History is always part fiction, my scribes. Otherwise it would be too interesting.
I remembered few things about the end of the world, only that it had ended. The time of Gods and convenience was over. The place where death was distant and fair... was gone, and I was its destroyer.
The human form only holds so many memories. I knew this all too well before I was remade. I knew the limitations and the strengths. I knew its weaknesses and its advantages.
As God of Memory, I was the embodiment of all the world’s past. Of everything up to the end of the world that could be remembered, I remembered it all in its entirety: every happening, every dream, every hallucination, every thought, every story, every image, every imagining. Anything that could be recalled--real or unseen… I could recall it. I was Memory.
But the human form can only hold so much...
Why did I end the world? Why did I return a hundred years later? Why did I return as a human and not an immortal Inkman? Why could I not remember things as I had before? Why was all this happening?
Unlike the first questions humans asked of the divine concerning their origins, my why-questions would go unanswered for some time longer. Gone was the era of instantly answered prayers, meaningful ritual, and simple knowing. Come were the days of unraveling.
After the end of the world, the first thing I could sense was light. Eyes shut, I felt a patina of moisture on my exposed skin. An ironically dispirited voice said over me, “Wake now, Mistress. A hundred years is lost.”
I blinked and raised my hands to cover my eyes. The light was blue, bright, and cold. I slowly got to my elbows, blinking hard over and over again. “Argus? Is that you?” I wondered out loud, my voice coming out in a breath. He was my first retainer. My first real Inkman. I tried reaching out with my mind, but there was no one--just a vast void of loneliness. Odd. Slightly concerning.
“Argus…?” the voice said slowly, but I couldn’t see or hear where it came from. “Yes… You called me Argus.” Then it seemed to decide something before it said, “Do you know where you are, Mistress?”
“No,” I said, still trying to find my bearings. My head started to pound as I studied my surroundings. “No, I don’t remember.”
The room was octagonal, and about fifteen feet at its widest. There were no other lights besides the teardrop one in the center, above the metal surgical bed I was laying on. The floor was made of poured concrete. The ceiling disappeared into darkness. I couldn’t see into the dimness even when I squinted in concentration. At four sides, there were doors. The other sides possessed various knobs and seams--likely storage compartments. The whole place smelled like mildew, earth, and rubbing alcohol.
“You have been awakened according to your late wishes. You are in The Cradle. Please stand and familiarize yourself with your new form,” Argus said.
“My new form?” I repeated as a question. I sat up and then slid from the cold slab. The Cradle was one of Chalice’s places. It was a shrine dedicated to the birth of her many creations, but most notably her first creation: human beings. The Cradle was holy ground, dedicated to a different god.
Why am I here, of all the places to wake? I wondered. I was naked, which wasn’t totally irregular for a god, but I was occupying a body I had never seen before. It was female, dark-skinned, and adorned with coiling black hair that rested at its shoulders. I flicked my hand to materialize a mirror, but nothing happened. I flicked again. “Argus… I can’t summon in this place.”
“No… You cannot summon at all--at least, not without great difficulty,” the voice said. “Please brace yourself.”
I sighed. “What’s your terrible news. I already feel myself growing hungry by the second.”
“You are mortal.”
“I suspected as much,” I said. “But why?”
“The gods are no more, Mistress. What power remains of your pantheon resides in its scattered artifacts… and its forgotten holy places… like here, I would imagine.”
I pushed the panic down in my chest. “I really did it then?”
“Papyrus,” the voice said and it almost sounded consoling.
“Papyrus is my name,” I said, nodding my head. I looked down at the palms of my hands. They were lighter than the rest of my skin. On the back of my right hand was a star shaped mark, darker than the rest of my skin. I had fingerprints, which was new and fascinating. I rubbed the pads of my fingertips together and touched my face. “Papyrus,” I recounted, “God Scribe, Recorder of Secrets, Lady of Memory, and the Protector of Forgotten Things… I remember this.”
“That is… good,” Argus said. Its voice cracked as it asked, “But you do not remember why you chose to be recreated after a hundred years?”
“No,” I said into the air of the room. “I don’t even know why I ended the world.” Clearly, my limited mortal frame could only contain so much of my truth, let alone the whole of my remembering. One would think I’d be able to at least remember the most recent events, I thought to myself. But no... The most recent thing that came to mind was a fragmented recollection--like a flash of cinema stills--and the prevailing bittersweet smell of coffee. Put in any order, the images themselves didn’t make any sense. I remembered a three-legged dog laying in a street, a broken pane of rose-colored glass shattered on flagstone, and my hand shaking violently over a silver star splattered with red paint.
The voice did not say anything in reply to my words. It had no explanation to give. It was just as full of questions as I was.
I walked about the room, scanning for any sort of wardrobe. Mortals needed to be clothed against the elements, after all. I finally found one of the doors to be a walk-in element. I opened the door and stepped into the little cubby, but when I closed the door, the console and the light didn’t come on. I opened and closed the door again, just in case, but still nothing happened. It was a glorified broom closet for what that was worth.
I stepped out, rubbing my shoulders. The floor was cold and the air was stale. “Argus, why won’t the wardrobe work?”
“All power reservoirs have been exhausted, save for my own,” the voice said. “You will have to manually crack the panels open.”
“With what?” I asked.
The blue teardrop hanging over the metal bed swung like a pendulum and pointed to a series of drawers set into the wall, then it hung languidly back into its original position like a tired snake.
I went over to the drawers and pulled the top one of three open. Inside there was a handful of power tools that didn’t look at all useful. The second had a helmet and a flashlight. I took the flashlight for the moment and opened the third drawer.
“It’s always in the last place you look,” I said under my breath. I took out a heavy crowbar and hefted it into both my hands. Going over to the wardrobe, I braced and levered and in a few moments of grunting and sweating, I had six drawers open.
All the clothing was white and clean like untouched snow. I pulled on an oversuit after putting on underwear. Into a white haversack, I put the flashlight, a second suit, and maybe a dozen underwear sets. Everything was still sealed in factory plastic. It smelled like mint and antiseptic. The scent mingled hesitantly with the earthly smells that yet remained in The Cradle.
I put on the pack and pressed the collapser. The pack let out a hiss as it expelled all the excess air. The pack hugged my back like the oversuit. I twisted my trunk and stretched a bit before slipping on shoes and collapsing them as well. I hadn’t worn shoes in almost six hundred years. Peace can make one’s feet soft. Despite that, the shoes felt comfortable and reassuring.
“At least I won’t stub a toe if I have to kick someone,” I said.
Argus laughed a little at that and said, “You expect to kick someone soon?”
“No… but one must prepare for the unexpected.”
“How does one prepare for…? Nevermind,” the voice said.
“Now,” I said, zipping up my collar, “where is your body stored, Argus? We must be on our way.”
“On our way to where?” Argus asked.
“To the outside, of course,” I said. “I have to see what’s happened. I have to see if Periute was right about...” I trailed off. What had my brother told me about the end of the world? The God of Future--as much as I was God of Past--would have surely seen the end… wouldn’t he have? But if that was true, why couldn’t I remember?
“It’s all gone, Mistress,” Argus said.
“It can’t be gone. Perhaps people, but gravity still works and there is air. That gives me hope that it isn’t all completely lost.” I didn’t want to entertain the thought that I might be the only one left alive on the planet.
“It matters not. You may be able to breathe the air, but… It is hopeless, Mistress” Argus said. “There is no signal. No contact. There is no Net. There is no Line. There’s nothing left. For a hundred years, I thought I was the only Inkman left… and now, I don’t even know if I can be called an Inkman.”
“Oh, Argus, don’t say that.” I looked about the room for its station. Maybe Argus' frame was stashed away somewhere it couldn’t feel due to the power cut-off. I opened the three remaining doors. One of them led to a room with a bed and latrine. The second door opened into a tiny workstation for tinkering. The last door was jammed.
“It’s no use,” Argus was saying. “They already took it. I convinced them this was a tomb… but they took my body, Mistress. It was all I could do to keep them from taking you.”
I brought the crowbar around to the door and as I fit the piece of metal into the door, I noticed the scraping on the floor just before it. As I pressed into the cold metal, the crowbar slipped into a spot where another tool had already been. The door popped open with little resistance then.
The cubby was empty. The foam imprint of a man’s shape remained, covered in dirt and dust and ebony flakes. I pressed my hand into the foam, my eyes wide.
What the actual fuck, I thought, all sense of purpose leaving me.
I considered myself a stalwart sort of spirit. Once, I had been solely responsible for all the experiences of all the creatures in all the world. There was very little that surprised me or made me worry.
But normal people had come into The Cradle and had stolen the body of my attendant. Who would dare? I wondered, hot tears coming into my eyes. They take Argus' form--the form I gifted him--and they close the door behind them? That kind of behavior is nothing short of absolutely malicious. Sacrilege! Blasphemy! Who would dare?!
I grit my teeth. My shock abated into seething anger.
I spun around. “Argus!” I leaped on top of the metal table and grabbed it up, holding the light aloft. “You saw them! You stopped them from taking me! Who would dare?! Who were they?! One of Chalice’s? Witalis wouldn’t think of it, but his priests would!”
The blue light squinted at me, rotating its aperture around in a gesture of utmost shame. Under my scrutiny, it rose up out of my arms and looked at me. “Mistress, our world ended… I don’t think you understand. The gods are all gone. You gave the world a sickness. There are few men now… and the other creations are gone. I do not know if there are any Inkmen left. I may be what remains of your Indigo Order.”
I shook my head, tears hot in my eyes. “No…” I said. “This… I know I ended the world… I know I did, but it… It can’t all be gone. A sickness? Sickness isn’t even of my domain!”
Argus' aperture squinted angrily at me. “Don’t you understand how endings go?” The light lost its vigor then and fell, swinging loosely. The voice answered its own query: “They don’t.”
“Then who were the ones who took your body?” I asked it.
“Human shadows. They are twisted, metallic things now. They can hardly survive in the world you unmade.” The light rose again to look at me and it seemed placating. “Why did you do it, Papyrus? Why did you make me wait for you to wake up? Why did you choose me to suffer so?”
I put my hands out and let it rest in my arms. “You are an Inkman, Argus… You were my most trusted.”
“I should have died with the rest of the world.”
“Nothing dies, Argus. Nothing truly dies.” I let the conviction of my words into my voice, but I suspected it would be too little, too late.
“I wish I could die,” the robot said, agony in its words.
I pressed my lips together in thought. I had been planning on taking Argus with me. But, looking at it now, talking with it, I knew that even if it could get into its body, it would be useless to me. Argus was ruined. Entropy had gotten into its system and infected the very soul I’d given it so many years ago.
“Oh Argus…” I said again. “I could make you forget these last hundred years.”
“No, you can not,” Argus said against me. “This form will only let you do so much. Making me forget is too much… but I appreciate the sentiment.” It rose up then, shaking itself. The aperture was wide, the cold light blinding. Argus said, “Before you go, please destroy me.”
“I don’t know if I can go, now that you won’t be with me, Argus.”
The voice wasn’t dispirited. “You must discover why you ended the world. You must discover why you meant to return. You must.”
“I know I must do these things,” I said slowly, “but I don’t know how… I don’t know anything about this new world. I know as much as you do.”
Argus' light swung around and its aperture squeezed and relaxed like a great swallow. Finally, it addressed me. “In that drawer over there, there is a gun.” It pointed over my shoulder and I looked. “Shoot down my coil. Release me.”
“Argus… I can’t.” Destroying things was never in my nature. But I was the one who ended it all, wasn’t I? I thought. How could I? The light was still pointing at the storage compartment. I shook my head with a sigh, then hopped down off the bed and went to the drawer. The blue light spilled into the space like water. “It’s gone!” I declared. I was relieved. “Argus, look.” I stepped back so its light could shine on it.
I saw its aperture rotate until there was just a sliver of blue scanning over the empty foam shape where a handgun used to rest. Then the focus snapped open wide, nearly blinding me.
The robot went limp and the blue light went out.
I chirped in surprise, putting my back against the wall of drawers.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but they did.
There was another light source in The Cradle. I could see an orange light coming from under the door leading to the little bedroom. I went inside. There was a fan of light coming from beneath the back wall of the room. I could see a line of fine, red dust at the crack. I got to my knees and my oversuit hardened there, cushioning me as I put my cheek to the cool concrete. I could smell something. It smelled like smoke and dirt and meat. When I stood up, the smell dissipated--overwhelmed by the greater smells of mildew and mint.
I took out my flashlight and went back into The Cradle. I looked for anything of value--anything that could be sold or traded. I kept the crowbar, a length of nylon tinsel, a collection of carabiners, and the gun repair kit that hadn’t been taken with its gun. If the gun was somewhere out in the world, perhaps the ones who took it knew what it was. If they knew how to use it, then surely there would be other guns out in the world. That was my thought anyway.
For currency, I took two credit chips from a bedside table. I also took a first aid kit from the medicine cabinet. As long as I wore my oversuit, I wouldn’t have to worry about first aid, but I could trade the kit to someone without a suit.
I had no idea what to expect once I found a way out, but I could assume that people would be hostile, hungry, and confused… like I was feeling at that moment. I took a few deep breaths. My heart was pounding in my chest.
I am the God Scribe. I am the Protector of Forgotten Things...
After steeling my resolve, I looked back at the dim outline of a metal teardrop hanging from its wire like a noose. “Argus,” I said, but the voice didn’t answer. “Argus, I’m leaving now. How do I get out?”
The light that came on was dim and flickering. The drop turned its sleepy gaze on me, illuminating the wall through the doorway. “There is no power. It cannot open… Please… Don’t leave me, Mistress.”
“I must. You told me I must.” I had never known Argus to contradict itself or have second thoughts. Well, I’ve already decided its systems are compromised. I’ll have no pity, I thought, but despite my resolve, I felt an aching in my chest. Oh dear. Emotions. This can’t bode well.
The light drooped slightly, but then it shook itself as an idea came to it. “I will divert power from my reserves. It will open the door. But once the power exhausts itself, the door will fall shut and seal this place. Are you prepared?”
“I am,” I said. Then I blinked back tears. “This is why I chose you, Argus. There are no souls like yours. No one would do what you have done.” I never would have admitted that much to an Inkman if I were still divine. Words wasted on a machine… What’s become of the world? More like, what’s become of me?!
The light stayed on me for a moment of eternity before Argus said, “I only wish I could have stopped you… but maybe there is hope still, if you survive.” The teardrop fell and the Inkman said, “Diverting power now.”
The light popped dark and there was a great trembling deep in the ground. I turned back to the door as it slowly rose up into the ceiling of the bedroom. The orange light expanded. It was like movie glow pouring into the concrete tomb. I braced myself and covered my eyes as air from the outside rushed in, carrying smells of meat and dirt.
I felt the sun, raw and angry, hit my exposed hands and face. I could feel beads of sweat already breaking out across my forehead.
I took a couple tentative steps outside The Cradle, coarse red dirt crunching under my shoes. My oversuit already had a ghostly shade of red on it as I looked back into the compound one last time. I could hear the door groaning. The exposed gears at its sides were rotted through with rust and red dirt. The bedspread in the room already had a sheet of red particles spread over it.
I looked beyond it to the doorway and to the teardrop now bathed in red. “Goodbye, Argus,” I said under my breath. Then the door came down, and I stumbled back. There was a decided boom deep in the earth and I pressed my ear to the door, but I heard nothing else.
The Cradle of Life was as quiet as a grave once more.
ns3.144.48.13da2
