Joseph Lewis - Chimera

“Is that all?” he whispered.

She leaned away. “You’re such a fool. God. Heaven. Souls. Death. The meaning of life. The meaning of the universe. Why do you think such things even exist? We are human. We are flesh. We eat, and we rut. You think you are something better than a worm because you are capable of thinking such a thing, but you’re wrong. There isn’t anything more to this world, to this life, to this existence. This is all we are. Creatures. Simple creatures, all enslaved and bound to follow the same natural laws. Survive. Reproduce. Even you in all your brave inventions with your immortality, you’ve done nothing more than find a new way to play the game, still following the same rules. We all want to go on living. That’s all. The sage and the idiot, the warrior and the leper, all want to live. They eat and rut and die. The only difference between them, and us, and the worms is this.” She held up the sun-steel pendant hanging around her neck.

Omar shook his head. “There is so much more to life.”

“Yes, of course there is,” she said gently. “There’s pain and fear, and ten thousand other words for pain and fear. There is horror and terror, frustration, misery, depression, self-loathing, confusion, bewilderment, hatred, sorrow, and on and on. But why dwell on that if you don’t have to? I don’t. I dwell in joy. I explore joy. I create joy. And yes, I am quite selfish with my joy, but the world is young and I’m not getting any older. Perhaps one day I will share my joy with the world. Perhaps one day every man and woman in every nation will experience the pleasures that I now luxuriate in.”

“I shudder to think.” Omar closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again to narrow slits.

“Why?” She leaned down and folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on her arms right in front of his face. “What is it about happiness that so frightens you?”

Omar said nothing.

I believe she’s wrong, but I can’t say why. How can I? How do I explain to her that my faith is something better, when I have nothing to show for it, and she has so much to show for her lusts?

“No answer?” Lilith’s voice was soft and gentle, a graceful sound that verged on the musical, as though she’d rather be singing than speaking. There was no anger in her now, no sharpness or hardness. This was her world, and she was in control, without fear. “Tell me about your noble life, Bashir. I know that you’ve spent four thousand years traveling the world, making people immortal and asking them to learn things for you. But I want to know what it has all added up to. Have you found happiness? Have you built great works? Have you transformed the world to better fit your wills and desires and visions?”

He swallowed. “No.”

“Tell me.”

Omar swallowed again and looked at her. The face that gazed back at him was calm and lovely, young and full of innocent expectation, awaiting his answer, any answer, without judgment. He said, “I have destroyed nations, and cultures. I have killed thousands, both with my own hands and through my actions. I have caused plagues and fires, famines and floods. I have driven men and women mad. I have turned the virtuous into the depraved. I’ve made princes into monsters, and lovers into traitors. I have built two great houses dedicated to death and greed, and filled them with killers and slavers. And so much more than I can scarcely stand to think it, much less say it. And the worst part of it all… is that I never knew what I was doing.”

She nodded slowly, still no trace of emotion on her face except curiosity and patience. “I’ve killed, too. Not thousands, I don’t think. Hundreds, more likely. But one at a time. Never by plague or madness or anything that you described. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have lived a life such as yours.”

He turned his face toward the ceiling. “Don’t pity me. Don’t you dare. Not you. Not here. I can’t…” He closed his eyes again and focused on the feeling of the air sweeping in and out of his lungs, on the soft pounding of his heart, on anything other than the woman staring at him.

“Why not me? Why not here?” she asked.

“You’ve imprisoned me in a tomb deep in the earth and turned my arm into that hideous, disgusting thing.” He coughed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let the tears escape again.

“Is that all?”

Pain exploded through Omar’s right arm and he snapped his head over to see Lilith slicing into his beetle-arm with a slender knife. As he gasped, she reached inside the black armored limb with her bare fingers and yanked out a tiny sliver of gold, which she tossed onto another, smaller table behind her.

Then she leaned forward again on the edge of his table, her chin on her bloody palm and a look of utter serenity in her eyes. “Better?”

Omar stared at his deformed, inhuman arm with its violent gash and splash of blood, and within four or five heartbeats it was smooth brown skin and hair and nails again, just as it always had been. The foul sensation of being a soft bundle of nerves inside a chitin shell evaporated and he once again felt solid and whole. He flexed his fingers one by one and felt his nails scratching lightly on his palm. The knife wound was already gone, already healed, already closed and forgotten without leaving the faintest mark.

He lay his head back down on the table and heaved a long, deep sigh. He was still a prisoner, still chained to a table, still able to see the sickly woman with the writhing tentacles, still feeling the shackles digging into his body, and yet… the veil of the nightmare had lifted.

I’m still myself. Still human. Still a man. I’m not some creature, not a slave. I am Omar Bakhoum, and Bashir, and Grigori, and all the others right back to Thoth. I am alive, and I am sane, and this insanity needs to end.

He opened his eyes and looked at the beautiful young woman staring down at him. He said, “Much better, thank you. Now if you could do something about these chains, I’d be quite appreciative.”

She smiled. “Probably not appreciative enough.” Lilith straightened up and headed back toward her chair.

“So what now?” he asked. “Games? Feasts? Orgies?”

“Certainly,” she said in all sincerity. “For me, yes. But for you? No. You’re too valuable to me, like Horus and the others. You can serve me as few others can. I’ll have to think awhile about how best to use you.”

“If immortals are so valuable to you, why don’t you just make more?”

“Ah! Now there is an intelligent question,” she said. By the sounds she made, Omar guessed that she was settling back into her cushioned throne and picking at her grapes. She continued, “And the answer is… it’s not worth the effort.” She laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, drawing out a living soul, trapping it in the hot sun-steel, forging and sealing the pendant, all while keeping the person alive? Well, just talking about it is exhausting. It’s a complicated and delicate procedure, and one that I’ve only attempted once,” Lilith said. “And then what would I have? Another you? Another me? Another Horus or Gideon? That’s dangerous, too dangerous for my blood. I thought you would have realized by now that I’m not very ambitious. Remind me, please, which one of us built two temples to greed and power? Oh yes, that was you, not me.”

Omar grimaced.

“I’ve built a temple to pleasure. My pleasure. My fantasies, my joys. And while I have toyed with the notion of making this circle of one into a circle of many, I don’t really want to bother.” She laughed. “Can you imagine me ending up like Osiris and Isis? Not exactly the romantic future I aspire to. So no, I don’t make others immortal. It would only complicate things, and I like things simple.”