Rachel Aaron - Spirit’s End

He slowed as he reached her, coming to a stop a few feet from her white form. For several moments they just stared at each other, and then Benehime looked away, hand going to the glowing pearl at her neck. I knew you would come.

Eli winced at her voice. He’d never heard it so cold.

She turned away from him, reaching out to cradle the small orb floating beside her. The paradise lit up as she touched it, glistening like a jewel garden inside its tiny, perfect shell. It had changed from the last time Eli had seen it. The flat blank she’d left in preparation for the Shaper Mountain was gone. In its place, a high mountain meadow full of flowers shone in the white light of her touch. When she saw him looking, Benehime turned her hand, hiding the beautiful world from his view.

No, no, she whispered. You threw that away, remember? You chose to stay here.

She stepped aside to reveal the larger sphere floating behind her, neglected, and Eli’s skin went cold. The world’s sphere was no longer perfect and round, but dented as though it were being squeezed in a vise. Inside, the seas were shaking, sending great waves surging miles into the coast. Rivers writhed in their beds, and the mountains quaked in fear as the sky bent down like it was folding under enormous pressure. There were depressions in the bedrock base, but worst by far was the dome’s top. The arch of the sky was crumpling as Eli watched, the blue wall warping as though under enormous pressure.

Won’t be long now, Benehime said, her white eyes hateful. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?

“Yes,” Eli said. “It is.”

Benehime’s lip curled in a sneer. You always were such a selfish creature, Eliton. But then, all humans are. I should know; I made you so. And do you know why?

Eli’s eyes flicked back to the sphere. The sky was starting to discolor as it bent, turning from blue to a stretched gray-white. He had to speed this up. “Benehime, please—”

My brother the Weaver thought I was cruel, Benehime said, completely ignoring him as she fondled the glowing pearl at her neck. Of the three of us, I alone had our father’s gift of creation. Why, he asked, would I use it to make a race of blind, deaf creatures whose lives ended in the blink of an eye? Why give them a fraction of my own power?

She glanced up, waiting, and though time was running out, Eli played along. “Why?”

Benehime smiled, a cruel curving of her white lips. Because I was always the cleverest. After our father trapped us in here, the spirits were in panic. Why not? Diligent as the Weaver was, they could still see the demon’s claws on the shell’s edge, especially against the sky. Every time they looked up, they were reminded of the doom that was never more than an hour from breaking through. This knowledge proved impossible for the spirits to handle, and we had constant problems.

Problems, she called them, Eli thought with a mental eye roll, but the Shepherdess wasn’t finished.

The Weaver wanted to talk them through their fear, she said, her voice disgusted. He wanted to give them knowledge, to make them feel safe by imparting understanding. She shook her head. My brother never understood spirits. That’s why he was sent to mind the veil while I was given dominion over creation. I understood, as my brother did not, that all spirits, great or small, are fundamentally the same: panicky, stupid, prey animals.

She turned back toward the crumpling world. Look at them, she said. Even now, when there’s no hope at all, the whole world has launched itself into a pointless fit, burning their last minutes in terror and agony. Stupid, like I said. It was always like this before. No matter how my brother tried to explain that they were safe, the world never listened. Every time one of those idiot sheep glanced at the sky or the Dead Mountain, we’d have a panic. It went on and on, even after I strictly forbade them to look or speak of what they saw. That’s when I decided I needed a distraction.

She looked at Eli, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she answered for him. Humans. I made humans in the image of the Powers, complete with a fraction of my own will, giving you dominion over all the spirits of the world. And then, to keep you from panicking too, I made you blind and forbade my spirits from telling you anything of importance.

“Why would you do that?” Eli snapped. It was a stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself. “To put so much power in the hands of blind, ignorant—”

It was your ignorance that made it work. Benehime laughed. My humans burst into the world like a plague, and, since they could not see the spirits under their feet, they assumed it was all theirs. It was glorious. Where my brother had been working for years to stop the panics with knowledge and reason, blind human hubris stopped them in a day. The spirits were so busy trying to deal with the wizards who suddenly had mastery over them, they no longer had time to worry about the demons. And since I cut your lives so short, even the really awful Enslavements never lasted too long. Never as long as the earlier panics had, anyway.

Benehime’s face lit up with smug satisfaction. With humans there to occupy all their fears, even those spirits who broke my edict and looked at the sky never looked long enough to remember what they should really be afraid of. She spread her hands wide. Blind, ignorant, and all-powerful. You were my perfect distraction and, in your own way, helped save the last of a greater world than you could ever know. It was a brilliant solution, and no one, not even Durain, ever realized the truth of it. Truly, you blind fools are my greatest creations. Then her face fell. Too bad it was all for nothing.

As she finished, Eli just stared at her, speechless, and Benehime, knowing how rare this state was for him, reveled in it. When his voice finally returned, he was so furious the words came out in a stammer. “That’s it?” he shouted. “That’s why you made us? A dog-and-pony show to distract the spirits from remembering they were in a lifeboat surrounded by sharks? That’s why we have wizards?”

Yes, Benehime said, smiling again. Genius, isn’t it?

Eli closed his eyes. His first thought was that Miranda was going to blow her top. But the more he tried to make sense of the Lady’s claim, the more he felt something was wrong. The story didn’t sit right. Eli opened his eyes again, fixing Benehime with an even stare. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Benehime’s cruel smile grew sharper. Because, darling, you seem to be laboring under the false assumption that the spirits are your friends. That they should be coddled and protected. But I made humans to be the spirits’ enemies, not their allies. You were created to be the lesser but immediate threat. You are the feint, the ploy that kept the spirits from dwelling on the real danger. You are a tool, my tool to keep my spirits in line, and as such, you owe them nothing. Not your love, not your friendship, certainly not your life. I, on the other hand, am your entire world.

She closed the distance between them, her white hair rustling behind her. This close, Eli could feel the heatless burn radiating from her skin, but he forced himself to remain still, staring up at her cold, white eyes.

I am your creator, she whispered. Everything you have, every power, every breath, every clever thought in your head, I gave you. I gave you everything, Eliton, and you threw it back in my face. Now the world is collapsing, and you’ve come running back like nothing happened. But you’ve abused my generosity too many times for me to be lenient now, Eliton. If you want to leave this place alive, you must prove your sincerity.

She held out her hand and closed her fingers, leaving the first pointing down. Kneel, she commanded. And beg. Beg your creator for forgiveness, and we shall see if I am feeling merciful.