After decades of experimentation, taking the help I needed from the memories of the cattle. Ascended. First I tried to manipulate a mole. I made several, crossing it over with the size of a bear. It did help with the initial digging, but eventually they ran counter to my purposes. The problem was one of intelligence, the beasts were simply too stupid to do what was needed in the right place.
I tried to instill them with a modicum of intelligence, but to no avail. After that disaster, I decided that intelligence was the first requirement. I'm honestly not sure if my sickness drove their creation, or if it was the need, but I took great pleasure watching those disgusting villagers give birth to the monstrosities. The look on those women when they birthed the deformed creatures, the terror they felt for that evening was so savory sweet. It hurt me to end their misery, as sweet as it was to consume it. I ensured they fulfilled their debt to the reservoir, but it would be a lie to say I didn't enjoy their disgust at their own children. It's so strange to me that now I've found pleasure in all the wonderful varieties of pain. The pain those women felt was a violation to their own maternal instincts, and the guilt they felt for it, Oh! That was better than any meal I had tasted since the first Gwendon bakery had opened.
Ever since Dorian was a babe, he wondered why the year ended, and began, in the middle of a season. It would only make sense that the spring equinox would be the first of the year, as that was when life began in earnest, but that would only make sense. New years day was considered “the first day of ascension.” According to one of the priests, one significantly younger than the elder, it was the day of beginning. It was signaled by the ascension of the north star, considered to be the beginning of the Priorius creation myth. On the first day, after Gwendos and Kressor had co-existed for an eternity in equilibrium, they mutually “allowed” time. The entirety of creation itself took three days’ time, but the most important aspect to the priests was time. Time was considered the gift itself, an ebb and flow to life and death, that was the moment of first change.
The priest said that their reasons were their own and that the divine need no reasons, but Dorian suspected it was out of boredom. Stuck in the same rut for an eternity? That sounded like hell, what better way to break the doldrums of nonexistence than with existence? Regardless, it was after the first year, as time clashed with the eternal, that they found the existence of their third: Metae. Upon realization of the new divinity, a creation of both life and death, that they decided to “allow” another year. And so, every year, the north star waits on the decision of the divines, though there's speculation as to whether Metae got a vote. When the decision had been made, the north star would rise, thus signaling another year, another cycle, another four seasons.
Of course, every year, the sermon wouldn't be so direct. It was filled with a whole lot of “art thou's” and generalized ambiguity, but like the year before, the sermon finally ended. Dorian's first concern, however, wasn't on the festivities, the gifts to be exchanged, or even the overall merriment made in the village center. No, his first concern was on the food.
It was the one day each year that his father made a point of eating with everybody else. Cook or not, it was considered “that time of the year” according to the master cook, which translated to, put up a good show. So that's what they did, thus every new year’s celebration was utter chaos.
What this generally entailed was having a stash of proper cloths to swap into once the cooking had finished, and an incredible crunch on time. It was audacious how much work they had to get done in such a short amount of time, and Dorian had pleaded with his father to skip the yearly sermon. He wasn't having it as it would greatly displease his mother. So, instead of heading out to share in the festivities, he and his father rushed back to the cookery to prepare the feast.
His father had been slow cooking most of the poultry and goat starting early that day. Dorian on the other hand had been offered an opportunity to improvise his own bread, though he was worried that he would botch the job and ruin new year’s. So, after long deliberation, he decided to make something heavier, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it, that was until he had another flashback.
This one was of someone in Gwendon. Dorian couldn't recall her name, but the name of her recipe, “Yule love it” bread had stuck in his mind. What she had made was something sensational, and he was proud to resurrect the recipe from long years past. It had a mixture of walnuts, cinnamon, cranberries, and an inner lining of frosting baked into it. Once the dough had been rolled out, it would be basted with the sweet white frosting and rolled up to make the loaf. Dorian had never heard of a cranberry before, but assumed it was a dried fruit. Since the autumnal equinox, they hadn't received much of anything produced by Kresson, save for the few goats received last week. Luckily for Dorian, his father Rand had planned ahead and made raisins out of the grapes. He supposed, and hoped, that any dried fruit would work fine as a replacement. Dorian, and his father, were incredibly pleased with the experimental batch they had cooked that morning, despite the dough not being fully set. Now that it was time, Dorian's task was to bake enough bread for all six hundred attending members of the Metan community. Other parts of the community met elsewhere, and Dorian took a moment to be grateful that he wasn’t serving all three thousand members of the Wilds.
There were other cooks there, of course, and his wasn't going to be the only bread served. He had to work around several other apprentices, and a few master cooks, while they all frantically worked to finish their meals on time. His father was busy making rounds, checking on dishes, and making sure that everything would be released in due course.
Finally, after hours of running about, he heard the dinner bell ring, which meant that all the apprentices to all the other craft houses would be coming over to carry the food out to the center of the town park.
One would assume that the middle of the winter wasn't the time to be eating outdoors, but that person would be sadly mistaken if they lived in Metan. The town park had a very unique property to it, something divine according to the priests. No matter what time of year, the park was always a touch milder. In the summer months the park would be significantly cooler, and in the depths of winter it wouldn't be any colder than a brisk autumn day, so long as the wind wasn't up. It was, Dorian thought, a kind of wonder that kept an air of easy unity in the valley. When you can all eat together to the setting sun, or even under the stars, in a comfortable place that still allowed for fresh air, how could you not get along?
Dorian ran to the wash barrel out back, and with a fresh towel cleaned himself up as much as could be reasonable in a short amount of time. Halfway through dressing his father spotted him, and the look Rand gave him was so intense that he didn't even voice an argument. He stopped dressing, stripped down to a towel, and, keeping his right arm up for his caste, jumped into the wash barrel. He scrubbed himself quickly but rigorously and was quick to run back inside. Despite the park being warm, and the wash water still hot, it was freezing out. The cold air meeting his wet skin was a jarring experience, and it just added to the reasons why he didn't like the new year.
After dressing, and a bit of grooming, he met with the rest of the cooks. His father was at the front talking to another cook when he noticed Dorian. He beckoned his son over, and Dorian trudged up to his father.
“Dorian, you're going to do two things for me right now.” Rand paused, raising an eyebrow at Dorian. The eyebrow wasn't raised in a “Do you want to hear what they are” kind of way, more of a “I dare you to keep acting like a spoiled snot.”
“Ya, Dad?” Dorian replied curtly.
“Remove that sour attitude,” he paused, keeping that stare on Dorian, “and put a smile on your face.” He grinned a grin that belonged on a younger man and patted his son on the shoulder.
“I know it's tough work, Dorian, but I think I'll treat you this year. Let me show you why we do what we do. Tonight, you stand at the front of the cooks, next to me. Come along.”
He ushered them along and gestured for the rest of the cooks to follow. This made Dorian a tad guilty as he realized that the rest of the cooks had been waiting on him. He'd have felt worse, but despite being upwind of them, he swore he could smell them. A hard day’s work over hot ovens left anyone sweaty and smelling of body odor. Dorian was suddenly less resentful over his second wash.
“Do you know why we celebrate in the depths of winter rather than the end of it?” Rand asked.
“I was just wondering about that, why don't we do it in spring when everything is coming to life? I know what the priest says and all, but I think it would be more, uh practiclal? Is that the word?”
“Practical, and yes it would be. The real reason, outside of the stars and the gods, I think, is for the people.” He paused expectantly.
Dorian, playing the part, asked “for the people?”
Rand, giving a glare, then a smirk, said “Heh, never thought I'd be the old fool the young have to go along with.” He tapered off toward the end then spoke up with new vigor, “Yes, Dorian, for the people. Just think about it, it's cold, barely any sunlight with the mountains so high around us, people are stuck inside most days and half our trade houses can't do much but sit and twiddle their thumbs.” As he spoke, they passed into the park where the air was significantly warmer.
“So, what better to keep people happy? They're halfway through the winter, they've been cooped up, bored, and probably downright sick of their families. So, to occupy their time, we make gifts for our loved ones, we cook extra fatty foods to stave off the winter's chill, and we choose to do good for its own sake, happy to help one another. Mostly, we do this because the winter is a great enough challenge on its own and being unnecessarily asinine to one another is a swift road to self-destruction.” They approached the center podium, the stone walkway at the back led up the side where all the master chefs would stand as his father would give his little speech. Then everyone that wasn't a master cook would stand to the sides in front of the village and bow when the speech was finished as the food was revealed.
“Come along son, like I said, you'll be standing with me.” That boyish grin was becoming a bit of a nuisance, despite it being covered in a winter's beard. Dorian began walking up the side and became suddenly nervous as he saw the entire village sitting at their tables. Everyone was dressed up, and off to the side of each table, the other trade house apprentices stood, ready to remove the cloches to reveal the feast. Dorian was glad he didn't have to deal with it but would have gladly done so over the dealing with what a madhouse the cookery became.
Dorian stalled for a bit before Rand gave him a light shove, and he cursed mentally as his father herded him up to the top. The other three master cooks came to stand at the back. Before Dorian tried to hide away with them, Rand put a hand on his shoulder. “You know, I've always been afraid of public speaking.” Dorian looked up at his father, Rand looking down at him without moving his head.
“Always have. Fear can be like that; it can make you hate a thing. Fear can also lead to the greatest thrill of your life, if you can embrace it.”
Dorian's brows knitted together as he thought on what his father had said. The notion that his father could be afraid was alien to him, and it threw him off balance. “How do you get past the fear then, Da?”
“That's just it, you don't wait for it to pass, or it never will. Embrace it, let it light a fire in your belly. Let it drive you to meet it. This is true to all fears in life. Craft, family, love, you name it and you'll know fear in anything worth pursuing, anything you care about.”
Dorian gave him a disbelieving look, “All things?”
His father knelt down to one knee, and spoke gently, “Yes son, all things. Do you know what my greatest fear and thrill is?” Dorian just shook his head. “She's waddling in right now.” Rand gestured and Dorian followed it to see his mother, the last of the villagers, heading towards her seat. Dorian smiled as his mother waved at them, and smiled twice as hard as he thought on the words of his father. The man might be a giant, but he was a kitten when it came to his wife. That's when Rand stood and began speaking in a booming voice.
“I know each year you all hope my wife will be the one giving you your supper speech, but sadly, I'm here to disappoint.” He waited just a moment, “but this year, I figured I'd bring up a better-looking face than my own to lighten the disappointment.” He shook Dorian back and forth a bit, and Dorian just smirked while shaking his head. A few people chuckled and Rand continued. “This last year has been momentous, and despite the more recent concerns in our relations, and our challenges in the caves, we have endured, and will continue to do so together. As I was telling my son earlier, today isn't just a celebration of the gifts given to us by the gods.” He paused a bit, letting everyone digest the adverse statement, to the villagers it was bordering blasphemy.
“Today, is for us, for the people the gods gave life to. Today is a reminder, among us all is a strength. Individually, we are enduring, hardened, and always find the will to persevere. Together, in unity, whether it be in our faith, our trade, or our families, we find the cohesion to stand together. These, however, aren't all of what we are.”
“What we are is hungry!” Someone shouted from the back and the whole village erupted in laughter. Even Rand was laughing, right from his belly. The kind of laugh that would make the whole room vibrate if they were in one.
After a short time everyone quieted back down. Rand gestured to the back, “That, that right there is exactly what I mean. Metians, we have a capacity that I'd never seen before I came here, there is something here in this village that is outright divine. Here we are, in the depths of a cold winter, living in stone houses that seem to eat the heat right out of you, and winds that will knock you out of the privy. Despite these things we can still find the compassion to crack wise with one another, to laugh with one another. What we have is an abundance of love for our neighbors. Despite the cliche, I'd like to say that everyone standing here before you tonight are proud to say we put a bit of that love into this meal.” Rand raised his hand with a twisting motion, and the cloches were all lifted.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
As the steam wafted up and the apprentices ran off to stack the cloches, the aroma that wafted Dorian's direction was intoxicating. Looking out, the faces of delight seemed to brighten Dorian's spirits, each smile on each face brought him out of his bad mood one goofy look at a time. “Before we begin, I'm proud to announce that the sweet bread there at your table was hand crafted solely by my son and is a new recipe that I think will be added to the Cook's book of family recipes. If my fellow villagers are so inclined to agree, give this boy’s mop a good shake.” Rand tossed Dorian's hair, and Dorian flushed in embarrassment. “I would like to thank our cookery team for putting in so much effort, the gods for the wonderful bounty, and my wife for dealing with my nonsense.” The crowd laughed a bit, before Rand shouted, “Let us prove death.”
The crown responded, “by praising life.”
Before a moment had passed, half the villagers were standing and distributing foods. His father scooted Dorian along, and he made his way down the spiraling ramp. He hastened over to his customary table, finding the vacant spot next to his brother.
As Dorian sat down, he looked over to catch Kurt mid-bite on some kind of leg. Somehow, he managed to look guilty with his mouth full, his deep blonde hair unkempt, grease spilling down his chin. The guilt, Dorian realized, was a sending that he was picking up on. He shut it down and reached out to start serving himself. He started with the mashed sweet potato, one of his own buns, and a lamb chop. Before he sat, however, he figured he'd grab a haunch for Ohmer. The little guy hadn't been very animated as of late, and Dorian wanted to make sure he was well fed. As he reached over to grab one of the legs, Kurt swatted at his hand with the drumstick. Dorian looked over, incredulous, as Kurt spoke through a mouth full of meat. “Mine,” he stated. Dorian scowled at him and reached again but was swatted away a second time.
Dorian looked over, not amused. “You don't want to know where that hand has been.”
Kurt abruptly dropped the drumstick he held, and just said “yours.” That got a chuckle from a few men at the table and a few scowls from their wives. Completely unabashed, Dorian took the haunch, and bowed to the table. What the rest of the table hadn't seen was Ohmer snatching it away as it was behind his back. Dorian sat and enjoyed the meal, the company, and the season. Maybe new years wasn't so bad after all.
After the meal was done, his family gathered themselves to head back home, while the rest of the other apprentices had to gather the dirty dishes to wash them. Working in the evening didn't sound fun, and Dorian was glad he didn't have to. Before his family had left, however, he spotted Bo and swiftly looked away. Reflecting on the words of his father, he looked back up at the young man. When Bo spotted him, Dorian didn't look away, instead matching his glare. A long moment passed before Kurt snagged his attention away.
“Whoa there little brother.” Kurt, grabbing his attention, said, “You're looking a bit feral at the moment, you might want to calm down before Da notices.” Dorian replied but by sending rather than speaking.
“Sorry Kurt, I just saw Bo and it just, I don't know, got me heated.”
“It's alright, I understand. We'll have the last laugh on that one.”
“No, we won't. I will. Don't you have a tournament in a few months, really wanna spoil that?”
Kurt just grimaced before giving a comparable stare at Bo. Luckily, their parents gestured for their leave, and between his mother's pregnancy and the mead his father had drank, it was a very long walk home.
When they finally finished their trek, navigating the trail by moonlight, Kurt and Dorian set off to their proper duties. Dorian hauled in several logs for their stone hearth as Kurt filled a small pot intending to boil it for tea. Kurt stacked the logs appropriately and got a fire going and Dorian went back out to the log pile to grab a few extra. It wasn't needed that very second, but there's nothing worse than leaving the comfort of a warm fire to greet the cold night air.
Dorian had snagged a few decent sized pieces of timber when he heard the familiar “ru-ru” from Ohmer. Dorian had been worried about the cast removal and the week prior he had made a makeshift caste out of linewood. He didn't want his friend to get chopped in half, despite Ohmer's consistent appetite.
Ohmer swam up Dorian's back, perching his head out from Dorian's shoulder. “What is it bud?” Dorian said aloud.
“Ru-ru, ru-ru-ru.” Ohmer looked at him then out into the woods. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the critter. What do you want? I've fed you more than you weigh over the last few hours. He moved his hand to pet Ohmer, and it swam out along his arm, taking on its natural shape. Its antennae bobbed about, and eventually Dorian received the mental concept of a predator seeking prey.
That's absurd, Dorian thought. Most anything with teeth had already hidden themselves away for the winter. That's when Ohmer sent another concept: human. Human predator. Followed by another concept, one that said hunger but in a different way. The idea evolved into fuel, which Dorian didn't have the slightest idea as to what Ohmer meant by this.
Exasperated, Ohmer sent Dorian the image of the massive blob that had chased Dorian down in the pond. He still felt clueless, which Ohmer picked up on immediately. Show? Not the word, but the concept floated up in his mind. This wasn't an uncommon mode of communication between the two, an intuition of base conceptual ideas, like speaking to a child that can kind of talk but hadn't yet matured enough to communicate accurately.
How show?
Ohmer melted away into a translucent layer and spread all over Dorian's body. Then the layer seemed to melt inward, disappearing entirely. With a sudden jolt, Dorian was no longer controlling his own body. His arms came up on their own accord, and he felt a focus running through him. It was the feeling of his nervous system focused tight into his hands, and then, as though it was only natural, that focus extended. From the center of his palms, two lengths of globular fluid reach out and merged, like hot Steelfyre into a melding mass. Dorian could feel them, like they were an extension of his own body.
Hold? The concept appeared unbidden.
Hold What?
The translucence that was Ohmer flowed up and out, forming in the center of the ball. When he arrived in earnest, everything released in a great flash. The surprise of having full control of his faculties, combined with the flash, left Dorian on his backside. Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Ohmer padded up to him, sitting between Dorian's spread legs. Padded. The Garru had sprouted legs.
A sense of loneliness washed over him, urgent and strangely hostile. He could tell, somehow that Ohmer felt the same sensation, and watched as the now quadrupedal animal gave a whimper. When the sensation passed, Dorian inspected his companion.
Ohmer now sat at nearly two feet from snout to paw, and roughly four and a half feet to its tail. His fur was snow white, with no reflective surface. He would be unnoticeable at a passing glance, and Dorian wondered if he'd lose sight of the creature if not for Ohmer's eyes. They glinted silver, reflecting just a touch of one of the moons. His face looked somewhere between a cat and a coyote, teeth noticeably sharp before a long tongue lapped out at Dorian's face. Will return.
And Ohmer was gone. Just like that. After a moment he heard a distinctive “ru-ru,” which somehow set Dorian at ease.
“Dorian, what the hell are you doing out there?” He heard Kurt hiss. Dorian sent instead of spoke, “Uh, sending Ohmer out to play?”
A moment passed before Dorian picked up a faint, “so weird” from his older brother. Dorian sighed, admitting the fault for what it was, truthful. Dorian got up and brought in the wood he had in hand.
After finding a seat in a woven chair, his parents, with a few comments from Kurt, bombarded him with the basics to a card game. It was a simple matching game played with three decks of cards in conjunction. The tactics of which were completely lost to him as they barraged him with information. His father had been shuffling the cards through the entire tirade, and before Dorian could protest he was dealt a hand of seven cards.
Dorian was teamed up with Kurt for this first go, and they both knew that their parents had planned to give them an instructional thrashing. Dorian could tell Kurt was excited to give them a good thrashing in tow. “Are you thinking the same thing?” Dorian asked, and the grin that broke out on Kurt's face was far more canine than anything Ohmer could accomplish.
The first round was swift and brutal. The thorough victory was cemented after they had mutually matched two sets each, Kurt going out with a flourish.
“And that's point. Sure you want to play to five?” Kurt said with swagger. His mother glared but couldn't manage preventing the laughter in her voice. “Don't get too cocky, you little bear scat you!” His father chuckled along but for what Dorian wasn't sure.
Despite the planning and co-operation between the two brothers, basically as much cheating as one could dream of, they got beat. Round after round, the sound and steady defeat was something akin to a back ranked stave practitioner challenging a master, they were beaten with a subterfuge so subtle that cats on the prowl could only dream of it. Their final round left his mother doing a victory jig, usually something akin to a rooster, now noticeably slower in an attempt to steady the bulk of her swollen belly. After rubbing their kids face in it, but still with noticeable cheer, they hung the cards up for their gift exchange.
The gift exchange was more or less a family affair. Each person conspired with the others, sometimes with several small gifts, others with more collective gifts. Usually, if all three agreed, it was something great, but if the other two couldn't come to a communal decision you had to split off and do multiples. Dorian got two gifts that year. The first was an educational book collection, each one thick as the lump of Steelfyre he should have gotten. It would probably catch a better price, Dorian had thought to himself. He used that as the incentive to smile broadly to his family and thank them graciously. His next gift, to his amusement, was a sling shot. Not just any slingshot, this thing was a weapon if he'd ever seen one.
The thing was polished and lacquered, smoothed out from likely hours of sanding. The wood was foreign to him, and its shape was designed with an extended bottom that curved out to a leather strap. The amount of tension he could pull on the rubber cords was downright preposterous.
Lately he had been reliving experiences of countless individuals, all of which had been running around in the back of his head. Of the experiences many were painful, others wonderful, but all of which had aged him over the recent few weeks. He thought on them often, and other times he wondered at what it must be like to live to an old age having lived so much through others’ lives, and he dreaded where his own sanity might take him one day. Other times he brooded, concerning himself over little matters, afraid to face the big issue for what it was. He was exhausted from the recent rush in the kitchens, tired from staff practices and hauling wood, and suddenly left alone by his animal companion, but despite all these things, he wanted nothing more than to go out and shoot things with his new gift, which left him giddy with excitement.
Dorian put up the best front he could as they all came together exchanged the gifts, but his mind kept erring back to his new weapon, for the time unable to resist the call of being a ten-year-old child. Kurt got his customary new journal, but little did he know Dorian had a second gift for him that wasn't quite ready yet. He, and the rest of the family, got his father an assortment of cooking utensils. Dorian's contribution was odd, but of no worse for it. He had gotten some line tree and soaked it to a watery paste, intending to use it to make a guard to the oven's regular abuses. He was inspired by his caste, after he had whipped together his false replacement. A simple coating before the first oven and it would dry enough to make a protective layer, of which he could be removed with a simple soak. He had to mix some aloe with it as eventually if the wood soaked long enough it would dissolve, coagulating at the bottom of whatever container. It made for a great sealant, it was typically how they sealed barrels or other containers crafted by the Cutters. The aloe seemed to prevent the degradation however and had worked close to what Dorian had expected. His father was impressed with the ingenuity, and asked Dorian if he would make more if it worked as intended.
Their mother had received her gift early that morning, it was an astonishingly large map that had been installed at the trapper's house, fully plotted with coordinates and cased in glass. It was meant for anything, but his mother was already talking about using it to check and update the current state of traps throughout the valley, possibly to update the community on the caves and their findings. It was tough to put it all together, it had to be four or five times as tall as Dorian, and they would have to make a step ladder for their mother if she was going to be able to reach the top. It was grandiose, but the hours of work it took to literally crank holes into the wall to give the glass support was a proud accomplishment by Dorian, and the look on their mother's face that morning was completely priceless.
Still, by the end of the exhausting day, he was too wired to want to sleep, excited at the prospect of mischief and adventure on the morrow. The good cheer of the day began to melt away, as slowly but surely, he drifted off in his weaver spun chair. Comforted by a fire, he drifted off to the sight of his mother putting the fire guard up, allowing the heat to circulate through hallowed stone vents throughout the house. Next thing he knew he was lifted, then he was on his bed, then he was drifting gently in the glow of warmth that was new years day.