by Jasmine Walt
Zane took one step back, then another. He didn’t break eye contact with me until I nodded. Then with one final glance, he turned and took the strides to catch up with Vau and Epsilon, leaving me alone with my father.
I faced Gabriel’s imposing figure. I wasn’t afraid of him. I just was unsure what was about to happen. Or how I was supposed to behave.
He stared at me. I searched for something to say. But my one and only try had bombed, so I remained mute and waited for his direction. After all, he’d been radio-silent in my life for thousands of years.
“You have your dame’s eyes,” he said. “I’d forgotten what her eyes looked like.”
That bass drum of his voice thumped through my ears and vibrated the memories in my head. I tried to pull one from the tightly packed cluster in my head, but it wouldn’t budge.
“No,” Gabriel said. “That is not true. I never forget anything. I simply had not thought of her eyes in a few thousand cycles.”
I wanted to be angry with him. He hadn’t thought about my mother? Well, I had. I’d thought about her every day. I’d thought about them both. I’d lain awake at night wondering if, in fact, I had parents. Or if I was just some abnormal thing that had sprung fully formed into the world.
I’d seen my mother’s face in my mind. And now that my head was stuffed with thousands of years of memories, I had trouble pulling the details of her from the pile.
I could see that Gabriel wasn’t having the same difficulty. His bright gaze went dim as he looked off into the distance. Was he remembering her? Did he see her clearly? Instead of getting angry, I got hungry.
“I can’t remember,” I said. My voice sounded like the whine of a toddler. “I want to, but it’s too fuzzy in my head.”
Gabriel blinked and focused his golden eyes on me. As though he could hear the grumble in my belly, the grumble that wished to be fed the visions in his head, he held out his palm to me. The skin I’d watched knit itself together unknitted to reveal a pool of light in his hand, like he was holding water. He wanted me to touch that spot, but I hesitated.
Experiencing Vau’s unfiltered memories had brought me to my knees. But that had been my fault for not knowing how to handle the light. When I’d touched Eden’s palm, I’d only seen what she’d wanted to show me. I had to assume Gabriel would take the same care.
He watched me, in that impassive way I was coming to remember was the Elohim’s. Offering me information and waiting to see what I’d do with it. I lifted my hand and reached out one finger.
The moment my fingertip touched the light of his palm, my knees went weak, but I didn’t fall to the ground. I thought it was jam-packed in my head? Touching Gabriel’s palm was like walking through a tornado to get inside a hurricane.
“Focus,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he said it into my ears or thought directly into my mind.
I tried again. And then I saw her. My mother, through his eyes. My mother’s eyes, shining bright. They looked off in the distance, at him. In his memories, Gabriel turned, and when his gaze fell upon her, I felt her breath catch in my chest.
As he looked closely at the memory, something sparked inside Gabriel’s eye. His left eye twitched as though it saw something bright that he had to shield himself from. I sensed he couldn’t name the emotion, but I could. It wasn’t passion. It was curiosity.
I knew the emotion well. I got it every time I discovered something I didn’t know, something that intrigued me.
Gabriel’s memories flickered in slideshow fashion after that first one. I watched my mother through my father’s eyes. I watched each memory slide by, and with each flicker, my mother fell deeper and more hopelessly in love with Gabriel. I watched Gabriel try to mimic the actions of emotions. He tried, but he failed.
He didn’t love her. He didn’t know how. In the end, he simply tried to make her comfortable and content.
I saw her belly full, and then Vau.
I saw her belly full again, and then me.
I saw my mother wither and grow old. And then she was gone. I watched as Gabriel gently laid her body in the molten lava at the center of the Earth. As her body dissolved in the flames, his left eye twitched again. Then he closed both his eyes and turned away.
I yanked my hand away. My gaze was accusatory. Gabriel still looked at me impassively. His memories were clear, but he may as well have forgotten about her.
“She lived the equivalent of three hundred years,” he said. “That is the longest the human body can hold the light.”
Somehow I knew that what he’d shared had been less than a fraction of what was inside of him. To him, my mother was only a second in his life. Vau and I were mere moments to a being as timeless as him.
“Why am I here?” I asked. “Why did you have me and Vau, and the others?”
“It’s tedious work for Elohim to be on the surface monitoring the affairs of the creatures the Earth produces. We began creating the Ishim, hybrids of the apex predators of the Earth and the light within us. During the time of the dinosaurs. The first were the dragons. During the time of the flora, there were the fae. And when the apes stood and claimed dominance, we made you twelve. Your jobs were to report back on the progress of life on the surface...”
“You had children to keep an eye on humanity?”
Not because he wanted to continue his bloodline, not that he had any blood. Not because he wanted to see himself in the new life, even though we looked nothing alike physically. He’d had children to do his grunt work?
Gabriel nodded. “Now you are returned, you’ll give your testimony.”
He turned his back and that was the end of the conversation. His skin faded and his light shone through his thin flesh. He was preparing to take off, but I wasn’t done yet.
“Wait. What do you mean testimony?”
He didn’t pause. His voice came from the slowly fading space. I knew for certain his lips didn’t move this time. “Your experience of humanity will help determine the future of the life forms. Some of the things the Earth creates are not for the good of all.”
“Wait? What does that mean, some of the things aren’t good for all?”
Gabriel paused then, his light flickering. He tilted his head as though to punctuate the question mark.
“Are you saying that certain kinds of people are bad?” Holy crap, was my dad a racist?
“No, not some kinds of people.”
A wave of relief flooded through me.
“The entire race of mankind.”
My mouth worked but nothing came out except the whistle of the W sound as I tried and failed to ask any of the five W’s: who, what, where, when, why.
“Based on the memories and experiences collected from the five Ishim who have returned,” he continued, “it appears the human experiment is a failed one. We are debating the fate of mankind now. I need to return to my work.”
The air left my lungs. Before I could refill them to utter a single word, Gabriel’s flesh completely fell away. He became pure light and dissipated right before my eyes.
“Hey,” I called out to the thin air. “Gabriel?” I shouted into the void. But there was no response.
I pursed my lips together so they didn’t wobble. A hot wind blew past me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a child that had been lost at a crowded mall, left behind at an amusement park and my parents had entirely abandoned me.
6
I stared at the place where Gabriel dissipated for long moments after the air and his life’s energy had cleared. God and her angels were debating the fate of mankind, and the deciding vote might come down to my memories.
Crap.
That did not bode well for humanity. My experiences were a mixed bag when it came to the human race. I’d seen them at their highest heights, but I’d been a victim of their lowest lows. Even worse, I spent my life cataloguing the highs, lows, and in-betweens because of my firm belief that all stories, even the ugly ones, should be told.
Crap.
If only Eden had told me she downloaded my memories as she knitted me a new body. If the Elohim had a bit of context for what they would see in my head, then perhaps I could sway them toward leniency for mankind. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If I could just figure out where they all had gathered.
The air shifted. I thought for a second that maybe Gabriel might’ve come back. I held my breath, and my belly fluttered at the possibility that my dad had returned for me. I looked up and then had to duck.
A massive beast flew above me. Its body was snake-like in its sinewy length. But unlike a snake, it had limbs; four clawed feet extended out from its torso. Two more appendages grew from its back and extended into wings. The creature turned its narrow head toward me and looked down with the brownish-golden eyes of a tiger. It huffed, and puffs of smoke rose around its snout.
Dragon.
It was the color of emeralds. In fact, its skin looked as tough as emeralds, with the same twinkling sparkle that made women catch their breath while staring at the jewels. I was dumbfounded at its beauty, awestruck by the intelligence in those tiger-eyes.
The dragon turned away, but I still felt the heat of someone’s gaze. And that’s when I saw her. A woman rode on the dragon’s back.
She wore battle armor with pale blue breastplates and golden epaulettes. Her boots were white leather with a sturdy black steam. I tugged at the plain white fabric that covered my body, and my stomach twisted with envy at her stylish ensemble.
Dark braids flew behind her head, slapping at her pointed ears and wrapping around the sword holstered at her back. She looked down on me as she flew past. Her golden eyes scanned my simple dress and bare feet. She quirked a dismissive brow, then with a curl of her lip, she gave the dragon a kick to urge it on and they darted out of my sight like I was beneath her notice.
What the hell?
For the first time I noticed the other beings milling about. Tree people, flower people, light people. But no one seemed to think the presence of a dragon ridden by a woman ready for battle was anything out of the ordinary. It probably was ordinary. Beings of light, trees with legs, flying dinosaurs. All that was left for me to witness was a man walking on water.
There was no man standing on the stream that cut through the lush foliage. But someone was there. Eden cradled a plant in her arms. The plant turned its head and opened its petals to reveal stamen eyes. Both god and bud stared at me with interest.
I walked over to Eden. She bent down on her haunches, moving aside soil with one hand as she cradled the plant being with the other.
“I’ve looked at your memories,” said Eden.
“That quickly?” I asked.
“Time moves different down below than it does above. Though it bends to my will.”
Eden looked to the plant. It looked from me, to her, then to the hole in the ground. It wrapped its roots around Eden’s forearm and nestled its bulbous head into her thin flesh.
“You can bend time?” I asked.
Eden waggled her head. “I don’t bend it. I bend myself. Slow down my vibration until I move through the cracks of the seconds.”
She carefully extracted the plant’s limbs from her arm. The bud of the flower rubbed against her wrist one last time, leaving a yellow dust of pollen on her flesh.
“Go on now,” Eden said.
The petals drooped, but the plant did as Eden commanded it. With its roots, it stepped gingerly into the soil. Eden pushed the dark earth over the roots as though she were tucking the plant in for the night.
I watched, fascinated. It was such a motherly thing to do. She was Mother Earth, after all.
“About my memories…” I began.
“You’ve been digging all your life,” she said. “Do you suppose it was because you were homesick to get back down here?”
“I…”
“Such an interesting phrase? Are you sick from being away or are you sick to get back from whence you came?” Eden brushed the dirt off her hands and stood.
“Humans thought hell was below earth,” I said. “No one wants to come down here. But this place is like Iceland.”
“Iceland?” Eden shivered. “I don’t much like the cold.”
“It’s not cold in Iceland. It’s actually green and lush.”
“Then why is it called Ice Land?”
“They call it Iceland so no one wants to come there.”
Eden cocked her head in that birdlike fashion. Then she nodded. “Yes, I suppose that sounds like something a human would do.”
“Eden? Are you going to wipe them out of existence?”
“Humans, you mean,” she said. “There is so much strife above ground. Wars, brutality, anguish, despair. Some Elohim believe it would be a mercy to end all the suffering.”
“Not everyone is suffering,” I insisted. “And it’s only a few who cause it.”
“How was your meeting with your father?” asked Eden.
I jerked back from whiplash. She seemed to have a knack for that, changing the topics of conversation. I wondered if it might be ADHD. She had the whole history of the world in her mind.
“Don’t you already know?” I said. “Don’t you see all?”
“I don’t see all. But I eventually know all. Everyone wants to tell me everything that’s happened to them. I suppose I have one of those faces.”
She tilted her head left and right, framing her face with her slim fingers and batting her lashes, for my observation.
“I see patterns,” she continued. “There’s a pattern with offspring and their sires. Children seem to think that if they come from your loins then you owe them something.”
“Well. Yeah. Don’t you?”
“I was born fully formed. I have no mother or father. There was nothing before me. I’ve been alive for over four billion cycles around the sun. I woke up in a sea of magma at three hundred degrees. I was alone and small. All around me was vastness. I pulled a membrane around my light and absorbed nutrients. I continued to live instead of being pulled back into the primordial sea. One day, I was tired of being alone and I replicated myself. I made the Elohim. First Michael, and then Gabriel, and then the others. And I was no longer alone.”
So, the creation myths had a basis of truth. We came from the body of a woman, though maybe not her rib.
“I don’t owe them anything. They expect nothing from me.”
“And you kept creating life from there?” I asked.
“Some.” She nodded. “But I didn’t have this much imagination.”
She indicated the vast array of beings milling about the caverns and pathways of the underground paradise. There were Elohim, flora of various sizes and colors, reptiles with long necks and feathers, mammals with two heads and six legs.
“I watched meteorites shower the earth,” Eden continued. “Out of the destruction came a diversity of life that I could have never dreamed up. Not that I have dreams. I don’t even sleep. It seems a waste of time. But I think dreaming might help me in my creations.”
I hadn’t seen many of these creatures roaming around on Earth. There were no records or drawings of hardly any of them. Overhead, the dragon circled and weaved through the stalactites.
“Eden? What happened to the dinosaurs?”
“Hmm? Oh. They rebelled. Not all of them. Only the dragons.”
I waited for her to say more. Her gaze wasn’t on me. Though she was present, standing beside me, I barely held her attention. Her eyes were far away. Her eyelids hung low, like she was almost sad.
“They were such beautiful creatures,” she said. “Some of my most lovely work. You’ve seen the bones, I know. Even their insides were lovely, yes. I hated to lose them.”
“Did you get rid of them?”
Her golden gaze focused on me. “No. I can’t bear destruction of the living. I’ve seen so much death in my life. I’m a creator, not a destroyer.”
“But they were destroyed.”
“There was a war. In the heavens.” Her gaze
tilted toward the surface.
“Earth was invaded by aliens?”
Eden cocked her head as she gazed at me. “Such an imagination. No. It was Michael.”
Michael?
Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.
“The dragons rebelled?” I said. “And Michael killed them all?”
“Not all. I saved some.” Her head tilted back to regard the mighty beast that flew above us.
“Why didn’t you just stop the rebellion?”
She turned to me, large eyes bright. In this warm place at the center of the Earth, a chill went down my spine. “They turned away from me, their own mother. There was so much destruction and waste of lovely species. I couldn’t save them all. Afterwards, I brought on the Ice Age. The fae left for a warmer realm and life started over. Apes rose and gave birth to humanity. A fresh start. It was better that way.”
“Now you’re thinking of destroying your children all over again,” I said.
“I’ve given warnings—floods, famine, disease. Just like with the dragons. But like the dragons, humanity isn’t paying heed. The pattern is repeating. Even worse this time. Humans have spread over the earth like a disease. I saw from your memories that they’ve destroyed the seas, dumping refuse into the waters. They’ve polluted the sky, burned a hole in the atmosphere. I saw from Zayin’s memories that children can’t breathe the air in parts of the world. I can hear the suffering of animals down here. Am I supposed to allow the whole world to suffer at mankind’s whim?”
I opened my mouth to protest but nothing came out. Eden cocked her head to the other side as she gazed at me. It felt like I was under an X-ray.
“You seem to have the notion that the world is a clock, and I the clockmaker. Some great mechanic. You think the world is a machine and that if only we could find the part that is broken, dig it up, root it out, then we can fix it.”
