When Gods Awaken Read online

  “Never mind that. What am I supposed to have sex with? I’m a man, after all; I have needs.”

  “I am going to create you a proper helpmate,” Cosmos said, grins spreading across his many faces.

  “From the ground?”

  Cosmos threw back his shadow-wreathed heads, and his laugh echoed into the skies. “No, Terry; not from the ground. Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.” He lowered an appendage, and a bladed digit harder than diamond and sharper than obsidian emerged from the tip. With it, Cosmos scored a line through the flesh over the Progenitor’s ribs.

  Terry grimaced and clasped his hands to the wound. “What did you do that for?”

  “You want a woman, don’t you?”

  Terry nodded.

  “Then you must create her yourself. I grant you this power, one time only. You must reach into yourself and withdraw a rib.”

  “Are you sick?” Terry’s face was ashen.

  Cosmos shrugged his colossal shoulders, ruffling his starlight-studded wings.

  “Wait,” Terry said, aghast. “Are you sure this is how it’s supposed to be? I don’t think I can do it.”

  In a voice like silk, Cosmos said, “Have faith, Terry.” With a mighty beat of his wings he took off into the darkened skies. “But, Progenitor,” Cosmos boomed from the Heavens, “do be swift in finding your faith; I could yet change my mind and let the Neanderthals live instead of you…”

  Cosmodore stared into the starlit sky as the shadow of his Creator disappeared into the stormy night. With slumped shoulders, he limped under the branches of the tree of Life and lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the trunk. With his side throbbing, he pondered his dilemma.

  After a while the rain slowed and stopped, and the sun broke over the horizon and cast its rays upon the garden of Eden. Cosmodore rose and considered the verdant grasses and lush foliage and bountiful trees, and his hand went to the wound at his side. He could stay here in this paradise land, gifted him by the Lord Omniarch, or he could leave and sit around with the Neanderthals. Conversation would be sparse, and the topics would be limited, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.

  You won’t be alone here, either, he told himself, if you use the power your Creator has granted.

  He took a deep breath. What was one rib, after all? He’d heal. The Lord Omniarch said he’d live forever if he ate from the tree of Life, so losing a rib wouldn’t kill him.

  No, but it’ll damn well hurt. He shoved his fingers into the wound. The pain was excruciating. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, but refused to pull his fingers out; he pushed them further in and they slid between two flesh-covered ribs.

  Oh, Lord.

  Nausea engulfed him. He doubled over, and with one final effort wrapped his fingers around a rib and tugged with all his might. There was a resounding grind and snap as he pulled the rib clear of the terrible wound, then he fell, sinking mercifully into the soft grass and unconsciousness.

  When he awoke, the wound was closed. Dried blood stained his naked body and the ground on which he lay. He still clutched the meaty rib tight in his fist. Tentatively, he rolled and pushed himself to his knees. There was no pain.

  Staring at the rib, he said, “What am I supposed to do now?” The rib didn’t answer. Cosmodore stood and looked into the sky, now clear and blue. Wispy clouds like the fluffy seeds of a lions-tooth flower drifted in the breeze.

  “Are you there?” Cosmodore shouted to the sky. “Hello, Omniarch? Can you hear me? What do I do with this rib? It’s a bit abstract, isn’t it? I mean, give me a clue here. Lord?”

  There came the distant flapping of enormous wings. Cosmodore lifted a hand to shield his eyes as a shadow passed before the sun’s glare. It loomed nearer, the beating of wings grew louder, and now he could see – but not understand – the entity that was his Creator, the Lord Omniarch.

  Cosmos landed before the Progenitor, grinning and flashing mouths full of diamond needles. His talons gouged into Terra, digging deep ruts in the stone and soil. Terry stared open-mouthed, looking as stupid as a Neanderthal.

  Cosmos said, “I won’t be making a habit of this, you know – answering any time you decide to call my name. What is it?”

  “I have removed my rib, just as you said I should. Tell me what I must do now.”

  “Is that all you wanted?”

  “Well, I…”

  Cosmos flapped a wing. “Worthless cretin. Can you not think for yourself?”

  “You did tell me not to,” Terry pointed out.

  Clever little bastard, Cosmos thought. Aloud, he said, “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, you sort of insinuated it.”

  Cosmos sighed. “Take the rib and stick it in the ground.” Terry squatted and plunged the bone into the soft soil.

  “That’s right. Shove it in deep.”

  Terry looked over his shoulder. “And now?”

  “Now stand up and get out of the way.”

  Terry rose and stepped back. Cosmos glanced at the Progenitor from the corner of one of his many eyes, and grinned to himself.

  The fool really believes I gave him the power to create a woman. He stifled a giggle and wiggled a talon at the ground where the rib was buried, muttering to himself the secret words of Creation.

  From the ground rose a woman coated in dried clay and earth, stiffened hair plastered to her head and shoulders in concentric curls. She was tall and curvaceous, pert of breast and wide of hip. She stared up at Cosmos and smiled. The dirt about her face cracked and fell, and she opened her mouth.

  “Before you ask,” Cosmos said, “No, I’m not your mother. Nor your father. Neither am I your bloody wet nurse. I’m your Lord, plain and simple. Ah, not simple. Not plain, either.” Cosmos cursed under his breath. “Say it!”

  “Amen,” said the woman, and Cosmos was pleased.

  He regarded Terry as the Progenitor stared long at the newly-made woman. As the last of the mud and clay crumbled from her body, Terry said, “Her skin is as the ground under our feet.” He lifted his own hand to his face and studied it. “Mine, too.”

  “Of course,” Cosmos said. “You are both born of Terra.”

  “But” – the Progenitor frowned, his features twisted in confusion – “our earthen coverings are washed and crumbled away, yet the dye remains upon us.”

  “Very astute.” Cosmos raised an eyebrow of glittering shadows. “Your Terran coats are shed, yet have left their imprint upon your skin. Therefore, your colour will henceforth be known as terracotta, meaning coat of Terra. And as your kind grow in number – for you will procreate – and as your children – my children – spread across Terra, so shall there be many colours of Mankind; from the blacks of the deepest soils, to the whites of the tallest stones. And you shall be as one. Theoretically.” Cosmos nodded a gigantic head wreathed in golden winds towards the silent woman. “Well, then, Progenitor, what will you call her?”

  Terry scratched the stubble that had already grown on his chin. “How about Woman?”

  Cosmos shook one of his heads. “Too generic. Be a bit more creative.”

  “Isn’t that your department?”

  Cosmos bristled. “Another quip like that and I’ll put you on your arse.”

  “What do you think of Sister, then?”

  “She’s not your sister,” Cosmos said. “She’s your wife.”

  “Technically—”

  “Sod technically!” Cosmos roared, and the trees bent and snapped with his fury; and, yea, even the clouds in the skies did retreat from his wrath. “Last chance, Terry.”

  Terry thought long, and the woman watched him silently. Finally he shrugged, and said, “Fish?”

  “I’ll name her,” said Cosmos. “Because I’m good at naming things, and the things I name tremble before me! Don’t they, Terry?” Cosmos rose to his full height, so high that he looked down on the whole land-mass but could still see Eden and its two tiny occupants. “I name this woman … Teresa!” And the whole world did indeed tremb
le.

  Terry grinned. “I like it, Creator. Thank you. She’s a real beauty. You’re the best, O Great Lord Omniarch.” Terry fell to his knees in supplication, and Teresa did likewise.

  “Of course I’m the best, you grovelling little worm,” said Cosmos. “I’m the only.”

  EPILOGUE

  And so was the worship of Cosmos born from fear and nurtured by awe. Even with the Progenitor’s devotion, Cosmos knew Terry’s devious nature was going to be trouble.

  Which is exactly what I’m counting on, Cosmos thought, his innumerous maws grinning widely.

  Although Terry was openly mischievous, there was a glint in Teresa’s eye that spoke of a quiet scheming. He’d have to keep a watch on that one; time permitting, of course.

  It had been a shaky start, though it was nothing compared to what Cosmos had in store for the Progenitor’s children, and for many generations to come.

  The terror had scarcely begun.

  From its perch, hidden high among the boughs of the tree of Knowledge, the Nachash watched the stardust-enshrouded behemoth ascend to the Heavens.

  Reaching out, the nimble reptile plucked a fleshy fruit from the tree and hefted it in its claw, hissing a quiet giggle to itself. The Nachash sank its needle-like fangs into the juicy ball and tore off a chunk. Gulping it down, the reptile flicked its forked tongue across the sticky sweetness around its mouth.

  Down on the ground, the woman, Teresa, wandered barefoot and naked among the grasses, her hips swaying and her eyes gazing about in wonder.

  “Yesss, my precious,” hissed the Nachash, juice dripping from the fruit down through the branches. “Come closer now. Come to me…”

  (the beginning of)

  THE END

  GODS OF EXTINCTION

  A hundred thousand years ago

  Gigantopithecus died out.

  but if they’d hung around they’d know

  there’s nothing here worth shouting about.

  Extincted species have no redemption

  being nought but fossils of curious appeal.

  Biased faith systems demand their exemption

  since the big folk’s bones lie beneath our heels.

  Are secrets buried deep in our past

  crushed into the Paleolithic mire?

  Were the Gigants slaughtered to the last

  with Mankind’s newly-discovered fire?

  Or did the ape-men start a religion,

  praying to a god who didn’t care,

  who let them slip into extinction

  for the simple fact he wasn’t there?

  THE OBLIGATORY QUOTES PAGE

  “Suppose we were to teach creationism. What would be the content of the teaching? Merely that a creator formed the universe and all species of life ready-made? Nothing more? No details?”

  – Isaac Asimov

  “A faith that cannot survive collision with the truth is not worth many regrets.”

  – Arthur C. Clarke

  “Everybody has a book in them, but in most cases that’s where it should stay.”

  – Christopher Hitchens

  “In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry, and is generally considered to have been a bad move.”

  – Douglas Adams

  All of the above legends among men, along with the Neanderthals and Gigantopithecus, are quite extinct.

  EXCERPT

  THE HYPERVERSE ACCORD

  “Someone else is out there. I can sense it. Hello? Please, time is short. It would be nice to talk with someone. Before the end, you know? Talk to me, damn it! Just a word…? Fine, have it your—”

  “I am here. I was sleeping. I am the Observer. You can call me Drilos.”

  “So! You have a voice. I thought no one was out there any more, but then I sensed something leaking in, just as everything else seems to be leaking out. Drilos, you say? The Observer? You weren’t there when the universe still made a semblance of sense.”

  “I was, but I wasn’t. It’s peaceful in the spaces outside of your cosmos. Why would I leave them?”

  “Where are you hiding, Drilos? Even during the chaos I should have sensed someone as strong as you among the galaxies. Why didn’t I?”

  “I stay in the folds of nowhere. It’s comfy here. But now I feel those folds are closing in.”

  “And so you peek out, now of all times? How daring! Here we are at the end of all things, and you finally decide to join the party. Talk about a fashionably late entrance.”

  “Late, early, it’s all semantics if you ask me. Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

  “You’re the self-proclaimed Observer; surely, with such a title, you already know who I am.”

  “Of course I do. But just because we’re the only guests to attend this party doesn’t mean we should abandon decorum, don’t you agree?”

  “Nothing wrong with manners, Drilos. I was just testing you.”

  “Very well… Your name is Caiaphas Dace.”

  “Indeed it is! But you can just call me Dace. I dropped the Caiaphas long ago. Sometimes names only serve a purpose up to a certain point.”

  “I take it you reached that point.”

  “Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy, if you like. Can we not talk about that? Some memories are better stored away in safe places.”

  “Understandably so. Both you and I have been victims of time in our own different ways, I think. Talking about time – you said the end is coming? Is that what I sense? I can’t believe it’s here again.”

  “If you mean everything feeling much smaller than it once was, then, yes, I do. But I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate. I’ve been thinking: Perhaps it’s not smaller, but bigger. Just thinner and less defined. If that’s what you’re sensing, then it seems even your folds of nowhere – wherever they’re not – can’t resist the tide of time and space.”

  “Ah! So, it’s heat death this time. Now that makes a change. The problem with being a non-entity in a timeless non-space, is that both time and space on the outside tend to behave quite capriciously when you’re not paying attention to them. A bit like babies, you know? Or deities. We’re in the eye of the storm, right here and now, and I nearly slept through it!”

  “It might have been for the better if you had. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t be. What’s the point in an Observer if not to observe the most important times in existence? This ending is one of those times, Dace. This is the quiet, long death between life and rebirth. From insects to the cosmos, the change comes to everything – to all of us – eventually.”

  ***

  The short story The Hyperverse Accord is available on Amazon.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Scott Kaelen writes in the genres of poetry, epic fantasy, science fiction, horror, humour, and non-fiction. His published works include the poetry volume DeadVerse and the non-fiction release Life, The Universe & Free Thinking. His current projects are the first novel of The Fractured Tapestry epic fantasy series and a second volume of poetry.

  His interests include etymology, psychology, prehistorical Earth, palaeontology, cosmology, computer role-playing games, and reading and watching sci-fi, fantasy and horror.

  Blog/Website: authorscottkaelen.wordpress.com

  Amazon US: amazon.com/author/scottkaelen

  Amazon universal: author.to/scottkaelen

  Facebook: facebook.com/scottkaelen

  Twitter: twitter.com/scottkaelen

  Goodreads: goodreads.com/ScottKaelen

  BY SCOTT KAELEN

  Short Stories

  When Gods Awaken (2014)

  Bleak '93 (2014)

  Moses Garrett (2014)

  The Lingering Remains (2015)

  The Hyperverse Accord (2015)

  The Fractured Tapestry

  Night of the Taking (2015)

  Poetry

  DeadVerse (2015)

  Non-Fiction

  Life, The Universe & Free Thinking
(2016)

  Collections

  From Grains To Galaxies (2014)