Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

You think you are His favorites. You think you are special in that way. But you will never be as close to Him as we could have been.

As once we were.

Thousands of species call this place home, and one of them is the purest of heart in all of creation. And that is where our story begins.

I found her when she was just a pup.

I was walking along the valley floor one day. It was almost sundown. I heard a whimper and stopped, turning my head to listen. I found her burrowed under a log, her dead mother at her side. I bent down to pick her up and she growled at me. She wanted to be fierce, but she was small. I held out my hand to show her I meant no harm. She growled and bared her razor-sharp puppy teeth. I crouched down beside her to be less intimidating. I fished out a morsel of bread from my pouch and quickly won over the heart of the tiny but fearsome creature by appealing to her belly.

She whined and flopped her head over my arm, staring at her mother’s cold carcass. I stroked her shivering head.

“This is the way of things, little one. But I will care for you now.”

I took her with me as I walked the valley. When her mother was out of sight, the pup buried her head in my tunic, nuzzling around for a comfortable spot. Soon, she was fast asleep. I called her Keena, which means brave in the language of my people. I do not know how long Keena stood guard over her mother, but I must have earned her trust for her to sleep so soundly in my arms. Even the fierce must let down their guard eventually.

She never left my side after that, even after the Builder offered to take her. I will never forget that day. Or the days that followed.

Of all the Earthborn, the Builder and his family were different. I remember the first time I saw his great-grandfather, the one that vanished, talking about him. The great-grandfather had quite the reputation, always screaming about destruction. Always preaching his warnings.

“Destruction and desolation! Turn from your wickedness!”

He never found any peace. And his grandson, the Builder as we came to call him, carried his ancestor’s curse. Always disturbed, always an outcast. Especially after he had his vision.

Why the conflict, you ask? It goes back to the beginning. Before that, actually. Time is an invention of your people to measure your finite lives. Once you are outside it, you realize what a useless measuring stick it really is.

The Shining Ones existed long before even this world was formed. They were the fallen, the Unclean who once had lived as one with the Creator but now were shackled to the Earth for daring to challenge His rule in Heaven. They watched as the Creator made your kind and all the creatures of the world.

Then He fashioned you from the Earth, and the Shining Ones were amazed. In awe of your pureness of heart, your indomitable will. But mostly in awe of your subtle beauty. There had never been anything like it in the expanse of the universe, nor has there been since. Magnificence. That is one way in which you are special, I must admit.

So enamored of your beauty as they were, the Shining Ones enticed you, His newest creations, to lay with them. Their offspring, the Watchers, were born, and that is how I came into the world.

When the Creator saw the result of these liaisons, He grew angry with the Shining Ones for corrupting his newest creation and banished them from the Earth. But we Watchers, their children, claimed Naud —the right of sanctuary—since we were half-Earthborn. Despite His judgment of us as the corrupted issue of unholy liaisons, and lest He be perceived as merciless, the Creator granted our petition. And here we, the Watchers, remained.

However, His mercy carried with it a condition: He held us Watchers true to the very claim we invoked. He bound us to the Earth, never to leave. We were free to roam, but not break the bonds of this world like our star-born parents could.

Being half born of the earth and half of the stars, we are imbued with special abilities compared to you. Our lifespan is much longer than yours. We are practically immortal and can see past the veil of this reality. To some, we seem as gods. And with all races, yes, even mine, there are those who will take advantage of privilege. The Watchers were, after all, the descendants of those who’d rebelled against the Creator. I wonder if He grew to regret his act of mercy.

I was different from the other Watchers, though, and I suppose I still am. They had designs on power and conquering others, whereas I simply wanted to live alone and in peace.

So I was an outcast among my own people. They quickly divined that the Earthborn could be easily manipulated, conquered. I would have no part of it, so I walked alone. Until I found her, my faithful companion.

Keena and I slept under the stars. I would gaze up at the pinpricks piercing the pitch-black canopy. I would tell her stories of my ancestors, the Shining Ones. She would watch me intently and sometimes cock her head, regarding me as the tears inevitably trailed down my cheeks. Then she would gently nuzzle me and lick the tears away.

We were good for one another.

In a matter of months, she transformed from the ferocious puppy guarding her mother’s body into a majestic creature of grace and perennial good nature. Her regal head always seemed to float above her body as she strode by my side. Always by my side.

I am an imposing figure to your kind, or so I have been told. Nearly nine feet tall—small by my people’s standards, to be sure, but plenty big enough to intimidate your race. Which is why Keena and I steered clear of your settlements as much as possible. Every Earthborn I met seemed to regard me as either a god or a threat to be subdued. For my part, I want to be neither worshipped nor conquered.

Keena and I hunted for our food each day and ate by the fire of our camp. We enjoyed each other’s company and had no need for anyone else. We took care of each other and were content to do so. An orphan dog and her outcast master. Sharing my life with Keena was the closest I have ever come to the contentment I seek.

And we lived that way, in easy reciprocity. We were not master and animal. We were the best of friends. We protected each other, provided for each other. We understood each other. Words were unnecessary. Keena was the perfect partner. I had found the purest of all the Creator’s creatures.

The Builder and his sons began to construct a massive box of wood. Each day some of my Watcher brethren would stand and observe the construction, and each day the Builder would ask them to turn from their wickedness and join him. As his great-grandfather had. Then the Watchers and the Earthborn that were loyal to them would gather and ridicule the Builder while he worked. To his credit, he never stopped his labors to answer them.

Keena and I would watch him from the edge of the forest. He would call out for anyone to join his labors who wanted to, but no one took him up on his offer. “The water is coming!” he would shout. But anyone listening would only laugh at him.

And we watched.

One day, a group of Watchers and Earthborn brought casks of wine and filled a long table with roasted meats and feasted while the man and his sons worked in the hot sun. When they were fully drunk, my brothers and their followers began hurling stones at the family and their long, wooden box. Their attack became so furious, so relentless, that the Builder and his sons were forced to seek shelter.

And we watched.

Keena growled, and the fur on her neck and back prickled. I shook my head at her and assured her this was not our fight. We retreated to the safety of the forest and our camp, far away from the Builder and his harassment at the hands of the drunken revelers.