by McGill, Brie
The butterfly flitted toward his face and landed on the tip of his nose.
Orion studied the creature, mystified, cross-eyed, brow knit discerningly; he sensed this was a pivotal moment, an event of great importance.
The insect flapped its wings once, twice, making its presence known, engaging him with equal intention.
Without warning, it departed in a flicker of blue and sailed into the sky.
Orion extended a hand, reaching out to the creature, unable to catch it before it flew away. He stared into the heavens, watching the butterfly shrink with disbelief.
He leapt to his feet, struck by revelation: he could not allow the insect to escape!
Orion bounded through the field in pursuit of the butterfly, tall grass brushing against his knees.
The butterfly floated higher, carving an erratic path into the infinite sky.
Orion reached out, leaping after it, trying to catch it in his hands, swept with the frenzied notion that he could not let this creature slip away. He understood why it was important—but he had understood one second too late.
The butterfly led him to an edge of the field lined with towering, generous apple trees. Countless fruits dangled from the branches and glistened in the sun, filling the air with a sweet and tangy perfume. Birds perched in the tree, communicating in a twittering symphony.
Orion extended a hand to the tree, tracing one finger along an apple: he loved apples.
He shook his head: he mustn’t be distracted. Ducking under branches, he pushed leafy boughs from his way, scanning for the insect.
He panicked, jerking his head in either direction: the butterfly was nowhere to be seen.
Carving a path through the trees into another open field, he spotted the insect in the distance, dashing after it.
The butterfly playfully zigzagged into the air, and finally disappeared from sight.
Orion fell to his knees.
The butterfly was gone.
Color drained from the grass and the sky became grey, his entire world monochrome. Leaves dried out and curled, falling from the trees with a crunch; apples dropped and hit the ground in a mushy splat, erupting with fat worms and wriggling maggots. The grass became parched, withered, wilting at his feet.
Orion placed his hands against the earth.
The soil dried up and cracked beneath his touch.
His mouth opened uncontrollably, but no sound came out; his hands found his stomach and he felt a terrible emptiness inside. Rubbing his stomach, he gasped for air: this was starvation. His skin shrank around his bones and tightened, and he realized he, too, would wither like these plants.
In the absence of the butterfly. . .
Desperate, Orion dug his hands into the earth, starving enough to eat dirt. He scooped soil from the ground, watching it turn to sand in his hands, sifting through his fingers.
He collapsed, gasping and choking. He was empty, dying, imploding—he grabbed desperately at the earth, but there was nothing for him, nothing around him, everything crumpled, rotten, and dead.
There were no more butterflies.
He shut his eyes, lying on the desolate ground, and saw visions of skulls, mountains of skulls in enormous piles before him.
Mass graves.
He felt hunger, starvation, death, the final outcome of his foolish inaction, the ultimate price for a failure to pay attention to this world.
The Great Hamster Wheel of Life
XVIII.
Lifting his head, Orion gasped for air: he was distantly aware of someone holding him, a hand on his back.
He was too weak, too fucked up to move, let alone sit up; he rested his head on the inviting lap before him, and shattered with a deep sob.
He was such an idiot for feeling the things he did. Lilith. He compounded her pain.
Through his whole life, no one supported him, guided him, instructed him—there was only Lilith. What wasn’t to worship?
He smelled her, squeezing the lap that conveniently presented itself.
So confused with wanting to protect her, so confused by the kindness she showed him, so confused by the confidence she held in him, and their trust, he had gone too far in wanting to care for her, to provide for her.
Lilith saw him as her brother, and she had only ever seen him this way: emotion blindsided him, clouded his thoughts, overwhelmed him with the gravity in killing to protect her.
He had killed to protect her, and yet—
He cried like a shameful idiot, like the warped, disgusting, undeserving and pathetic creature that he was.
In his obsession, had he become as evil as her tormenter? Had he become that which destroyed them? Had his own desires corrupted him so deeply that he embodied the horror of their abuser?
Had he augmented her suffering?
Lilith, did she understand? Did she know? Could she forgive him?
He sensed she was dead, freshly and finally dead: he was unsure of the detail of her imprisonment, sensing only that she met true death recently.
She couldn’t forgive him if she was dead; and he could never explain himself to her.
He wept in perfect silence, in severe, soul-splitting agony; he wept for their lost childhood, and for the bond they formed in isolation, broken in her death. He wept for the injustice; he wept for their received cruelty; he wept for his impotence and lunacy.
Nothing. He had done nothing to help her, after all these years.
He had done evil things—he had murdered with intent. This made him evil, it brought a great shame to Lilith, and it never relieved her suffering.
To watch her beloved brother crumble to the evil imprisoning them likely brought her more pain.
Lilith. Did she hate him?
He thought she would, had she known how steeped in Andrealphus’s blood he’d been the night he killed him. She would be appalled if she knew the depth of his damnable feelings for her.
But maybe he never could have saved her. Maybe he knew his every attempt to save her was futile—and he couldn’t bear to admit his helplessness, his own defeat, his powerlessness—so he held onto her tighter than she knew, tighter than he should have, tighter than she wanted.
Tight like a noose.
That first time he saw her—saw her like that—the first time he saw a woman—
And he loved her, he would die for her, do anything for her; it added a cursed dimension to his thoughts, a guilty curiosity.
After her death, he avoided other women for years.
Perhaps it had been Andrealphus’s intent to poison him, to corrupt his mind.
He was weak enough to be poisoned, wrecked at the expense of the one person who mattered to him. Andrealphus had won.
Orion felt ugly inside, and lost, hopelessly lost; he surrendered to a silent deluge of tears.
A gentle hand stroked his face.
It smelled like Lilith—it smelled like she was right beside him.
Pain broke like waves in his chest, over and over again. “Lilith.”
The hand firmly tilted his head so he faced who sat above him. “Ninkasi.”
He opened his eyes, but the world was a tear-streaked blur. She looked like Lilith.
God, did she ever resemble Lilith. He squinted, trying to focus.
“Shh.” A delicate hand swooped down, wiping tears from his eyes, stroking the side of his face.
He was too dizzy to accurately loathe himself for the pathetic display of weakness that was his life.
Orion seized the hand near his face, smelling Lilith. He knew the smell of her blood. The arm beside him was spattered with blood.
Lilith, undeniably, had been here. He crushed the arm against his face and tasted the flesh, licking up the length of her forearm. Lilith was dead: he felt drunk, sick with desire, longing, and melancholy.
This woman had shared the moment of her death—it was the next closest thing to Lilith he would ever have. He had to savor it; tasting her material essence was the closest he could come to begging fo
r her forgiveness, to giving her that last kiss on the mouth that he thought about endlessly but wasn't allowed.
He forced himself to sit up, and wobbled, soaking up her death. Lilith.
“Take it easy.” The gentle arms, reeking of Lilith, spattered with her blood, cradled him, pulled him into the warm embrace of another being.
His head rested on a petite shoulder.
A dainty hand caressed his back. “You’re awake now?” The female voice was soft, musical, speaking into his ear.
Orion struggled to pull away, but his head spun: he tried to focus on the woman in front of him. “Lilith.” She was all he could speak, all he could think.
Her anger stung him like the lick of a flame. “Ninkasi.” The woman reiterated herself firmly, pressing her forehead against his. “Are you okay?” She leaned back, scrutinizing him. “Do you know where you are?”
He wished she didn’t look at him that way. It was all he could imagine, Lilith’s disapproval.
“You look like you’re not focusing.” She shook her head, and raised her voice. “Does he know what’s going on?”
“I have no idea. He needed a massive dose to counteract the sedation of whatever they fed him in the tank—”
Orion knew that voice, that grating nasal voice—
And then it hit him like a sack of bricks, where he was, where he had been kept, his capture, the tank, Lilith—
He lurched forward, tottering, pointing a trembling hand at Aleister. “You!” His surroundings were too electrical, too star-streaked for him to see clearly—it was the fucking drugs!
Ninkasi steadied him, catching him before he toppled over.
Orion spit his words like poison. “What the fuck did you give me?!” His face gnarled with anger—anger at himself, his tremoring hand projecting a weak attempt to force the blame on Aleister.
He understood it now, why Aleister took the drugs the way he did: the darkest contents of his mind had been brought to light, and the pain in his soul rose to the surface, for introspection and exorcism.
Aleister’s medicine highlighted the ugliest truths about himself, things he wanted to forget for as long as he lived. Bad decisions wrought from bad experiences, one festering sore bursting and spilling onto another, leaving a string of scars, cleverly forced into view by an insidious substance—
It was incomprehensible that an inanimate substance could do this to his mind—
Nails dug sharply into his shoulder. “He saved your life, you know.”
Orion felt too much anger and pain for his mind to process the woman beside him: what was she doing here?
Had she come all this way for him? He didn’t deserve it.
Aleister cleared his throat. “Twice.”
Yes, Aleister had saved his life when they met, and for that, Orion lived wholly in his pocket. Now he owed Aleister his life twice over.
He lurched away from the girl, groping at the floor, body uncoordinated.
Aleister shook his head. “Clear your head. Then we’ll sort our situation and keep moving. We need a plan.”
Ninkasi angled her body away from him, projecting a cold distance.
Orion was relieved that his faculty of sensation had returned: previously, he felt suffocated by the blindness. There were only two in the room with him, Ninkasi and Aleister; he sensed no one else, silence.
And the overpowering stench of blood, Lilith, like a hundred times the volume of blood in her little body had been spilt. . . No guilt smelled this strong.
Where was he, anyway? Orion noticed a flaky crust on his skin from the slime of the tank that had dried; his hair was stiff, matted in thick, wavy locks.
His lip curled: the tank smelled like blood, and so did he. But it was different from the scent of Lilith’s blood. . .
Smells, sights, sound, any overwhelming sensory input drove him mad. His breath caught in his chest, aching with the pain of loss.
Aleister presented a disc-like oval amulet on a braided black cord, slipping it around Orion’s neck.
Orion tilted his head.
“This is a kluzein accumulator.” He proudly planted his hands on his hips. “I made it for you.”
Orion clutched the disc in his hand, feeling a subtle, comforting resonance.
“I tried to give it to you before, you dummy, but you ignored me.” Aleister crossed his arms. “Anyway, wear it against your skin. It should extend your vibrational frequency into a protective shield around your body—nothing impenetrable, but enough to maintain your natural wavelength so you can safely operate one of these.” Presenting a second anzein rifle, he passed it to Orion. “Since you didn’t have half the brains to properly arm yourself before venturing into this hellhole alone.” He widened his eyes, staring fiercely.
Orion hung his head, staring at the ground, swept away by a current of thoughts, his endless sea of mourning. “What. . . of Andrealphus?”
“We slowed him down.” Aleister crossed his arms, casting a shifty glance down the hall. “But he isn’t dead. I didn’t have the time to kill something that big.”
Ninkasi spoke in a whisper. “What is he?”
Aleister flung an arm over his head in a grandiose gesture. “He’s the bastard offspring of something human, and—” He bit his lip, and glanced at Orion. “Something, well—”
She put her hands on her head. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Let’s think about getting out of here.” Aleister pointed at Orion. “What do you say? Echidna can’t be far from here.”
He stumbled, climbing to his feet.
Ninkasi caught him before he fell, but she cast him a hurt stare, promptly releasing him and keeping her distance.
The trio entered a dark, circular room with a floor composed of metal rings.
“I've been waiting for you to find me here.” Echidna's voice echoed through the room.
A massive glass cylinder in the center of the room flashed on, glowing with a chilling pewter light.
“I thought they would embrace superior form.” Echidna touched a hand to the container lovingly. “My superior intellect.” The cold light cast eerie shadows against her face.
Orion stormed toward the tank and grabbed Echidna by the throat, slamming her against the glass. His face remained implacably cool.
Ninkasi gritted her teeth, lurking safely behind Aleister.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Voice rasping, she forced a smile against the strain. “Not when I have the controls for your sister’s life support at my fingertips.”
Ninkasi wondered if Echidna still possessed another clone that wasn't in the storage tanks when she destroyed them.
Orion scowled and dropped her.
Echidna took a deep breath, tracing her fingers along her neck. “Yes, those foolish surface dwellers.” She rapped black nails down the glass. “When we first came here, I thought they would seek me for guidance. I thought they would want my knowledge, my secrets.”
Ninkasi narrowed her eyes, taking refuge behind the bastion of Aleister’s broad and indestructible body, trying to discern what was propped up, frozen inside the tank.
Beneath the frosty glass stood a tall being with pale skin, its head tipped forward, eyes closed. A mane of shimmering blonde hair cascaded to the floor, falling over shoulders and chest, obscuring an androgynous body. The angular definition of the chin, the high cheekbones, the dainty nose all resembled Echidna’s face.
Orion’s face. . . How often had she directed his jaw to her lips for a kiss?
Six enormous, ivory feathered wings exploded from the being’s back: two arched toward the ceiling, bending forward, concealing the sides of the being’s face; two were compressed against the sides of the tank; the lowest two curled forward, concealing the being’s waist, its legs, its feet. Crystal-blue eyes, preserved in a wide-open gaze, grew from the joints of each wing.
Ninkasi grabbed Aleister’s shirt and balled it in a fist. She glanced to Echidna, and again to the suspended bein
g.
Orion held one trembling hand at his side in a fist.
“I thought they would find my beauty irresistible.” Echidna pressed a cheek against the glass and sighed.
Swallowing, Ninkasi noticed a blood-red foam preserved around the being’s mouth.
“But those stupid animals.” Her head jerked away, face warping with an odious sneer. “They didn’t realize what I had to offer.” She glared at Ninkasi. “They ran in fear.”
Ninkasi tugged at Aleister’s denim, holding him in front of her like a shield.
“They were terrified of the awesome truth I present.” Echidna took a step forward, her stilettos echoing against the adamantine floor.
Orion observed her with a silent disgust.
“Terrified of my power, terrified of my true nature, terrified of the context my presence forced upon their pitiful lives. . .” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “The surface dwellers united and tried to kill me.” She stopped before Aleister and crossed her arms.
Aleister stood tall, meeting her gaze.
Echidna laughed, waving a hand. “Of course, they possessed no such power to defeat me, and they likely never will. But they did succeed in driving me underground.” She glanced at her tank, and frowned. “I didn’t escape without injury.”
Hunkered behind Aleister, Ninkasi studied Orion: he remained too enraged to move, to speak, staring fixedly at the floor, fist quaking. She figured he must still feel weak: she knew when she was dosed during Aleister’s ceremony, whatever they had given her lasted through the night, lingering into morning. Aleister had dosed him much higher, for the purposes of resuscitation, and there was no way of knowing what drugs Echidna fed him in the tank.
The hair on her arms stood when she thought about the tank.
“I chose to preserve my body, so that it may one day be born of new flesh.” Echidna turned her head, smiling modestly at the tank. “From this preserved body, I can create a new one that both retains the powers of my original splendor" —she knocked on the glass— "and blends seamlessly with the surface dwellers.” Tilting her head, she placed a hand on Ninkasi’s shoulder.
Ninkasi edged away from her grip.