tail and turned; and paralysis setting in, perhaps, or getting finding his legs obstructed, he stumbled back. Not that he would actually get anywhere with a wrap; it was nothing but time; it was for Runa to see that he tried. Was that the secret of the champions? he thought, for they were all wonderfully focused: every one had a drive to do well, to make proud, something that moved and inspired them. His sickness was, if anything, a drive. He pulled his neck around the Growlithe’s, covered the eyes, the ears, and now the fire Pokémon couldn’t reach to bite—gummy, Gaia always called him, and it would stick now, large enough to cover everything but the legs and mouth and tail.

And it was hardly glorious, only holding on as the Growlithe snarled, pried, fell back to crush him, rolled and kicked, managed finally to stand and shake, and all the while his wrap was slipping, his whole body about to go limp from the effort of holding, he felt, sucked clean of energy. And just as he really felt his tail unwinding, as the Growlithe seemed about to crush him the last time, the legs seemed to shake—gave way, and fell under him.

In a moment Runa reached him; and now he was in her arms, and on her lap, and she had a potion and a revival shard in her hand.

“I knew you could do it,” she said.

He could not quite see clearly: something was in his eyes: she ran her thumb under them and wiped it clean and said to relax. She held him up, kissed him on the nose, said it was brilliant and she was proud and now he could not see again. The Growlithe stirred with a potion and in a moment Tanwen was chasing it off.

“Shadow? How do you feel?” Runa said.

It seemed they were alone in the forest, lost from all roads and society. From high above a legendary bird descended and plucked him, carried him up, and let him feel the unaffected sun. And now, if it was only a matter of wild first action, if she herself touched him warmly on the neck, there seemed hardly a reason——Dyna laughed and stood beside him.

“[See? She super loves you,]” she said.

She may as well have torn his heart out to show her! He curled up; Runa said not to tease, and Dyna protested that she said nothing, that he was a hopeless gump (couldn’t tell anything to humans, she argued); and Tanwen returning and brushing herself said he was absurd, that he was virtually unharmed, a waste of medicine (she would never forgive him changing his mind), and Runa guessed at that as well and now she stood up holding him. Torus could hold onto her backpack for a while, she said: now she would only carry him. Runa had her phone again in one hand, wanted to mark the place, she said, always a note of where special things occurred in her journal. “We can start training tomorrow if you like,” she said—“for now, just rest. You won your first battle!”

Tanwen sniffed and said he was a worm.

“[No need to be so magnanimous,]” Gaia said. “[If anything I’m the one who’ll have to split training.]” But she did not sound upset.

Tanwen was right, of course, he thought, as they continued again: they all were boiling, seeing his head against Runa, had to think it wasn’t fair he got this treatment for shambling his way through a battle. Runa only smiled and held him. For she hardly minded, he knew, whether he won, but that he made a motion at all, a growth. As if atop a cliff, wrapped firmly on some rock or tree, he ventured to look over and then shot back, so it was a first step, if only he kept it, if only he could do the same again and better. For there left and right they dove off freely, Gaia into the waves, Tanwen straight into a dig in the sand, Torus teleporting directly onto the shore as psychics never feared anything. It seemed horrid now, but it was only that: just now. For Dragonair could fly, and so everything became simple, just rising up and leaving fear behind. And he could carry Runa and she would not affect him, or (as felt better) he would not lose control.

“We should still give the Ecruteak Gym a miss,” Runa said, for that was the worry when they had so few battlers. “We’ll come back another time. We won’t miss the Kimono hall though!”

A Kimono girl, he thought: that was the last thing he needed to fix his nature. He nearly burned up at that documentary with all the dancing. But the others approved.

“Would you like that, Shadow?” Runa said.

He laid his head against her and nodded. Perhaps close to her he’d be unaffected: Runa never danced.