Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1)

by Shawn Mackey

  The radical changes did not exclude the Kay. They were less gaunt and their facial features less prominent, especially of the eyes, which had shrunk considerably, and around the mouth, lips becoming plump and darker. They were increasingly wanton, flushing pink in the presence of a Kel, and more aggressive to their preferred partners. Matralina had drastically changed every way but physically, isolating herself and a few of the older Kay from the rest, quietly circled around a large fire for days at a time. Matralina would close her eyes, and through a restive state similar to Gar, go slump from losing consciousness. Upon awakening, she would tell her daughters of the world in her mind, one similar to there’s but out of flux, accessible only through sleep.

  There was a way to end the war, she told Yod, and would commence his role as leader among the Kel. She would see this done, as long as he forfeited her sisters upon sacking Nemesis. Secretly, she knew there would be no city to pillage, for it would be a pile of ash. It would breach the ivory tower, freeing the Kay inside and annihilating Gar and his army. She did not hide this from Duncan, who volunteered to accompany her on the journey. This would be best for all, Matralina claimed, and if they succeeded, provide a land free of tyranny and conflict.

  Duncan’s loyalty to Yod did not exceed his fondness for Matralina and the Kay. Her words swelled his weary heart, and in a fit of passion, he had pledged fealty to the Kay on behalf of the Kel. He drove his sword on the river bank, vowing to construct a bridge to ensure a peaceful existence between both lands. He and his kin would see no violence breach this sacred boundary, maintaining vigilance until the extinction of all life or a situation beyond their means of protection. Matralina honored his oath, praising his exceptional strength of body and courage, and in exchange for his vow, proclaimed him henceforth as a native among the Kay’s home. They hastily traveled along the riverbank until reaching the lake. As they constructed a boat to cross, Matralina told Duncan the story of the lake’s formation.

  Present and participant to the slaughter, Duncan knew of the lake’s origin, how the pit became so saturated with blood that it needed a trench to empty on the other side, else it would brim and flood the continent. After a long time passed, a wild forest spread around the corpses, which had seemingly dissolved into water. Though the bodies had been reduced to liquid, the ever-expanding lake still spewed fresh water into the river, leaving it at a harmonious depth.

  Unknown to the Kel, there had been a hole within the hole, a tunnel that acted as a tube connecting to the bottom of the world. The tube encircled the entire hemisphere, coiling around in countless layers, the other end leading to the top of the world. Air passed through this vast tube, exhaling through the top entrance, then inhaling, then exhaling through the bottom, then inhaling, and so on. At some point, the bottom entrance had become clogged by a thick layer of earth. The vibrations from the air attempting to burst from its impediment had driven the Kel into an especially violent rage, leading to the massacre and mass grave.

  This explanation had suited Matralina during her solitary life in the surrounding forest. As much time passed, changing everything around her, including herself, she knew the explanation was not so simple. One day, while strolling by the river, she distinctly heard the voice of its rushing current. She could not understand its language, but knew full well it was speaking. She continued to walk toward the lake, the raging waters sounding increasingly indignant. Matralina paused for a moment, and in a mixture of shame and confusion, muttered an apology. It replied with a sound so loud, her shocked senses did not allow her to understand the initial utterance. Instead, she heard a drawn out and garbled echo. It had communicated her name, as well as indecipherable commands that displayed immense fury. As she continued to travel down the lake, the echo continued to wrack her mind, now nothing more than an angry whisper. Matralina threw herself to the ground, telling the voice that she would do anything in her power to relieve its trouble. It unrelentingly barreled over her pleas, oblivious to her terror and agitation.

  The lake, always covered by a layer of thick steamy air, had become entirely foggy. The whispers raised in speed and pitch, causing agonizing pain, disorienting her enough to the point she could no longer move. It felt as though tiny lacerations had been sliced into the depths of her mind, and rather than leaking blood, they were pouring a tumultuous flood of voices and images. Matralina had curled up in the mud, pressing her fingers against her skull in an attempt to scoop out her mind and end the pain at any cost. The voice boomed once more, the source seemingly closer. She managed to raise her eyes and saw a long slender neck emerge from the foggy lake, rhythmically slithering to the left and right as it rose higher and higher, then abruptly sink back into the mist within the span of a blink. Before it splashed into the lake, she glimpsed its large toothy maw and forked tongue, which seemed to dance on the tip of its lips, if the pink gummy area around its fangs could be considered such.

  The whispers grew quiet, though wholly audible, sounding more pained than angry. There was a trace of despair, as though it were entreating rather than commanding. She continued to lie in the mud, shivering with fear, trying to decipher the voice. It was not one but many. Their words, if they actually uttered a language, were jumbled and inharmonious. One distinct phrase sounded familiar, and with short pondering, appeared to be a plea. She realized this single voice among the many was her own, the exact words she had uttered by the riverside. The incomprehensible cacophony seemed to be repeating the phrase in their own way, as though a thousand different types of insects simultaneously buzzed and chittered and chirped in an attempt to form a conversation. She could not withstand the maddening chatter, and from necessity or great fortune, lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Matralina dreamed of many things she could not recall and did not think it odd that her mind had gone silent. She did find immense relief in the quiet, and seized by a sudden giddiness, broke into unrestrained laughter and proceeded to roll around in the mud, finding great pleasure in caking her flesh and hair with the filth. She rubbed it into her skin with a sort of inquisitive glee, applying layer upon layer until she became content, then sprawled out and slept.

  The voices returned with a vengeance. Matralina plugged her ears with clumps of mud, but to no avail. They had made a home inside her skull and had no intentions of leaving; in fact, they were going to bring friends. She refused to harbor ill-mannered parasites and leapt into the lake, intending to drown. The warm water parted, and as the mist dispersed, she found herself plunging into a gaping mouth. As she fell toward the dark gullet, the jaws snapped shut, and the moment its throat should have swallowed, she felt herself immersed in water. Though it poured into her nostrils and filled her lungs, Matralina had no need to breathe. The lake saturated every pore, bloating her belly and limbs, gorging her eyeballs and soaking even the bones. When she seemed about to burst, Matralina did not feel an ounce of pain, for the moment the water had consumed her, the voices had obliterated her mind. The previous occupants had been, in comparison, a mere droplet. These globules, multiplied by an incomprehensible amount and perpetually increasing, had consumed any sort of cognizance. Her heart pumped blood and her lungs sucked in air, yet she possessed less awareness than the lowest form of life.

  When Matralina finally awoke on the lake’s shore, it was on a small body of land at its center. She lay on the island’s beach, in possession of all her faculties, yet unable to comprehend her surroundings. Where was she? How had she gotten there? As she tried to ponder these answers, a more difficult question presented itself: Who was she? She knew only that she was she, and with no memories of herself before awakening, realized she had been stricken with amnesia. Matralina could not remember how she knew it was amnesia, for she could not recollect any others afflicted by such a troublesome illness. With this realization, she knew that there were and may still be others.

  The island showed no signs of life. Matralina thoroughly searched every nook and crevice, peering closely at the treetops, and always glanci
ng over her shoulders in short intervals. She did not feel another’s presence, yet she could not refute it either. This island had not been here prior to her memory lapse, she realized, and as bits of remembrance seeped into her conscious thoughts, Matralina recalled the slaughter of her sisters and the lake’s construction. She vividly recalled climbing a mountain of mangled corpses, reaching the top and looking down through a gap, struck breathless by the grave’s vast depth. A gust of air swept from the very bottom and awoke her senses, flooding her nostrils with the scent of decay. The stink did not leave her for days. Her memory of the noxious smell and the rotting corpses was the only evidence of the massacre ever having taken place.

  At the center of the island, encircled by a mile of trees and thickets and undergrowth, lay a dirt clearing. The most remarkable location on the island was situated in this area. A large cave, its smoothed archway a perfect semicircle that curved inward to form a roof, resembled a large gaping mouth that had been buried atop the mandible. Indeed, if one’s head were to end shortly above the upper lip, it would be the impeccable recreation of their skull. This may be a stretch of the imagination, but Matralina had no doubt that this entrance had been carefully crafted by hand.

  Warm air emanated from the dark tunnel at intermittent periods. The end of each echoed inhalation marked the beginning of the exhalations. Matralina peered carefully into the pitch-black archway, judging it an entrance to something that ran to tremendously low depths. The cavern was likely crafted as a sort of natural musical instrument, for the windy tunnel sounded like a tremulous flute, its deep exhalations producing a calming effect. She decided to stay at this tunnel until her memory returned.

  Matralina eventually realized that the island must have emerged from the lake’s bottom if the tunnel were as deep as she imagined. She peered back into the cavern entrance, her eyes unable to penetrate the darkness, though her ears certainly perceived its depths through its deep echo. She thought it to be much like gazing down a throat, if one were to stand at the back of a tongue. She recalled the snake rising from the lake, and the memory sent her body into an uncontrollable seizure, nearly sending her through the archway. Matralina collapsed onto her back, mouth foaming in gibbering spasms, breathless words forming on her lips at an extraordinary rate. The caves air rushed into her mouth and spoke through her as an instrument, invoking a voice that was not her own.

  “From the ashes of Nemesis, I will be conceived. From the womb of Matralina, I will be nourished. From the plane of dream, I will be sown. From the fire of the Muse, I will be warmed. From the minds of men, I will be sprung. From the realm of flesh, I will be born. I will never die.”

  When returned to her senses, Matralina gathered dry sticks and leaves to kindle a fire. She did this with extreme haste, as though honoring a dire request for some forgotten friend. She feared this hidden rhapsody would fade before the flame could ignite. Dry materials were difficult to find, so she tore out locks of her hair. This improvisation seemed brilliant, and as the fire blazed brighter and brighter, she knew her hunch had been correct. The flames showed her everything.

  Matralina finished the story as their boat hit the island’s shore. Duncan had listened attentively, and though he could scarcely comprehend it, he clearly heard the cave’s breath. The air seemingly rumbled the ground, as though a tempest formed just beneath their feet. As they traveled through the strange forest, his hand clasped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at even a little breeze. The thought of battling an invisible enemy consumed him with dread. When they reached a rocky hill nearby an adjacent shore, he eyed several large boulders. Matralina pointed to one three times his size. The dread subsided, for it was time to fulfill his purpose.

  Duncan pushed the boulder inch by inch as Matralina carefully relayed instructions. He was to cover the cave at the precise moment the sun reached its zenith in the north and to move the boulder the moment it began to descend. The fiery ball would drop upon Nemesis in an instant, annihilating all but the citadel, which would take several seconds to fully burn. She needed a second to create a breach, enough to disintegrate Gar and give her sisters a means of escape. If the sun were to linger for more than a second, it would consume the entire citadel and the Kay. Any more than that and it would destroy the entire continent, evaporating most of the ocean with it.

  Matralina did not trust Yod, so she entrusted Duncan to the task. Before leaving for the boat, he had moved the boulder a few inches in front of the cave, ready to cover its mouth at the instructed moment. Matralina even pointed out where the sun should be when it was time for him to move it. After an exhaustive explanation, she returned to the boat and crossed the lake, making her way back to Nemesis without pause.

  Duncan fully grasped the importance of this duty. The Yod’s victory seemed a consolation compared to recovering Matralina’s sisters. He had taken part in the Clan Wars and the War on Nemesis, yet his service had been out of a bottomless desire for combat. His vow to free the Kay made his success more necessity than mere yearning, though his fondness for Matralina and her ilk had increased tenfold since his arrival on the island.

  When the sun reached the designated spot, he pushed the boulder with the precise amount of force. It fit perfectly in the archway, creating a vacuum of silence where the cave once breathed. As the sun plummeted, darkening the sky and all below a pitch black, Duncan did not falter, tugging the boulder from the snug trap. To his misfortune, it did not budge. He mustered every bit of strength in the next tug, causing the rock to grind against the edge. The ground rumbled, and before he could attempt to pry it again, a tremendous quake threw him off his feet. He braced for a massive explosion and imminent death. Instead, the cave’s entrance let loose a burst of air that could only be described as a belch, hurtling Duncan and the boulder, as well as many of the island’s trees, far into the sky.

  The destruction of Nemesis had been swift and incomprehensible. At the very moment Matralina arrived at the battle site, the sky blackened and a fiery ball fell to the earth, obliterating the city and surrounding army in less than a blink. As quickly as the sun had fallen, it shot right back into the air and lit the sky and all below, revealing a land scorched beyond recognition. All that remained of the Nemesis was a pile of black ash. The survivors were too stunned to utter a sound, let alone move or even breathe.

  Matralina’s screams echoed across the dead field, for that brief delay had killed her sisters. As she rushed through the charred landscape toward the ashen pile, a heap of debris landed near the battle site. Duncan climbed from the broken trees and rocks, witnessing the result of his error. He tried to console Matralina, told her how the cave’s air had created such a powerful suction that no force would have caused it to budge. She did not listen, kneeling by the tiny heap of ashes, wracked by sobs and an unquenchable rage.

  Yod and Aggripa silently joined the others, unable to feel joy from the outcome of such a cataclysm and disturbed by Matralina’s despair. The crazed Kay suddenly burst into manic laughter, raising the palms of her hands over the ash, leaking Sap in the hopes of restoring life. Yod drew his sword and aimed for Matralina’s neck, but parried by Duncan’s. Aggripa begged the Kay to stop, for if it succeeded, they would have to relive the entire war from its beginning.

  The Sap oozed down the heap from its top, dripping copiously and leaving no spot dry. It utterly encased the black ash with a glistening film, and the ash gradually absorbed the Sap, causing it to melt into a puddle. The black liquid rippled and crept across the ground in an amorphous mass. Yod, enraged by this gelatinous abomination, pushed Duncan aside and stabbed at the creature. It slipped aside at tremendous speed. Matralina threw herself at the black ooze, clasping it in both palms, and out of unthinking desperation, swallowed it.

  This act, along with the pleading of Duncan and Agrippa, calmed Yod enough to sheath his sword, though not without disgust. He banished Matralina and her daughters into the woods, branding the Kay as perfidious vacillators who would endanger their lives
on a whim. They had no allies, for any outside their ilk were instruments for their own gains, which can only be conceived as voracious appetite for voyeurism, an unquenchable thirst to witness bloodshed at a scale beyond the Kel’s comprehension. It was not enough to fuel perpetual warfare; these harlots would not stop until all life had been extinguished under their all-pervasive eyes.

  The surviving Kel rounded up the Kay who most resembled Matralina, leaving the remaining to suit their future purposes. There was no love lost in this division, for Yod’s words rang true to many of the Kay, even a few who had been exiled, though these would also come to resent their expulsion. They found a home in Matralina’s forest and on the nearby island, which was henceforth known as Lakustria.

  The Kel and remaining Kay were in equal number. The total population was a sliver of its former self, but nonetheless, with all resistance neutralized, it had the chance to flourish once again. Yod claimed the title of king, a proclamation met with clamorous applause, and declared the new kingdom would be known as Yod, so that posterity would understand the founding of their homeland. The citizens would no longer divide themselves by the Kay and the Kel, known instead as the Yod. New laws would prevent violence against one another instead of propagation. Warfare was at an end, he boldly stated.

  He required a single vow from his kin, one which must be held under penalty of death: no word of the War on Nemesis and all things prior were to be uttered ever again. Their children would never know the brutality of their ancestors. This first law was met with thunderous applause. The loudest of all came from the back of the crowd—the clapping was boisterous enough to be considered mockery, an objection to their new king.