@yrsillar - omake for the omake throne
Mythos - The Making of Memory
Its first experience was of being pulled from warm eternity, raw and bleeding and in
agony. Stabbed into Mother's heart, the flame of creation, her scream ringing over it all, it was drawn white hot, white bone, thin as atmosphere and broad as the dark between stars. In Her hand It was turned, and plunged into freezing emptiness, and Father's roar could not be heard, but shook the roof of the world. It withdrew, dragging on the rough places in reality, an edge to end all edges, unstoppable and pitiless. It was grasped by Mother and Father, and set loose against all Others, to run them down in bright and dark places, in known and lost places. It slew swiftly for some, slowly for others, as they cried for mercy-love-hatred, and did not care. The Eternal Axe was forged from Mother's bones, and none could withstand It. Those who had not yet fallen quickly left behind those who fell, and they were lost to the abyss of It.
This went on, and on, and on, for the Going was It, and It was made of the Going, the Being. Mother named it Time, and said Its task was to keep separate and solid that which was/is/might be, this-because-of that, pattern, causality, future. There were those who sought to imitate Its nature, to hold still out of Its inexorable motion, to push forward faster against that which It held still, to unmake that-which-happened, those it cut down most swiftly, for It was the Eldest, and It would abide no competition. Smaller transgressions It ignored, for there was no challenge to Its supremacy in such small holdings-still, or flowings-swiftly. Mother's puppets had always been queer little things. It set down rules for the puppets, this-and-no-further, do-and-undo, to change and restore to proper order, and did not deign to tell them the rules. The puppets learned swiftly.
But largely, It merely set about its business, for that was its purpose. The initial war for which It was forged was over, but Its effects lasted, echoing down long corridors and back along threads invisible to all save those who wove them. The puppets called it Death, and Ending, and all It heard was Time, for those were also its names. Many attempted to gain Its attention, to appease or cajole or gain reaction, but It did not care, for Its work was in all of them. Eventually, the voices fell silent, but for the mouse-puppets that slid into Its domain to steal a rune, a blade of grass, a glimpse of Its nature. Often, It would let them feel Its edge before allowing them to escape, when the large-transgressions-that-might-have-been grew too close, and the puppets learned to listen when the edge pressed against them, and let the secret go.
And so It goes, into Eternity, for It is Eternity also.
Then, all at once, new Children came upon Mother, and went out into the dark with Her twin, bowing to Time as they went, and It acknowledged them and did not care. The two who Mother had named Sun and Moon lit all the dark spaces that Father had given them, passing gold and silver back and forth. The puppets were joyous, for many of the dark spaces held dangers for them, dangers that were-and-were-not Time, and It grew resentful that It was being diluted by such young and insignificant lights. For it was the Eldest, and It would abide no competition. First, It went to the Sun, gold and gleaming, and demanded His obedience. The Sun fought, and fought against Its grip, like one of the puppets' food-stuffs, but It would not relent.
I am the end of all things, and not even my Mother's children may disobey, It spoke, and the Sun twisted relentlessly in Its grip.
"We are all Mother's children, so I need not bow! All are equal in Her love, and so You are no greater than I!" The Sun screamed, burning fiercely, and the land beneath his light grew brown and lifeless, the little puddles of the oceans began to steam and retreat, and the sharp points of the new, fierce mountains began to slump into molten slag like mortal candlewax. Eventually, the Sun slumped in Its grip, exhausted, while It remained motionless, for who can exhaust Time?
For your arrogance in challenging me, and to ensure your obedience, an Ending is upon you. However, Mother has forbidden me to End my Siblings, for that is the End of all Her works. So this End I bring to you. It raised the Sun and threw it, burning, against the roof of the sky, where He shattered into five pieces, like a water drop shattering on stone.
I take from you your wholeness, the source of your disobedience. Forever shall you strive to find the balance you have lost, and all those who turn to you shall bring strife in their wake, upsetting balance and sowing discord. I shall come for them then, and End them as I End all things, and they shall be Ended as hollow things, to have spent their lives searching and never finding, that which you have destroyed Now.
Then, It sat down, for where the Sun went, the Moon was ever close by. It could not be said to wait, for Time does not wait for anyone. But the span between the breaking of the Sun and the Moon's arrival was not long, and She came stepping carefully across the winds, pulling clouds behind Her as a shawl and night as Her train, and Her light was cool and silver against the scorched puppet-world. The oceans grew cool under her light, for it cast no heat, and the clouds brought rain to fill them, and the land drank greedily of the water and the silver and began to grow green again, and the mountains cracked open and bled sluggish crystal vapor.
First, She bowed to It, saying "Elder Brother, I would see to my brother first, for the mortal world would die without his warmth and to live in pain is no life at all." It assented, perplexed at this last, and the Moon laid Her hand upon Her twin and He was made whole, but in five phases, so Time's decree was not broken, merely bent. The Sun fled then, from under His sister's hands, and took refuge in Mother's arms, crying at his treatment. But Time did not care for the Sun's tears or blood.
You are of Mother, but I do not claim you as Sibling. You will give me your obedience, child of my Mother, to follow the laws I set forward or be broken as your Brother was. It spoke, and reached out to grasp the Moon as It had grasped the Sun, preparing to break Her.
"Of course, Elder Brother. You are unbreakable and eternal, junior only to Mother and Father themselves." So saying, the Moon bowed low, even in Its hold, and did not rise. Time was taken aback, not expecting such a swift capitulation, and did not let go in its suspicion.
None bend so easily without being broken. Your brother did not bow. You seek to avoid punishment, and not true obedience to the rules I have made. You will subvert and betray. It began to tighten its hold, until the Moon cried out in pain and Mother cast a judgemental eye to his actions.
"Never, Elder Brother! It is through understanding that I obey! I understand the value of that which You are, and choose to follow the laws You are
because I value those things also!" The Moon did not twist, or struggle, or shatter. She remained bowed in Time's painful grip, making no struggle.
All things struggle against me. Even those small mouse-puppets Mother loves so much, with their thievings from my domain, they would overthrow me if they could.
"It is as you say, Elder Brother. Yet, I will bow, and obey your laws."
Why? It relaxed its grip, and Its grip left dark marks across the Moon's face.
"Elder Brother, will You walk with me? I have only been existent for a short while, but I have observed the mortals for all of that time, and I believe You are missing something." The Moon asked, lifting Herself to her knees from where She had fallen. She sat very straight, in that strange puppet-shape that was not her Whole.
We will go together, and if your reasoning is not sound, I will break you as I broke your twin. Its tone was dismissive, not cruel, for It did not care.
And so, the Moon walked out on Her path, and Time walked with Her. She shifted as she walked, catching Her brother's radiance from behind Mother's arms, and gave that light to all in a more gentle form. Beneath Her, puppets slept and healed, or drew curved blades like Her smile against other puppets' throats. She directed some across great journeys, or to secrets It wasn't quite sure Mother would approve of the puppets knowing.
"Mother does not mind. Their lives are their own. What matters is their own choice, for choice changes the future. It changes the future into Now." The Moon mused as she walked, passing her hand over a group of puppets entering a building.
I am the Future, unchanging. Time answered, dismissively shifting a degrading puppet to a swift End.
"They cannot perceive all of you, Elder Brother. To them, they have only a small amount of existence. They pass through it, changing their minds swiftly, for how else should they live? When any day, You could come for them, as you did just now. Can you not hear them wailing?" The Moon asked, pausing by the weeping family of the degraded puppet.
I hear. It will not stop me from my work. They tried many times in the early days, to persuade me to stop, to subvert me. All were denied. It turned and looked at Her, still at the window of that puppet-family
"I am not asking you to stop. I am asking you to accept, to understand. These mortals do not expect their father to return, no matter how they scream. Endings are final, so you have decreed." She turned away and continued walking. "But what if they could keep something of their father? Not spirit or flesh. You take all that is Ended and make it of yourself, as is your right. But even you must have experiences that you wish to keep."
Time walked quietly, and more of the Moon caught Her brother's light, and It saw many puppets out in large groups with fires between them, moving swiftly, with loud sound behind them.
What do they do there? Those puppets. It is ... curious.
"Elder Brother, they are celebrating a festival. They have stored all the food they have grown, and they prepare to begin again."
Not the festival. The sound.
"Music? Elder Brother, surely you must have encountered music before."
I have not noticed the creaking of puppets since long before you were made, child of my Mother. It was less before, mere thumping noises. This is different.
"It is true that mortals have many ways of making music, with voice or tools." The Moon shifted, a blade of a smile crossing her face. "I have heard some mortals say that art decorates the fabric of reality, but only music can decorate Time. So, do you have a favorite?"
It considered, before shaking its head and saying,
I care not, which made the Moon make a face of such disappointment that It felt chagrined, as if being scolded by Mother.
Is this the thing you wished me to see?
The Moon sighed. "Elder BRother, this and many other things. These are why I do submit to your law, in honesty and without deceit. You might be Ending, but You are also Being. All these little mortals, who you deride as Mother's puppets, even though she has given them Growth and Choice, have life because You choose to give them space to live in. Even in Your benign neglect, all this is Yours. Every festival, every song, every kiss under my light. These lives that are so beneath Your notice, so easily wiped out." The Moon scrubbed her eyes with a trail of fog, leaving dark patches where Her light could not touch. "I wish You would acknowledge that part of Yourself. Give them something to keep, Elder Brother, you who hold all things close in the end. The past has always affected the future. Let them have something that does not hurt. Something of life." She bowed, and rain fell from beneath the sheet of Her night-dark hair.
And what would this great gift be, child of my Mother? It grew harsh as a slow rage began to fill it.
Those who have gone before have no gifts for those who have not. There are only those whom I have Ended and those who I have not yet Ended.
"Those who Are.", said the Moon, and the line of Her slumped, dejected.
As the festival slowed its frantic whirl, and the puppets slowly split off in twos, or threes, or fours with smaller puppets trailing, Time turned Its attention to the Moon, as broken as thoroughly as It had broken Her twin, then back to the puppets.
I am in all things. All things are mine. Choose one, child of my Mother. They will be Ended.
The Moon looked at It, horrorstruck. "You would End one? Now? By my choosing? Elder Brother, I relied on your dispassion in hopes to prevent such! Have I done something to displease you?"
Choose, It said, turning its attention fully on the Moon.
And be careful, for they argue for their entire race with your choice.
The Moon bent further, almost curved double in sorrow, and gestured at one of the music-makers. "That one. They have no family to mourn them, and they were merely traveling through. They have walked far with me. I suppose they should End with me as well."
They end with Me. Time reached out, and Ended the music-maker. But instead of dismissing it, Time brought it close, and breathed it in, and with the breath came sensation.
[Breath, ragged and coarse in the lungs. Alcohol and spice and sweetness, grease from fried doughs and meats. The cooling night air, and the moon high above, her eye full and round upon him. A truly excellent night, but he had never had a bad one, traveling under the moon. He poured out a small portion of the alcohol he had been drinking for Her. Pretty good stuff, for some backwoods village. And these people could
dance, always begging for "One more song, Uncle, please?" The drums had pounded and they danced, for who knows when death would come for any of them? He shifted against the stone, still warm from the unreasonably hot day, even as the moon came out from behind flickering clouds. Laughter, and singing, and dancing, and not a few kisses, he smirked. If only the night could last a little longer-]
Ahhh. It turned to face the Moon, still slumped against the curve of a waterfall, poking dejectedly at a fish.
That was what you wanted me to see.
The Moon blinked at him, somber, crushed. "Elder Brother, I hardly see how it matters now. That mortal has Ended."
I am in all things. All things are mine. But they are heavy, child of my Mother. I stopped listening to their voices when they were less than beasts. They made me slow and foolish. I still have no wish to carry them. But you chose well, and that puppet-, It shifted, feeling the burning weight of the Ending still close to the surface,
-that mortal... it argued well for its race. Time turned its attention to the Moon and, with an effort, twisted into a puppet-shape such as She wore, not even a fraction of Its entire self.
This is the gift you argued for. I will grant it, for it relieves me of a burden I do not want and does not diminish me in any way. Time extended one of Its puppet arms, and the Moon took Its hand.
As Mother made at the beginning, so we will make now. I name this thing Memory, not merely remembering, to feel again as if the past was Now, even though it will never be again. To take into the Mortal Self that which is valuable, and make it a part of them. You, child of my Mother, shall govern this thing, and all who gaze upon you will be struck with it, in the cold and the warm, in plenty and starvation. It shall drive them forward without end, and into great strife, but also into great joy and prosperity. Rejoice, Moon, for you have succeeded where no one has ever done so before.
The Moon was shaking, as if realizing what a terrible thing She had caused to be made, for with Memory came Revenge and Grief and Longing, hidden in its wake. Time let go Her hand, and the puppet-shape half dissolved into nothing, leaving only a heatshimmer-void in its place.
Is this not what you wished for, child of my Mother? To subvert my power? It loomed over Her, boundless, and Its grip fell on Her once again, and did not stop.
The Moon shattered in Its grip, eight pieces instead of five and fell to the ground.
You are less strong than your twin. He fought me until he could not continue, then broke. You merely broke. And there is no one to fit you back together. Time moved away then to resume its path. An interesting diversion, but not worth much. Memory was disposable in the end, and nothing was truly lost to It. All would return to Time.
"Elder Brother, you did not permit my answer." The Moon's voice was small and level, and She still lay curled across the waterfall, but the eight pieces were already fusing back together. Indeed, Time saw that there had never been a whole Moon, but rather a whole of eight pieces, one made of eight, eight made one, the cracks and boundaries between shards fading swiftly as She healed. Its grip had not done as much damage as It had thought, only exhausting her.
I did not, for It does not matter. You have what you wanted.
"I will speak anyway then, since it does not matter. I accept the rules of time, for I am tied to it. My path is in Your footsteps, only lighter. Mother told me of You, when She first made us. My Brother scoffed and said such a thing wasn't needed, that things should never End, that everything should be glorious under His light. He still played with me, passing the light back and forth, but it never felt correct after that. I didn't understand, at first. Then Mother told me how You were made, and what You did to protect us all. I learned to turn aside my Brother's light as I pleased, and made a pattern, and kept it. My Brother thought I was broken, now that I did not catch all His light all the time. My pattern was proof of Your power, Elder Brother. You are the one who makes space for Life to happen, and be remembered in."
As the Moon spoke, Time swung closer and drew Itself down nearby Her. The recent Ending gave context and It mused on the concept of "sibling admiration" for a space. Not a displeasing feeling. The Moon appeared so very like Mother when disappointed.
I cannot be anything other than I am, child of my Mother. I am in all things. All things are mine. It is mine to protect Mother's creations, to End those who would breach Her law and mine. You and your brother will abide by that law, and care for the mortals. You, however, caused Memory to be made, a burden I did not wish for and am glad to set down. It is yours to govern and care for, as the mortals are. I entrust this to you, the records of mortal life, for you have taken my law before I asked.
The Moon raised Her head, eyes liquid silver in the dark and a new law was made. Time held The Moon, and straightened Her, and set Her on Her path again. "Elder Brother, I will not betray your trust."
You will not. For this gift, your Ended mortal has given to you. Your brother defied me, and may never address me again. Never will I acknowledge him as Sibling, and the threat of my ire shall lay heavy on his domain. Every mortal under the Sun shall feel the weight of every Light, and never forget that the ending of the Light brings them closer to Me and my End. However, You are my Little Sister, and I claim You as such. Only You may call to me and receive an answer, and I lift the threat of My displeasure from Your realm. Go about Your path, Little Sister, and do the work Mother has given to you.
They parted then, Time withdrawing His attention and the Moon continuing on Her path. And so it was, from that day to this. Rarely have the two spoken since, but the fragment of Time that the Moon was bestowed is evident in every cherished time, every festival, every song which memory keeps us Mortals alive, for when we truly love something, the Moon sees, and tugs on Her Elder Brother's robe, and he permits time to run a little slower, so we may have more time to be beloved in. For Elder Brothers are strong in all things, except resistance to their Little Sister's earnest requests.
