Until Rudshivar’s break away from his father, the Elders, or Dingir as Bios claims they call themselves, lived under Enlilkian’s iron fisted rule. He lived above the rest, Bios says, even above Cailleach, although she was granted a place in his tree of life, albeit further down in the branches. If the Dingir and sentient life disobeyed him or disrupted him even in the tiniest way, he enacted terrible prices in his punishments. To go against Enlilkian was to suffer a horrendous fate, one that wasn’t consistent, either. Some transgressions were countered with obliteration, something, Bios insists, was considered mercy. Others were met with sadism. “One sister,” he tells Jonah and me one evening, “refused him his heirs. She was turned into a holly bush ... but she was more than just a bush. She was sentient and fully aware of every last nerve woven into the composition of the plant. When birds and small animals ate her berries, they were eating pieces of her. When it did not rain, she suffered severe dehydration. When a fire ravaged the area she was planted in, she burned alive. It was best when the fire came, truly. We were all secretly pleased for her when it did.”
“Why didn’t any of you help her?” I ask, now sitting on a chair of my own creation because our sessions together are lasting more than the five minutes.
“To help would have meant risking a similar fate. No—by this point, we all knew Enlilkian’s word was the final law. We are inherently selfish beings, little Creator. No one was willing to be disciplined in a misguided attempt at righteousness.”
Jonah asks, “Do you really think it’s misguided to hold fast to ideology you embrace?”
“To die for a cause I firmly believe in?” Bios considers this. “For many millennia, I would claim disinterest.”
“And now?” my fiancé presses. “Is there a cause you would die for?”
“Until recently, I have been mere essence: no corporal body, no voice, no ability to do anything other than exist in the most meager way possible. Causes are now dust and ash, Empath. They died alongside the people who carried their torches.”
“It’s not too late,” I argue. “Those of you who disagree with what Enlilkian is doing can join with us. You don’t have to live like that. You don’t have to do what you’re told anymore.”
His amusement is tempered with sorrow, I think. “We do as we’re told, because there is no other course we can take, but that does not always mean that the actions we carry through are the paths we would voluntarily walk. No, little Creator. I cannot see how joining your side would ever be an option for us.”
“I disagree.”
“You are free to do so in these last moments of freedom,” he says quietly.
“Things are different now,” I insist. “He’s not as powerful as he once was.”
“Now ...” he muses. “No. Now is no different than before.”
I walk away from this talk severely troubled. For so long, the Elders have been nothing more than mindless monsters to us. They murdered innocent beings, stealing their life essences away in fits of revenge. And yet ... the more we hear Bios’ story, the more it seems like these facts aren’t as cut and dry as we’d assumed.
Maybe the Elders aren’t, either.
“What did you look like?”
Bios stretches his arms above his head; chains clank noisily against the metal bed. “I’ve told you before. I was beautiful.”
For all he’s shared with us lately, sometimes getting answers out of him is like pulling teeth. “I meant specifically. For example, what color was your hair?”
“All colors.”
Jonah rolls his eyes. He is standing near the door, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest. He still doesn’t feel completely comfortable relaxing in the room, but he isn’t outwardly hostile towards Bios anymore, either.
Nor am I. I don’t know why, but I’ve come to view him as ... not exactly harmless, but not as big of a threat as I’d once perceived, even though he wears my father’s rotting face.
“How about your eyes?” I press. “What color were they?”
“All colors.”
I resist the urge to slap him. Sometimes, his answers are so maddening. “Nobody has hair or eyes that are all colors. For example, my hair is brown. My eyes are green. What were yours?”
“I told you. They were all colors.”
I sit on my hands so I don’t shake him silly. “And was your skin all colors?”
He laughs at my apparently stupid question. “Of course not. Only black, brown and white.”
How foolish of me.
“I will show you, if you like.” He sits up in the bed, tapping my father’s head. “I would let you, just this once.”
Jonah’s answer is firm. “No.”
“Do you not trust me, child of Frejjya?”
Well, it’s a step up from pet. We are working on Bios getting used to names.