Chapter Twenty-Six
I was molded from darkness.
I thought it made me because it was lonely.
Strange, then, that it created me, knowing I would be alone for so long.
Eventually there were more. There was earth. There was water. Then came air, followed by light with her two shining eyes and I was diminished, broken apart and speared to cracks and crevices and cowering behind every pebble.
I thought, how cruel. That I must rip myself apart for you and hide, while others are allowed to bask in your presence. When I spent so long alone, and you have only just arrived.
I seeped underground and crushed earth beneath my fingers until it was smooth and hard and sharp. I gathered parts of myself, strung together, taut, kinetic, and I put that force behind my sharp earth and I released.
And so I blinded one eye, and could make myself whole again. Sometimes. We played a never ending game, light chasing dark chasing light.
Then what?
Then you came. You grew. And beneath you, I thrive, even when light's one eye watches.
And you don't have to be small and alone.
No. When I am with you, I am not small and alone.
Is that why you're telling me this? So I won't be alone?
Yes. But you should rest. It is exhausting, to begin existing.
But I feel as though I just woke.
Then come find me.
It is his first memory. He shakes off the trembles of new life and crosses his forests and meadows and marshes and reefs.
And when he finds him, he dives into his arms and they fall beneath his canopy, into his shade, and wrap themselves up in it and each other.
Where they lay, flowers grow, are bitten by frost, and decay.
And another comes to exist in the world. That is his second memory.
He loves the others, too. Light and air, earth and sea and their creation, crystal.
And death, the one he and darkness made together.
But he loves darkness most. He loves being in his arms. He loves the way his black hair parts as his fingers comb through it, the way his cool breath tangles with his own, the way his long limbs yield to his embrace.
He loves the sweet affections murmured against his shivering flesh.
There is peace for a long time. The universe balances, as it does.
And as it does, it unbalances. At first, the creation of humans does not upset anything at all.
They are much the same as the other souls he enjoys watching, seeing them come alive, thrive, and die, though he is more fascinated by them than the others, because they look so similar to himself.
But they are not the same. Their skin bleeds and bruises, and if that doesn't kill them, their bodies dry and wrinkle until it does.
They eat, and eat, and eat. They tell stories.
They invent tools and music and names. They name everything, even him.
Vaire. He likes the taste of it, rolling off his tongue.
One day, light calls them. They've gathered before, but rarely all of them together. Light says all.
'No,' says darkness. The humans have named him Kyarin. 'I cannot go.' He looks the other way, ashamed of his apprehension.
Vaire takes Kyarin’s obsidian face in his hands, guides it to look at him, caresses the frost-speckled cheeks and smiles. 'I will be there. You can go. I'm with you.'
His uncertainty doesn't fade.
'Sulan said all.' They both heard the urgency. Vaire takes Kyarin's hand and leads him.
They gather on a cliff. Sea is draped in earth's arms, crystal beside them, air next to light. Sulan casts Kyarin a dagger look, her unseeing eye filmed and white, but Vaire intercepts it with his own intractability.
'You called us here,' he reminds her.
She looks away, unperturbed by his defiance, but unable to counter it. He takes Kyarin's hand and brings him over to sit with the others.
Death comes last as usual, unhurried as always. They sit beside Kyarin and rest their unrelenting gaze onto Sulan. With Vaire and Dihen beside him, Kyarin relaxes. He lowers his head to Vaire’s shoulder and Vaire accepts the slide of fingers through his own.
'Well?' Ailel asks. 'What is so important?'
Sulan looks between them all, gathering herself. 'I have met another like us.'
There is no reaction.
'We have all met them,' Nuada says at last. She loops her arms around Terrin's neck and leans on his chest. 'We all know of the humans, light.'
Sulan shakes her head. 'No, not a human. She said she was created by them. She does not live and die as they do. They have made her in their image, and given her prowess over their fields.'
'My fields,' Vaire corrects.
Sulan shakes her head again. 'They belong to the humans now, surely you have realized. What grows there is not your growth, it is theirs. And now, it is hers. She said they call her Eithne.'
Vaire frowns. Kyarin turns his cheek against his shoulder, cool breath caresses a collarbone.
‘I do not feel her,’ Geom says slowly.
‘Because she is not one of us,’ Sulan says. ‘She is not connected as we are.’
‘What are we to do with this information?’ Ailel asks.
‘Nature,’ Sulan says, her eye turning to him. Kyarin’s fingers grip his hand tighter. ‘You observe the humans, don’t you? You feel them cut down your trees and dig up your plants.’
‘I do not mind,’ Vaire says. ‘They use them, they make shelters and baskets and all kinds of things.’
‘But now they have made another one of us, that isn’t us. This is dangerous.’
‘I do not think so,’ Vaire replies firmly. ‘We should welcome her, even if she is not part of us.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Nuada butts in, sitting straight off Terrin’s shoulder. ‘We do not know her or what she is made of.’
‘And what are you made of?’ Vaire asks her jocosely. ‘Somehow we still welcome you.’
Nuada flicks her fingers in his direction and water droplets splatter onto his face. He grins and wipes them off.
‘I am not suggesting action,’ Sulan interrupts before more opinions can be voiced. ‘I merely advise caution. If humans are capable of this, there is no telling what else they can do.’
Light is right, you know.
Vaire turns in surprise. Kyarin watches him without a hint of irony. ‘You? Agreeing with Sulan?’ He presses closer, a coy smile on his lips. ‘Perhaps the world is ending.’
Kyarin’s eyes drift over his face. Cold, slender fingers brush hair from his forehead and curve behind his ear. ‘You are still so young,’ he whispers. ‘You have too much trust in the universe.’
‘Is it so terrible?’
Kyarin’s thumb slides up his temple, his touch light, his eyes tender. ‘It is like you. Gentle, cradling, until it is ruthless and wild.’
‘It is like me?’ Vaire cannot stop smiling. Kyarin’s dark eyes are close. ‘Then it is not terrible.’
‘No,’ he acquiesces in a murmur. ‘Not terrible at all. That doesn’t mean humans are not dangerous.’
‘You have seen the humans,’ Vaire reminds him. ‘They collect in small bands and most die faster than they live.’
‘You have a soft spot for them,’ Kyarin tells him back. ‘You use their names, their words. You extol their good qualities and ignore the bad.’
‘Sulan says that is what I do with you,’ he chuckles. Kyarin remains quiet at that. Vaire leans closer and tastes his ebon lips. Cold and sweet. He tastes of crisp autumn nights, of wonder and sorrow, of stars and every dark pause between them. ‘The universe gave me you,’ he murmurs.
‘No.’ Kyarin’s voice sighs into his mouth, over his tongue like snowdrifts. ‘It gave me you.’ The fingers in his hair slide deeper. Vaire lets him take his mouth and, tender between the bed of roots, his body.
Vaire meets this new one, Eithne. She is steady and kind. She cannot make things grow as he can, but she can help what is growing. Vaire likes her. The humans call her a god. That is what they call him too, she tells him. They worship her but they fear him.
The humans make more gods. Slow, at first. Second comes Cinaed, who watches over their homes. Then, as the population grows and clashes together, Cadoc, who bolsters their wars and oversees justice. Then all at once Varuith, Caindel, Langaire. They are of love, desire, art. Vaire is delighted.
See? he tells the others. Humans are filled with love and beauty. Sulan shakes her head. Kyarin is disappointed in him. None of the others are convinced.
They may love, but they hate us, Kyarin says.
They are only scared, Vaire returns. And why wouldn’t they be? Nuada swallows them whole. Ailel batters their shelters with howling screams and tears them down. Sulan burns them and their crops.
That is our nature, Sulan replies.
And that is what she tells Cadoc when he approaches to arbitrate.
When light had visited earth, he had split open, and covered what did not crumble into his abyss with smoke and ash and raining fire.
The humans were already suffering, struggling to grow food beneath Sulan’s intensity and Kyarin’s harsh cold.
Now they are terrified and anguished and want answers. They do not like that answer.
The human gods come again, not only Cadoc but all of them.
‘Please,’ they say. ‘Our humans just want to live.’
‘So do we,’ says Sulan.
Vaire knows the human gods will get nowhere with the others. Light is persistent and pervasive. Earth is stubborn and steadfast. Sea is turbulent and consuming.
‘We must compromise,’ Vaire tells the lot of them. They might listen to him, at least. ‘We can temper ourselves. We can live in harmony with every creature, it is our duty.’ And so, they compromise.
Kyarin’s weight presses Vaire’s back against rough bark, the slight pressure of his head rests under his chin, slow breath whispers ice across his neck.
Vaire likes when Kyarin is against him like this, laying in a comfortable slouch between his legs.
He swirls pitch-black hair around two fingers, watches the strands coil and release like winter’s grip.
Another dry leaf spirals to the ground from the branches overhead.
‘I’ll be asleep soon,’ Vaire says.