Someone must have turned on the heat in the room, because I flush like there’s no tomorrow. “Don’t you get it? I am not the future mother of Elderdom or whatever you guys call it.”
Bios sits up. “I was simply making a statement of fact, little Creator.”
I’m totally flustered, though. “I will die before I ever allow something like that to happen.”
“You still do not get it, do you? There is no way for you to die while I am here with you. I will not allow it.” He pauses. “Plus, one of the powers of Creation you appear to not have that Enlilkian still does is that of reanimation. If you were dying, I would be able to treat you. If you died, however, he would simply bring you back once I bring your body to him. You do not want this. Believe me, little Creator, if Enlilkian tasks you to do something, it is best to do it.”
I chew on my lower lip as I consider this. Is he telling us what life is like for the Elders? “Have you ever been punished for failing to do what he wants?”
Bios looks off to the side. “Of course.”
“And Rudshivar?”
He laughs very quietly. “That fool. Oh yes, little Creator. Rudshivar met his fair share of punishments over the years.” A hand rubs tiredly over his—my father’s—face. “Stupid bastard.”
Jonah speaks for the first time in the week I’ve been visiting Bios. “You wish for death?”
Bios’ eyes flicker towards him in surprise. Then they shutter in his languid, frivolous personality. “The pet speaks. I worried that your ... I don’t even know what to call it. The one like you?” When Jonah doesn’t respond, he continues, “Well, whatever it is ... I wondered if he was the one to get the power of speech. I am pleased to see you both are able to communicate.”
This guy is such an asshole, it’s ridiculous.
“Do you know that you’re in my father’s body?”
Bios yawns. “As a matter of fact, I did not.”
“Was this my gift all along? Your father decided to kill mine so you could possess the body and come watch over me?”
Bio merely smiles sadly. “You would have liked my old visage. I was beautiful. My sisters all clamored to have my children.”
I can’t stop the shudder that rolls through my body. So many, many ews.
This entertains him, though. “How do you think our race came to be, little Creator? There were only so many of us to work with. Although, once Enlilkian created his underlings, we mated with them, too. Only those offsprings’ powers were pitiful; many had none at all.”
The Métis. He’s talking about Métis, right?
“What disappointments they were. Father despised them and their failures. It was his wish that as many die as possible so he could rebuild a better race. For us to reclaim what we foolishly gave.”
Is this why they’ve been targeting the Métis? Because they hold no crafts? Could it really be such a simple yet horrible explanation?
Jonah says, “If I’m not mistaken, our kind came from Rudshivar, not the rest of you.”
The corner of one of my father’s lips curves upward. “Let me be the one to tell you that you are quite mistaken.”
Good lords. Do we have any of this right so far?
“Why don’t you explain it to us then?” Jonah asks coldly.
I expect Bios to balk, but he tells us, “Rudshivar was such a lovely storyteller, you see. While he was able to create the different species there are today, he was not able to create Magicals. Those were created with his sisters and children. He secretly bred them like one would breed animals. He bred for looks and talent, to ensure he had the best army. For example, every Shaman you have is descended from me, including the green one here with us. I gifted Rudshivar one of my favorite children to use. A number of us did, before the uprising.”
I feel like I need a notepad to keep track of all of this insanity.
He glances at Jonah. “I suppose you’re wondering which sibling you’re from.”
My fiancé says, “I couldn’t care less who I’m descended from.”
Bios chuckles. “You are so like her, too.”
“If you helped Rudshivar with the uprising, why are you still with Enlilkian? Why were you stripped of your existences and banished in a hole?” Jonah presses.
“Because sometimes, what you want and what you get are two very different things,” the first Shaman says quietly. “And we’d all seen what he’d done to those of us who disobeyed. Only Rudshivar was able to get away, and only because he shared the powers of creation. The rest of us ...” Bios closes his eyes. “I’m tired, little Creator. And I’d prefer to not have to dwell on those who no longer exist.” He waves his hand dismissively.
Just as Jonah shuts the door behind us, Bios whispers, “What a mess you’ve left me, Rudshivar.”