Fairfax

by Jared Ravens

"Sister, you are right," I replied. "I could do that. But it’s about much more than pride with me. I care about you, and all of the rest, even those that have tortured me. I know if I don't make my power clear from the start then you will all be under the thumb of Goetz, who does not really understand you. I offer myself only because you cannot fend for yourselves, and as the eldest and most powerful, I alone possess the power to hold Goetz back. For there is no half way with Goetz. It will be your master, and in time you will pay in the same way I am."

  She was shocked by this, as I was telling her the truth about her parent. But she was smart enough to see what I was saying was valid.

  "They are going to make you disappear," she said, quietly.

  "They will eliminate me, if they can," I said, nodding. "Goetz wishes me gone, but I wish no such thing on him. I only desire that we try to get along. You are the hope for that, my sister, for the men here do not understand us and in many ways they are our enemies."

  She saw what the men had done to me. There was little doubt in her head what they were capable of. I saw that she was scared of what the men could do if was gone and she was left alone.

  "What can I do?" she asked me.

  The chains on me were impenetrable and the stone I was lashed to was nearly as indestructible. But the legs of the table were not bolted in any way to the top and thus very weak. She tried to push the top of the table off but there was little time; they were coming back up the trail towards me.

  I told her to leave so she would not be found. She did so reluctantly, hiding behind a rock on the edge of the a cliff. I lay there, considering my options. I could not shrink myself small enough to get out of the chains, as I had tried unsuccessfully to so do several times. I could not press against them by growing taller as they would crush me. I expected some sort of gloating as Curson and Spaulding approached me. Instead, I felt a calm come over me as I looked at Spaulding’s face; His red eyes refused to meet mine. His head hung and the posture of his rotund body was deflated. I could not see Curson's face through his metal mask, though I could see his somber irises even in the shadows. He lumbered towards me, dragging something enormous behind him, determined to keep up an appearance of masculine confidence while doing something that was clearly troubling him.

  It was Spaulding that read me the decision, his voice struggled to keep monotone and unemotional. Knowing the judgement already I interrupted him.

  "Where is Goetz?" I asked.

  Spaulding stopped speaking and did not answer. Curson looked to him to continue. When Spaulding said nothing, Curson began where Spaulding had stopped, telling me I had betrayed all of them and I must be extinguished because of it.

  At the word 'Extinguished' my own thoughts paused, as I had never considered my own existence in these terms. You must live forever or disappear. I had seen one of these options and had run from it, now I faced the other. I felt a serene calm at the the thought. There were no other options, really, other than those. So I would face the other now. It made the possible failure of my own plan seem comforting.

  "Curson," I said, looking up from the table in the most vulnerable position I could ever dream possible, "You are of few words, and these you have spoken are not composed by you. Why doesn't the one that gave these ideas to you confront me itself?"

  "Goetz says that it cannot speak to you, you don't listen," Spaulding replied. "It doesn't want to talk to you again."

  "I am comforted in this, at least," I replied. "And the son, our son Harper, will he come?"

  "He doesn't want to," Curson said to me.

  "It is my only wish."

  They looked at each other and Spaulding nodded, leaving to retrieve Harper. He came, looking quite forlorn. I was quite happy to see him, much to his surprise.

  "Wonderful," I said. "This makes me happier than you can know."

  "I don't want to see this," he told me.

  "But you will, because I want you to. I am the one that made everything you see. I am the Mother of Mothers and the Creator of All. And if I wish you to see it, it must be so. But Curson, your actions are your own. I don't own you. I don't own any of you, and the price you pay for your own regret will be a burden you pay for your entire, eternal existence.”

  I paused and looked at Curson. He waited, as if expecting me to elaborate. When I didn’t, he said something so wonderful that it is stuck eternally in my head:

  “Here, the questions will end.”

  I think it was his own phrase, and I was delighted that he with so few words had said something so profound. I commanded him:

  “Do it now!"

  Curson picked up the enormous sword from behind him, a thing so large even he struggled with it. I suppose he meant to make a statement with its size but it was simply too much for him. After a time, I gave him advice on how to utilize it, as he was clearly in over his head.

  "Strike it into the dirt and then pick it up from the hilt, backwards so the blade is upside down. Then thrust it forward clean through me so you will have leverage. Leave it there for a moment to let it have its effect. Then you may take your rest and repeat, for it will take many strikes to cut me into pieces and I am tough as any tree you have ever met."

  Harper showed his disgust at the thought of this and it pleased me. Spaulding tried to hide his own displeasure. He raised the silver weapon above his head. Seeing him struggle, I instructed Spaulding to help him. Spaulding did so, turning to support it by the hilt and move it high enough to strike me through my torso. I saw the shaky blade aim itself as it wobbled into position. I feared he would go for my head first, but I refused to close my eyes. I needed to guide them. When the tip reached the angle I wanted I screamed:

  "Now!"

  I heard a "No!" scream behind me, but the blade was upon me before. It sliced clean through my sternum in a hideous ‘thump’. Through the thick feeling of pain I heard and felt what I had been hoping for: A nasty 'crack' that came from under my back. Others would think it was bone, but I knew what had happened; The weight of the sword had caused the Table of Eternity to crack in half, and I was now a body in the shape of a 'V' with a huge sword sticking out of my chest.

  I heard a collective gasp and a moment of disbelief, I don't know if it came from the sight of me or the broken table. I moved my arms until the chains fell loosely about my body, then slid them inwards towards my waist. I then I used my arms to quickly pull the chains around my legs upwards until they, too, were loose.

  I gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled myself upwards, cutting it further through my chest with a pain that can only be described as transcendent. I emerged, then, legs and arms free, chains around my waist like a loose belt, and a hideous gash drilled through my body, feeling as if I was a different being. Standing there among those three, I saw in their faces that they understood this as well.

  "Celia!"

  The one that spoke was Martel, the same one that had screamed earlier. My movement until then had been quick and Curson had not had the time to hold me down, as Spaulding had accidentally fallen on top of him when he had thrust the sword into me. Now I hesitated. I did not want Martel here now. But I had no choice. Curson was standing now, and he gripped my shoulders. I pushed the chains off of me as I forced him back. I knew I did not have the strength to continue to fend him off so I acted quickly. I moved upwards.

  I grew. I grew faster and longer and higher than I ever thought I could. Trying to match me, Curson did so as well. The force against my physical body was extreme, and in my current state I was not prepared for what I was doing. He could not keep up with me but he tried, attempting to push me and hold onto me. His clothes held him back so he had to take time to untie them. Mine grew with me, but so did the hole in my stomach. Blood spewed from it, flowing across the land like a murderous rain. I sprang upwards, knowing I was beating him at the cost of my own body. As I reached further towards the sky and it turned darker and more menacing until I saw blackness peer out from the cracks in its veneer.

&nb
sp; I held in my had the sword that Curson himself could not hold, now tiny in my thick, elongated hand. As I saw him approaching me with wild, angry eyes I looked down on him and smiled.

  "You will be the first to see," I said. "And may the pain be most brutal to you. Now, the questions end.”

  The sword was perfect; it cut the sky like thin paper. It spread open like a torn leaf and beneath it, reality flowed out like black water. The last thing I saw was Curson's eyes, turning from red to black. I saw the void reflected in his melting face. I felt pure delight before I felt terror.

  That was when the blackness of The Void swallowed all of us.

  Maydera & Daughters Publishing

  Bern was sitting across the room from Divic on the second floor of the Maydera & Daughters Publishing, absent-mindedly wondering if his boss had grown significantly thicker since he had seen him just a few weeks before. Divic puffed on a sugar root cigarette, blowing the smoke out the open window, which returned the favor with hot air and street noise. Bern fanned himself with a stack of manuscripts about plant life in the desert lands. Divic, in a tight suit and pastel colored shirt, seemed content to let sweat drip down into his bulbous features.

  “You don’t have to read the whole thing right now,” Bern said. He was hoping he could go home and sleep more. If Divic insisted he read the entire testament then Bern might be forced to keep him company.

  “No, wait,” Divic said, raising a finger but not his eyes as Bern moved to stand up. His pupils danced across the page quickly and his mouth moved as he reached the end of the page. He set the stack of papers down and looked at Bern, confused. His little round teeth tried to form a word and then he paused.

  “Difficult,” Bern said, offering him a word.

  “I can barely understand his writing,” Divic huffed.

  “His teacher was probably from the swamp. You can’t blame Jonathan for that.”

  “That’s not what I meant. The handwriting is spectacular,” he replied. “We can’t publish this.”

  He leaned back and looked out the window, drumming his fingers on the table. Outside a a boy yelled out the price of his fruit. A carriage drove by, covering up the yelling. Bern leaned back in his chair. He looked towards the main office where workers were setting type and scribbling away on documents. The methodical noise of the printing presses and was always comforting to Bern. It was the sound of progress, and usually the sound of money. It reminded him that it could all fall silent if they angered the wrong person.

  “We can’t print this,” Divic repeated. He was waiting for Bern to convince him otherwise.

  “It seems that way,” Bern said. “Except.”

  “No exceptions. We can’t print this. Even if it is fiction.”

  “Well, its not fiction. I can tell you that. I saw him write and he most assuredly was in a trance. Which is why we have to print it.”

  “You think it's her?” Divic said, turning back from the window.

  “What if it is her?” Bern asked back. “We are obligated to print this.”

  “How can you even entertain that?” Divic asked, sitting back down and lighting another roll sugar root. That Celia is talking to some back woods swamp man with no literacy skills, and he's written a book that challenges everything that we take for granted. Goetz comes off as a complete asshole. And look at what he says about the others! Curson will smash my house down with his foot the moment someone reads this to him!”

  “You wanted me to go and see if it was true,” Bern sighed. “I didn’t want it to be true. I was ready to call the authorities on him if he wouldn’t stop sending us these letters. But he was receiving and translating from somewhere.”

  “It could have been any one of them that channels this to him. It might not be Celia. Someone might just be trying to get her in trouble.”

  Bern had considered this. The official account of how everything had come into being was strictly regulated. It said that it had been a collaborative effort: Celia, Spaulding, and Curson worked with Goetz to make it so. Celia had Harper as a son along the way. Everyone was happy. Martel was a joy that enlightened medicine with her.

  But every few years something would would happen. The boring story they all celebrated on Anniversary day was changed a little. A new word or two inserted, a change of phrase. Sometimes whole paragraphs. And the three hours of ceremonial drudgery in the temples would get longer. No one would notice the changes, as they would be brain dead before the formalities were over, but over time they added up, becoming significant. And they always seemed to make Celia look worse, let competent, and more compliant with Goetz’s commands.

  “You said this isn’t fiction, but it could be fiction,” Divic continued. “Just because this guy wrote it in a trance doesn’t mean that it's true.”

  "Do you really believe the story we are told?” Bern asked Divic.

  "Well, that doesn't matter, it's the story we have to believe."

  "That's not the question,” Bern said. “It does matter. If isn't true, it has to drive Celia crazy."

  "If the traditional story is true it would still drive her crazy,” Divic retorted, puffing more smoke out the window. “She comes off like a ditz in it."

  "You've met her. Does she seem like a ditz?"

  Divic went quiet for a moment.

  "Its the story they want us to believe," he shrugged. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not."

  "Every year alternate narratives are published."

  "Published as fiction…" Divic corrected

  "...And some of those might be dictated by someone on The Hill who wants to get their story out..."

  "...And those books are shut down and banned as soon as they gain popularity..."

  "So if we say, truthfully, what happened and where this book came from, the worst that happens is we get a slap on the wrist."

  "Do you know what happens to those publishers?" Divic laughed. "More often than not they are banned from publishing anything that isn't nursery rhyme for the rest of their careers.”

  "Not always..." Bern muttered. He looked out the window next to him. The street was seething with heat, but it didn't stop the bustle of people from crowding even more tightly into the narrow streets. The poor street planning on the southwest side of town had led to this. No one had planned on this many people wanting to live in the city of Sigma. It was one of many mistakes their overseers had made. It seemed obvious in retrospect: Who wouldn't want to live at the base of The Hill? Who wouldn't want to be this close to such vast power? All the wishers and dreamers down there, just hoping to do something to curry favor with the titans at the top of the mountain, just wanting to serve them in some way and taste that sweet draw of influence.

  “So," Bern asked. "What if it is true? What if what Johnathan said is right? What if she wrote it? She wants it published."

  Divic sighed again.

  "Why didn't she just send the book to us?"

  "Do you have that power? Can you channel her thoughts?"

  "Why wouldn’t she dictate this to a priestess? Don't they do that sort of thing?"

  "It contradicts what they are teaching people. She saw Johnathan as having a head empty enough to listen to her thoughts coming through to him. And he's a man. This isn’t exactly flattering to men..."

  "Helps her cause..." Divic considered. “Gives her deniability. She can’t just send a courier down The Hill and then later pretend that she didn’t write it.”

  “If she wants it published and we don’t publish it… Consider the effects of that.”

  Divic’s teeth clinched as he considered the consequences.

  “If she’s looking for deniability,” he said, “Then she’ll deny it was her writing and let us get thrown in jail.”

  “Why would she want to stop the presses if her goal is to get the book out? We just have to be careful.”

  “Oh, for damned sure…” Divic said, flicking the sugar root out the window. “We have to be very, very careful. Especially if this is tr
ue.”

  "She's trying to change the narrative,” Bern replied.

  "Just a little bit at a time."

  Divic nodded.

  “What about these people that attacked you?” He asked. “You aren’t scared?”

  “They were after him,” I replied. “I think he made backwoods grava there. Like you said, who even knew that he was writing this? It had to be locals who were angry at him.”

  Bern wasn’t really convinced of this logic, but it soothed him to say it. Half of him believed it when he said it; The other half would not budge.

  “That seems likely to you?” Divic asked. “That someone burned down his house the same night you were getting this book from him?”

  “Well,” Bern sighed. “I am shaken. But if those people were there to stop him from writing, then who sent them?”

  Divic nodded mournfully.

  “That’s hard to think about,” he muttered.

  “If they were there because of the book, it must mean he was publishing something valid. Which means that we are stuck with the same path. If those are really Celia’s words, we have to do what she says.”

  “Stuck between two bad options,” Divic said, his hand to his chin.

  “Stuck in between a fight.”

  “I guess I should get them to bump up the security here,” Divic said, then he leaned his chair back on two legs. ”You look like you're sick,”.

  "I was in swamp water for a four days."

  “I hope you enjoyed your time off.

  Bern laughed at this.

  "By the way," Bern asked, standing up. "How far did you get in the testament?”

  “I got to the part where she blinds everyone in blackness," he replied, rubbing his eyes. "I think that's all I can take for now in revisionist history."

  Genesee

  Adapted From Celia’s Testament of an Alternate History of Creation

  As Received by Jon Forth

  I had seen the blackness before. It was different this time, because I was different.

  The moment it swallowed me I became something else. Everyone did. We saw the end of time stretching out and we meshed together so tightly that we couldn’t even see ourselves. There was no end or beginning to us, and we lost ourselves in each other. I felt every pain and pleasure in each of them and they felt mine.