‘The innate goodness of humanity’ is not something I believe in. Doesn’t mean I believe in ‘the innate evil of humanity’ either. Innately, people are all just annoying. Missing some obscure rule of etiquette, or even just forgetting to watch your tone, and upsetting someone with your existence is just inevitable. No matter how hard you struggle to please them. Weirdly, it doesn’t get any better when everyone else is struggling to please you. Traveling as a Hallow is always a nightmare. So many people talking in confusing circles. Seeking immortality, or what-have-you. By the time I was done with my second journey through the lands, I wasn’t invigorated with new knowledge I’d learned. I was dead tired. I never wanted to speak with another human again.
Maybe because, unlike my first journey, there’d been no companions by my side. Annoying people is inevitable, even when you like someone. It’s inevitable. But it’s not a bad thing. Because sometimes you like someone so much, their little slip-ups are worth it.
The most frustrating thing about those people is the fact that, eventually, you need to part ways. Rootkin are different. Their long-lived and stationary nature, their lack of tone or facial expression, how they consider it polite to just cut to the point. Truly, they make the perfect friends and companions. Even they could be annoying, though. Hwyll and Noch were also nagging me. ‘You should try eating at least once a day, Zaya, even if you’re working.’ ‘Humans need their sleep, even if it disrupts your workflow.’ ‘You should make some human friends too, Zaya. Remember, you’re still a human.’
They annoy me, because they care deeply for me. I annoy them, because I care deeply for them. It’s been this way for centuries and centuries. Most of the work I spend so much time on is dedicated to finding ways to improve their health. A little sacrifice here and there is nothing for us. So when I find two near-dead boys on my doorstep, who Hwyll and Noch claim to be friends, saving their lives isn’t ‘no problem’. It’s a sacrifice of time, medicine, my bed and my couch. But it’s something I’m glad to do. Because now they won’t nag me about needing to get out and talk to more humans.
Still. Their appearance worried me. I knew what their injuries meant. She was probably somewhere nearby. Running another of her little ‘Hero Trials’. I didn’t fear for my own safety, in her presence. She wasn’t so dumb as to kill me. But dragons like her needed to be cautious, or they’d crush a lot of ants. My rootkin friends were used to acting gently, so as not to crush the tiny things they relied on. Being a 393-foot-tall flaming lizard, she didn’t act with care, she expected everyone else to get out of the way.
The scent of smoke and brimstone told me I was right. Not that I wanted to be. Her arrival left me with a conundrum—the boys were still on death’s door, but if I kept her waiting too long, she’d blow open my door. Probably set my house on fire. She was impatient like that. She could be reasoned with, barely, but it was a delicate process and I didn’t have time now. Then again, if she found a way inside, she’d probably finish the job she started by accident and kill the boys. With great reluctance, I decided to step away from my patients and greet my unwelcome guest. I found her cowering on my doorstep. Sheepish, in a way that didn’t suit her. Clawed hands behind her back, fanged teeth arranged in something she thought approached a polite smile. She looked the metaphorical wolf in sheep’s clothes, come to ask for a cup of flour.
Times like this, I wished Mother would appear and deal with her for me. But Mother always kept far away from where Crown Ruuthelaine tread. It was one of the few things I really disliked about her.
“So. You are responsible for those two on my doorstep.”
She had the gall to laugh. “Always straight to business, is it? I swear, you’re worse than Arc.” She reached to pinch my cheek. I swatted her hand away, like a fly. Then I glared at her. Now she groaned, seeming as a petulant child. “Yes, probably me, fine. Happy? They haven’t died yet, have they?” she demanded.
“Not last I checked. But every minute you distract me here makes that more likely.”
“Good enough. Step aside, let me deal with it.” She tried to push past me and into my house, but I reached an arm across the door frame, blocking her. She looked at me, one eyebrow raised, smile a little less friendly.
“You’re responsible for the state they’re in,” I repeated.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to kill them—”
“You were trying to kill them, you just didn’t want them to die,” I said, “that’s what you meant to say. If you weren’t trying to kill them, you wouldn’t have hit them with a solar lance.”
“Okay, fine! I tried killing them, because I needed to see how they’d react in a life-or-death situation! They passed! Now stand aside!”
“No. You might throw a solar lance at my couch,” I said, standing firm.
She threw up her arms heavenward. “Oh for—you said it yourself! I don’t want them dead either, that’d be boring!”
“But you might kill them accidentally anyways. You’ve done it before. What you intend doesn’t matter as much as what you cause.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t throw a solar lance at your couch,” she pouted, “couches can’t fight back.”
“Against you? Humans can’t either.”
“They’ll surprise you, humans! Give the dark-haired one another ten years and he’ll be ripping my throat out!” she cackled.
I only frowned. That physically wasn’t possible. Crowns commanded a level of power greater than even I could hope to summon up. If Ruuthelaine really wanted to enter, I wouldn’t be able to stop her from swatting me aside, breaking my bones—and my wall. For once, I understood the necessity of etiquette. So long as Ruuthelaine respected it, it was a shield I could hide behind, and use to assert my will. Fat lot of good it did me—I was the one on a timer, and if she didn’t leave soon, I would need to cave to her wishes. No matter what they called me, I was no Crown. I could not perform miracles, or wield the magic of souls.
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Squawk, squawk! I froze at the noise behind me. This would either be very good, or very bad. Ruuthelaine’s face lit up like a forest fire, all grievances erased. A small, feather form waddled through my legs, and delightedly honked at the Crown’s presence. She knelt down and clutched at the phoenix just below its wings, lifting it up. Its long, golden tail hung down comedically.
“Well, hello there,” she practically chirped, herself. “Which one are you? Azrael? Ambrosius? Maybe Abraxas, you do look like a troublemaker. How are you?”
Legends claimed that the Crowns had been responsible for the creation of all life on the planet. That was a misconception, Mother had explained. Life had evolved on its own, with little help from the Crowns. Mother and Arcturus only saw themselves as shepherds, occasionally giving sapient life little nudges. Ruuthelaine was different. While some monsters, such as gargantuan insects and northern leviathans, had evolved naturally, those with very obvious magical abilities like phoenixes and dragons were the result of Ruuthelaine’s meddling. This was the first time I had seen such a monster respond to its creator, however. The bird did seem rather happy, perhaps because they shared an inner fire. I had traveled far and wide, and I couldn’t imagine many others being so happy to meet the infamous Mother of Monsters.
“It doesn’t have a name. If it does, it hasn’t told me,” I said, peering back into my house, to see if I could get away.
“Hm, yes, if that’s the case then I know which you are,” she hummed. “Keep an eye on them, won’t you? Don’t let them do anything stupid and die. Not after all my hard work.” She sighed.
“What hard work? You’re the reason they nearly died,” I blurted out. “If you want them to live, you’ll get out of my house.”
“You’re starting to sound like your mother. And Arcturus.” She dropped the phoenix on the ground, and pushed through the doorway, past me. I flinched at her hot flesh, unintentionally letting her by. She didn’t seem to notice, starting to prattle about something or another.
“Actually, have you ever performed a vivisection before?”
“I deal with plants, not animals,” I hissed, rubbing at my arm.
“I remember, I remember! There are plenty of interesting things I can do with plants, too.” She laughed, beginning to pad across my floor’s mossy carpet. Wherever she stepped, little smoldering spots were left in her footprints. The phoenix is more well-mannered than this, I silently fumed.
“You know, I’ve always heard people say combining plants with fire is dangerous, but what do they know? They’re all stupid anyways. Did you know, there are some conifers that only release their seeds during forest fires, so I was thinking—self-immolating phoenix pines! Ooh, in the snow! Or, or, think about this—one of those carnivorous planets, but it breathes fire. Ash is good for facilitating plant growth, so maybe if we took the teeth of those flytraps and introduced flint, and maybe tweaked the acid of a pitcher plant to be more flammable—”
Acrid scent drenched my nostrils, growing worse. As she grew more excited, she began waving her arms all about—and the fires she was causing grew bigger. No matter how much progress I’d made on my patients, on Hwyll and Noch, even just too much smoke would make it all meaningless. I ripped a sheet of moss off the wall, thick enough to form a blanket, and viciously beat at the fires. I dropped the smoking moss-sheet.
“Out, I said roughly. “Get. Out. Get out. No fire, absolutely no fucking fire—my one rule for you.”
“I didn’t even do anything!”
“Yes you did!” I shouted, gesturing at the blackened footprints. The smoke in the air. “You wonder why Arcturus and Naruune won’t speak with you? When was the last time you listened to them!”
“They don’t listen to me! I thought—I thought you liked plants—”
“Plants burn, why would I want you in my home!?” I said, with more confidence than I really felt. “The rootkin, my friends, are still suffering because of what you did. They almost went extinct because of what you did, and you never even apologized. I’m not like mother and Crown Arcturus, I can’t make you leave. That’s the only reason I tolerate you in my home. But now you’re destroying my home—and theirs, again—so…go.”
For a moment, I greatly regretted my words. The Sun Fiend stood there, hovering above the floor, staring at me with an unreadable expression. Sweat trickled down my skin. It had grown unbearably hot, and my plants were wilting now. Slowly and with great intensity, she raised one clawed hand. I winced, waiting for her retort. The most I could hope for now was that Mother would avenge my death, and finally take action against the Fiend. If anything would finally move her from her apathy, I prayed this would. The Fiend snapped her fingers.
Then with a sigh, she seemed to deflate. “I’ve anchored their souls to their bodies. They should be stable for about a week. But it’s not permanent, their wounds still need to be dressed.”
I blinked. “...Huh?”
She gestured for me to move out of the way. Dumbfounded, I did so, and she quickly left. It took about an hour for my mind to begin working again, at which point I remembered her tests. Right. She had said it before, she wanted those two to survive. So long as they were in my house, I did have some modicum of power over her. Though she wanted them to live, I doubted she wanted to sit around healing them herself—too boring for her, probably.
I sat at my table, and placed my head in my hands. I didn’t like to lie, but I shouldn’t have said that. The absolute best way to deal with the Fiend was not to fight back or reason with her, but to stay out of her way. If I was smart, I would flee. But those boys couldn’t be moved, and I couldn’t abandon Hwyll and Noch. After annoying and tolerating and sacrificing for each other for so long, I couldn’t even imagine the easiness of a life without them. A collar’s tightness may begin as annoyance for a pet dog, but eventually the tightness becomes a reassurance in and of itself. A constant reminder of even when I’m not there, I’m with you. You have a home to go back to, and a person to rely on.
Slowly, I felt pressure on my back. Hwyll had reached out their branch, and reached out to touch me. She’s gone. She’s gone, Hwyll reassured me. Blindly, I reached over my shoulder and grabbed their branch. Small and fragile twigs and vines intertwined with my fingers, in a facsimile of clasped hands.
I’m sorry I can’t do more, I quietly replied to Hwyll. I’m sorry I can’t make existing in this world less painful for you. I’m sorry this world is becoming hostile for you.
The pain is nothing. Seeing you thrive is everything, responded Hwyll. I shut my eyes, and leaned my forehead against their branches, as I felt my oldest companion embrace me, their branches which held up my home now as tender and gentle as a butterfly’s fluttering wings.