THE LIFE OF THE HOMUNCULUS
***
The village was in an uproar. Petty rumor peddling and discussion had turned into a unified cry of anger. A hunter had found the bodies of two children near the border of the Enemy’s lands. Everyone knew that saboteurs had infiltrated town and were likely living somewhere in the woods. Children were not supposed to venture into the wilderness, especially around dusk. Rumor of something nefarious living under the trees had scared parents throughout the village, now they had confirmation for their fears: the Enemy was here. After a decade of peace the Enemy was ready for war once again. Most adults remembered the violence and suffering of the last invasion. The village guard immediately went to work gathering supplies for battle and several young men volunteered to join the guard, yet their sheriff was not so resolute. Sheriff Timothy was unsure if the killings were the work of the Enemy or not. Strange things had been unfolding for the last year or so, ever since the Great Machine was built.
***
A few years ago, learned men from the capital had uncovered a cache of texts in the hills north of town. Though worn, these codices and scrolls revealed a means of constructing a machine that could generate rain clouds. The king approved a hasty plan to reconstruct the device and ordered it to be built in the village where any failure would have fewer repercussions. With few diagrams surviving, the researchers guessed at what the wondrous machine should look like. They built a large cottage with three ever taller pipes protruding from its roof. The king requested that the pipes be coated in a thin layer of gold. Around the cottage and researcher’s quarters a wall was built and soldiers from the capital were sent to guard this new creation.
At last the day of testing arrived. So sure were the researchers of success that they invited His Majesty to observe. The whole town showed up to witness the king and his greatest creation. The Rainmaker was activated. A great whooshing sound emanated from the cottage, sounding like the worst wind that the village had ever heard. The pipes vibrated and soon a stream of gray vapor curled out of the machine and coagulated in the air. The cloud floated upward and then went on its way to the jubilant cheers of all below.
Cloud after cloud was created on that day. The king was pleased but more work needed to be done. The clouds drifted in their own direction regardless of the which way the wind blew. Since then work had continued in an attempt to better control the fruit of this magnificent machine.
***
Sheriff Timothy was coming down the main road, it was a quiet, gray morning. He had visited the children’s parents. He saw the bodies which were badly mutilated. The Enemy was usually swift and efficient when dealing death, it seemed unlikely they would go so far when a single sword stroke could have done the job. He paused in front of some of the market stalls.
An old man selling game pieces and trinkets of dubious craftsmanship shouted to the sheriff, “it was the witch! Everyone’s wrong. We’ve all seen her. Sheriff! Arrest her, she’s the one who did it!”
“I am not sure about that, Sternwood,” Timothy replied, only half paying attention to him.
“I saw her! Some friends and I were in the forest and saw a woman in the woods. Her hands were covered in blood. It was the witch!”
“Your friends were in jail that night and told me that before the fist fight broke out that you had wandered off into the trees, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey.”
“Maybe I was drinking. Maybe my head hurts this morning. It does not matter,” the old man retorted. “I was not hallucinating. I saw her red hands.”
“Did she see you?”
“I don’t think so. I only caught one glimpse of her before my memory fogs up. I could remember better if I didn’t have this headache. But I’m telling you, Sheriff, it was that dreary woman!”
Timothy nodded in reply, at first not taking Sternwood’s idea seriously but then he thought about the witch and the timing of her arrival in the village last year.
***
Things were well enough in the village during the construction of the Rainmaker but not long after testing began the village folk began sharing rumors of a witch’s hut in the woods north of town. She lived alone and rarely ventured into the city streets. The rare occasion she was seen no one ever got a full glimpse of her face, she always wore a baggy hood and a scarf wrapped around her face. Townsfolk claimed that they caught snatches of her true appearance saying that she had a hideous mole and long nose or that there was an enormous birthmark across half her face, that she limped instead of walked, stood stooped over with a hunched back. Most merchants would not sell her anything, but a few would insisting that her money was good, however she happened to come by it. These men claimed that her voice was young and pleasant, that she did not sound or act like a witch at all.
Not long after this woman, who never gave her name, arrived in town one of the researcher’s libraries caught fire. A guard had been hit on the head by someone and then the building went up. The researchers were clever, however, and fearful of sabotage. None of their essential documents or the original texts from the expedition were located in a publicly known location. The arson case was never solved but it began to increase fear of the Enemy. They had used spies and saboteurs in the past, after all.
The village guard had become undermanned since the end of the last war and were always busy with local disputes and investigating hearsay. The stone wall that once protected the village was unmanned and partially collapsed. In the capital there was a city guard who kept the peace and subdued criminals and the army who defended the city. In the village, Timothy’s men did both. The Rainmaker guards would not help him in his investigation.
***
After much arguing Timothy allowed his men to request aid from the capital. The king had known about the death of the children several days prior now, but waited for more information before coming to a decision regarding the security situation. The guards of the village were convinced that an attack was being planned. The children must have seen something they were not meant to and the Enemy brutally slaughtered them. A messenger was sent with guard to the capital. Within the coming weeks, the king would likely mobilize proper soldiers to reinforce the village. In the meantime Timothy ordered regular searches and patrols around the wilderness, in hopes of finding an enemy camp, weapon caches, or anything to lend credence to the villager’s fears. He did not expect to find anything, but the people were nearing hysterics. In his criminal investigation, the sheriff had determined that, despite their rude and raucous behavior, it was not old Sternwood and his cohorts who could be responsible for the murders. They were never arrested for anything more than fighting and drunkenness. Few suspects remained.
Days later one of the researchers went missing. Every man in the village went out searching for him but was never found. It was becoming more difficult to contain people’s panic. More and more crimes were being committed and talk around town centered on how to prepare for an Enemy attack. Some sellers stopped putting their carts out on the main road, hoping to store up their goods in case of emergency.
Still the researchers continued, undeterred by rumor of war and the sabotage of their work. One evening Timothy happened to catch a rare sight: the witch had come into town. She was asking around the remaining stalls for different things. Her hood was up and her head was down, but she certainly wasn’t a hunchback. As the sheriff began to approach her, the all too familiar sound of rushing air whistled between the buildings and a dark gray cloud passed over head. He noticed the witch who seemed to be staring long and hard at the great pipes that loomed over the village. The man who was hoping to sell her some silverware struggled to get her attention for a while.
She started to leave and the sheriff called out to her. She marched on as if she could not hear him. He decided to follow her, silently. The cloud that the machine created lingered over the village for once and a light rain began to fall. Timothy followed behind at some distance as the woman made her way deeper and deeper into the woods. The sun was nearly gone by the time she arrived at her house, which stood alone among the trees. On one side of it there was a horse in a stall on the other was a large wagon, which he had never seen her bring to town before. Carefully, he walked around the house. Behind it, he saw a large garden and several large barrels stacked up against the house. One had a loose lid. Inside he found a strange dark powder.
***
Timothy wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was taken aback when the front door opened slowly and a strange young woman stood before him. Her face was pale with patches of rough-looking gray skin. Her eyes were mismatched colors: one brown, one blue. Her hair was long and dark. She started to withdraw causing the sheriff to snap to his senses.
“I apologize,” he said.
“What are you doing out here?” the woman asked. Her voice was certainly no witch’s cackle.
“I am investigating the murder of two children as well as other strange crimes occurring of late.”
“My name is Elsa,” the woman said in her quiet voice.
“I am Timothy, town sheriff.” They sat across from each other at a small round table. “Why did you not heed my call back in town? You must have heard me.”
“I am sorry, sheriff. I do not like talking to others because of my skin condition.”
“Yet you speak so well.”
“I was not always alone. Would you like some tea?”
Timothy nodded and as she went about her business, he noted the many spices and herbs she had on shelves around the walls. Some of these he recognized as potential poisons in the wrong hands, most who grew up in this area knew what plants to eat and which to use to poison pests.
Elsa served him tea and sat down. He noted her left hand, which also was covered in strange gray splotches, the fingernails were missing too. The sheriff began questioning her about the children, the Rainmaker, and the disappearance of one of the researchers.
“I only ever see hunters up here,” Elsa said. “They do not linger long once they see my home.”
“So you have seen nothing suspicious recently?” the sheriff asked.
“No, nothing. I fear that the Enemy is plotting something. Over the last year, whenever I head to the market I hear everyone talking with great concern about it.”
“You have an impressive garden,” said Timothy pretending to sip his tea.
“Yes, in happier times my husband would help me grow plants I had never tried before. Our gardens used to be far larger.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“I lived in a town far to the north of here. We lived off of our herbs which we sold at market.”
“The rain from the great machine would surely help that garden.” Timothy eyed her reaction carefully.
“Do you think the Enemy is trying to sabotage it?” she asked. “I am very worried, sheriff. What if we are attacked? What if it is the work of a murderer, someone unsavory like Sternwood?”
“My men and I are still looking into suspects — “
“Sheriff, I am scared. I live alone out here, if the Enemy should attack or a murderer strikes, I do not know what I will do!”
Timothy sighed and stared at her for a while. Her mismatched eyes were wide with fear. Though his suspicions were not totally allayed, he began to seriously think that an Enemy saboteur was indeed at work in the village.
He drank from his tea for the first time. “Madam, we are doing everything we can to keep people safe. If it comes down to it, I will return to personally escort you to a safe place. No one in town will bother you because of your condition on my watch. And do not worry about Sternwood, he’s only a threat to the wallets of unsuspecting travelers who do not know quality wares when they see the — “
Timothy felt his throat grow dry very rapidly. In a moment it felt as if it had slammed shut. His hands began to shake and his arms felt heavy. He reached for his sword and started to get up but fell out of his chair, spilling onto the floor flat on his back. His ears filled with a harsh buzzing sound. Then a new sound entered his ears.
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” Elsa spoke to him in a suddenly changed tone of voice. She was no longer the shy misfit, her voice grew louder and full of purpose.
“I didn’t want to start a war, but I needed the cover. You just wouldn’t understand. The machine must be destroyed. All of the Rainmakers must be destroyed. Everyone who knows of them must perish and all evidence that they even exist must burn. They would bring about the destruction of the world. You don’t understand, but I am the last hope. I am the only one who can stop it from happening.”
The buzzing in Timothy’s ears turned into a loud and piercing whine. He labored to breath and could no longer move. He saw a blotchy hand take his and the last thing he heard was a quiet murmur of, “I’m sorry.”
***
A terrible series of booms echoed through the village late that night. The Rainmaker had collapsed into a plume of smoke and fire was dancing around the roofs of the researcher’s huts. The moon was cloaked with smoke and a red glow flickered behind the wall, part of which had been destroyed. The late night patrol marched into the village from the north and reported that the witch’s hut was also on fire.
Unbeknownst to the guard, everything within the witch’s hut had been taken and the wagon which once sat beside it was missing along with several barrels. The wagon rolled through the woods that night in a northwesterly direction as the village was left shocked and in a panic. As morning broke, some of the guard found the body of their sheriff in the woods, cut up in a manner similar to the children from two weeks previously. Another body was found by the Rainmaker wall, near where it was breached. Charred but just barely recognizable, it was Sternwood. No one could know that he had been poisoned just before the attack started. The villagers had found their saboteur; of course it was the least honorable man in the community. The king’s soldiers, who had been on their way for days, at last arrived that afternoon. The village’s great machine was destroyed and the various researcher’s huts were on fire. In the coming weeks, more men associated with the Rainmaker project would disappear and their research along with them. The Enemy would pay dearly for this attack.
*****
“Good evening, gentlemen. I am Doctor Damian Geber and I am here to tell you about life, the present, and the future. The Monotheists believe man was created by god from the dust of the earth. God is a creator god yet man is also a creator. Men and women give birth and raise new men. Like all creatures we reproduce more of our kind.
Tonight I tell you, that in this era of population decline and drought, there is a new way to create men and women. A way for the infertile to receive sons and daughters, for the lonely to find companionship, for the destitute to have their own servants like the rich.
We are troubled, all over the world. Our men and women are not having children and many are struggling to find food as the Great Drought worsens. The pamphleteers do not exaggerate, these issues are not isolated to the poorer regions of the Earth. They are already finding their way here. Here in Caldera, the population has fallen by 2% over the last ten years. We are not growing anymore. Low birth rates are sure to be followed by famine. Have you been to the market recently? Food is getting more expensive, shortages are sure to follow in the coming months.
Now, imagine a future free from isolation, hard labor, and disease. Yes, it’s possible: the creation of our own heirs, test subjects for medicine, workers, and helpers. Dutifully we shall shape the development of the first generation of these artificial men and women and they shall rise up above all challenges with us.
For two years I have been working on a new form of alchemy, a new science: anthrocreation! Some of you have seen my past experiments: artificial dogs, rodents, and so on. Soon you will meet the next step: an artificial woman! My team and I have succeeded, gentlemen! Tonight I present to you, the first success of the Homunculus Project! Come and meet my fair creature, Elsa the homunculus.”
Damian opened a door and motioned for someone to enter. A very tall young woman, perhaps in her mid 20’s, wrapped in a white sheet crept into the lecture hall. Damian removed the sheet revealing the creature in her entirety. The small audience erupted into gasps and loud chair creaks as they leaned forward to get a better look.
The creature’s skin was white but gray randomly interrupted the pattern of her skin. Her eyes were two different colors, her right eye was blue but her left was brown. Her hair, at least, seemed normal, a deep black color.
The professor invited the men to come down and examine Elsa more closely. Cries of, “magnificent!” “perfect!” bubbled out of the cluster of academics whose eyes were going up and down, from her feet to her head and back again.
“Yes, my friends,” Damian said, “she is as close to human as I have gotten so far. Elsa is a complete specimen who I and my team shall be studying for some time.”
“She is deformed,” pointed out one alchemist.
“Yes,” replied the professor. “As you can see her left foot has toe bones but no actual toes. My aides have taken to affectionately referring to it as her ‘shoe.’ Her left hand is also missing finger nails. Perhaps they will grow in time, but I doubt it. Ah, and her left ear is also under developed.”
He brushed her long hair back, revealing a small ear, half fused with the side of her head.
“She can hear with it, it’s only misshapen.”
“And her skin: these gray patches are rough and less flexible,” the man continued, taking hold of Elsa’s left arm.
“Yes, if you recall the dog I demonstrated last year, he suffered from a similar condition. Naturally, the science of anthrocreation is very new. However, I tell you she is strong and as close as I have thus come to producing a perfect human analogue.”
“But why is she so…tall?” asked another man, suspiciously adjusting his spectacles.
“That, my friend, was an unfortunate accident,” Damian sighed. “She was born at five foot seven. For the next month she grew until she reached six three! Luckily the growth has stopped. We used to have a similar problem with age. Experiments were born too young or too old, or would rapidly age until death. Elsa was born at the perfect stage of life and she has stayed there so far. Besides the height, as you can see, she has the delicate features of a proper lady.”
“D-d-dah,” the creature babbled.
“It can speak?!” many exclaimed at once.
“Yes, she can speak, but not well so far. I believe she is trying to tell me something,” Damian said.
Elsa babbled out something else, prompting more excited exclamations from the alchemists.
“Now then, gentlemen,” Damian said, “it is time for the physical examination. Put on these gloves. Albert, I want you to stay close to her, she does not enjoy these procedures. Hold her arms if she attempts to strike.”
The alchemists put on their gloves and proceeded to probe and peek at every part of Elsa’s body. Her finger nails were a healthy color and not too brittle, her teeth were straight and white, a pleasant sight were she to ever smile, her nose was nice and small, her right ear was well formed, on and on down to her body. Though she had deformities in her left hand, foot, and ear, the rest of her form was satisfactory. Her arms, legs, and breasts were even, her back was straight, and her stomach was fine except for lacking a belly button. For the most part, she looked like a fine young woman. Albert had to hold her arms at various points, but she never reacted too violently.
“Can it reproduce?” asked one man.
“I don’t know,” replied the professor. “Her sexual organs are healthy with no deformities, but we have no way of knowing if reproduction is possible yet. While we are tutoring her, we will also be developing a male counterpart so that we can find an answer. One who has none of her deformities, that is.”
The physical examination ended and they spent a few hours testing her intellect. She was shown different colored blocks and asked to insert them into matching-colored holes. After many tries and encouragement from Damian, Elsa was able to complete the puzzle. They tested her with cards, with primitive hand signs, and they listened to her babble. Mostly she attempted to speak with Damian. The presentation ended when the professor managed to figure out that she was cold and wanted the sheet wrapped around her again.
***
Elsa thought of that day as she lay in her tent. It was night and a hot wind slithered into the tent and wrapped her in sweat. She remembered the night of her presentation. She had stood staring at the door to the lecture hall with an attendant next to her. Damian’s speech bled through the door but all Elsa heard was muffled babbling. She could not understand him and he could not understand her. The following day, Damian began her instruction proper. Over the rest of the year and into the next, Elsa learned to speak, to read, to write; she learned about geography, about history, everything about the world. Damian took her around the city, under guard, where she witnessed the growing drought, which worsened month by month. Her mentor even took her to see the Rainmaker. Built in the image of an ancient sea god, the machine was nearing completion.
“Like you, Elsa, this machine is our future,” Damian said.
“How does it create rain?” Elsa gazed up at the towering figure, a great sea serpent with its open mouth turned skyward.
“I think I’ll save that explanation for another lesson. The best I can tell you today is that it turns dryness within into moisture expelled outward. It creates rain clouds.” Damian turned to Elsa. “What’s important is that we are working to create a better world and a better humanity. One that your kind and mine will ultimately inherit and share. All of the earth will belong to us and so will great works like the Rainmakers. This device is part of your inheritance.”
Inheritance, Elsa thought as she lay in her tent wiping sweat from her brow. What inheritance? They never completed creating her mate. Damian said they were close but violence disrupted the whole project. And the Rainmakers…the Rainmakers.
She got up and looked out of the flap of her tent. The sky was a dirty orange color tonight, illuminated by a moon that no one saw anymore. Many did not know what a moon was, they did not remember a time when the heavens were visible during night or day. Her tent was one of hundreds sitting out on a silted plain, parched with a hot wind that stirred up dust devils every so often. It had not rained here in six months. The last rain Elsa remembered before her tribe migrated to the desert had been black, full of ash. Much of the world was forced to praise the black rains, it was the only kind they received.
“My lady, do you require water?” asked one of the guards posted outside her tent.
She shook her head and slid back inside and her thoughts drifted back to her farthest memories.
Damian woke Elsa up abruptly that morning, shaking her awake. It was what Elsa came to think of as the Morning of the End.
“Elsa! Elsa! Come with me! Hurry!”
“What is it?” she asked groggily.
“The Desertmen are in the city! Come on!” They were one of many groups of rebels in brigands who fought to take what was left to take from the world. They were named because their farms had turned to sand.
He pulled her from her bed and frantically led her through the halls of the College of Alchemy.
“Where is everybody?” Elsa asked.
“They are already fleeing.”
“Professor Geber!” cried a man running down the hall. “They are headed for campus and they have taken the Rainmaker. They are going to use it!”
“I know a back-way out of the college. You two come with me. It will take us right to the south wall.”
Damian led the two of them to the basement and through several old side passages. The whole escape was a blur for Elsa, a chapter missing its pages. She remembered entering a custodian’s office then suddenly being outside at the wall of the city. Explosions and screaming filled the air. Damian pushed against several blocks creating an opening into the city wall.
“Elsa, go inside and follow the passage to the right, take the first door you see, it will take you outside. From there just run.”
“Wait, are you not coming too?” she asked with a trembling voice.
“No, I must hurry back to the laboratory and destroy all of our records, they cannot be allowed to create their own homunculi.”
“Though I would rather flee, I will join you,” the man said to Damian.
Damian gave Elsa a large pack, supplies for her journey into the wilderness. He held her tightly and kissed her. Elsa almost could not get herself to release him, but in a moment the men were running back to the college. In a daze she shouldered her pack and fled town. Behind her a dark cloud began forming over the city, the first of many. She did not know it at the time, but the destruction of the world was only just beginning.
Here among a tribe of wasteland barbarians, Elsa was in peril once again. Her husband, the chieftain of the tribe, was certain to put her away. After three years of trying, it was evident that she could bare him no children, no daughters and certainly no sons. Elsa knew that he would announce their divorce tonight or tomorrow morning and choose a new wife. Over the years, she had learned it was wise to keep her barrenness to herself. It was always better to be a wife than a concubine.
“Lady Elsa?” the voice penetrated the fog of her thoughts like a lantern light.
“Yes?” Elsa replied.
“I have brought you the things as you requested.” It was one of the Elsa’s handmaidens.
Elsa knew that without the chieftain she would be left in disgrace, no one in the tribe would respect her again. It was better to leave. She had had her handmaiden prepare supplies. As had become the pattern of her life, it was time to move on.
*****
The crater stretched out before Elsa. It’s mouth was full of brown grass and rock. The sky was orange with ashy wisps passing overhead. A chilling breeze heralded an early winter. Leaning on her walking stick, Elsa scanned the enormous crater for shelter, eyeing a squat city in the distance, a small structure halfway between, and scattered homes dotting the landscape. She took a drag from her waterskin and hobbled down the slope into the crater.
The lone building was a church jutting out like a wide spike from the scratchy grasses. It was an ancient style of church, the kind of small country church that Elsa remembered from her early years. The doors were open and the building was empty. The windows were new, someone had restored this building. Crossing the aisle Elsa could feel that the there was a large space beneath the old floorboards. She had walked into a trap!
Elsa drew the sword that hung on her hip. She had to strike first to have any chance of survival. If she tried to escape, they would spring their trap. Quickly she thrust her sword in a gap between the boards. Screams erupted from beneath before being hastily stifled. Though her muscles were weak, Elsa groped for a finger hold in order to lift the board. The whole section of the aisle lifted revealing a hole of terrified men, women, and children.
“Spare us!” cried an elderly man, a scarf drawn tight over his mouth and nose.
“Come out, I don’t want to hold this panel up forever,” Elsa replied.
Two dozen climbed out of their shelter, many nervously looked at the windows and door.
“I’m alone.” Elsa leaned on her walking stick. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Alastor,” the old man answered in a raspy voice. “I am just a country doctor.”
“Your were expecting something more threatening than me,” Elsa said.
“You must come from far away. Enemy scouts have been spotted roving around the edge of this valley.”
“The enemy? Do you mean the Memorians or the Arians?”
Alastor did not answer.
“I am an Arian. I was the wife of the chief.”
“Were you sent to warn us, my lady? Where is your escort?”
“I’m not lying, sir. I ran away from my home. My husband was soon to divorce me. For many days I’ve traveled alone with this heavy pack.” Elsa sat on one of the pews, but it provided little relief to her tired legs and back.
“Alright,” Alastor began with a sigh, “we expect the Memorian army to move into the valley and attack any day now. Today was our last service at this church. All of us country folk have been ordered to move within the walls of the city. You arrived just after the service concluded. Our watchman saw you coming down into the valley.”
Alastor nodded to the parishioners and they began filling out of the church.
“Young lady, you are not well,” he told Elsa as he grabbed an old bag that had been stuffed under a pew.
“No, no I’m not,” Elsa answered quietly, staring at the altar which held a small, bronze figurine. She recognized the form of the figurine. It was the shape of a man with the tail of a shark, an ancient god even in her time.
“It is not contagious I trust?” Alastor asked, examining her odd appearance carefully.
“It’s related to my skin condition, you can’t catch it.” She pointed to the gray splotches which randomly marred her skin.
“Come with us then. Perhaps I can help you. At least you will be safe and warm.”
The first thing Elsa saw coming into view was the great statue towering over the city wall. A match for the little figure in the church, the upper half of the god was visible. Its fingers were webbed and though not visible from the field of sharp grass, Elsa knew that those fingers were hollow, the exhaust points for clouds generated by a Rainmaker.
“That is the great statue of our god Baal and the namesake of this town,” Alastor told her.
The refugees were placed in a hastily built section of town made up of flimsy huts. The walkways were dirty and narrow and the humble dwellings too small for large families. Elsa, being previous unaccounted, was placed with Alastor.
Elsa spent much of the day lying down. Her mind could not release itself from the statue that lorded over the city. She had seen Rainmakers before, but they were long fallen to ruin. Sometimes in her travels she would witness a strangely isolated hill rising from the land and she knew that it was once a city, likely destroyed by the Rainmakers and since covered by earth and brambles. Some of those mounds still had columns or pipes feebly reaching out of the earth. It was certain that the Rainmaker here in Baal was non-functioning, but its form remained. It Elsa’s time the god was depicted in a different manner, a great sea serpent.
“Its creators were inspired to shape it after the ancient sea god Baal,” Damian, her creator and mentor had told her the first time he took her to see the Calderan Rainmaker. “Isn’t he impressive? In the ancient myths he would emerge from the depths of the sea and open his mouth. Clouds would form and he would blow a wind that sent the rain to his people.”
It was from that statue and others like it that the world ended. Their clouds began to rain ash and fire instead of water. Then there were the earthquakes, the smothering dust storms, the worsening drought, famine, plague, slaughter —
“Are you awake?”
“Yes, I’m awake, Alastor,” she replied.
Alastor had returned from talking to the mayor. “We have an epidemic of Yellow Cough in this town, which will keep me busy but I will help however I can.”
“I just need certain herbs.”
“What — “ the doctor broke into a harsh cough. “Excuse me, what do you call this condition?”
Elsa ignored his question. “You have it too. Yellow Cough, I mean. I can make something to help that.” Elsa began rummaging in her pack.
“Madam, I am a doctor, I already know how to handle my cough. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re covering up the cough but you have no treatment for the whole sickness, am I right?”
“There is no way that I know of to dull the soar throat, the coughing, or the yellowish…expulsions.”
“I have some Salt Bark in my pack, I know a concoction that will dull the pain of the cough and slow down the stomach sickness.”
“Miss Elsa, I am the doctor here and you are sick,” he said with irritation. “There are many people who are sick in this city and I do not have unlimited time. There are no other doctors left in town.”
“Here,” Elsa handed the doctor a list. “Those are some ingredients I need. Bring me those, I can mix my own cure.”
The doctor began to protest but Elsa interrupted him, “bring me what I need and in the meantime I will mix a treatment for your cough.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Alastor left in something of a huff.
Despite a growing chill enveloping her body, Elsa forced herself to work, crush, chopping, and mixing several dried plants from her pack and fetching water from one of the city wells. Diseases like Yellow Cough were not uncommon in these fallen times. It spreads with the cough, sending yellow particles into the air. Victims suffer coughs, sore throat, fever, and severe vomiting or diarrhea, also tinged with yellow. Evidently the town’s original doctor had succumbed to this plague recently.
In her weakened state Elsa had to enlist help from a few locals to carry the water back to her hut. They found her sudden arrival and strange appearance fascinating. Once completed she had to chase Alastor down as he moved with surprising speed from patient to patient. Asking around for him, Elsa found that many people in Baal suffered from missing limbs, Yellow Cough, fevers, and other ailments. She caught up to the doctor and offered him a vial of her treatment.
“I don’t have your herbs yet, madam,” he said through his scarf.
“Remove your covering and drink this.”
The doctor eyed her suspiciously then slowly removed his scarf and drained the slender vial. Yellow stains were upon his cheeks and lips. The inside of the scarf was the same.
“You know,” he said, “just speaking to you can spread Yellow Cough.”
“I am immune.”
“Not possible,” he said re-wrapping the scarf around his face. “How do you know so much about this condition? What makes you an expert apothecary?”
“My father was an alchemist,” Elsa explained, “an expert in chemicals and solutions. I have taken what he knew and learned something about medicine.”
“So you are an apothecary then?”
“Only in an amateur sense.”
“Well we could use someone like you, if you will help us,” the doctor said. “Many are ill in this town and we need as many able bodies as we can get. The Memorians are soon to arrive.”
“I will help, but I need those herbs. It will not be long now before I am rendered completely useless to anyone — bed ridden.”
“I have little time and few resources to go looking. Many of the herbs you need are outside the town walls. You may have to wait until after the siege. How long do you suppose you will last? My guess is no more than three or four days.”
“Perhaps that long, maybe a little longer.”
Despite how unlikely it was that she would be able to secure what she needed, Elsa agreed to assist the doctor. Each day she would create what she could to assuage the pain of the wounded, treatments for the Yellow Cough outbreak (and reminding the doctor that he needed several vials of it to help himself), and acting as a nurse. Two days later and already she had won a reputation as a healer and a medicine woman sent by their god Baal. In that time, Elsa worked hard to resist her growing fatigue and chilling skin. Her hair began to fall out so she took to wearing a covering. The mayor of the town talked to her as well, inquiring about the movements of the Memorians and the Arians. She could only tell him that the two were at war and the Arians were seeking the main war party of their enemy.
One day the gates opened and a meager force of Baalites marched into town. They were returning from a scouting mission, bringing bad news with them: the Memorians were less than a day away. Many heated meetings were held between the mayor and his staff, in the end they decided to surrender.
It was a cold evening that day when the Memorian army marched straight through the open gates of Baal. They were barbarians, strong with wild hair and beards. They marched in sections with the first led by an older man with long, graying hair. He was flanked by two flag bearers. The process of occupation took little time, the mayor of Baal had promised that there would be no resistance.
That night soldiers went out to inspect the civilian population. Upon being seen, Elsa was taken to the Memorian leader in his headquarters at an old inn. Her escort was large, even for a Memorian. Elsa herself was tall, yet another thing that made her stand out, but this man towered even over her. Like the others his hair was long and dark as was his beard.
“My name is Anak,” the chief said, his voice was as strong as his arms were. He sat at an old table in a room on the second floor of the inn.
“Why am I here?” Elsa asked.
“Because it was my wish. Tell me your name.”
“Elsa.”
“You suffer from a strange skin condition and I hear that you are generally unwell.”
“Sir,” the man who escorted her interjected, “she’s known as a healer in this town.”
“That’s what I thought, when they told me about her.” Anak’s hard gaze stayed fixed on Elsa.
“We’re in need of nurses, Chief. Remember what the mayor said? There’s an outbreak of Yellow Cough here.”
“Yes and we have few men left who are experienced with medicine.”
“The local doctor won’t be enough, my lord,” the man pointed out.
“She is deformed, weak, and sickly. She sways even as we speak.”
“I need certain ingredients to treat my condition,” Elsa said.
“There are plenty of women who can serve as nurses, why should we waste time and resources hunting for herbs for you in particular?” Anak demanded.
“None of the women here are experts,” the escort said.
“Are you volunteering to aid us, woman?” Anak asked Elsa.
Elsa caught her escort’s eye. “Yes, only if you can provide me what I need for myself as well,” she told Anak.
He let out a loud hum and looked at his underling then back at Elsa several times. “Fine,” he said at last. “You will be our top nurse. What is it you require to cure yourself?”
Elsa handed Anak a list of ingredients.
“You can read?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Kain, step forward. I swear you to this woman’s protection. She will be our medicine woman and our scribe. You will guard her with your life and be with her always.”
Kain knelt down and touched his forehead to Anak’s knee.
“Very good. Begin your assignment,” Anak commanded, handing the list to Kain.
Outside the inn Kain began asking about what plants needed to be found.
“I have most of the ingredients but one I have not been able to find is Thunder Flower,” Elsa said.
“Never heard of it,” Kain answered.
“Then look at this sketch I made of it.” Elsa held up her list to him and pointed to the listing.
The sketch depicted a squat plant with a short, thick stem. It’s leaves were joined together like a pitcher, splaying out at the top.
“That kinda looks like a Water Jug Plant. I saw a bunch of them over by the big statue.”
Elsa had kept her eyes open for certain herbs during her stay but had avoided venturing too near the old Rainmaker. Kain led her to it down the streets which were silent and devoid of civilians, only the Memorian warriors marched down the streets. They made it to the statue which Elsa noticed no longer had doors, someone had sealed all access to the actual machine inside.
“You ever seen somethin’ so big?” Kain asked, gazing up at the incredible figure.
“Yes,” she said almost to herself.
“What was that?”
“There was one in my hometown of Caldera.”
“Never heard of any such place.”
“I know. It was destroyed long ago in a storm.”
“My mother has a lotta stories about a time when cities were destroyed by thunderstorms.”
“There’s the plant.”
“Let me…” Kain pulled out a knife and cut several of the Thunder Flowers.
“Why did you volunteer me?” Elsa asked.
“I saved your life, woman. Anak is going to order the execution of all the sick and infirm in this town. The men will carry it out in a few days.”
“And you tell me this?”
“What can you do about it? I’m just happy that guarding you has excused me from the event.”
“I could heal them. Isn’t that my job?”
“You and the town doctor are going to be takin’ care of the Yellow Cough and patching up our warriors. We don’t have time to worry about civilians who don’t want us here anyway and are unable to work.”
“The Arians are not so savage.”
“No, they aren’t,” Kain muttered to himself.
“That’s unusual for a Memorian to say.”
“None of your business, woman! I said nothin’!” Kain snapped.
“The Arians are after you?”
“Yeah,” Kain began as they headed for the gate. “They have been pursuin’ us for days. If this town hadn’t surrendered we would’ve been caught siegin’ it and defeated. This is a small town but she’s got strong walls. Long as the Arians are out there, we won’t be able to move on.”
It took time for the ingredients to be found, a few days, days which passed slowly for Elsa. During that time she worked to mend the soldiers and from them learned much about their ways. Memoria is divided into family clans. This army, the main army of the Memorians, was made up of four clans: the Torins, the house of Anak the warchief, the Westons, the Crooks, and the Stroners, who were bound to the Torins and treated as lesser than the others. Kain was a Stroner, his people shared the capital of Memoria with their Torin lords. The other clans had their own homelands, but the Stroners were restricted. The leader of the Memorian clans was a woman, unusual among warrior cultures. They referred to her as the Oracle, a woman whose job was to keep track of all known history. She was the wisest of the wise and was assisted by a dozen or so maidens, one of whom would eventually replace her and become the next oracle. Among the mutters Elsa heard from the men, especially those of the Westons, Crooks, and Stroners was that Anak acted essentially as the leader of the Memorians instead.
She attended meetings with Anak and wrote records for him and would often recite them back to him afterward. It was hard to write legibly once her fingers began trembling. Kain successfully worked to put off Anak’s plan to destroy the infirm, distracting him with news of the Arian’s movement, how they had split their army and encamped at certain locations outside the crater, preventing an easy escape from the area. They suspected that the siege of the city would begin in two or three days. Unlike the Baalites, the Memorians would not even consider surrender. They would fight to the last man to hold the town. Baal held little strategic importance but the way of the Memorian warrior was to take and take and take. A culture of plunder, commanded perpetually by the Oracle herself. It was how they survived. They attacked towns, stole women, extracted tribute, and plundered the countryside. All things would be brought in to the Memorian clans, nothing to go to waste. In a time of small cities and constant danger of starvation the Memorians had become numerous and strong, absorbing the knowledge, expertise, and cooperation of all others. Prior to the rise of Anak the war chief, even some foreign men were taken as Memorian fighters if they had fought valiantly enough, were not slain, and pledged their support after being captured.
Always with Kain, Elsa worked to try and uncover more of his misgivings of Anak and his brutal military campaigns. There were always hints from him, grumblings about the wasteful slaughter of non-combatants they had perpetuated but Kain said little to her openly. Still, others would talk about their home, their past battles, and their desire to see an end to their long campaign.
Tensions along these lines rose when Anak himself publicly executed a young man who threw stones at the chief’s entourage as they passed threw the refugee quarter. It was traditional, as Kain told Elsa, to handle the civilians gently. Executions in previous times were doled out only to traitors and conquered peoples who took up arms. The Memorian’s way was to fight for life and avoid needless destruction. These traditions went back to the formation of the clans as the memory of the oracle holds.
Eventually a meeting was called. Kain had finally acquired the final ingredient, a plant located in a leafless forest far to the west. In her humble hut while Alastor was busy, Elsa was preparing to create the solution needed to reinvigorate herself when a warrior arrived and whispered something to Kain, the messenger left quickly and quietly.
“Elsa,” Kain said, “you gotta come with me. Finish your potion later.”
“Why?”
“One of my friends has caught a bad case of Yellow Cough.”
“Can’t you just take one of those vials of treatment to him?”
Kain moved close to her and said in a low, serious voice, “Anak always has resources. The Torins can’t be trusted. Come with me.”
They entered into an old office-turned makeshift barracks. Tension was in the air and every man there had his eyes fixed on Kain.
“She should not be here!” hissed one man.
“Relax, my friend, you are sick. She can help you.”
“Fine.”
“Kain,” said Jason, a Weston man, “we have a problem. The Arians know where we are and are headed this way.”
“So what?” Kain replied. “Everyone knows that.”
“Some around town believe we have more than just an enemy on the outside.”
“Yes, there is a problem within the walls,” Kain agreed.
“Silence!” cried one man. “This is dangerous, dishonorable!”
“We are being kept from our homes, forced to destroy things that could be used by our families,” Jason said.
“No man here is willing to commit treason!” the man retorted.
“We serve the oracle and she serves the good of all Memorians.”
“And the war chief is her avatar. Betray him and you have betrayed the wisest of all mankind!”
Much grumbling ensued. Elsa had not been paying much attention, her legs were weak but suddenly she broke into the conversation, “are you not all sick of death?”
Jason raised his hand to silence the rabble.
“I’ve lived longer than you may think. I’ve seen enough of death and waste and I know you here have as well. I’m tired of seeing people destroyed not just by famine and plague, but by the swords of others. I am not a Memorian but I have learned much about your people in a short time. You fight, but you fight for the lives and prosperity of your people. Why does Anak destroy everything in his path? Why follow a master of death?”
“She’s right,” Kain said. “Something must be done. We’ve been led astray.”
“Of course you think that!” cried one. “You are a Stroner!”
“Maybe you’re right,” Kain said. “Maybe I care more about the status of my clan than the whole of the people. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we take back our legacy. I’m also tired of death. I won’t slaughter the people of this town. I wanna go home and see the Stroners gain what’s theirs: an equal place among the clans.”
“We are all low under Anak’s leadership,” replied Jason. “Which clan tends to be given command and greater prestige? The Torins, his own clan. Was this how it was when our fathers fought? What does the oracle’s memory recall?”
He was answered with murmuring of approval.
“You know Anak’s policy on conspiracy,” Jason continued. “None of you can rat us out because Anak will have you and all of us slaughtered. Squealers don’t live. We have to do this together, every man from each of the lower clans.”
They formulated a plan but could not agree on who should deal the blow to the war chief. Elsa volunteered but was disallowed by the men there. Kain finally stepped up, pointing out that as Elsa is Anak’s secretary and Kain is her guard it would be easy for him to approach Anak at the ordained moment. As Elsa sat there and listened, their hushed arguing and plotting faded into a wall of generic noise and the faces of each man became pale spots in her eyes.
Kain caught her hands as she began to fall, something came off her fingers. There was a moment of panic as some feared that they had been discovered but they quickly recovered their senses. Several men carried Elsa to the doctor. Kain looked into his hand.
“What are those?” Jason asked.
“Two of her fingernails.”
At the doctor’s insistence Elsa was given a room at the inn with a tub to mix her concoction in. It took some time to find all of the water needed. Kain had to assist the doctor in stirring the solution but eventually it turned a milky white color. Fortunate that Elsa had instructions on how to mix it included with the ingredient list. They submerged Elsa in the strange substance up to her chin.
During this the dreams returned. Dreams like the kind Elsa had when the calamities first began several centuries ago. She did not dream of people or places, not at first. They were dreams of swirling colors. Every color blended into a black backdrop. Dim greens curled like vines. Ruddy reds ran down like rain on a window. It was not serene, Elsa witnessed the dance of the colors with a growing sense of terror. The spectacle concluded with a scene of a woman, someone she did not recognize. The woman was curled up on a carpeted floor as if sleeping but seemed hard like a manniquin. She was in an old house with a wooden floor and no other furniture. Elsa stared at the woman from above but she began to shrink away, growing smaller and smaller. Everything around the woman turned from brown to black. Elsa felt like she had a head cold.
Then Elsa smelled smoke. Her eyes were greeted by a dim room, light streaming in through windows which were hastily boarded up. The back of her head was propped up against the wet lip of a wooden tub.
“Awake, finally.”
It was Kain, who was lighting a pipe in the doorway.
“Memorians have no sense of privacy, do they?” Elsa said groggily.
“Not out in the field.” Kain sat down on an old wooden chair, it creaked ominously beneath his weight. “This is the cure to your exhaustion?”
“Yes, I must immerse myself in this solution every six months or my body begins to breakdown.”
“Strange. What do they call your condition?”
“A flaw in my creation.”
Kain stuck his fingers into the tub and shuddered. “It feels like…skin.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t talk like anyone else here. There’s something strange about you, woman.”
Elsa submerged her head under the water. She ran her fingers over her head, causing what hair was left to fall into the water.
“Very strange.” he muttered.
She re-emerged and laid back. “No I don’t think you have ever met someone like me.”
“I’m sorry your issue went so far.”
“My hair and nails will regrow. I just need to soak in here for a while.”
“Strange, strange.” Kain shook his head. “Is that what this stuff does? If my father stuck his head in there would his hair regrow?”
“It does not work on humans. It reinvigorates me and keeps me living, but it’s no fountain of youth for others.”
“Where are you from, really?”
“I told you, a long lost city once called Caldera.”
“How long ago do ya mean?”
“It’s been a few centuries.”
“You don’t look that old to me.”
“No, I don’t age. My body breaks down after six months.”
“Are you some kinda nephilim? My mother told there was once a race of great men who walked the earth.”
“That’s a Monotheist legend and it was old even when I was young. No, Kain, I am a homunculus, an artificial woman. You mention stories of the old world from your mother, I can tell you what it was really like.”
“If you were tellin’ the truth, why would you blurt that out to me?”
“No one is capable of creating another homunculus or another Rainmaker anymore.”
“Right. Tell me then, what happened? How did the old world die?”
“It was the Rainmakers. Well actually it started with the drought. Already when I was created by a team of alchemists a terrible drought was worsening around the world. People were growing more and more desperate. No rain fell in many places and slowly others became effected.
The Rainmakers had been in development for years from what I understand. Not long after my creation they began testing them. The one in my town was one of the last tested. They were large machines designed to create rain clouds. The clouds were unpredictable generating their own winds and drifting wherever they wanted, but they provided life-saving rain.
I don’t remember when but at some point it was discovered that the machines had a flaw. After a time of creating proper clouds they would begin producing strange storms. We called them Red Storms. They looked sort of like thunder clouds but they rained ash, blue fire, and produced red lightning. They carried a chilling wind with them and the fire burned yet was cold to the touch. They were strong enough to destroy major cities.
As food grew scarcer people grew desperate and started forming gangs to rob supply wagons and farms. Some took over towns, many soldiers would desert and join these gangs. After several months no military was strong enough to oppose these groups. Some knew that the Rainmakers were defective but would use them anyway out of desperation, hoping for a true rain cloud but others used them as war weapons. I don’t think they really understood how the machines worked. No one ever figured out how to control their output or direction.
My town was attacked by a group who called themselves the Desertmen. My creator got me out of the city and then the invaders turned on the Rainmaker. Then there was war, famine, earthquakes, plagues, endless death…”
“Doesn’t sound like much has changed.”
“The Red Storms are over. Every machine is inoperative and no one is left who knows how to repair them. Although, perhaps someday people will remember and I fear that it will all start over again.”
“If they remember how to make those rainin’ machines, then they’d remember how to make another…you.”
“I know, but you don’t believe me so you have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t know. But I think we agree on one thing: we’re both sick of waste.” Kain was looking out through a gap in the boards covering the window.
“What did you all deci — .”
“We’re bein’ watched.” Kain said grimly.
“Are we?”
“Finish your bath. I’ll keep an eye out.”
After a few hours, Elsa finally felt refreshed, better than any sleep she could have. Kain helped her from the tub, noticing already that she had something of a vigorous glow to her. Once in the lobby several warriors ran down the stairs and seized Elsa and Kain. They were taken to Anak, who demanded to know who was the leader of the conspiracy. Many of the men from last night’s meeting were in Anak’s office as well as Alastor the doctor. Despite the danger, there was traitor among the conspirators. At first no one would say anything. Then Anak signaled one of his man who drove a sword into the doctor.
“Damn you, savage!” cried Kain.
“What do you know of this plot which has been told to me?” Anak asked calmly.
“This town needed that man! Our men needed him!”
Anak nodded to his executioner who held the sword to Elsa’s neck. “She looks healthy now. I am glad her potion worked. Do not force me to separate her head from her body. Answer my questions.”
Kain exchanged knowing looks with Jason and some of the others. Each man in turn, when questioned, pointed to Kain. Anak was decisive in his judgment, Kain was to be slain in arena combat, his opponent would be the War Chief himself.
Kain was held in prison overnight and the following day his trial by combat would commence. Elsa was thrown in the cell next him, the hut which she shared with the doctor was demolished. A few loyal Torin warriors were posted as guards at the doors to the building which was actually a storeroom that the Memorians had hastily converted into a small jail.
“Kain, I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help you,” she said.
“Never thought I’d become a martyr,” he replied quietly.
“Martyrs are often forgotten.”
“Maybe…”
“Oh, sorry. You don’t believe my story, but I’ve seen so many brave men destroyed. It’s difficult to fight off the cynicism.”
“Anak was nice. Rather than simple execution he allowed me to die fightin’.”
“He’s trying to make an example of you, showing off his strength and resolve.”
“Anyway, you were late in joining me in here. They gonna give me the pleasure of seein’ you one last time at the fight?”
“Yes. Anak will execute me after you. Then I think he’s going to clean the army out and the locals.” Elsa huddled in the corner of her cell, soaking in the all-too familiar misery of life in the wastes.
“My brothers will not follow any orders to harm the civilians. Not this time.”
“We won’t be around to see if that’s true.”
The next day the plaza in front of the Rainmaker was completely cleared of debris, carts, and trash. Kain was dragged to the center and unchained. Anak was waiting for him. Every warrior in town was there except for those who manned the walls. A sword was tossed in front of Kain. The crowd jostled with excitement and agitation. The battle commenced with a savage swing by Anak which Kain only just sidestepped. He deflected several of the war chief’s blows but rarely swung back. Once or twice a swing or blocked blow sent him nearly off his feet. Though Anak was much older than Kain, he was a skilled swordsman and equaled Kain in terms of sheer muscle. Finally the moment came, Kain’s sword was knocked from his hand and a clean slash landed across his chest and shoulder, causing him to stagger backwards and fall on his rear. Kain quickly claimed Right of Last Word. Anak spat on the ground but agreed.
“I’m not a traitor,” Kain cried to the crowd, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Today I die for my people, the Stroners. You’ll all die for your houses in time as well. Not on a battlefield but in your houses, your beds. Anak’s sword will slide across your necks, one by one. He fears us! He fears the Stroners, the Crooks, and the Westons! He’s twisted our world into a world of death. We were raised to preserve life. It’s not weakness to yearn for home. I won’t make it. All of you can. Defy this man who takes life and gives nothing back to his people or kin, retake the way of life, our inheritance. You’ve got to — ”
“Your time is up, you dog!” Anak roared. “You are right about one thing, my sword will seek the throats of all conspirators!” His anger only seemed to rise as he began ranting to Kain and the crowd at large. “TRAITORS! Every man here is a betrayer! This plot could have been stopped before it even formulated a plan. No loyalty among the lot of you! All I hear are poorly muffled gripes. You are all weak, soft. I will slaughter you all! I can find loyal men elsewhere. I will spill your blood, I will plunder your houses, I will dash your women and children against the rocks! The entirety of the Memorian warrior will be punished and cleansed!”
Suddenly Anak realized that the circle had drawn quite close. The men were slowly creeping closer. Elsa had been silently and swiftly ushered away. Some men drew their blades.
The men dragged Kain away and the air was filled with the scraping of sword thrusts. The next two hours the sounds of sword fighting became mingled with cries of battle as the Torins still loyal to Anak fought against the other clans who were united in their resolve. In the end, Anak’s order was overthrown.
Elsa met Kain in the makeshift barracks where she dressed his wounds. Men representing the other houses arrived after the battle.
“We will leave this town,” Jason said. “It is time to go home. Since you are not a Baalite, Elsa, you may join us.”
“What about the Arians?” Elsa asked.
“We’ll make for the Thornwood Forest. The Arians will not bother taking this town, as they are only after us.”
“Elsa,” Kain took her arm, “will you join us?”
Despite knowing that she would outlive them all, that the cycle that had become her life would continue she told him, “yes.”
*****
A cold wind blew over the mountain. It was a killing wind, the kind which can be felt even in the bones and turns the fingers black. The falling snow had slowed down so that the base of the mountain could be seen. The sound of muttering bounced off the rocky walls and echoed down into the foothills. A figure covered in furs, looking almost like a small bear, was marching back and forth frantically along the top of a cliff jutting out from the mountain. It was illuminated by a small fire which was sheltered from the icy wind by a boulder.
“There’s one just over these mountains,” she said to herself. “And one to the north. One back across the Steaming River, one in the Azurian capital. One — “
In this way she continued gibbering to herself, pacing back and forth. Stopping there by the fire for a moment then back and forth again. Sometimes she would stop by the cliff side and stare out at the snow-cloaked hills. At the base of the cliff her eyes beheld an ethereal sight, a legion of the undead. For a moment her expression turned to fear but quickly recovered into triumph. She had escaped them, scrambled up the cliff with her pack of supplies even despite her exhausted legs and aching back. The woman could not rest. There was too much, too much to think about.
“YOU CANNOT REACH ME UP HERE!” She shouted down once or twice, gazing with wide eyes at their pale faces.
“Why did you do this to us?” cried back one of them.
She looked at the upstart. It was a man, or was a man once. His skin was white like the rest and his eyes were just bloody holes in his head. Blue veins were protruded from his head, though she could not see them. However she knew his deathly visage well. It was Timothy, the sheriff of a village whose name her mind had long ago tossed away. She had poisoned him long ago and repeatedly gouged his body. She dumped him in the woods, the final seed needed to start a war that would wash away all interest in the Rainmaker project in that forgotten country.
“Elsa, why did you kill us?” he cried out again.
Elsa had told him back then, the last thing he likely heard, he would not understand. The world was fast approaching a precipice, like the one she was standing on now. She was the only one who could stop humanity from once again being cast off to its demise.
“YOU CANNOT REACH ME UP HERE!” She shouted back and then returned to her rambling and pacing.
She stopped by the fire and stared at her bedroll, carelessly thrown down on the rock. The rapid gallop of her heart slowed as she imagined a man laying there: tall and muscular with a long black beard and wild hair.
Kain. It was always him. Among the hundreds or thousands of friends and husbands Elsa had had over the millennia, it was always him. She laid down and for a moment could feel the warmth of his body. After they married, Kain had to make an especially large bed to hold them both, she was tall and he was even taller.
What if he could see you now? she thought. How could he see you now? Kain passed on just like everyone else.
After Elsa was first created her mentor Doctor Damian Geber went to work on creating a male counterpart, one with none of her deformities. No patchy skin, missing toes, or malformed ear: a perfect human analogue. She didn’t really care about that. He would be ageless like her. Someone to spend forever with. Over the centuries she came to lament that this creature, Charles he was to be called, was never finished before the laboratory was destroyed. Then again, would he help shoulder the burden or would he be brought down as she is? Kain shared life with her for a time and then he was gone same as all of the others.
What if Kain was here, her thoughts continued. What if he was there by the fire and he rolled over and asked me what I’ve been doing this whole time?
“What’re you doin’ out here?” he would say in his gruff and unsophisticated way.
“I’m on my way to destroy more of the machines,” she would answer.
“And make more of them?” he would point to the base of the cliff where the dead waited for retribution.
“You remember what life was like during the time of the wastes. The death, the famine, no one could even see the sun back then! I can’t let that happen again! If that means that I must destroy not only the machines but those who would recreate that world so be it!” That’s what she would answer.
No, that’s not what I would say, she thought. That’s what I said when the first Red Storm appeared over the horizon all those years ago. After I thought that the world was recovering from the time of the wastes. It was threatening to start all over again. I knew what I had to do.
What she would really tell Kain is, “I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s not working. After all this time more and more Rainmakers are being built. Everyone I had to kill, all the death I had to spread, poisonings, wars, murder has been in vain. We’re doomed, my love, the machines will rise again and history will repeat itself. I’m up here to kill myself.”
Even just imagining he was there to see her in this state caused her to turn away and began pacing frantically again. Tears chilled by the wind streamed down her cheeks. She had been here before. Many times she had tried to commit suicide, during the initial destruction of the old world, during her first capture at the hands of brigands, even after the world had recovered she had felt useless and without purpose. She could never follow through. Once she even tried to let her body finish its breakdown, no special mixture to rejuvenate her artificial body. She was saved by a man who went on to become another of her husbands. She was unconscious but he followed the formula she always carried with her. He died when the first Red Storm in thousands of years struck.
This time there was no hope, there would be no rescue, and no well of determination to tap into. Elsa was spent, used up. Her mind was cracking and the sense of purpose that invigorated her for so long was gone. She came to the edge of the cliff and stood there, her will slowly building up to the inevitable jump.
“You still won’t do it,” came a gentle voice from behind her.
Elsa whirled around and found herself facing Doctor Damian Geber, the man who created her so long ago. He removed his top hat and buttoned up his coat.
“It’s cold out here,” he said calmly.
“There’s nothing left for me,” she said through her tears.
“You’ve tried this before. You didn’t do it then, you won’t do it now.”
“I have to. Damian, you’d be so ashamed of me if you knew — ”
“What you’ve been doing? I know. You have not lived up to your potential.”
“I’m not part of the great future you envisioned. I’ve started wars, murdered thousands.”
“All true,” he replied simply. “I made you to be a proper lady of your time. A wife or maid, you know how it was back then. Instead you have become a survivor. You just keep on living. That’s why you won’t jump. You are too strong.”
“I’m tired of surviving. I’m like this mountain: deathless. I’ll always be here, just another feature on the landscape of the earth. You died, you never saw the wastes. You got to move on. I just live because I feel compelled to. Look where life has taken me.
Sometimes I’ve tried to stop the Rainmakers other ways. I’ve tried talking their builders out of it, I’ve tried local politics trying to get them banned. Destruction has become the only answer.”
“You are correct, my dear, you are like this mountain. Like this mountain you contain much wisdom. And like this mountain you will not give that wisdom up.”
“What can I do? Tell everyone that the machines are flawed? That no matter what they do the Red Storms will return? They will inevitably weaponize them.”
“Elsa, do you not remember the stories that people shared after the destruction? Certainly, they did not have the historic facts but they still gained something from the lives and lessons of their ancestors. A message becomes imparted that lasts forever. Even today, you know that there are myths which come straight from your generation, the ones who actually saw and caused the end of that world, which live on in some form today. Those messages have become deathless as you are.”
“What are you saying, Damian?”
“I am saying, become part of the landscape of the world.” Damian looked up at the mountain. “Be like this mountain. Quit observing and keeping your wisdom to yourself. You are the last survivor from the old world, what things you could impart to the men of this time! These folk are still living in castles, they cannot comprehend your world, despite their efforts to recreate its greatest achievements.”
“I have to keep going on? That’s what you’re saying? I can’t.”
“Elsa, did you ever think that perhaps you were meant to keep surviving. Now, I am not a religious man but maybe there is a purpose behind your existence, one which I did not intend, one where your existence can become active and constructive instead of passive and destructive. Do what you know is good. Fulfill that potential. This is my final wish for you: keep surviving, my dear, and share your wisdom with the world so that it can survive as well.”
“What happens when enough of the Rainmakers become operational that — “
“Destruction is not inevitable even with these machines and you can be part of the force which alters the destiny of mankind. It’s up to you whether we destroy ourselves again or not. Even if the world does go up in flames, I want you to carry on. Teach the survivors about what happened. Make them wiser, like yourself. One more mission, one more purpose.”
“I could never. I have too much blood on my hands.”
“Another death will not rinse the guilt from you. Add to the world instead of taking away from it. That will cleanse your soul.”
Elsa peered down at the snowy land below. Somehow it started to seem much higher than before. “I’ve been in this position so many times before. Why should I believe this time will be so different?”
“Have you ever tried?” Damian stepped beside her at the cliff edge. “Your whole life you have kept to yourself or worked misguided violence on others. I am sorry that life will not leave you alone, that the past seems intent on revisiting you. A premature death will treat you no better and it will do nothing for these people who you think you have been helping. Would any of your past companions want to see you do this?” Elsa looked away from him.
“Elsa, look at me. I want you to help them, truly help them by lending them your vast experience and wisdom. I think you need to do this for your own sake as well or you will never heal from your trauma.”
She finally broke down and began crying into his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can make up for everything I’ve done,” she sobbed, “but I’ll try.”
“You won’t just try, my dear, you will succeed. I have to go now, Elsa. My time is up. Just know that you make me proud.”
Over the years a series of texts, some in actual books others carved into stone tablets, began to filter out from the quiet places of the world. They contained stories, myths which told of great machines, great creations, and great troubles. They told of a life lived forever, of loneliness, and of finding purpose. Legends in some parts spread about a wise woman who would stay for a time in the quiet parts of the earth, adding more and more to this large corpus. Writing of history, machines, alchemy, myth, on and on. Then she would give away her works and leave, not to be seen by the same people again. Her name was often forgotten in time and this wandering wise woman eventually vanished from history but her works remained. Many imitators appeared over the millennia expanding on the original corpus. Original or not, these stories were always signed by “Deathless.”
