45. Architecti
Architecti
I nteritus has been erratic for days. Pacing, having outbursts, arguing with our peers, even shouting at some of the elders. She has grown restless in a way that I am struggling to appease.
The archelder asks me to take her for a walk to establish what is wrong. I didn’t want to, but he pleaded, and I complied because that is what I always do.
We’ve walked for miles, to the edge of our celestial realm. I thought we were walking randomly, but Interitus edges ahead, picking up the pace until a sheen of sweat appears on my brow. I realise too late where she is leading me.
“Must we walk to the bridge?”
She snaps her head around to face me. “Must you act so scared? It’s just a bridge, sister.”
“Yes,” I hiss. “That is a direct path to the underworld. It’s dangerous. We should head home.”
I tug on her wing tip, but she snatches it out of my hand, a feather pulling loose. It’s a black one, more of her tips are black these days. It crawls up the white of her wings, spreading like a virus.
“Sorry,” I say, clutching the feather to my chest.
Her eyes narrow at me, her mouth flexing as if she’s chewing on something. She says nothing, simply turns on her heel and marches in the direction of the bridge. She knows she has me.
I turn to see our home, the city of fates. It seems so distant now, so tiny. The glass spires and skyscrapers slicing fluffy clouds and reflecting the light into rainbows.
My mouth sours, and I’m not sure why.
She is planning something, I’m sure of it. The way my stomach roils tells me it is nothing good. Nothing that will end well.
I could leave.
I could abandon her and make my way back to the city. Sense tells me that is the right choice, but my mind can never forget the images from the mirror.
The chaos.
The destruction.
Millions and millions of endings over and over.
I can’t leave her because I understand what the mirror was telling me. It is my destiny, my responsibility to stop her.
Every step we take closer to the bridge, my chest grows heavier. The type of heavy that your subconscious says is a warning, but your consciousness tells you to ignore.
Interitus opens her arms wide as she steps onto the bridge.
“Fate is just another word for dictator,” she says as I catch up to her.
The bridge is enormous, stretching further than my eyes can make out.
The entire thing is made of a glass that was once crystal clear, but the ash from the underworld rising to meet it has stained it smoky.
I hang back; this is the most dangerous place in our city.
Our wings don’t work here. It’s the one place that if we fall, we cannot save ourselves.
“Interitus please, fate is about as far from dictatorship as you can get. Now, come on, let’s head home. I’m tired.”
She smirks. “And I’m exhausted.” She edges further and further onto the bridge.
I roll my eyes, having to shout my sentences at her. “From what? We have wonderful lives, we’re free and fulfilling our roles. What more do you want?”
“More, Architecti. I need more.”
“How can you want more, when we have everything?”
A sneer curls her upper lip. “Your eyes are closed. Our system is broken. Fate is another word for dictator. It determines who we must become. What we do with our lives. What we do with theirs…” She points down towards the mortal realm and the underworld.
I shake my head no. “We create possibility.”
“Yes, we. Not them. We are not gods, yet we are behaving so,” Interitus says.
“You’re wrong. Our souls are capable of creating infinite possibility.”
She sighs, her eyes softening. “That’s not true. We can only do that at the expense of our soul. To truly give them free will, we must die.”
“Their lives are short. The number of possibilities we provide feels infinite to them. It feels like free will.”
Interitus scoffs. “And yet, it isn’t. Don’t you see? This where the problem lies, sister. We are creating their options. We are still controlling.”
“Interitus, what is going on? You have never cared about the mortals.” I make my way onto the bridge, every step like dragging anchors, my stomach heavy, legs jellied. I can’t look down or I’ll throw up.
“You’re right. I don’t care about the mortals. But free will is just an illusion, even for us angels. And that I do care about. Look at the Mirror… our fates have already been determined, and I do not approve of mine.”
I turn away from her. “The Mirror is no more. You saw to that.”
“Yes, and much freer we all are for it. No one should control our destiny but ourselves. So, I got rid of our method of seeing it. But that was just the start.”
She lurches right suddenly, stepping onto a ledge that juts out the side.
“INTERITUS,” I shriek.
Blood rushes to my ears. My eyes bulge. I wave my hands at her, encouraging her to come back, but she ignores me and keeps stepping out, out, out, onto the ledge.
It dangles perilously over an infinite drop.
I can’t control my tone anymore, I’m shrieking, desperate. “You speak of the gods with such malice, and yet, you are no god either. Now come back from there before you slip.”
“A wise word from my sister at last. But… I think not. Why don’t you join me?”
She intentionally jerks this way and that.
Dancing her feet up and down.
My heart is in my mouth, beating a million thuds a second. If she falls, there’s no way home.
But then I remember the Mirror. Dying by jumping off the bridge is not her fate. Neither of our fates. If nothing else, this should provide a comfort. But I can’t seem to swallow down the bitter panic.
I tell myself over and over that if I step onto the ledge, I’ll be able to pull her back to safety. I will do it successfully because other fates await us.
One foot onto the ledge, my chest tingling and heavy. My breath short.
Angels are meant to fly, and this place clips our wings. It’s wrong. Unnatural. I throw my arms and wings out for balance. They might not work if I fall, but while I’m on the ledge, they work perfectly to keep me balanced.
“What makes you think you’re strong enough to decide your fate?” I ask.
Interitus rounds on me, all teeth and growl, one long finger pointed at me. “What makes you think you’re weak enough you can’t?”
I stall. Thrown by the question.
That was my mistake.
My arms lower for a split second as I consider whether I’m weak. I have never seen myself as so.
Is she right?
Am I weak by choosing to believe in our system? Our culture is thousands, tens of thousands, millions of years old, it has run smoothly for all of time. Who are we to determine whether it is right or just? Was it weak to say yes to the elder? Should I have stood my ground?
Interitus slides right to the lip of the ledge and stands on tippy toes. “You think too small, sister. Your dreams are too tiny. What do you even do?”
“I create.”
She nods, slow, steady. “From what do you create?”
“The mess of humanity.”
“Yessss,” she hisses. “Now you see. Without chaos you cannot create such beauty. But where does chaos come from?”
My lips part, one last breath drawn, my eyes wide with horror.
“From destruction,” I whisper, my words barely audible as the gravity of realisation dawns on me.
She led me here.
This was never a walk for me to calm her down and bring her back to the elders.
She was leading me here to an inevitable conclusion. I laugh, the last of my naivety abandoning me with my final realisation. She really did choose her own fate.
I close my eyes knowing what’s coming.
The Crowned Moth curls inside my shirt collar, trembling against my skin.
Interitus’s hands shove hard.
The warmth of her fingers seeping away as I tip back. Into nothingness.
My wings automatically spread out, but they’re useless, unable to flap against the pressure of a fall to the underworld.
The sun streams, warming my cheeks, a sharp set of thoughts accompanying me as my consciousness slows.
How could my own flesh and blood push me? Make me a fallen angel? Perhaps it is selfish, but there is a fleeting moment in this long, long fall where I think: at last, I am free of her. No longer do I have to bear the responsibility of protecting the world from her.
A shadow passes over me.
My blood freezes.
I blink my eyes open.
The shadow grows larger and larger. Wings spread. A face full of teeth and a glint in her eye more vicious than I’ve ever seen.
She may have pushed me.
But she chose to jump.
Oh my gods, she jumped.
As my eyes roll shut, an infinite number of futures, possibilities, and fates drifts through my mind.
All of them ending in chaos and destruction.
My last thought is but a whisper, a hope, a final prayer.
Interitus, what have you done?