by McGill, Brie
He reached his arms over his head and stretched.
She scampered toward Lilith. “Whose bones were those, anyway?”
Aleister tugged her ponytail. “Reptile bones.”
Ninkasi wrinkled her nose. “You think so?”
“You’d rather not know.” Lilith cast her a stern glare.
“I’d rather not know any of this!” She threw her hands into the air. “Humor me.”
Aleister frowned. "They aren't funny bones."
“They are relics.” Lilith avoided eye contact.
Ninkasi strode beside her. “From. . .?”
Lilith froze. “From the Graveyard of Failed Experiments.”
The trio stood before a long, concrete building with black-tinted windows and the staple circular metal door.
Ninkasi’s head swam. A building within a building? A building with a black moat? Ancient bones? How far underground were they, exactly? “Who did you persuade to let us in here. . .?”
Lilith inserted her hand in the identification box, and the doors rolled open. She led them to her immediate right, toward two separate elevators; she activated another hand device, and they waited.
And waited.
Finally, the doors opened. The elevator carriage was made of a polished, jet-black obsidian. Stepping inside, Ninkasi studied everyone’s reflection in the polished stone.
The elevator lurched into descent.
No one spoke; the descent was seamless, silent.
Ninkasi leaned against the cool wall. “I like to talk when I’m nervous.”
Aleister shook his head, the corner of his lip curling in a weak smile.
The carriage halted and released them.
Ninkasi raised an arm to her face, stepping into a blinding, sickly yellow light. She pulled at the robes clinging to her body, overbearing in the hot, damp air.
It smelled like copper.
She lowered her arm from her face: no, it smelled like blood. She stood on hard stone tiles, the color of scabs, and gasped at the sight of the walls: networks of live, pulsating organs, fluid sacks and veins, hung between nodes of computerized apparatuses affixed to the wall. The ceilings were high, like a warehouse, and rows upon rows of pulsating organs thumped and jiggled, connected by machinery.
“This isn’t real.” She shut her eyes. “I’m going to vomit.”
Locking a large paw around her waist, he slung her arm over his shoulder.
“What is this?” Her knees weakened. “I’m seriously about to vomit.”
“Brother is trapped in a place worse than this.” Lilith tapped her foot impatiently. “Would you leave him here?”
Squinting, Ninkasi tucked her head into Aleister’s chest. She dared to open one eye.
The dangling organs were still there, wiggling, pumping, manipulated in vivo for purposes utterly beyond her ken.
“That’s why it’s so hot in here.” Ninkasi’s voice was a whisper. “Body temperature.” Her lip quivered. “That’s why it smells like blood.”
“Buttercup, let’s keep moving and get out of here.” Aleister began to walk, gently guiding her, supporting her.
“Are they harvested from animals?” She stared aghast at one particular beating organ, dripping splatters of a murky brown liquid on the floor. “They aren’t human. . . are they?”
Lilith directed them toward another room, lined with computer monitors, valves, and switches, in addition to the linked and squirming mecha-guts. “They are neither nor.”
She gagged, the sour taste of bile rising in the back of her throat. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?”
Beyond the hallway of embanked screens was a vast gallery. Industrial-grade fans rumbled in the ceiling, ventilating air over rusty metal tubs brimming with an amber liquid. Some of the tubs were tall, more than twice the height of Aleister; others were short, the size of a bathtub.
Metal cranes cranked and whirred, descending into the tubs with a gelatinous splash, stirring the liquid and rising again. Ninkasi heard the whinny of smaller blades chopping furiously in the bottom of the tanks. The viscous slop remained in constant agitation.
If she stared long enough, Ninkasi noticed dark hunks of flesh float to the surface, like chunks of meat in a stew, before sinking again.
She pointed at the tank, too nauseated to speak.
Lilith rolled her palm in an elegant gesture, like the trophy-girl host on a TV show. “Harvesting tanks. Don’t get too close, or—” She dropped to one knee. “Ugh.”
Ninkasi momentarily forgot the disgust with her surroundings, and fell to Lilith’s side. “Are you okay?”
Lilith rolled on her side, and crawled toward the nearest tank, supporting herself against it in a seated position. Placing her hands on her stomach, she grimaced.
Ninkasi’s eyed doubled in size. “You’re not about to go into—”
Lilith jerked her head away and laughed to mask the pain and disgust in her face. “It wants to come out of me.”
Aleister squatted down before her, looking from one shoulder to the other. “I don’t think this is the best place for it, but. . .” He spoke in a quiet, gentle voice, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve done this plenty of times. I can help you.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked to Ninkasi. “You’re right.”
Ninkasi knit her brow. “I’m right?”
Determined, knees trembling, Lilith bit her lip and hoisted herself to her feet. “I’m not about to go into labor.”
Aleister helped her to her feet. “You’re not?”
She twisted away from him, one hand on her stomach, the other clutching the side of the tub, and offered no reply.
Ninkasi listened to the chug and squeal of machinery, the pumping cranks, the churning water. She shut her eyes, trying to forget all that hung on the walls and wafted the through tanks.
Directing her focus to the tallest vat in the gallery, wincing, Lilith sucked in a deep breath and plodded ahead, teetering and catching herself against whatever she could grab.
“We can stop and rest.” Ninkasi reached out toward her. “You don’t look well—”
“I haven’t been well.” She snapped a fierce glance over her shoulder and her voice became dark, commanding, thunderous. “Not for a long time.” She collapsed again at the foot of a rusted ladder beside the large tank. “I functioned better as my whole self.”
Ninkasi shadowed her, reaching out again to place a hand on her shoulder—and hesitated, retracting her arm.
“If you think you’re going into labor” —Aleister crossed his arms, standing beside her— “we need to take this seriously.”
“The only serious matter. . . to which I must attend. . .” Lilith’s breath grew heavy, and she pulled herself up, clinging to the ladder’s railings. “Is to ensure this creature never sees the light of day.” She moved to the edge of the ladder, and placed her foot on the first rung. “When you find Brother, there will be a six-by-six panel of buttons engraved with the bident.” She climbed the ladder.
Shooting out a hand, Ninkasi snatched the fabric of her robes. “What are you doing?” She tilted her head back; it was a long way up to the top of the ladder.
Lilith tugged her robes away and scowled. “Counting from right-to-left, bottom-to-top, select the thirteenth button.” Hastening her climb, she panted. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
“You should come down.” Ninkasi’s voice was a horrified murmur. She felt a terrible premonition, something wicked, ominous, foreboding; and she felt helpless, like the situation were utterly beyond her control.
“I mentioned I would require a favor.” She made her chilling announcement from the top of the ladder, looming over the edge of the tank. Her indifference faltered, and her knees buckled; gripping the railing, she dropped to her feet in a twinge of pain.
Ninkasi looked to Aleister, and then to Lilith.
Aleister stood with one hand locked over his stomach, stroking his goatee.
“In exch
ange for my help in bringing you here. . .” Lilith closed her eyes and hung her head. “You must promise me one thing.”
Anxious, Ninkasi grabbed the fabric of Aleister’s sleeve. “What?”
Aleister shook his head. “We promise.”
“Promise me.” She stared with fierce eyes, and pointed at Ninkasi. “Promise me you will kill me!”
Ninkasi’s face contorted with horror. “I won’t do that!” She threw her arms in the air. “Come back down here!” She scrambled to the edge of the ladder. “What are you doing?!”
“Promise me!” She lurched over the edge of the ladder, making her entreaty to Aleister, studying Ninkasi with alarm.
“If we promise. . .” Aleister stepped closer to the tank. “Will you come down from there?” He put his hands on his hips. “We’ll help you down.”
Lilith burst into tears, shaking, clutching the rail with one hand.
Ninkasi zoomed up the ladder to meet her.
“It’s been happening for longer than you know.” Lilith choked on her sobs, and pointed at Aleister. “Promise me!” Her voice was a hysterical shrill. “Promise you will kill all of me!”
“Hey.” Shielding Lilith in a hug, Ninkasi caressed her head. “It’s okay.”
Lilith shoved Ninkasi away with brute force, demonic force, a force of which no little girl should have been capable.
Gasping, Ninkasi slipped backward, falling down several rungs of the ladder before she caught herself.
“Hey!” Aleister’s face twisted with shock, and he rushed to the edge of the ladder.
Ninkasi placed a hand over her heart, catching her breath.
“If you interfere” —Lilith spoke in a cold voice, a stern voice, glowering at Ninkasi— “you’ll give Echidna exactly what she wants.” She turned her back. “I will not give her what she wants. It would be the undoing of all of us.”
Ninkasi stormed up the ladder and grabbed Lilith by the arm. “You’re acting crazy!” She shook her. “You’ll get hurt!”
Lilith tore her arm away and reached up, grabbing Ninkasi by the throat.
Gasping for air, she grappled with Lilith’s hand: Lilith possessed the strength of no ordinary girl.
She spoke through her teeth. “Your foolishness will be your demise.”
Aleister drew the gun from his robes and pointed it at Lilith. “It ends now.”
“Please, shoot me.” Lilith tightened her grip on Ninkasi’s throat. “If you carelessly blow me off the side of this ladder, I’ll take her with me. I don’t want my remains scraped off the floor and reconstructed. I’m not in the mood.”
Ninkasi opened her mouth, choking for air, trying to force a plea to be released.
Lilith raised an eyebrow.
Aleister pumped the gun, illuminating the barrel with a scarlet energy.
“Don’t be stupid.” She released Ninkasi, shoving her away.
Ninkasi caught herself on the railing, one foot slipping off the platform.
“You’re all so stupid.” Lilith snorted. “It’s unfortunate.” She tiptoed toward the edge of the tank. “Perhaps that’s why your kind is hopeless, so easily enslaved.”
Rubbing her throat, Ninkasi hunched over, catching her breath, too terrified to think clearly about anything else.
“I helped you.” Lilith turned around, her back facing the edge of the tank. “In return, I ask that you grant my one simple request. I have been here for longer than you know.” She shut her eyes, making a fist. “I only wish to leave in peace.”
Lilith extended her arms and fell backward from the platform, into the tank with a sickening splash.
Ninkasi lunged after her, unable to stop her, too late. She knelt over the platform, hand extended toward the sea of amber jelly.
The remorseless symphony of grinding blades spun indifferently, chopping, hacking, and slicing her body to pieces with loud thumps.
Ninkasi gazed into the pool, too stunned to move.
Snared and tangled by the gears, Lilith’s dismembered body sprayed a fountain of blood before it was swallowed, digested, claimed by the tank.
Ninkasi squinted and pulled away, feeling the spray of blood rain on her. Wiping her face in a daze, she leaned over the side of the tank and hurled.
Aleister sprang up the railing to catch her. Dabbing at her face with the sleeve of his robe, he comforted her in one arm.
A moment of undeniable agony, the ripping, squelching torture of death by digestion and dismemberment shocked his consciousness from the blackness and into the present moment.
Lilith.
Orion felt her presence acutely. He felt everything that she was, her spirit, her knowledge, her being, flaring up in one final supernova of suffering, a swan song of distress. Her ache inflated, distended, absorbed him; her essence magnified into something larger than the universe and blinded him to everything else.
And then, as quickly as her presence consumed him, she disappeared.
He knew it was death, the pain of her death, a harrowing, shattering ejection into the afterlife, the pillaging of something sweet and pure, the warping of her innocence until she snapped and wilted beneath the strain of complications.
Lilith was dead.
Particles of his consciousness surfaced and organized itself from an empty diaspora in response to her distress: after sufficient aggregation, he recalled she died some time ago.
Decades ago.
Decades, anyway, relative to his last known moment of existing in a state capable of counting time.
Why now? Why, in this moment, did he sense her presence so palpably, so viscerally?
It must have been a memory. A terrible memory, dislodged from the cellar of his consciousness.
Orion wondered if his present condition were worse than hell: alternately non-existing as nothingness, and summoned again into stilted, enslaved blackness, to recall the most torturous and shameful moment of his life.
The moment he couldn’t fix. The moment that haunted him forever. The moment his personal failure wrought the demise of the only person he loved.
There existed no heart to break, for his consciousness had long since disconnected from his body; there were no eyes to cry; there were no fists with which to seek revenge.
He was pure consciousness; and this consciousness chose only to assemble itself in the face of self-inflicted pain.
He had attained immortality in torture, existing in a special kind of hell, this Tartarus.
The direct clarity of organized thought wavered, and began to fade; he knew, with embittered melancholy, in the absence of stimulus his thoughts disintegrated.
Disintegration was an unnerving process: his body, his thoughts, his life, and quasi-religious impulses stemming from an incomprehensible source melted together in a conflagrant, boiling slop. Losing the mental definition of his body was uneasy: arms faded into liquid, liquid faded into memory, memory faded into a collage of disconnected flashes, and he was suddenly made of pebbles or became the branch of a tree.
In this stage, he still possessed an intact mind to observe the horror of dissolution; but there existed no greater plundering of a spiritual virginity than the loss of his mind.
Anything that woke him from a dissipated slumber assembled his thoughts; and, after that which summoned him disappeared, he was forced to endure the disintegration ad nauseam.
Thoughts skipped like a damaged digital media device; overwhelmed with patchwork flashbacks and sensations, moments of travel through time, he lost himself, he lost his thoughts, he lost his purpose.
He stopped remembering the pebbles on the beach, and became the pebbles on the beach. He knew no other existence, than the sun-bleached, wave-battered beach agate.
He wished it had never happened. He wished he never knew this tank, this disappearance of self.
At that particular moment, Orion became a minuscule seed, nestled comfortably within the earth. The damp, moist soil and its muddy fragrance, the snuggle of earthworms and the tickle of su
rrounding roots became his home.
The blackness was safe haven.
Time dilated; the elements softened his hardy, fibrous exterior; the hot sun warmed the earth and he languorously sprouted toward the heavens. His sprout became a robust stem, his seed leaves became branches; moss and flowers flourished at his feet, attracting a tickling army of insects, and he plunged toward the sky, opening in blossom.
The sun turned red, and he was hot, suffocated; his roots in the earth constricted and his head tipped down, drooping, languished. There was too much heat, and an absence of nourishment, refreshment; he knew a flash of terror before a limited effort to conserve his resources expired, and he stiffened, wilted.
Dead leaves and flowers crumbled away, fell in a flutter to the ground. Rain fell; insects returned; the soft feet of animals trampled his body.
He disintegrated and rot, returning to the earth, the soil, home to countless other seeds.
When the rain passed, the seeds cracked and sprouted, reaching again toward the sun.
The color in his visions faded, and the intricate life cycles of other beings in nature overwhelmed him.
He saw an infant with grey skin, animated with repetitive gestures, curling toes and sucking fingers; the infant moved faster and faster, so quickly that his hands and feet became a blur; the speed tapered away and the baby moved haltingly, in retarded frame-by-frame gestures.
The passage of time rushed and dawdled, further obliterating its relevance.
The infant grew into a man, and the man shriveled into an old man, weakened with illness, coughing, hacking, a body robbed of vitality, quivering against the impossible.
There were infants all around, kicking, squirming, growing, and decaying, all at different rates, all multiplying.
The pandemonium of life and death swelled in excess, and in a splintering explosion of gold light, finally disappeared.
Looking into a shattered mirror, he saw Lilith’s face, split apart, multiple images of her. There were too many to count, none of which were whole, her face a scowl and the mirror ominously broken.
Lilith.
So many of her eyes on him. So many watching. So many Liliths.
But never the whole one, never the happy one.
Lilith.