The Creators Ch. 12

It was the first time I had ever felt embarrassment. Never had I been ashamed of my body, but I had never used it as a woman. The fear heightened the excitement, and the motions I made turned libidinous with instinct. I let my hands trail down my chest, let the palms slope the glistening domes, and the fingertips brush each pink wet nipple. The nodes were swollen and erect, bouncing tenderly from the graze of my fingers as my hands rounded the bottoms of my breasts, then outlined the soft rises of muscle about my navel. I tilted my head skyward, letting the moonlight shower my form as my hands drifted lower. I could feel him walking toward me, compelled to me by the lithe shifts of my dance. My back arched to jut my breasts in greeting, to deepen the bow above the wet domes of my backside, shining succulently halfway from the water. His breath was on the nape of my neck, and his hands were on my forearms. They were strong hands, long-fingered and graceful, and they slid down my arms until they met my wrists. I tilted my face to taste his breath, and I molded my back to him to feel his hardness. It slid between the crack of me, the tip running against my aperture, then sliding between my folds. He guided me to open my legs with his hands, and asked me to empty myself with his kiss. I did, and he pushed himself inside of me."

I stopped my story to look inquisitively at the Untethered One. "I did not think a daughter of Passion would be bashful with her arousal," I mused.

"I guess some of Mom's religion got through to me," Diamond smiled nervously. "I wasn't expecting you to give me so many... details."

"Why would I skip the details of sex?" I asked, confused. "Is it not what compels so much of your life? Why would I recount a tale of lovers, then not describe the nature of their lovemaking?"

"I'm not complaining," Diamond shrugged insecurely.

"You are concealing your erection with the Maternal Path," I frowned. "I am not sure if that is horribly blasphemous, or a perfect symbol of religious sexual oppression. Are you creating art?"

Diamond laughed, and it was a sweet, innocent and unbridled sound. It put a smile on my face, then a weight in my chest. I closed my eyes and breathed out through my nose, trying to quell the feeling, trying to bury it deep. It was getting harder. I could feel the spires groaning under the weight, a threatening creak echoing in the void where rock used to connect the uplifts. Any minute now.

"You have returned my daughter to Hatred," I said. Diamond's smile faded.

"Yes," Diamond replied softly, her body beginning to curl on itself, losing any lust it had displayed.

"Hatred still remembers something of what she was," I muttered. "Maybe that is what makes it hurt so much." Another weight in my chest, and another moment of alarm as I felt it pass through Corruption.

"We were so wrong about you," Diamond said carefully. "All the theories we were so sure of were false."

"You were closer than most," I replied, then caught Diamond's inquisitive gaze. "No, you are not the first to seek the missing pieces of the puzzle. Anyone who looks closely enough can see that the story of the world is incomplete. Ten people have sat where you have sat, but what good did the knowledge do them?"

Diamond didn't respond. It was obvious that she wanted to know about Hatred, but she would not dare ask. I cleared my throat, surprised to feel that it had closed with imminent grief.

"Upon our climax, he and I experience a surge of power. It came within us both, and from us both. We had bound our souls together, and marked the flesh of the other with our sign."

I stopped my tale, and considered. "Before I continue, I must explain what Vitanimus called, 'the trichotomy of self.'"

"Who's Vitanimus?" Diamond asked.

"It was the name the first of language gave to the Elemental of Life," I answered. "There are three parts to a person, each one able to interact with its own plane of existence. The body is the vessel for the mind, and it interacts with the physical plane. The mind is the vessel for the soul, and it interacts with the astral plane. In this regard, the world was never truly one, for the spiritual plane was a mystery to both Vitanimus and I. We did not even know there was such a thing as a 'soul' until ours were bound, and we felt the immeasurable power that joining brought. That joining created marks upon our flesh; patterns of rock upon him, and patterns of life upon me, and the product of that joining, was... her. My daughter. My... joy. Before language marred our mouths, that was all she was to me, so that is what we will call her. And as the mating of two bodies creates a third, so does the binding of two Elemental spirits, for Joy was of water, like I am of rock, and he was of life."

"But..." Diamond trailed off, her brow knitting in confusion, "...she was the Heat Bringer."

"No," I whispered, closing my eyes and waiting, waiting for the moment this whole charade came crashing down. I could feel the columns of Corruption creaking and groaning, but they mercifully ceased. When I opened my eyes, Diamond was peering into them, concern touching her face.

"What's happening to you?" she asked softly.

"You know," I said, easing myself back. "You have seen it."

"What happens when Corruption fails?" Diamond asked, a pool of fear in her eyes.

"Evolution," I answered, an ocean of it in mine.

Part Two: Ash

JULIA

I'm sitting alone at the table. All around me are the other elven children; laughing, yelling, crying and playing, but I am silent. I poke at my soup with my spoon. It's cold, but I won't heat it up. I'll never use my fire again. I've been here for two months, but I'm still the new girl. I haven't spoken a word the entire time. Everyone thinks I'm a mute, and that's fine with me. Being a bright-elf and five years old means I'm shorter than everyone else, and everyone else seems like scary giants. They wouldn't be scary if they weren't strangers, but I'm too scared of them to know them, so they stay strangers. Nobody bothers me. At the princess's estate, the nuns make sure the orphans are well-fed and well-behaved, but nobody approaches me. Orphans understand that it's every child for themselves, even if we're taken care of. We know deep down that it won't last. Nothing good ever has for us. Blackening faces, melted eyes, voices screeching.

"Hey, you're Looney Junie!" a giggling voice says. I look up from my curtain of crimson bangs to see a high-elf, porcelain skin and rosy cheeks, eyes a little too big for her childish face. She's maybe two years older than me, and she is dressed like royalty. The princess. I don't know how to act for her. She usually plays with the older orphans, much to the chagrin of her tutors, who don't want her to socialize with those of low class. But even at such a young age, Princess Flitari runs the show here, which means she can do whatever she wants, including talk to me, much to my horror. I simply nod, not daring to correct her. If she wants to call me 'Junie,' then my name is 'Junie.' "Julia!" Mother screams. She's unrecognizable. I just want her to be still, to stop writhing and shrieking.

"Do you know why they call you 'Looney Junie?" Princess Flitari asked, climbing onto the chair across from me. I shake my head, and stare fixedly at my soup.

"Because you're bleepin' crazy, that's why!" she giggles, then snaps her fingers, and a servant rushes forward. "I want chocolate cake!" Princess Flitari demands, "And I want one for Looney Junie too!" The servant bows his head, and scampers off. I poke at my soup, hoping and praying that the princess will lose interest in me before her meal arrives. I don't want chocolate cake. I don't want anything but solitude. They won't stop screaming. They won't stop twisting so horribly. I can't fix it; I just want to end it. Mommy... Daddy...

"Well, aren't you going to say, 'thank you?'" Princess Flitari asks. I nod, and she giggles. "You really are crazy, huh?" she laughs. I nod again, not wanting to disagree with her. The ripples of my soup dissipate, and I see my face dimly reflected in it. My crimson bangs are a mess over my eyes, my eyes are puffy from sleepless nights, and my lips are red and chapped from constantly licking them. I don't know when I picked up that habit. They're finally still, but they're staring at me. Staring accusingly from blank sockets. They're hardly people anymore. Just crisps with arms and legs. Mommy... Daddy... I can't bear to see them like this. I explode.

"Sebastian told me you ran to the reservoir yesterday and just jumped in!" Princess Flitari laughs. "It's thirty feet up, you looney! Are you trying to kill yourself?!" I shake my head for the first time. The nuns taught me that suicide is a sin, and I would never want to betray the Holy Mother. She's my only mother now. Mommy used to have a painting of her on the mantle. Besides Mommy, the Holy Mother was the prettiest girl in the world. She had white hair like an old lady, but soft skin, a kind face, and wise, powerful eyes that matched the hue of her hair. That painting was ash now, ash like Mommy and Daddy, but the Holy Mother couldn't be hurt by my fire. She's watching over me, making sure I'm OK. She can't hold me like Mommy could, and she can't speak to me like Mommy could, but I can feel her. Every time the bad feelings come, and the fire wants to burn, I whisper to her, and I feel her calming touch in the back of my mind. I mentally whisper to her now, praying to make the princess go away. I just want to be alone.

"Then why'd you do it, ya looney?" Princess Flitari laughs. Because I saw a lady who looked like Mommy, and when I realized it wasn't her, could never be her, I wanted the whole world to burn, and even the Holy Mother couldn't stop me. So, I jumped into water. I just shake my head, and stir my soup, distorting my reflection. The servant comes back with two dishes of chocolate cake, one slice noticeably larger than the other and plated on fine china, the other stuffed into a soup bowl. The servant gives me my undeserved dessert, and Princess Flitari her unusual lunch. I don't eat it, but continue to swirl my soup, creating little vortexes in the opaque cream medium. Princess Flitari gluttonously chows on her cake, smearing brown frosting across her lips, looking incredibly un-royal. She finishes with a mighty belch, then wipes her face on her silken sleeve, nonchalantly ruining a garment that is worth more than everything I used to own.

"Everyone thinks you're a mute, but you know what I think?" Princes Flitari leans forward, a twinkle in her sapphire eyes. "I think you're faking it." I nod, and she grins. "I knew it!" she hisses, rubbing her hands together delightedly. "You don't talk, because you're really a boy!" My head shoots up, and I look her in the eyes for the first time. Her face is radiant, beaming with mischievousness and friendliness. It is the third-prettiest face I've ever seen.

"Don't worry!" she says briskly. "I won't tell!"

"I'm not a boy," I say flatly. They're the first words I've said in months.

"Sure," Princess Flitari winks, then reaches across the table, and slides my chocolate cake in front of her. She takes a forkful, teasingly brings it to her lips, and consumes it while rolling her eyes in exaggerated hedonism. "Oh, this cake is so good, Junie! Or should I call you 'Justin?'"

"My name is Julia."

"I think you mean 'Julius,'" Princess Flitari giggles. It angers me. I am not a boy! I don't know how to deal with her teasing. I don't how to deal with confrontation at all. All I know is that when I get upset, I start to feel the heat. I drop my eyes, and begin whispering a prayer to the Holy Mother.

"You talking to your imaginary friend, Loony-Julius?" Princess Flitari sniggers. I glower at her and continue my prayer, and she only broadens her grin. "You can pray to the lady in the sky all you want, Looney-Julius, but you'll never be a real girl." Princess Flitari leans forward, and whispers, "Because you gotta itty-bitty-teeny-weenie and I'm gonna tell everyone!"

And with that, I upend my bowl into her face, and cover Princess Flitari in cold, cream-colored soup. She gawks at me for a moment, her eyes wide, lunch dripping from her hair and nose. I stare back in horror, realizing I am most certainly going to be thrown onto the streets for this. Then Princess Flitari licks her lips, grins, and throws her cake into my stunned face. The anger comes back to me, and I throw my milk into hers. Infuriatingly, she just giggles, and splashes me with her juice. I toss my yogurt into her hair, she whips sorbet into mine, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm grabbing the salad bowl, and hurling fresh produce at the most powerful seven-year-old in the empire. And I'm laughing. For the first time in months, a smile breaches my face, and laughter pours from it. She's laughing too. She calls her flustered servants forward, and they supply her with fresh ammunition. I jump onto the long table, and collect some of my own from the other orphans. They yell and cry their protest, but I don't care. I just want to cover Princess Flitari with food. I dodge a cucumber, duck a carrot, and careen headfirst into a held-out plate of mashed potatoes. An older boy grins at me, and I grin up at him.

"Food fight!" Princess Flitari belatedly yells, and the battle lines are swiftly drawn. I become the de facto leader of my faction, and the princess becomes the leader of hers, and the entire orphanage tosses their lunch across the long table, ducking and firing in turn, plates clattering and cups bouncing off the floor. The nuns rush in, and become immediate victims of collateral damage. Their squawks fall on deaf ears as I rally my troops to charge. We leap atop the long table, and attack the other side, taking mass casualties with our exposure, but gaining the high ground. Princess Flitari's troops suffer greatly to our barrage of thrown rolls and dumped gravy, and they take refuge beneath the table. We have won, and we cheer our victory right has Mother Septina bursts into the room. Everyone goes silent, and everyone's eyes fall to me. Mother Septina follows their gaze, and her cold, brown stare burns a hole in my head. I gulp.

An hour later, and I'm only a quarter of the way done scrubbing the floor. I wipe my brow, curse under my breath, then immediately pray for forgiveness. I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the pain in my knees, and I scrub the grout between the stones where cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes have formed a thick glue. There's the sound of indignant yelling, of dishes clattering, and of a stern authoritative voice rising above it all. I look up just in time to see Mother Septina hauling Princess Flitari into the mess-hall by the point of her ear.

"My father will hear about this!" Princess Flitari exclaims.

"And I'm sure he'll send his finest warriors to rescue you, and his cruelest torturers to punish me!" Mother Septina scoffs, yanking the princess forward. "But until then, Your Grace, you can scrub the floors with your little minion!" Mother Septina hands Princess Flitari a bucket and sponge, and propels the indignant royal toward me. "And if you try to make little Julia do everything, you'll be cleaning the outhouse on chili night!" And Mother Septina slams the door behind her. Princess Flitari screams, growls, kicks at a banana, then huffs over to me. She grumbles as she gets on her hands and knees, further ruining her already-ruined dress, and begins scrubbing the floor. We work in silence for a moment, not acknowledging each other. Then she looks over at me, and grins, and I grin back.

She's dead. The world was glowing. Iridescent reds burned from the melted vestiges of the arena, and glimmered as far as I could see. The wind howled, buffeting my body, stinging me with embers and ash. I was burning, burning sapphire. There was melted metal in my hand; Lucilla's necklace. I hadn't take it off, and now it was nothing. I tried to reform it, to smelt the platinum as I had done with the steel of my temple, but I didn't have that power anymore. It was gone. She was gone. I looked around at the world I had made, numbly realizing what I had done. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions. I let the melted crescent symbol drip from my fingers, and pool below me. It was a fitting gesture, for I was most certainly the tool of Satan. I'd been a fool. I'd been lulled to complacency by the unassailable knowledge that I was doing God's will, not once questioning if I was telling myself a lie, not once stepping back to realize the thread I was following formed a spider's web. And now, I'd fulfilled his purpose. The same patterns that had glowed from Lucilla, now glowed from the melted surfaces of Drastin. A cruel punchline for this drawn-out joke. She's dead.

"There might be survivors," I muttered. "Can't leave it like this." My arms and legs were like jelly, my head was beating like a drum, and my nostrils were running with blood, but I didn't care. If I died, I died. There was nothing left to keep here.

"Diamond..." I whispered. The dull misery was driven from me in the wake of my panic. My daughter was out there, and she was alive! She had to be! I anchored my feet into the glowing surface, and extended my arms above me. I sucked the heat from the ground, and pushed it into the sky. Higher and higher I drove it, expelling it into a gaseous inferno above me. My brow furrowed and glistened, a throbbing began in my temples. The ground beneath me became cold, then it was freezing, but I could still feel the heat in the distance, as deadly as ever. I kept pulling it in, and pushing it out. My arms were growing heavy. My legs were growing weak. I gritted my teeth, and pulled, and pushed, running the heat through me, drawing it from miles and miles, and sending it high, high where it couldn't hurt anyone. My heart was beating slower. My nose was running like a river. My eyes were dimming, but I had to do it. Push it higher, push it away. Scorch the heavens with my fire, for there is no spot for me there. I collapsed to my knees, my head feeling light, but my body feeling like a ton. Push it away where it can't hurt Diamond. My eyes were dripping, for I knew the truth. I killed her. I killed Diamond, and there was nothing left.

"Diamond, Lucilla, God," I whispered. Ah, there was the real punchline. Thank you, Satan. I dropped to my belly, and the world was black.

WILLOWBUD

The world was black, but I could see it clearly. I was in a tomb, but I wasn't dead. Night Eyes, the woman I'd been for most of my life, was dead. Her mausoleum was decorated with the abstraction of her dying mind, and in the darkness, I could see them; statues of horror, of my mother staring at me from wide, agonized eyes, her body a horrendous ruin, but her face untouched. I hadn't wanted to disfigure her, for if I plucked out her eyes or gashed her cheeks, then it wouldn't be Mother's face any longer, and I wouldn't get to see it contort in horror. I needed to see that. I needed to see the realization dawn across it as I removed pieces from her. No more painting for you, Mother. No more playing the lute. No more picking apples, no more climbing trees, no more dancing, no more running, no more walking, no more standing for you, Mother.

Now the shield of Night Eyes was gone, and I was left open to her memories. Astrid, Mother, Julia, Lucilla, Father. They tormented me relentlessly, cut away pieces of my psyche like I'd cut away pieces of my mother, but they couldn't kill me. They could not give me that mercy, because they could not compel me to end it. I was a monster, a coward, and selfish. My life was an abomination, and the world would've been far better off if I'd never been born, but I couldn't do the decent thing, and just die. Even my suffering was a horrible self-indulgence. I was evil. Pure, simple, evil. What else but pure evil would wallow in a hole of self-pity, when she herself had done the deeds? It wasn't me; it was Night Eyes. But Night Eyes was me, and I wished with every ounce of my heart to be her again.