Altair leaned closer to the mirror and poked at the thin scratch on his face. The blood washed easily from his tan skin. His hair was still wet from the morning’s bath, and the normally vibrant blues and purples became plastered to his head. Two curled horns grew from his skull, catching the early light like onyx. Caps of fake gold dulled the pointed tips.
He barely seemed to focus as he tugged on his lip to slide small hoops through one corner, then the other. Altair lifted his head and slid a black necklace around his throat.
The click of hooves filled the tiny room as Altair backed away, dropping his hands from his face. He looked himself over, then nodded contentedly at his appearance.
He left the small house with a handful of grapes—none of them quite ripe—and walked down the narrow road. Many others wandered down the same path he did, and they all greeted each other in quiet voices. Each of them wore the same clothing as Altair; thin robes and loose clothing. Most were stained by years of working in the town, and small patches of color were the only interruptions in the plain fabric.
“Altair!” a woman called, and he turned around.
She jogged towards him with a warm smile, and her girlfriend followed closely after.
“Portia,” he welcomed. “And Celeste! Feeling better.”
Portia had long, white hair and near colorless skin. Her long legs ended in pointed talons, and her eyes were a strange shade of red. She never could get her hair to cooperate, and the ends curled up in awkward tufts. Long, pure white wings were folded against her back. Her voice had a chirp to it, like that of a secretary bird.
“I’m glad that dreadful illness didn’t kill me,” Celeste laughed as she caught up to Portia.
She looked much different from her girlfriend. While Portia seemed drained of color, Celeste had an abundance. Her hair started as a blue-gray and faded to black. Every inch of pale skin was covered with tattoos.
“Did it get that bad?” Altair asked. “I couldn’t come visit, Portia didn’t want it to spread.”
“It hit hard..” she admitted, “but I’m better now. I almost had to relearn how to walk, I was bedridden for so long— but that’s just life. Going to church?”
“I am… are you?”
“Yeah,” Portia cheered. “I can’t wait to see everyone again!”
“They missed you,” he said.
“How sweet,” Celeste replied. “We’ve missed talking with the community.”
“You should come over soon!” Portia exclaimed, her wings flapping excitedly. “We can have dinner, and I know you wanted a third ear piercing, Celeste can do it!”
“That’d be lovely,” Altair agreed. “How soon?”
“Two days from now? Just so we have time to clean up— gods, our house is a mess.”
“Two days from now,” he repeated.
“Sounds like a plan!”
They caught each other up as they walked, then piled into the church with the rest of the town. All of them kneeled on the stone floor, folding blankets and pillows beneath them. As the priest stepped onto the altar, they bowed their heads as one.
The priest began shortly after, “I see many familiar faces with us. Portia and Celeste, I am happy you both recovered well.”
Celeste squeezed her girlfriend’s hand as many other members turned to quietly welcome them.
“I have many pieces of good news today. The missing boy, our dear Lyle, has been found. His mother is with him now, but she asked we pray for him. He has many injuries, but our doctor has been treating him well. Let us welcome Lyle when he returns to this church, and let us send our love out to him and his family.”
The priest kneeled down, and lifted his hands in praise above his bowed head. He led a brief prayer for them, each word dedicated to the healing and safety of the child. When they finished with the unison word of amelescium, thanking the gods for listening.
Altair only mouthed the words as he stared at his folded hands.
When the first prayer was done, he lifted himself back up. “The gods have granted us even more of their love! They have led our soldiers to victory in Casenov, and many lives were spared. More will be saved with this victory. We have pushed back the enemy closer to their own borders. We are winning now, so let us pray for a swift victory and an end to this war.”
All around him, he could hear soft laughter and relieved sighs. They were finally winning something. Maybe it was just one city, one battle, but when so much had been lost, it was nothing short of a blessing.
The priest kneeled and raised his hands once more. He began softly, and just over a hundred voices echoed his words, “Gods above, hear our pleas …”
Altair mumbled now, as more of the community would glance his way during this prayer. They always did. He was one of few who refused to praise the gods. They were dead—if they ever existed at all.
One seemed alive last night, the back of his mind suggested.
Immediately he snapped back at himself, Shut up.
“We ask that you keep our soldiers safe in war … and that an end to the bloodshed is found soon.” After every sentence, he paused to let the crowd speak after him, then continued. “Let them come home safe. Do not take our people from us … protect our friends and families. Please, gods, let us find an end to this. Please, listen to all these people as they speak to you, and answer our prayers.”
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When he finished, every person inside the small church spoke up. They all requested something from the gods. Many begged for their loved ones to be safe, their sick and injured to be healed. Some asked for wealth or a turn of fortune. Few asked for a sign they were real at all.
Altair said nothing. Whatever prayer he spoke would be in vain when knew the draft would come soon, and he knew he would join the dead.
When the voices faded, the priest stood and lifted his hands up once more. He tilted his head back, and asked, “Let us close our prayers now … amelescium, our gods.”
“Amelescium,” echoed a hundred voices.
Altair pushed himself up, and his knees popped as he stretched. Celeste then Portia stretched out their arms, and their wings unfurled with the movement. Everyone else seemed to do the same, then mingled with their friends and family.
Some had curled horns and hooves like he did, others had talons and wings like Portia and Celeste. There were those with the legs of spiders or the tail of a snake. Each body was a hybrid; a mix between an animal and what were once humans. Many stories surrounded the merging of lives. Most believed the gods had punished humans for polluting the world, and combined them with the animals they killed off after healing the planet. There were still animals, but the gods destroyed many traces of humans. Still, skeletons of machines and the small bodies of the long deceased continued to be found.
“You’re spacing out again,” Portia teased, bumping her shoulder against Altair’s.
He blinked and shook his head. “Yeah, I know.”
“It’s time to go, the soldiers could be starving.”
So are we, he thought to himself. He followed after the two, grateful for the company.
Outside the church, Altair helped clean and prepare vegetables and fruit while others whisked them away. Another line of tables and people prepared and cut meat. All of it was to be sliced, then it would be dried to be sent to the soldiers, supplying them with bland meals. Portia and Celeste were part of the group that went from house to house, ensuring each family donated what they had to.
It was repetitive work, and, more often than not, Altair found himself drifting away. He daydreamed of prosperous countries and standing at the bow of a ship bound for nowhere. He wanted to explore a world not torn apart by war, he wanted to live a life not cut short by a gruesome death on the battlefield.
When the day ended, Altair stood before his door. It was still locked. The room remained undamaged. There was not a trace anyone had come by except a letter nailed to it.
A call to war.
Above it was a line of black paint, marking the home as one soldiers had visited with no answer. Altair swallowed and stepped inside. It asked for him at dawn—and not a moment later.
He was alone in the small house, but the silence was weighed down by another presence. He paused just inside the door and listened. The kitchen was just as he left it; the cupboards were closed and a bowl of grapes sat in the center of the table. The door to his bedroom was cracked open, and he could hear the tick of the clock from inside.
Altair crept forward, and every creak of the floorboards sent a prick of nervousness through him. He nudged open the door and looked inside. Nothing had changed.
“Hello?” His strained voice was quickly swallowed by the darkness.
Only the clock answered back with a steady tick … tick … tick …
Altair went about his nightly routine, though everything he did was slow and cautious. He curled in bed with an old book from the library, and read until sleep was ready to take him.
He stood in that gazebo again. His hands were wrapped around the jagged edge of the birdbath, and his head was tilted up to the full moon.
It was a beautiful night there. Peaceful. Empty.
“You have a choice, Altair,” a cool voice spoke.
His heart didn’t jump this time. He turned his head and saw the dead fate leaning against a broken pillar.
“What choice?” Altair questioned.
Alioth tipped their head back and turned a strawberry over in their palm. “You could come with me, visit a world not ravaged by pointless war. I could use your help.”
“With what?”
“I hate the bloodshed just as much as you,” they answered, and Altair scoffed in response.
“You slaughtered the gods and every resurrection they had,” he spoke when he realized they were waiting for a real reply. “You adore bloodshed.”
Their ear flicked with annoyance, and they tossed the rotting strawberry aside. “You mortals never learn the full stories … the gods were destroying your world, I did what I had to. That was not pointless, this is.”
“Why do you need me?”
“You’re a vessel of sorts, a tie between me and your world. Souls are tricky things … you have part of mine mixed with yours.”
Altair looked around the overgrown garden. “And where is this place?”
“This?” Alioth repeated, motioning around the gazebo. “This is a gateway of sorts, a place for our two souls to meet. You can see the real one, not broken down by years, and all you need to do is come with me.”
“What do I get from this? What do you get from this?”
“I get my life back, my place among the gods,” they began. A smile spread over their face. “You get whatever you desire. You and I are one in the same, Altair … you can be a fate, too. You can end this war with a single command.”
“How?”
Alioth twisted their hand, and long, golden threads became tangled in their clawed fingers. Each one twisted down their pale wrist, glowing brightly against the night. They licked their lips before whispering, “You can change fate. You can change anything.”
His eyes widened, and Alioth watched him. Their irises were the same brilliant magenta. It was strange for them to see themself in such a young boy, but he was the version they had.
“What are my options?” Altair questioned.
Alioth strode forward, hooves clicking up the marble floor. They reached out and cupped a hand around their chin. “You either die like the livestock your people herd, be forgotten like the sheep your city slaughtered for soldiers, or come with me and live the life you should have been promised.”
“And what life is that?”
They leaned closer, examining his face. “One of power.”
He would leave behind everything he knew.
I won’t ever have to see this place again.
That thought cemented his answer.
“I’ll go.”
Alioth tilted their head, curious of the boy. “So quick to decide.”
“You know I’m eager to leave,” he replied.
“Wonderful…” Alioth purred. “Rest now, you’ll wake when we need to leave.”