The Creators Ch. 16

A second later, Bianca was laughing as she released her daughter from the chokehold, the pair of them now back in their valkyrie forms.

"You tried to stab me!" Bianca exclaimed.

"We have unbreakable skin," Arya grumbled.

"Something tells me you forgot that in the heat of battle," Bianca tittered, and hoisted her daughter to her feet. "You went for a killing blow against your own mother. Should I be proud, I wonder?"

"Maybe I'm just so used to sticking something into you," Arya sneered.

Bianca wrinkled her nose. "Just remember that I once pushed your entire body out of me; the little bit you put back is but a pittance. Now," she grabbed Arya by the hair, and grinned wickedly down at her, "we dueled, and you lost. You owe me what we agreed upon, so do your stretches, get your lotion, and wait for me in the tree with your wrists roped to your ankles. Mommy will come visit you when your timeout is over."

Arya tittered musically and flapped toward the tree. Bianca watched her go, then turned to me.

"Was the demonstration to your satisfaction, Your Holiness?"

"It was utterly petrifying, so yes."

"Our enemies don't stand a chance," Bianca grinned wolfishly. "We will crush the hordes of the Heat Bringer like ants! They will not make it a step past Droktin's Pass!"

I just smiled back and hoped my face didn't belie my terror. I had hoped that Julia would just meander in the desert for a while and then... I don't know... go away. Of course, even when she was uncorrupted, Julia had never been one to procrastinate, which made her the polar opposite of me. While the Heat Bringer amassed a horde larger than any had seen in thousands of years, I sat in Ofan, and vainly hoped some miracle would save us all. It kept me up at night realizing that to most people, I was that fucking miracle.

News of Julia's return had finally gotten east of the Gratoran Wall, and all the rulers of Balamora united under one flag to combat the coming menace. Just kidding. They all decided that the best course of action against this existential threat was to collectively shit their pants. The king of Grundinar ordered the invasion of what was left of Drastinar, the queen of Justinar then sacked Grundinar, the king of Brondinar evacuated his entire kingdom into the eastern mountains, and the king of Ruminar formerly declared himself to be a devout servant of the Heat Bringer and decided to commit genocide upon anyone who didn't follow the Maternal Path. The dwarven princedoms all decided that burrowing into their caves was the best course of action, the now nomadic nymphs disappeared into the northern wilderness, the centaur enclaves secluded themselves into the eastern mountains, and the elf empire completely shut down.

It was extremely obvious to me that I was supposed to reveal myself, unite the world under my banner of hope, and charge into the fray, but finding the deepest darkest hole in the ground to scuttle into was sounding more and more appealing. Angela insisted that our greatest weapon against Julia was that everyone thought I was dead. Cool, well that could also be my greatest defense. If it weren't for my sister, I probably would've been on the other side of the world by now, but for some damnable reason, the idea of seeing the disappointment in her eyes was worse than seeing the black evil in Julia's. And so, I was stuck in limbo, pissing away the last few days I had alive observing pointless training exercises and trying not to look like I was perpetually about to shit myself.

"Yeah," I smiled at Bianca, "we're gonna... we're gonna fuck 'em up. Yeah."

Bianca, bless her sweet heart, just beamed radiantly, bowed, and flew after her daughter.

God, I wish I had that kind childlike confidence, I thought.

You really think she's that naïve, Brandon? Angela teased in my mind. She's can tell you're one scare away from shitting yourself into the stratosphere, and she's trying to keep you together.

I narrowed my eyes at the falcon who had fluttered into the garden. I didn't send you that thought. Did you learn to read minds?

No, I've just spent so much of my life looking at that stupid face of yours that I can read it like a book. Angela dropped from the tree, and transformed into her human self. "You were supposed to go to the mountain peak two hours ago. You're avoiding me, you asshole."

"I am."

Angela ran her hands through her strawberry hair and sighed. "Brandon, we can't do nothing anymore."

"If I intervene, then they'll choose Julia."

"I can count on one finger the number of women who are willing to challenge Nona for your sake. Do you know why? Because these women train for generations to serve gods that come once every few thousand years. One god is marshalling the world's largest army to go on a holy crusade, and the other is sitting on his ass waiting for someone to suck his dick. Not really a choice at all, is it?"

"Julia's corrupted!"

"They don't care, Brandon! The shock-value of that revelation wore off weeks ago! You had a chance, you had Nona right here in Ofan, in the heart of her enemy's kingdom, ready to serve you because she was so terrified of a god Freydis had sworn her to, that she was willing to break Freydis's wishes if you would just prove that you could make a hard choice! They don't respect you for respecting them; they think you're weak because of it!"

I ground my teeth. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Goddamn it," Angela rubbed her temples. "Not everyone shares your weird hermit philosophy. Some people—most people—don't want to just be left alone. They want to be wanted." She looked up at the baobab tree, and shook her head. "Bianca is doing everything she can to persuade you not to go to Iona. She wants to be wanted by you so badly that she'll damn the whole world. You're her very purpose in life. I know you know this, Brandon. I know you encourage it because you don't want to hurt her."

I dropped my head, and ran my fingers against my brow. "You're right. I'm weak."

"You're just too compassionate," Angela said, and planted a kiss on my head. "I've read enough history now to know it's the curse of Life Givers."

"I can't just betray her, Angela. She saved me. She saved us."

"Well then," Angela said, and raised my face to hers, "we're going to have to get a little mean."

ASTRID

The Sword of Iona was the most hallowed weapon on Balamora. It had survived for longer than every recorded nation, and had been passed down from High Guard to High Guard for hundreds of generations. I was the first non-High Guard to ever wield it, and fittingly, I was also the first Ionan to ever lose it to another clan. That would've once been a disgrace worthy of suicide, but now the sword that was once so heavy on my mind held very little weight in my heart. Now there was another sword on my back. It was an unfamiliar sword, and yet it felt like an extension of my arm when I wielded it. It was heavy—I liked a heavy blade—but it wasn't overbearing. The balance was so precise that I could've lain the crossguard across a pin, the edge was so keen that it could cut through rock like butter, and the blade was so strong that I could pry up boulders and never bend it. It was precious to me, but even this priceless weapon meant nothing to me compared to the other thing I held.

I cradled Willowbud in my arms, not daring to breathe. She snored her divine snores, loud and grating enough to ring in my head, but each one trailing with the cutest little whimper. Her lips bubbled spit against my nipple, and she sometimes gnawed on it compulsively in her slumber. Now that my wings were jet black, I could block out the sun completely. The darkness in my cocoon of feathers was total, but I could see clearly in it with my nocturnal eyes. I didn't know how to classify myself. I was most certainly a valkyrie, yes, and anyone who tried to say otherwise would meet the hard end of my fist. I walked like a valkyrie, I moved like a valkyrie, and I flew like a valkyrie, but I could not deny the other thing that I was; the huntress. While I could still stand proudly in the sun with my wings unfurled and the wind whipping through my (now black) hair, there was something about the darkness that awoke me. While I could still dance with a blade in hand before the terrified eyes of my enemies, there was something extremely appealing about stalking my unknowing prey from above, and silently dispatching them without them ever being aware of it. I did not think that I, Astrid Skyborne, had changed; I thought there was just... something extra added to me.

I frowned in the darkness. Well, that was wholly untrue. I, Astrid Skyborne, had changed tremendously, but my genesis hadn't come from Gloria's bite; it had come from Night Eyes' torment. I had become Angel, the winged gladiator, the hedonist and whore of whores. I had killed my mother on the sands of the arena just for my glory. But no, I wasn't her either. I had not stood in triumph over my mother's corpse but had stood in the horror of what I'd done. I had changed, and I could not say who I was anymore. Neither Angel, nor Astrid, nor something in between. I was someone else, someone... older. Perhaps I was lost, I did not know, nor did I care. Throughout the most tumultuous time in my life, there had been one constant. Willowbud. Maybe I couldn't see her when Corruption blackened her lenses, but she had been there. She had been there the whole time, watching me, waiting for me, and in the end, she felt for me the way I had felt for her ever since that beautiful day on the mountaintops.

I dared to breathe, and my patterns thrummed alight. Symbols and shapes of mountains, canyons, and gorges decorated every inch of my flesh, marking me with her love. With her love! The very idea was so euphoric that it brought tears to my eyes, and I cradled my god deeper into my bosom, delighting in the way her teeth gnawed so roughly against my nipple. She had come back to me. She had saved me. There was nothing in the world more precious to me than this tiny little hermaphrodite with the white hair and the forest-green eyes. Now I knew there was nothing more precious to her than me. I wept with silent joy in my cocoon of feathers and cursed myself when an errant tear dropped from my chin and splashed Willowbud on the face.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at me. I beamed down at her, wishing I wasn't crying like some madwoman. She grinned back up at me, my nipple still in her mouth.

"Is it still daytime?" she whispered.

"It's almost evening," I whispered back.

"Then it's still naptime," she grinned, wrapped her lips about my areola, and began to suckle. Her eyes slowly closed, and little snoozes of contentment emanated from her mouth. I cradled her closer, and I savored the precious moment for a little longer.

WILLOWBUD

Gloria dropped a deer carcass between herself and Astrid, and the two of them went to town. The first night we were together, Astrid had been very bashful with her feeding. She tried to scuttle off with some food in her arms so that I wouldn't see her eat. I told her that I thought her animalistic feeding was a total turn-on. In retrospect, maybe I should've let her be a shy eater. The Huntress had not completely left my beloved valkyrie, and now she was encouraged to make a show of cracking open bones, sucking the marrow out, ripping great chunks of muscle from ribs so that the sinew and tendons strung and snapped. When she was thirsty, she'd imbed her fangs into the meat, and emit the most disgusting sucking sound as the meat dried to white jerky between her lips. Gloria, for her part, was a much more refined eater. The pretentious old bitch had actually brought a silverware set with her on her vertical trek a mile up the side of the Gratoran Wall. Now she quartered her meat into little cubes before eating it in four precise mouthfuls, watching Astrid's boorish consumption with obvious distaste.

"There's a jar of tofu in the sack," Gloria said, sliding her bag over to me. "I got cabbage and turnips too. Those go together, right?"

"Sure," I said. I sifted through the sack and pulled out a newspaper. It was the Grundin Journal, and the entire front page was an artist's rendition of the black-eyed Julia leading her army through the desert. Apparently, the self-proclaimed 'Flame of God' wasn't too stuck-up to do an interview. I opened the paper and scanned the article, my mouth moving with the words.

Her Holiness, Julia Gendian lives a modest life. Every morning, she wakes up, prays to the Holy Mother, and then washes herself with a small basin of water barely large enough to fill a pot of coffee. As she does this, she explains to me that she can clean herself perfectly by just lighting herself on fire, but she prefers to wash herself with water so that she must suffer the same chafing and dry skin as her followers. The walk, she says, is one of atonement, and one cannot find atonement without suffering.

Suffering seems to be a common theme in Julia's exodus. No one exhibits this more than High Guard Jade Tao, who wears the Sword of Iona like a trophy, but whose scars are beyond the counting. It seems that women especially are held to a brutal standard, and any who stray even a little from Julia's interpretation of the Maternal Path are punished severely. Director Tera Autumnsong, the formerly-infamous 'Death Kiss' and eminent of the late Brandon Sorensen, is tasked with punishing women who step out of bounds sexually. When I ask the director exactly why she chooses some of her perverse and heinous punishments, she simply taps her head and declares that if she wanted to do it, then it was God's will. She then enslaves and rapes me for several hours before telling me to leave. It is very hard for me to do so. Read my subsequent article, "A Night with Death Kiss" for the details.

While walking beside Julia, I can't help but look back with pity upon some of the poor crucified orcs slowly roasting alive from the fire beneath their feet. Julia explains to me that their pain is their salvation and that they will be delivered to heaven in a golden chariot when they pass from this world. I ask her if she has ever doubted her interpretation of the holy word. She is surprisingly forthright with her confession that she sometimes is confused by God's message, but she vehemently asserts that she never doubts it. "I am not my daughter," Julia explains. "I am not blessed with the vision of god herself."

When I ask about the whereabouts of Diamond Glendian, the 'Water Dancer' and the newest addition of the Creators, Julia smiles sadly at me. "Where ever the Holy Mother has taken her, that is where she needs to go. She will come back to me only when the time is right."

When I ask what Diamond's religious beliefs are, Julia refuses to comment.

After my third day on Julia's trek to Droktinar, a fight breaks out amongst some of the citizens. The fight turns into an all-out brawl and soon escalates to lethal engagement. Julia has to break up the fight herself. She burns the murderers alive and scorches the palms of those who took up arms against their brothers. She then makes the entire congregation sit and pray for the burning men even as they scream. I watch as the endless tide of orcs kneels row by row all along the great caravan. For as far as the eye can see, the multitude stops, and kneels. Those that are miles away cannot know why they are bidden to kneel and pray, but they do so without hesitation. Such is the power Julia wields amongst her adopted people. Whether that power is born of fear, respect, or simply deific awe, I cannot say, but there is no doubt that she has it.

After the prayer is over, Julia reestablishes herself at the front of the caravan, and continues her walk. She is visibly aroused. She does not shy away from the fact that she is sexually excited by the mortal agony of those she sends to heaven—she is proud of it.

"At first, I was quite vexed that the Holy Mother had laid perverse temptations in my mind," Julia explains. "It wasn't until Sister Tera came to me and unwound the complexity of my desires, that I saw clearly why it was the Holy Mother stirred my arousal when I enact her justice. If I am to purify sinners with hellfire, then I must have a little of the devil in me." Sister Julia smiles coyly at me. "The penis is a man's organ, and men are of the devil's gender. I will not pretend to be a perfect soul, but I know that an imperfect tool can still be useful. The Holy Mother has made me her judge, her deliverer, and her high-priestess, but I am too impure to carry her gift. Only Sister Diamond carries God's true vision." Julia looks upon my body with obvious interest, and says, "sodomy is not a mortal sin, you know."

As of the sending of this article to my publisher, the great exodus is but ten days away from Droktinar. When I ask Julia what she will do when she arrives there, she states, "Sister Diamond will come—I know she will. I will light the furnace, and she will water the desert, and God will provide the rest. The holy kingdom will be born, and all will bask in its radiance."

When I ask her if she plans to stay in Droktinar for long, she simply smiles, and looks out at the distant shape of Droktin's Pass.

I put the newspaper down and clasped my hands together to hide that they were shaking.

"I can smell fear, you know," Gloria said, eyeing me.

I farted. "Does it smell like beans?"

Astrid giggled, and Gloria scowled.

"We're all scared; only an idiot wouldn't be," Gloria muttered. She took the newspaper from me and scanned it. "God, the world's falling apart. The human kingdoms are cannibalizing each other, the dwarves have dug underground, the nymphs ran to the mountains, and the elves locked down. It's nothing like the last time."

"You were there, weren't you?" Astrid asked Gloria. "When Droktin opened his pass?"

Gloria nodded. "It was Arbitrus who started it. He was a madman, make no mistake about it. He should've known what his horror would reap." She plucked a rib and nibbled on it. "I was there when the mountains split, and the horde poured through. Droktin's Bound One had died, and the action killed him, but Halok—I mean Wrath—had cursed the horde with his mania. I fought them with the others. Men, elves, dwarves, centaurs, and nymphs; all of Balamora against the vengeful remains of the orc empire." Her eyes became distant. "Have you ever walked Droktin's pass from end to end?"

"I rode through it in a cart once."

"I flew... once," Astrid muttered, apparently still embarrassed about being captured.

"It takes nearly a day to get through it without breaking stride," Gloria said, cracking the rib between her fingers. "After the first day, it was so choked with bodies that the sides were piled five stories high from end to end. The ground ran with blood like a river, and the flies swarmed like black clouds over it all. They were so thick that they blotted out the sun. It didn't matter what time of day it was when we fought between the mountains, it was always under a humid golden twilight that filtered through the buzzing clouds, all the smells marinating in that hot chasm. You'd crawl on top of a mountain of the dead all by yourself, not knowing where your friends just went, then a brute with red manic eyes would jump out of the corpses, rotten limbs and guts all spraying out of the steaming hole he'd made, and he'd charge you down even if you'd cut his legs off. On the third day, the bodies were so high that they overfilled the end, and created a ramp into the pass. I remember the faces of the fresh men and women that came up from the rear. They heard stories, but you can't believe it until you see it. There wasn't even really any army anymore; just a bunch of broken men and women with officer symbols on their helmets sending Balamora's youth into that boiling grinder. For weeks, we just kept adding to the pile until the pile was done."