Her cat was nonplussed, looking down his nose at the young god, his red eyes scornful. Novem godeater. She had heard that name before. Ceit, right, Ceit had mentioned him as one way for a god to die, that they could be eaten by the godeater, Novem. Was this little boy telling the truth? Could her cat be the godeater? ‘Novem?’ she tried, looking at the cat, uncertain how she would discern the veracity of the boy’s claim, ‘is that your name?’ The cat sniffed at her snottily. ‘Of course it’s my name, silly girl.’ Alene gaped.
‘...And you didn’t think to tell me?’ squeaked, finally managing to make her tongue work again, trying her best not to let her shock obstruct her ability to speak. Instead of responding the cat returned to licking his paw, giving it his full attention instead. That was fully in character for him, Alene thought, getting her grounding. At least some things hadn’t changed. ‘Why did you bring me this little boy?’ She asked, gesturing to the child. The little boy in question was wiping away fishy tears with a messy palm, looking up at her with round, sad eyes. ‘Viisvang!’ the little boy cried, his nose running, ‘my name is Viisvang!’ he gave a big hiccup before pouting, cheeks pink, flushed from his tears. Novem scoffed, ignoring Viisvang, ‘that’s not a boy, that’s a god, he’s not human, and neither are you’ he said derisively. He put down his paw, staring her intently in the eyes. ‘I brought him for you to eat. You need your strength back.’ The boy burst into tears, a whole school of flying fish circling his head as he sobbed. Novem’s ear twitched in annoyance.
Alene looked at Novem, shocked once again. ‘You want me…to eat a little baby god.’ Novem nodded, still holding her gaze, his eyes intense and firm, without any hint of joking. ‘You need to regain your strength,’ he repeated, haltingly like she was slow and he had to spell it out for her. ‘Right now you are just a soul shard, to reform your body you need to regain some of your godly power, you need to eat some godseed - god flesh. Now, eat up. Crab meat is delicious.’ He nudged her hand towards the fish god.
‘Wait, I’m a ghost, not a, a soul shard.’ Novem rolled his eyes, ‘what do you think a ghost is? Just an impression of the soul on space, out of phase with our dimension. God’s ghosts are different from mortal’s, we can recover, can recondense, can rend ourselves back into this dimension, the dimension of the living.’ Alene looked at him askance. ‘How do you know that?’ Novem, raised his nose in the air, looking especially proud, ‘I am, Novem souleater after all, the expert in gods’ deaths.’ He lay down, his paws crossed in front of him comfortably. ‘Now, I’m not going to do everything for you, you have to kill him yourself, you have to want to recover or it's not going to work.’
Alene looked at the baby god. He looked back up at her, eyes wide, fearful of her decision. Did she want to recover her godhood, if this was the price? She had killed her own siblings as a baby bird, was this so different? She hadn’t meant to them then, hadn’t even known she had done it, but she had benefited nonetheless.
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Godly morals seemed to be centered around reciprocity, an even exchange. Her earthly bird family as the price for her eternity as a god. She hadn’t even been aware of what she had lost then, had gained godhood without any mental anguish on her part. Perhaps this was fate. A delayed exchange that she had to make for the price of her godhood, if dampened somewhat by the lack of familial bonds.
As a human this would be inconceivable. Life was sacred, short and precious. But she wasn’t a human. She was a god. And so was he. And from her recovered memories, even humans would commit atrocities if they thought they could benefit, frequently did, in fact. Did she want to be that sort of person, that sort of god?
What was the alternative? Staying as a ghost, doomed to wander the city until it completely rotted away, leaving her trapped. And what would Sym think of her if she chose to kill the little god, they had only just become friends again, she had been so disgusted upon finding out the way gods were made, and this was just the logical extension of that process. She didn’t want to motivate this choice by fear of the alternative, however. It felt cowardly.
Humans were social creatures, and much of their morality was a direct result of that fact. They had strict taboos and rules governing their social actions, maintaining their social order, otherwise their society would collapse. Gods were more solitary. They still socialized, but their social structure was very different, a subtle edge of competition between them, as she had gleaned, from her mother’s vague references to their gatherings. Her mother hadn’t been magnifying the dangers of inviting Noctua to locate her via dreams, his assistance might have just as easily turned out to be a liability.
Was this what it was like as a god, untethered by humans’ morality, required to construct their own rules of behavior? She didn’t feel equipped for this, wasn’t ready to make this decision. But she couldn’t just put it off. She either had to choose to kill the baby god or not. Maybe it was better that he was so young, that he hadn’t experienced so much that he knew what he would be missing out on by dying. It would be crueler to take the life from an older god, she rationalized, one that had lived a rich full life, had developed into a full being, she would be destroying so much more life if it was older. But he was young, just a baby, if she ate him she would be only snuffing out a little bit of life. She wasn’t sure she adhered to this set of moral rules, if she really believed in the choice she was about to make, but she wanted this. Wanted to be a god, to recondense and live again. She didn’t want to make a decision that would effectively kill herself again. One suicide was enough, she decided, no matter how indirect this one was. A choice to not take action was still a choice.
She reached for his necklace, where the small opalized crab hung around the boy’s neck, the imprint of the small boy's face impressed on the back of the shell in reverse, as if it had been compressed into the hull of the shell with an intense pressure, a coin with the inverse of the print dangled next to it, a hole through it, ancient script for five of some currency inscribed. He whimpered, fearful, cowering back. She lifted the crab to her mouth. She wasn’t a human, she was a god, Avis, she repeated to herself, not governed by the rules of men. She was Alene that was also Una. She bit down with a crunch.