Nameless Creation

I craved something positive (or at least somewhat less depressing) than other things I've been writing recently, so I wrote this, based on a piece sent to me by a friend. I think just about the only holdover is the main character - a thing that used to be something else, a thing that doesn't know what it is, and has a world to discover.

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Cool water. A chill breeze. Whispers.

“Well formed.” Husky and rough, like gravel. A rustle, as of leaves or sand, rubbing softly.

“Yes, yes.” Quick and breathy, cousin to the wind.

“Good legs,” said the gravel.

“Yes, yes!” agreed with wind.

“The face… is the hardest part.” Another rustle, the gravel-voice moving closer. “Open your eyes.” An order.

Her eyes opened. Brilliant silver pinpricks above her outlined huge ebony shadows, looming and towering, but ever so much closer than the lights. The lights enchanted her, seeming to flicker and twinkle if she looked straight at them.

“The eyes, the eyes!” hissed the wind excitedly. “Such light, such beauty!”

“Yes,” agreed the gravel. “Did well this time.”

Something moved nearby, and she looked at it. A lumpy, bulky profile. She couldn’t remember seeing anything like it before, but something told her the head was too small for the broad shoulders.

Beside the lumpy one, a long, smooth outline, shifting restlessly from side to side.

“Breathe,” ordered the gravel voice.

Her lungs filled with air, drawing it in through her nose and mouth. Immediately, she was overwhelmed with sensations her brain identified as smells. Messages carried on the air, like sounds, only different. Water. Cold water. Growing things. Decomposing things. Dead fish and leaves. Moist earth. As she grew accustomed to breathing, the scents sorted themselves in her mind, filing under words that seemed new and familiar at the same time. The last scent, though - dry and smooth, like sand, but living. It had blood under its scaly skin.

Snake, provided her brain.

“Such light,” repeated the windy voice, and the long, smooth form shifted again. “It wants to speak. Tell it to speak.”

The lumpy person (at least, she thought it was a person) moved back with a sound like heavy stones rolling across the earth.

“Stand,” the gravel voice ordered, and she did so, getting smoothly to her feet. She knew the feet were hers. They were attached to her legs. But they felt… different. As if perhaps she hadn’t always had them.

“Ask your questions,” the gravel voice ordered.

She opened her mouth, convinced that this was what needed to happen in order to communicate, but all that came out was a sort of squeaky clicking, like a cross between a deflating balloon and a car failing to start. The thought startled her, and she closed her mouth again as she tried to process the concepts of “balloon” and “car.” Where had they come from? What were they? She was sure she’d never seen such things.

The windy voice moaned, issuing a bewildering array of sounds that completely disoriented her. It was like she was standing in the middle of a vast group of similar creatures who were all moaning at once. Then the sounds stopped, and eyes flashed at her out of the smooth shape, large and vividly green.

“The voice. Did we lose the voice?”

“Seems so,” answered the gravel voice unhappily, though how gravel could sound unhappy, she wasn’t sure.

(How can a voice be lost?)

Both figures froze, just as if they’d been turned to stone. For a long minute or two, there was no sound or movement but the wind on the water and in the looming shapes above. Trees, her brain prompted.

“You asked a questions?” queried the gravel voice at length.

(You told me to.) Her voice was different from theirs. It was not in the air. It was… somewhere else. She pondered this as the wind caressed her skin, and the water lapped at her legs. When neither of them said anything for a long time, she asked her question again. (How can a voice be lost?)

The smaller form shifted, the one with eyes, and moved closer to her. It glided into the water, undulating slightly from side to side.

“Each piece is unique. Each piece must be crafted and placed just so.” The green eyes flashed again as they caught the silver light above, and she watched them with fascination. The creature smelled of snake, but had the face and upper body of a person. Its lower body was long and low and had no legs. “You are the first. The first to be more than a puppet. Our first true success.”

(There are others like me?) There was only the slightest of pauses before the gravel voice answered.

“No. None like you.” The whisper of sand slithered across the water to her as the lumpy figure shifted, then began to lumber away with a sound like a small avalanche. “Come.”

This time, she was aware of the feeling of being compelled. A push, almost, that made her follow. She wondered what caused it, and followed the lumpy person. The snake person glided beside her as they moved together.

“It is good, yes? Good?” It asked, breathy with excitement again.

(What is good?)

“The legs. Yes, the legs are good.”

She considered her legs, feeling the flex and pull and strength in them. (Yes,) she agreed. (My legs are good.) They were strong and straight, somewhat bony, with knobby knees and three thick, webbed toes each. They moved across grass now, and her feet made no noise. The lumpy figure ahead still made crunching, grinding noises as it moved.

The place they took her to was not what she had expected. She hadn’t really considered before that point where they might have been going, but she was sure that this place was unlike what she would have expected, if she'd thought about it.

There was a tight circle of trees and a small brook, and to one side, a pit of sand. The ground was wet, but not boggy, and she saw the lumpy person move toward the sand pit.

"Sleep until morning," it grunted in its gravel voice. Despite the urge to obey the order, she continued to watch as it stepped onto the sand and started to sink. It lumbered forward, as though wading into water, and kept sinking until the sand completely covered it, and there was nothing left of the lumpy person to see. This probably should have been frightening, but it wasn’t.

(Where did he go?)

"It," corrected the snake-person. "Gormad is an it. No gender. Gormad went to bed. So should you." The snake-person looked at her with a curious expression. Was it because she wasn’t obeying Gormad's order to sleep until morning? Possibly. She moved to the brook and folded her legs to lie down on the wet ground. The water flowing cool and clear around her legs and feet felt very nice.

(What is this place?) She asked, beginning to relax and drift toward sleep.

"Safe," responded the snake-person. Coiling on the damp grass, the snake positioned itself so it could watch the new creation.

(Do you have a name?) Pause. (Do I have a name?)

"I am Efin. You have no name. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow you will have a name. That is tomorrow's business." The luminous green eyes closed. "Sleep now."

She felt the tug of the order and closed her eyes. It was time to sleep. As she drifted into shallow, dark dreams, she felt the slightest flicker of resentment toward her own obedience. In the morning, she would not remember it.