The Creators Ch. 15

Chapter Fifteen: The Huntress

Prelude: Scavenger

TERA

I had once seen a painting of Hektinar in the Drastin Gallery. The steel spires stood like needles that pierced the sky, their heights breaching the clouds to defy the sun. The stadiums were so large that their steel canopies made their own atmospheres, the bridges were so long that their ends could not be seen, and the university at its center was the grandest display of architecture ever conceived. The entire city glared in the sunlight as if perpetually aflame, a foreboding symbol for its fate. The painting had captivated me, and I remembered feeling a great sense of loss that such a treasure had been torn from the world. But as I looked upon Hektinar now, I was even more dazzled by its corpse.

The spires were like melted candles, the stadiums were deflated hills, and the bridges were twisted causeways leading to nowhere. The twice-tempered steel still shined in the light, never to be rusted, only to be blanketed and reclaimed by the desert. The sand filled the gaps where streets used to be, and climbed the bases of the drooping towers. The steel effigies now stood as islands in the vast desert ocean, but the university was a mountain.

It was obvious that Arbitrus had directed most of his hate at the great melted dome. I could see the concentrated points where his flame struck, and I could see his frustration that the building would not fall. He'd tried to take out the supports, he'd tried to compromise the superstructure, he'd even tried collapsing other buildings atop it, but all his attempts had been in vain. The structure still stood—deformed and mutilated—but still there. I looked back over my shoulder at the vast promenade of orcs, and saw Julia impatiently waiting for me at their front. She could wait a little longer; I was here to get rich.

There had been thousands of scavengers here before me. I could see the evidence all across the derelict city in the form of outturned houses and blown-out vaults. Maybe the lucky ones had stumbled across something, but most of Hektinar's wealth had melted with its steel. Fortunately, the treasure I sought would never have been scavenged by the likes of orcs or goblins. I could only hope that it hadn't been stolen by fire or time.

I aimed my crossbow at the high tower of the university, and pulled the trigger. The line of rope oscillated behind the arcing grappling hook, then went taut. Perfect shot, as always. I staked my end of the rope, hooked my hook around it, then began my ascent. If I hadn't been so well-fed, the climb would've exhausted me, but I had vast stores of energy in my muscles now. I scaled the five-hundred-foot height, taking breaks here and there by dangling on my metal appendage. I missed my hand, but I had to admit, there was a great advantage in not having to worry about grip strength when climbing. After half an hour, I was atop the dome, and jogging to the moonroof.

I imagined that there was once a vast planetarium beneath the dome. Likely, the sun would've filled the hole come noon, and illuminated great gyroscopic solar systems that boasted planets the size of rooms. During the night, I imagined an enormous telescope would've been brought through the hole, and that astronomers would've marveled upon the heavens. I could only imagine these things, for it was obvious that Arbitrus Gen had used this hole to hollow the entire building out.

"Well, shit," I grunted. "I'm already up here; might as well find out."

I slid down my rope into the vast atrium, passing floor after collapsed floor until I reached the bottom. Once there, I looked around, and frowned. Absolutely nothing had survived. There wasn't even debris in here; just melted steel floors stacked atop each other like pancakes, and piles of accumulated sand below the moonroof. There wasn't even a... hey, what's that?

Something round and black protruded from a mass of melted steel. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was an obsidian vase. Well, it was worth something. I tried to pry it from its steel parent, but it would not budge. After another minute of struggling, I realized that hundreds of scavengers had probably attempted this feat—for the vase was rather obvious—and none of them had succeeded. Of course, none of them had a hand-forged hook made by the Heat Bringer herself. I hacked at the parent metal for an hour, chopping around the base as sparks flew past my eyes. When I finally managed to free the damnable thing, it was so fucking heavy that I had no hope of getting it out. I knew I should've brought one of the Breytans with me.

"Hmm...." I mused, looking at the priceless ancient artifact. "I'll be damned if I'm going to let some other fucker get rich off my hard work." And I smashed it to pieces with my metal hook.

And there it was. Beneath the shattered shards of obsidian, entombed within a vase that had survived the apocalypse, was the very thing I'd come here to find. I grinned as I picked it up. It was heavy for what it was, but it weighed a mere fraction of what it was worth in gold. I just had to find the right buyer, and fortunately, I happened to know someone who would pay through the fangs to get it. I tucked it in my satchel, took a swig of orc-protein from my flask, and began my ascent. I didn't know if I'd ever get the opportunity to capitalize on my hard work, but it was worth the effort. If shit went south with Julia, I needed as many escape routes as possible, and this treasure was worth at least an oceanic crossing on a luxury ship. If I was going to flee for my life from an enraged psychotic god, I sure as shit wasn't going to do it in coach.

Part One: Dreamscape

WILLOWBUD

I knew that I was asleep. It wasn't lucid dreaming, for my subconscious offered no nightmares to torment me, but an odd state of awareness. I was floating in blissful blackness, detached from myself, but not separate. I could feel the blankets wadded around my fetal-curved body, the pillow pressed wetly against my matted hair, and the chill that wracked my form as my mind blazed with fever. I wasn't sure if I was dying, but I hoped I was. If death was simply walking into the blackness, then it was a merciful finale. Then the brightness came, and I knew that such mercy would not be afforded. My crusted eyes peeled open to reveal a blurred white face with crimson eyes staring down. I recognized it, but I couldn't remember from where. I groaned, and felt a dull pain in my arm. There was a bamboo needle in the vein, connected to tubing that led to a hanging blood bag.

"No," I murmured, "just let me go."

My savior didn't respond. She laid a hand on my forehead, and it was an oasis of cold against my infernal brow. The small comfort pushed me back into sweet blackness, and I left the world with a smile curving my face. This time, I did dream. I was a little girl racing through the treetops of Arbortus, ducking oncoming branches as my soles slid expertly along the bark. I leapt from one tree to the next, my body flailing in the air, a thousand feet of nothing between me and the forested earth below. It didn't matter. I'd catch the oncoming branch as surely as I'd caught the last thousand. My hands closed around the column of wood, and I swung myself forward, my feet aimed for the next wrung of the great natural ladder. I missed. I overestimated my trajectory, and felt a moment of pure disbelief as the branch passed below me.

Then, I was falling. Falling and screaming, flailing stupidly for refuge that wasn't there. The ground rose to me with terrible speed, but every second was an eternity. A pair of arms wrapped around me, and I was hoisted into the air. I let out a cry of pure joy, and turned to see Astrid smiling down at me. Her hair was gone, her scalp was cooked, and her wings were sliced off. She stared at me from dead eyes, looking at the distant light high above. I was in a cavern of my own making. Mother was watching me from the corner, a questioning look in her green eyes.

"Why, Willow?" she asked. She held up her hands, or what was left of them. The fingers were gone, the palms pierced, the flesh stripped away. "Why?" she asked again. "Why, why, why, why..." she disappeared, the grotesque remains of her body fading away, only her untouched face glowing in the void, asking its tortuous question.

"Why?" another voice asked. I turned around to see Lucilla, a hole between her sapphire eyes. Her voice harmonized with Mom's, then a third completed the chord. "Why?" my father asked, his throat slashed open. "Why, why, why, why, why...."

"I know why," a fourth voice cut through it all. It was a drawling voice, a voice I hated and loved in equal parts. Corruption stepped up to me, her white eyes burning in their black depths. "Because she wanted to, that's why," Corruption said, running her hand across my cheek. "She'll blame me to convince herself, but deep down, she knows the truth."

"No," I whispered, voice choked with tears. "No, I didn't! You made me do it!"

"I just took the pain away," Corruption smiled sadly.

"You took me away!" I screamed back.

"I was just the mask, Willowbud," Corruption said softly. She was fading, they were all fading. Blackness swallowed the world, leaving me blissfully alone. "Give someone a mask, and they will show you their true nature," her final words hissed from the void, then she was gone with the rest. I sighed, and dropped to my knees. Nothing. Wonderous, silent, nothing. Drip, drip, drip, drip.

"No," I whispered, the fear creeping up my spine. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, sizzle. I looked up, and there she was. Julia Gendian stared at me with cold, merciless eyes, her body encased in smoldering blue flame.

"I am the Holy Mother," Julia proclaimed, her voice dead. She raised her hand, and the world was consumed in fire. I burned ceaselessly, my flesh scorching but not peeling away, my fat melting but not dripping off me. I contorted and wrenched, dancing in agony, but I did not lose my mind. I stayed horrifically aware, knowing without a doubt that this was eternity. I heard laughter. It was a sardonic chuckle, and it came from within. Night Eyes watched me from the recesses of my consciousness, and she laughed and laughed as I shrieked and shrieked, and shrieked.

My eyes blinked open. I was in a one-room cottage, the roof made of wood rafters and straw, the walls made of wooden planks that matched the floor. It was night out, and the cozy abode was lit with a warm hearth that radiated against me. I was aware that I was wet. Beneath the numerous blankets piled atop me, I was lying in a pool of sweat and god-knew what else.

"Soup?" a familiar voice asked beside me. I turned, and there was Gloria Titus. Pale-faced, red-eyed and ruby-lipped, with a frame of black hair and cheekbones that seemed impossible. She was supposed to be dead.

"How?" I asked, barely any sound coming from me.

"Eat," Gloria answered, and placed the spoon to my chapped and split lips. I didn't have the strength to close my mouth and turn away, so I dumbly let the soup dribble down my chin instead. Gloria gave me a disapproving look, then tried again. "I know it's not great; I haven't had to cook for thousands of years, but it is sustenance, Your Holiness, and you need it."

"Your Holiness," I laughed weakly, and that laugh turned into a violent cough. I hacked and sputtered, and sprayed the blankets with blood. Gloria blotted my chin and lips with a napkin, then she tucked that napkin away. She'd save it for a later snack, I was sure.

"You're not dying," Gloria assured me, reloading her spoon. "Your throat is just raw from coughing so much. You need something to soothe it. Eat."

"Why didn't you just let me die?" I asked hoarsely.

"I couldn't do that, Your Holiness," Gloria answered, stubbornly bringing the spoon to my lips.

"I did it to you."

"That wasn't you," Gloria placed the spoon to my lips and tilted it, and once again, I let it spill down my chin.

"It was me," I whispered, angered by her persistence. "Corruption is just a mask that shows us our true selves."

"Corruption removes your true self," Gloria said, trying at a third spoonful. "The basic animal in me wants to suck your blood to the marrow, but I choose not to. Primal instincts are ubiquitous and the same for almost everyone; eat, drink, fight, fuck, kill, run, hide. It is our higher selves that make us who we are."

"What the fuck do you know?" I hacked blood through my words.

"I'm three-thousand years old. I've picked up some wisdom along the way," Gloria smiled to me, fangs poking her bottom lip. "One great nugget of wisdom is this: hungry people are not pleasant people. Now, eat."

I relented this time, and took the soup down my throat. The moment it touched my stomach, my guts churned, and I felt near to vomiting. The feeling passed, and in its wake came a hunger I had not known since I was a starving urchin on the streets of Drastin. I tore the bowl from Gloria's hands, and upturned it down my gullet. She had a whole pot bubbling by my bed, and I dipped my bowl again and again, feeling my strength return to me with each mouthful. When my belly was distended and my insides were pleasantly warm to the esophagus, I let the bowl clatter to the floor, and let out a belch.

"I guess my cooking's not as bad as I thought," Gloria mused with a smile.

"That was the worst fucking soup I've ever had," I grumbled, and turned to my side. I hated her for her kindness. There was a silence where I hoped she'd admonish me, but she just filled the moment with the sound of a poker against the fire. Fresh warmth from the hearth swept over me, and I felt myself become drowsy in it. My eyes closed, and there was Julia. The warmth around me was scorching heat, the blankets were sheets of flame, and I was burning, burning and blackening in my subterranean hell. I bolted upright, bedding and pillows flying off me, my naked body exposed to the cold. I didn't know what to do. Run away; it had always been Willowbud's first instinct. Run as far as I could.

I leapt from the bed, snagged my ankles in the sheets, and tumbled to the floor. My knees and elbows sang with pain, and when I tried to right myself, I realized I was still too weak. I crawled to the door, fingernails scraping into the floorboards, splinters stabbing beneath them. I felt soft hands on my shoulders, and warm breath on my neck. Strong arms encased me, pulling me into a pillowing bosom. A soft voice whispered gently, and I melted into the maternal lap.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered. "I'm a coward."

"So am I, Your Holiness," Gloria cooed, and rocked me back and forth. I fell back into dreamless sleep, and found bliss in the void.

For the next three days, Gloria tended to me. I'd spent myself near to death during my flight from Julia, and I was paying for it dearly. I suffered through fevered sweats during the night, and aching weakness during the day. Gloria would close the shutters from the sun, though she did leave one window open for me to look out. I was somewhere in Drastinar I reckoned, though far away from Drastin proper. The plains and flat arboreal woodlands that made up eastern Drastinar were gone, giving way to rolling hills that ascended to mountains in the distance. Those were the dwarven princedoms, and a few hundred miles behind them was the Gratoran Wall. I didn't tell Gloria that I planned to go there; I didn't tell Gloria much of anything. Our talk was sparse, mostly beginning and ending with offers for food and the need to change my bedding. She bathed me in hot water every morning, and I was relieved to be rid of the grime of the previous night. During the day, I'd spend most of the time staring out the window, ignoring the pile of books Gloria left me. I wasn't much of a reader anyway. Time passed tortuously, and though I rarely spoke to my caregiver, I was glad for her presence. Being alone with just my thoughts was a terrifying prospect.

On the fourth day, I found the strength to step out of bed. I placed my hand against the wall, and took three trepid steps to the tub. Gloria reached out to support me, and I waved her away. I stumbled through the fourth step and caught myself on the tub's lip. Gloria was of course right behind me, her lightning reflexes propelling her. She held me by the armpits, and I eased myself in, shuddering contentedly as the warm sudsy foam encased me to the neck.

"I see you're feeling better," Gloria mused softly as she began to pour water over my hair.

"It's not like I was paralyzed," I muttered.

"Your blood pressure is clearly back to where it should be," Gloria replied slyly.

"Why do you say that...." I trailed off, and noticed the morning wood I was sporting, sticking defiantly from the foam.

"Huh," I grunted. "I always thought you were a dyke."

"What?" Gloria asked, amusement in her voice.

"If I don't pay attention, this thing will adjust itself to the signals of nearby potential mates," I yawned. "So you're not gay."

"Not entirely, no. I didn't know I was putting out those signals," Gloria chuckled to herself. "Surely, Brandon told you about...." Gloria didn't finish that sentence, but instead gulped, and continued to lather suds into my hair.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I miss him too."

"I left him because I was afraid of you," she hissed, trying to mask her tears. "I should've stayed, but I lost faith. If I had just stayed and helped then... maybe... just maybe..." Gloria's hands were shaking against my head. I reached up, and clasped my hand over hers, squeezing it until the trembling stopped.

"What were you doing out there?" I asked softly.

"Looking for redemption."

"You didn't find it."

"I found you."

"Don't make a project out of me. You saw what happened the last time someone tried."

"I am but a servant, Your Holiness."

I closed my eyes, and let out a long slow breath. "Don't call me that anymore."

"Don't run from it," Gloria whispered. "I know it's tempting to hide in obscurity, but the world needs—"

"The world needs me to die like the others," I hissed. "I'm not the woman you want, Gloria. Julia was that woman, and I destroyed her."

Gloria stayed silent. She recommenced washing me, blotting my shoulders and kneading her soapy fingers into my hair. "Where ever you go, Willowbud, I will go," she whispered. "I am your servant until death do us part, I swear it."

"What if I tell you to leave me the fuck alone?"

"I'll tell you to go fuck yourself," Gloria muttered, and planted a kiss atop my head.

When Gloria extracted me from the bathwater and toweled me off, I felt as loose as a noodle, but there was one part of me that was still very rigid. She pretended to ignore it as it poked and prodded her while she dried me, but when she laid me on the bed, there was no denying the pulsating bronze organ that stood like an obelisk from my crotch.

"Great Creators, Willowbud, it's been over an hour," she muttered, eyeing me with a little too much curiosity.

"Just pull the covers over me."

She glanced from my crotch, to my eyes. "I can—"

"No."

She cocked her head, and a little smile formed across her lush red lips. "You have incubus blood in you. If you don't relieve yourself, you'll be up all night—quite literally."

I narrowed my eyes at her, wrapped my hand around my cock, and began to stroke it. "Is this what you wanted to see?" I growled.

"Yes," she answered without shame, a glint of wicked amusement in her red eyes. She sat back in her chair, poured herself a glass of wine, and watched me with acute interest as I sloppily fondled myself with my uncoordinated numb fingers. After five minutes, all I'd managed to do was tire my forearm. Gloria sneered as she crossed one leg over the other, revealing what she wanted me to see. I glared at her, spit on my nondominant hand, and went right back to work. After doing nothing but giving myself a painful burn, I let out a groan of frustration, and rolled over.