I write these words in darkness.
In the humid air of Summer morning. In the cold shadow of Winter, where the wind cuts like a blade. In the forlorn Glade of Night, my only remaining place of peace. Sweet Suan no longer sings for me, although I cannot blame him. My daughters still seek my counsel, but it is with hushed steps and worried words, like a nurse checking in on a patient. Only Alistair addresses me the same, but his child-like face is just another mockery of my failure.
It is near the end for me — I hear it in the ripples of the River, clearer now than it ever was before. In the coming ages my actions will still exist in these ripples, but I will not be there to explain them. Thus my need to write these words. To tell the true story — words written in darkness, but capable of enduring the light.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. The great calamity that broke the land, and the great storm that followed. Suan told me there had been many like it, but none quite as drastic as this one. He found me at the edge of Night, naked as a babe, my body broken. I know of children, but I have never been one. My mind has always been as an adult, my nature matronly, my power unquestionable.
When I asked Suan my name, he told me it was Ma — I've always known that it was a partial truth, but I decided long ago not to question. He told me I was one of three sisters, one that lived in the land of the gods, and another who roamed in a land forbidden. It was unlikely that we would ever meet, but he named them Zi and Na. He was wrong, though. I was not one of three sisters — we were only the greatest of thousands, the three largest shards that were once a whole plane of glass. I could feel them out in the darkness, like little stars screaming for attention, and the harsher truth that lay beneath. That we are all a mockery of something greater, a little shard of a little shard, trending towards infinity.
But Suan never spoke of it, and for some reason, I kept these secrets to myself. It felt wrong to share them, as if some creature were always watching, some god up on high, that would punish me for my transgressions.
Instead, I left this secret to burrow within me. Suan taught me of the world and the stars, of the forests in Night, and the creatures within them. He taught me how to pull down the night sky, how to summon the moon, and how to embrace the twilight that came before the day. He taught me the warmth of skin, the softness of lips, and the gentleness of his heart. Decades passed in the blink of an eye, each night a mortal year, and suddenly we weren't alone anymore. Ma became MaMa, at first a joke and then a calling, as Suan and I made thirteen daughters, each as wonderful as Night itself.
First was Myrtle, the cold embrace of darkness itself, born of the moon when it was new. Then Selene, born of the gentle light of the crescent, and Mahina, of the moonlit ripples beneath the waves. Soon after was Laguna, born of the plants that thrive in the deep, and Illana — born of the first seed in Night, once gifted to Suan by fair Mother Oak. Amaranth was born of the herbs that blossom in darkness, and Harvest came to be as the moon was full, born of the light it had to spare. Feral came to us from the energies of the Wild Hunt, an echo of the first howls of our wolves. Hecate rose from a lunar eclipse, when our entwined shadows blanketed the moon, and Noelani was born of our breaths, which formed as mist in the low valleys. Then Seraphina, born of the flames that heal the forests, and the shadows they cast. We made Celeste from the auroras in the sky, sating Suan's bond with the North, as Vega was to mine — to all the little stars out there in the dark, and the meanings they are given.
As Suan taught me the meaning of Night, so did I teach my daughters, and all the little things besides. I taught them of magic and secrets, of the making of things, and how to provide for others. I taught them rage and sweetness, how to love and how to hate. I showed them the borders of the River Styx, and all that lie between, and encouraged them to make spaces of their own — as I had built my own home in the Glade.
As they grew, we began to have our own secrets, and our own passions. I taught Myrtle how to bind a shadow, and Selene how to capture the moonlight. Laguna took a liking to the Kelpies, and so we raised them together, as Mahina and I took to the deeps. Illana and I tended to the forests themselves, as Amaranth worked with me in the Garden, and with Harvest I tended the moon. Feral loved hunting with her father, often spending more time with him than I, but she would speak to me of her adventures, and I would listen.
Where Feral traded in stories, Hecate and I traded in secrets, ever-enamored with the mysteries of the universe. I taught her to open her inner eye, and together we explored the futures together. When I grew weary, Noelani and I would Sing, and soon her voice grew to match my own.
Seraphina was a lonely child... While we would spend time together, it never felt the same as the others. Even Suan struggled with her, although they bonded over their mastery of evocation. While we had no such commonality, she always came drifting by if I'd been gone too long, and that made all the difference.
Like Feral, Celeste was often at Suan's hip, as she shared his longing for the North. While I visited the people there on occasion, I did not share their passion, but I did enjoy her mastery of the lights, and so we crafted many an illusion together. Vega was the opposite, my little one, my secret. We played in the geometries that made up the stars, and created stories for them, and shared them with the mortals. Soon they became legends, and we delighted in their twisting over the passage of time...
I reminisce at such length only to impart that I love my daughters each and equally. While I have not been the greatest mother to them in this recent age, I still remember the delight in their faces, and crave their attention when the Day is long. If I had know then what I know now, I would have made better choices. But even Hecate could not foresee what was coming...
He came at the first turn of the twilight hour. His hair like gold, his majesty inherent, a creator god in the flesh.
Rufus Geldenleaf.
That mad dog was with him, as was Raemus, but neither raised their hand. Like decorations to the masterpiece, a threat of greater violence to follow, should any bar the master's way. At the time, I didn't know what he wanted. But Suan refused, his words and posture violent, his fists clenched in rage. They argued for a time, and then Rufus left... He promised that Suan would come to regret his decision, but Suan assured me the words were empty. He assured all of us that we were safe, and that while he sat on the throne of Night, none would come to harm.
The creature came on the night of the new moon.
It had crimson hair held in place by two horns, one burning with a pure, white flame, the other a violence of color. There was a lantern at its hip that seemed to empower it, and ward it from the flames of others. I still remember Seraphina's screams of frustration, and Noelani's cries of pain, as the creature's claws took her throat... Then it came for me — like it was meant to come for me — and a warding shadow stood in its way. Sweet Myrtle, the shadows of the forest bound beneath her, calling on darkness to swallow the flames.
And then she was gone.
So sudden. So complete. I didn't know what to do... And so I screamed, and that scream built into a howl, until all of Night could feel my suffering. Something raw and ugly bubbled up from within me, and I ripped the creature in half — splitting that duality of flames into one and one. The two halves fled, each holding one half of its lantern, and we could do nothing but watch it go.
Suan did not tell me what it was, or where it had come from. Perhaps he didn't know... But we both knew who had sent it.
How do you kill a creator god?
It was a question that became my purpose, my sole reason for living. For every sob my daughters wept, I spent another day in the Glade, pouring through the tomes in my study. While Suan was verbally against my plan — our daughters forbidden to take part — he made no effort to stop me. Instead, he poured his rage into the crack that had opened his heart, and sealed it closed. It was as unhealthy as my obsession for knowledge, and arguably more damaging. As he turned a blind eye to my experiments, I turned away from the weapons he made for the mortals, and the arts he taught the rebels of the North. He made no comment of the blood beneath my fingernails, and my gaze slid over the forge at the edge of Night and Day.
Our daughters were grown now, and capable of entertaining themselves, but they still came calling from time to time. I... I began to see them as a distraction. I could not look at them without seeing Myrtle, and that old howl came rising up again... Suan made more time for them than I, and thus my work progressed faster than his toying with the mortals. When I completed the first round of experiments, I knew that my husband's way was merely only a part of the story.
A weapon to kill a creator god would surely be needed, but the weapon would not take the form of a sword. It was the wielder that was of great importance, a creature made without their influence, and untainted by their perception of body, mind, and soul. A grown warrior with the mind of a child, and the power to unmake creation in their hands... Suan called it inadvisable. He assured me that his weapon would work, that it would destroy them. But he had assured me before, and I was done hoping.
So I took the shore, and pulled forth the sea foam at the edge of the waves. I Sang to it as I reached out to the creatures of the forest, and bonded them to the making. I used the leaves and branches from the trees, the bones buried beneath the soil, and the light of the stars. So much and more, a list of combinations unending, each experiment leading to a child. A Kinder, I called them — grown in my little Kinder Garden. The Glade was no longer empty, but filled with their beds, a little divot in the earth where each mote of potential would lie. To defeat a creator god, you see, one must think as them, act as them. I was attempting to beat them at their own game, to create that which they would not, the very thing that would destroy them.
There were, of course, failures. Kinder that weren't strong enough to live without my assistance, or too weak to leave the borders of Night. Others simply could not survive the training, or failed early on in their adventures. For this, you may believe me a monster... But does the mother bird not watch as her children leave the nest, and watch on as each falls or flies? The ones that survive are her true children, her legacy.
Mind you, I had no illusion that my own shortcomings were often to blame. Each generation of Kinder were better than the last, surviving longer, killing greater foes. Sweet Suan, having remained on the sidelines for so long, began to take an interest then. He began to arm the children with weapons from his forge, hoping to better their chances. This only revealed what I already knew — while helpful, the weapons were as likely to harm the Kinder as they were to help them, as few were capable of wielding the masterworks of Night.
It was around this time that I began to see my other daughters take part in the shadows. Teaching the Kinder of their ways, of the secrets I had once taught them, and their own gifts that they had come to master. While they did not share my bloodlust, they had grown attached to the comings and goings of the small ones, taking on the role of secret, elder siblings. Suan noticed, but time had weathered his original proclamation, as long as our daughters maintained a modicum of caution.
For a time, this family effort — however shallow — began to bond us again. Suan and I no longer avoided each others eyes... Alistair was born of that facsimile of love, kind, and gentle, and hollow. Just like his father. A true heir to Night. But Alistair had no interest in his father's throne, choosing to play among the Kinder instead. He sought my attention every day, demonstrating his abilities alongside my experiments, keeping his stature small to match their forms. For a time I allowed it, as this forced the next generation of Kinder to grow. But over time, poor Alistair's limitations became apparent. Having been made of existing essence, he lacked the cosmic makeup required to challenge the gods.
When I began to abandon him, Suan grew cold to me. He forbid Alistair from visiting the Glade, and his restriction on our daughters' activities there tightened. Alistair hated him for it... But our daughters were old enough to understand.
Even now, there is a part of me that hates myself for turning my back on them, for continuing the work. But I could never forget Myrtle, just as Noelani could no longer Sing.
The Kinder continued to earn their weapons, and Suan taught the mortals the art of Words. But he didn't speak to me. The creatures of the Night began to stop answering my calls for bonding, and old ingredients lost their potency. It was then I had begun to wonder... Perhaps Night had been my problem all along? I decided to create two children — both of sea foam, but one from the essence of Night, and the other from the dregs I could gather from Day. It was the last creation in which I bound guardians to a Kinder — a group of ladybugs for the Night-born child, and a curious spider wandering on the border of Day. In a fit of inspiration, I gave neither child a True Name, hoping to protect them from the divinations of the creators.
When Suan found them, he was furious. He called them an abomination, and swore that their lives would be full of hardship. He claimed that I had all but abandoned them at the start, creating them without identity, leaving them without the protections a True Name brings. Then he took the Night-born twin from me, and stormed out of the Glade.
We didn't speak again for three years.
But I didn't need him, and my previous experiment proved it. While the Day-born twin was comatose, I could feel the power of the child growing. Suan only visited her once, to leave her a sword embossed with sparrows, which he rested in her hands. Once he had left, all of Night could hear his weeping, and the destruction that erupted from the forge. The Hollow Blade was the last weapon he ever made — a sword made from his hollowness, from the mold instead of metal. He gave it to the Night-born twin, although I knew she would never be strong enough to wield it.
Without Suan's blessing, my family now estranged from me, I had little choice but to outsource for materials. So I went to the very mortals Suan loved, and found an assistant worthy of my great work. Her name was Agatha, known for her mastery of White Flame — a curious material that had begun to appear in the world at some point after my interest in the mortals faded. She had her own reasons for hating the creator gods, and felt a great compassion for the Kinder, making her a perfect vessel for my work. Through her research, I was able to locate other powerful entities Suan had failed to teach me of.
I traded flame with Lasair, and the mysteries of Scath's shadows. I stole a scale from Io, and pulled a thread from the thoughts of the Dreaming King. The Kinder born of these materials were so different than the last, each unique in both appearance and power. With the forge broken, these children had no weapons to guide them... Nor did those weapons limit them. But they still weren't enough. While their conquerors were far grander on the cosmic scale, they still could not approach the creator gods. As they began to perish in mass, I could tell that Agatha had begun to plot against me... She began seeking a method to stop my work, or to destroy me all together.
At the time, I thought this attempt rather amusing, if also sad... If only I had known her capacity for foolishness.
It was around this era of my life that Vic and Rufus came to odds — or at least, for the first time in my memory. The trail left behind their battle was easy to follow, and while I considered striking while the iron was hot, I knew neither I nor my Kinder were up to task... When I saw that crimson-haired merchant in the flesh, I knew at last my true enemy. While his posture and aura were different, that unnatural hair was unmistakable, born not of genetics but of Identity. Then I saw the lanterns hanging in his tent, and the mockery in his heart. But I stomached my hatred, and in return for my services during his time of weakness, I traded him for one of the flames — one wild and unforgiving, each lick of fire a new color, gone and never repeated. In a fit of whimsy, he granted me a weapon to go with it, a sword made of seven, rainbow shards, and claimed that it had been made by his father. I accepted out of caution, and out of curiosity. A foolish mistake. Once healed, Vic went his own way, and I went mine.
I crafted Lalantha that very night.
She was a wild child, all fight and fury, her harmonic trinity unbound by the constraints set by the creators. I knew early on that she was to be my greatest work, and after several more failed attempts with other Kinders, I paused their development entirely. In my fervor, I did not notice the sudden lack of Agatha, and several of the elder Kinder slipped away from me. But it didn't matter, because Lalantha was the answer.
I sent her out early and often, wetting her fangs on the lords of the cosmos, and letting new ones rise up in their place. Each time she came back stronger, smarter... It was no small stroke of luck when Suan left to attend the interests of the mortals, leaving the wards of Night in Alistair's care. It was easy to pry the Night-born child from beneath him, and while I found in her no great power, she bore a certain tenacity. She and Lalantha were fast rivals, each trying to best the other in every way. But the girl was restrained by the limitations of the Hollow Blade, whereas Lalantha's sword only enhanced her power. Add in the girl's indescribable luck, and any common warrior could see the child was unmatched. But she strived for victory regardless, and Lalantha was made better for it, so I allowed it to continue.
It all fell apart with the Rookery.
Agatha overstretched, having found something capable of undoing me, but having underestimated her power. Suan watched in horror as the North began to crumble, saving what pieces he could, as Na at last became known to me. Smother, she called herself, as I was Ma but MaMa. Whereas I could only glance into the River Styx, she could swim inside it, and knew the secrets of the Glass Elves.
When Suan returned to find the Night-born child in my Garden, he struck me. I had never seen him so angry, and that anger trickled down to poor Alistair. When he left with the child, I knew it would not be long before he returned, and so I began to prepare my Kinder for their final journey — to equip themselves to enter the Godswood, and sunder the gods. I marked Lalantha as their leader, naming their targets each, and laid them down for one, last rest.
Smother came in the light of the full moon, and killed them all.
After so many years in the Garden, I had grown too weak to stop her, and Suan had forbidden my daughters from entering. I could hear their screams from the edges, as each child fell to her blade. Only Lalantha was capable of harming her, but I saw then something the Kinder could not — thousands of lanterns, some just as bright as Lalantha's flame, pouring power into my shattered sister's back.
The rainbow sword broke, its shards cutting away my vision, and then Night was truly dark.
The Garden is a Glade again, though I can still feel the hollows as I walk. Suan has forsaken his name, and refuses to speak to me. Smother is gone, but she will return for me.
Lalantha is dead.
Know now that I do not write these words seeking pity. I know what manner of creature is Ma, and the failures I leave behind me. I write these words so that you may know the truth — that the creator gods can be killed, for I have seen a creature capable of destroying them. One with a will inseverable, and a sword that can break creation. I cannot work with her now, for I am broken. For I hate her with all of my heart. But perhaps you may succeed where I have failed.
Find Smother, sweet reader. Help her. Stand at her back.
Together you will destroy the world.
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