Unseen and unheard, Jawanza climbed three small steps, six taller steps, then nine steep steps to the top of the podium. Facing the stone, he held up the scroll. A tug on a red ribbon loosened the parchment. With every turn of the unravelling script, horizontal rows of faint symbols appeared one after the other. The lines on the scroll ended just before the bottom mount that dangled knee-height.
Opening the scroll also freed the stone. With a clunk, the clamp released it to float out of the set and hover above the stage. A nebulous sheath of spectral colours emerged from within, rippling and swirling, blending and blurring, and expanding outwards as the stone lifted into dark space and grew. Ever-changing, it shifted from shape to shape never quite settling into one but mostly looking like a very large pulsating blob.
Captivated, the spectators sent a sweet melodic hum down as encouragement to continue. The orator held the scroll up and performed a ritual using mind, body, and breath that empowered him to sense the words. When the first line of symbols on the script appeared, he cleared his throat. With his large mouth and powerful vocals, he spoke in a tone so considerable in volume, tone, and cadence it reached far beyond the amphitheatre, out to the ends of existence.
The great and diverse worlds of the Oridian realm are mostly spherical, though some are elliptical, and others are oval,’ he said loud and clear. ‘There’s a geodesic world, a few that are ring-shaped, and even a hemispherical world, or so the rumours go. These worlds span a great and ever-expanding distance and possess the most unremarkable to the most elaborate features. Some are so old and neglected they’re nullified and crushed into rubble to make new worlds. Others are so new it takes centuries to really settle in and make them feel like home.
The vibrations from the spectators revealed wonder and intrigue. The stone grew until it dwarfed the stage. It lifted into the darkness while the worlds of all shapes and sizes that the orator spoke about materialised inside. Long and emphatic pulsations from the spectators reached far into the void.
The orator continued reading. In a region roughly halfway between the boundary and the centre of the realm was a territory of nine new worlds. It was created recently to separate the Gorgons and Leffels who couldn’t get along no matter how hard they tried.
Leffels and Gorgons were as different as night and day. Gorgons rated a life according to how much maiming and mayhem they could accomplish in a day. Brief and gruelling lives were the norm; the more they rebirthed in a century, the higher they were regarded by a society that valued ripping the guts out of shit. Gorgons lived on the sharp edge of danger. They loved tormenting people, especially Leffels. The Gorgons had a lot to whinge about and they did all the time. You wouldn’t be Gorgon if you didn’t complain. If they were cornered and asked what they would change about the Leffels, it would be for them to just lighten the fark up and to put up a fight when they were beaten up. It was annoying when you cut someone’s arms off and they laughed instead of getting angry and striking back like a normal person.
On the flipside, Leffels quite enjoyed a nice sit down in the sunshine with a cup of kerai, a freshly baked puff bredde, and a good chat with a friend. For Leffels, everything was so much fun! Nothing much bothered them, although having to rebirth constantly due to being terrorised by Gorgons was somewhat inconvenient, especially when you were in the middle of a craft project and had to put it on hold while you rejuvenated in a renew facility, but those were fun too—you got to meet new friends! If asked what they could change about Gorgons, it would be for them to smile more and not be so mean.
After eons of non-consensual violence, it was clear the opposing cultures weren’t going to get along any time soon. It was quite ridiculous really, since they were all immortal.
The view zoomed in on scenes of immortal people not getting along. One showed clean and upstanding folk arguing with people who didn’t care about cleanliness or standing up straight. Another showed carefree people caring for things while other people tried to break those same people and things.
The orator continued to read. Straws were drawn and the Leffels won the new worlds. The Gorgons complained that they didn’t get to move to the shiny new worlds but agreed they had already made good progress farking shit up on the old ones. Building commenced, and an elaborate exodus of Leffels happened.
The view changed to the construction of Leffon. Spaceships went back and forth carrying people and stuff.
A force field was erected between the estranged territories of Gorgonia and Leffon, and their differences were forgotten as both groups got on with being themselves in worlds that reflected their values. The capricious and crumbling worlds of Gorgonia were mostly covered in a layer of smog that kept the grime in and the clean air out, while the worlds of Leffon still had that new-place smell about them.
As the orator read the worlds to life, the perspective inside the stone zoomed in on the two territories. One was light and cheery, the other dark and dreary. Jawanza checked that the words remained steady on the parchment. It meant they were understood and were entertaining. With a good pace found and maintained, he read while the hum of the spectators settled around the realm of Oridian supplying encouragement to continue.
Without the Leffels to get in the way, the Gorgons got on with ruining everything, even taking to rewarding each other for the worst behaviour by dedicating an entire world to fighting sports. Occasionally, someone would wonder what it would be like to take a break from all the violence but, all in all, they just carried on.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Over in their new worlds, the Leffels lived out their infinite lives peacefully, one century at a time. Rebirthing was much nicer without the ongoing inconvenience of knife stabs, punches to the head, and whatnot. Gone were the days when they would be constantly maimed by Gorgons and had to recover in a renew facility. It was a nuisance they didn’t miss. It was rather lovely not to be bothered by having their internal organs stabbed at with pointy weapons in the middle of the night. Since the separation, most Leffels made it a century without the bother of a rebirth, which could really interrupt your flow. It was nice to feel vibrant and fresh again, though, so the benefits outweighed the inconvenience. The Leffels found they were mostly content, although some did start to wonder if there was such a thing as a balance between chaos and order. Boredom was a bit of a problem, particularly for those who had lived for trillions of lifetimes, but on the whole, the separation was a success.
Jawanza read on, loud and clear, finding the good flow where it seemed like the words read themselves. Stories weaved, intersected, began, and ended. Each was equally necessary to progress the newly revealed worlds and give them reason to exist. The spectators loved it all. As celestial beings, physical existence was a fanciful thing, so they welcomed the orator’s talent for making it seem like they were on solid ground, experiencing worlds through sight, sound, smell, and touch, knowing love, adventure, pain, pleasure, adapting, flourishing, sharing, gathering, playing. What fun to be physical!
No story stood out until one did. Its words lifted from the rest, growing bold on the script, revealing itself through tension and drama. The orator smiled and felt at ease with the development. The chronical that most needed illuminating that was the essence of the revelation. Momentum gained, pace increased, the mystery deepened as the main contributors to the story emerged.
On the globular world of Equion, life was idyllic. Complaints were few and trivial, like the temperature not being warm or cool enough for a walk, or your beloved taking a nap when you were in the mood to snuggle.
For Gelda Varda who lived in Alkupera Town on the shores of the Loloho Sea, her grievance was that the mail was late. Three days she had been waiting for her latest delivery from Marvellus Amusements. This month’s parcel didn’t just contain the newest figurines from the Fancy Beings collection but also a vintage biosphere game she’d found on the store’s trading place. It was to commemorate her grandson’s last rebirthday tomorrow at one thousand years old, as was Leffel tradition. Family and friends from far and wide would come to her house to celebrate. Everything was on schedule except for the parcel.
‘Come on, come on!’ Gelda slapped the mail display, but it continued to not show any new notifications. Though she’d asked it nicely, so far, the machine had ignored her appeals to deliver the Marvellus Amusements parcel. Three days she’d been waiting. Three days!
‘Gosh, be patient!!’ the machine grumbled. ‘It’s not my fault your parcel’s not here! Mail delivery times are out of my control. Show some compassion. I’m not feeling well.’
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the delivery chamber, Gelda took deep breaths. It wasn’t even morning teatime, and yet this was the eighth time since dawn that she had traipsed into the kitchen to check. ‘You haven’t felt well in a long time,’ she mumbled in a tone void of her usual softness.
‘What did you say?’ the machine snapped.
‘Nothing.’ It wasn’t worth getting into another argument. The machine would keep on complaining, no matter what, and wouldn’t deliver her mail until it was well and ready. Silly thing needed a proper overhaul, but then so did she. A husband from earlier in the current eon whose name she couldn’t remember used to say, ‘You can’t force a rebirth. Life renews when the conditions are right.’ That was all well and good, but, by gosh, hers was taking its time. In the meantime, everything was breaking down, including herself.
She grumbled complaints all the way back to her armchair in the lounge room and jabbed at wonky buttons on the aide device strapped to her wrist until the entertainment feed flickered on. It took some time to find her favourite channel. The season finale of Quizzicle was on and Anjeno Mon was a finalist. He was quite swoony, and she wouldn’t mind meeting him one day – if she ever rebirthed. She raised a hand as if to touch the freckles on his nose or wipe the sweat from his brow and stared absently at his unchanged face when her hand passed through the hologram. The contest got off to an electrifying start, but her mind wandered to the party.
‘Wrap Barlo’s Gift’ was next on her To-Do List, and she couldn’t exactly do that when it wasn’t here yet. She couldn’t stop worrying that it wouldn’t arrive in time and she’d have nothing to give him. It was too late to find a substitute gift other than something trite from the local store, and that simply wouldn’t do. Such was her distraction that she barely noticed when Anjeno Mon got the final question right and won the series. The audience applauded, lightworks exploded, and upbeat music filled the large room with cheer and colour. Gelda jabbed at the aide until the broadcast dimmed and vanished. Her eyes glazed over and closed. Within minutes she was asleep.
The point of view changed, and the orator got an odd feeling he’d never had before during a reading. It wasn’t anything obvious that caused it, though he suspected it had something to do with the next words on the script. With mild concern, he read on.
On the tattered footstool at Gelda’s feet, Finkle Snook startled from a nap. The black cat sniffed the air and turned his head towards the kitchen. Tail frizzed, eyes large, he zoomed in there, leapt onto the bench, and skidded to a halt in front of the mailbox at the end. Many kilometres above him, a bundle of parcels whizzed through the public mail arteries. Over the house they slowed, stopped, and then whooshed down the mail chamber chute.
A curious cat was of no real concern in a great story and yet Jawanza’s odd feeling remained. Knowing nothing of its source, he got the same feeling when he thought about the reassuring wellwishers. Don’t worry about the jinx! His one-track mind divulged what it had buried. It’s probably not true!
No!
Truth didn’t matter where jinxes were concerned. Curses and bad luck were trite superstitions that held no sway over the reading, but a jinx lured you in even when you knew it wasn’t real. Of all the moments to be doused in doubt… and over something ridiculous! Usually, the only words in his head were the ones written on the parchment, but now two more interrupted the flow: ‘It’s jinxed!’