The cell was dark and bitter cold, and her captors were asleep. Bloodied and unclothed, she was sprawled on a witch's sigil engraved into the concrete. It had been threescore years and twenty since she was condemned to the shadows of existence. A human lifetime. The rain pattered against the small windowsill above and ran down the steel bars in rivulets. It cascaded down the inside of the crooked wall and muddied on jagged concrete. Slow and steady, the water streamed toward her. She managed to lift herself from the floor and look toward her captors. And in deep sleep, they remained, snoring loudly. The puddle inched across the outer circle of the sigil, and she laid her head facing the mouth of the stream. Gaea gulped down the puddle with the mud and the muck, and the taste of the earth reawakened what laid dormant through time. As if the chains which bound her had been broken, she rose to her feet as lightning slashed the velvet dusk and a clash of thunder boomed across the night. The thunderous roar jostled her captors and both men drooped with disbelief upon seeing her unbound.
"You—" was all the man said before the earth split and swallowed them whole. Gaea ran her finger on the rust of the metal gate, and it corroded into infinite grains of bronze and gold. She stepped out of the cell and strode down the narrow passage, resting on the wall between strides. When she emerged from the old place, she walked into the rain as it washed away the filth from eighty years in captivity. Water trickled down her arms, and seeped into her flesh. She'd left a paradise, and returned naked, alone and hungry. In what was now known as the world of men, she was made from woman and needed raiment to conceal what was neither her desire to show nor theirs to see. She imagined the genus Gossypium, the cotton plant and from the dead soil, it grew. The plant rose from the damp soil and she turned it into fabric against her skin. When the work was done, she exhaled having been depleted, if only a little. It had been a long time since she fashioned something from nothing at all.
----
Her feet scrunched the gravel as she trod along the treelined drive. Lit by gaslight, there was a lone cottage at the end which seemed further and further away the closer she managed toward it. An hour had come and gone and yet she found herself walking the same dirt road, passing the same old tree and seeing the same old house at the same old distance.
Caerus and his tricks, she thought heaving breath after breath. But what could she do? Stripped off her name, her status, and her place in the very earth she once ruled, she was closer to being human than she was a god. The rain pattered soft and gentle, and white mist threaded between the trees, and blew across her path like a sandstorm. She stopped walking and glanced at the tree again—the same old tree that seemed to remain in place as the world shifted and changed around it. She brushed the trunk, and her hand slipped through the woven veil, breaking the mirage. Behind the illusion stood Gabriel, an imp hybrid creature—half-human, half-hare. He drooped with fear, and leaned away from her, his breath unsteady. Gaea looked upon her surroundings and found herself standing in the middle of the cottage yard near the only tree which grew from uncertain earth.
"Gabriel," Gaea shuddered at having her first word in eighty years be the name of Caerus' imp.
Gabriel trembled. "You're back."
"I am."
"But—how?"
"Where's your master?"
"I—I just do what he says—"
"I know, that's why I used the word 'master'," she said.
"I'm just paying off a debt," said Gabriel.
Gaea scoffed softly. "Where are my kindred?"
"...Sorry?"
"The lion and the lamb—ring a bell?"
"I don't know—that sounds like something he wouldn't tell me about. I was just supposed to keep you busy."
"I see," said Gaea softly.
"Please—don't make me say more or I'll break my contract and I'll look like this forever." Gabriel trembled, losing himself in his own misery.
Gaea cocked her head and softened her expression. "Forever is not as distant a future as you imagine. Not for an immortal. Because you're already living in it—that's why it's eighty years later and you still look like this."
"I never wanted this, you know—" tears streamed down the hare's furry cheeks, and he collapsed to the ground.
Gaea turned away. "Sooner or later, one must endure the things they dread. Even if it means losing everything they've ever known."
"I've lost all I could ever lose."
"But never all he could take." Her floral cloak swirled around her as she strode toward the cottage, the petals blowing with the wind.
She opened the door and crossed the threshold, and emerged falling into a realm of endless space and time. Oscillating gears from a clock gleam metallic gold, foundering amongst an expanse of brume. A mobile bridge swept across the realm, and as it passed, she extended a hand and grabbed on to the ledge. As feet dangled over continuous space and time, she lifted herself up and collapsed onto the bridge with a thud. The bridge was still in motion, stretching and twisting from one spiral staircase toward another. The staircase would then descend into the mist—the uncertain. His was a realm always in motion. Gaea laid on the bridge, gazing skyward to find not the rapture of blue that she created from stardust and angel mist, but merely a reflection of the world below mirrored back. She looked at herself—weakened, bruised, without any power to call her own.
The bridge snapped into place, and Gaea rose to look upon the adjoining staircase. She descended the revolving flight of stairs as they hovered over the oscillating gears, clunking and grinding for endless time. At the foot of the stairs was an endless white of pale mist, and Gaea stole ahead with abandon. She felt for solid ground, and found a door. When she entered the unknown, she emerged back in the realm of endless space and time.
"CAERUS!" She roared a bellow of rage.
Gaea stood on a bridge which hovered over a rotating wheel train, and stepped onto the ledge. Without a thought, she leaped downward and fell onto one of the rotating pinions, rolling over until she managed her balance. Amid the gears clunking below, Gaea could feel the earth—it was the gold, which in its natural form could be found in the deepest layers of the earth.
Her lips threatened a smile, and she closed her eyes. She extended a hand, commanding the material to a grinding halt. As if time had stood still, the bridges and staircases stopped mid-rotation, and the white brume turned into a grey fog, as if darkness burst into the air and grew.
"You could stop time with a trick like that, Earth Lord," a voice said suddenly. Gaea turned and standing atop a still pinion was Caerus, the god of opportunity, luck and fleeting moments. "So, is this where we have a big battle to end all big battles?"
"That's it?" Gaea asked with controlled emotion. "No explanation, no thinly veiled apology?"
"I assure you, Mother Nature, if I were to apologize, it would be appropriately veiled."
Gaea scowled, watching the youth gaze upon her with a tranquil arrogance. Caerus was a ten-thousand-year-old god in a teenage human's body. He had curly blonde hair, and untainted sapphire eyes.
"Before your monarch ends," Gaea said, "I want to know why you let me escape."
"I didn't."
"Rainwater in my cell? Sleeping guards? If you were the kind to make stupid mistakes, I wouldn't have lost eighty years."
"Eighty years in eternity is nothing but a drop in the ocean. It means nothing."
"Fires in my forest, my children—poached, driven to extinction by a race that styles themselves as a higher form of being, when in reality, they're a speck of dust in an ocean of filth, which by the way, is actually yet another thing ailing my realm."
"The humans were never my idea—but they're a necessary evil," Caerus observed, stepping closer toward her. "As the god of opportunity, a race which indulges in fleeting moments of happiness and chasing temporary desires, they keep my existence intact. Say what you will about them, but their search for temporary measures gives some of us meaning."
"Meaning?" Gaea smiled, "is that what you were searching for? How does taking Kronos' realm for yourself give you meaning?"
"Kronos was a god who believed that time was linear—we disagreed, and as you know, I don't fight fair, not when my existence is questioned by a god who's been given everything."
Gaea furrowed her gaze. "And my imprisonment? How did that factor into your search for meaning?"
"In captivity, when your anger flared, the oceans rose up and swallowed entire civilizations; when you wept for hours on end, you flooded cities. Every negative emotion you felt created disaster of such magnitude that humanity sought fleeting moments of comfort against the unknown. They indulged—in sex, in money, in crime, in drugs, all for that brief moment of control and relief. I created the opportunities for myself. It's what you do when you're born with nothing."
Gaea hardened her gaze, furrowing her golden-brown eyes in repressed anger. "Where are my kindred?"
"It was not in my power to imprison the lion and the lamb," Caerus said, as he leaned on an arbor. A fleeting smile crossed his lips, and was quickly replaced by a daring glare. "How long will you hesitate?"
Gaea averted her gaze for a moment. Caerus scoffed. "You've always been a kind-hearted little god, haven't you? You wanted revenge, and now you're just standing there—why won't you do what's necessary?"
Gaea cocked her head to the side, giving Caerus a thorough read. "No," she said.
"No?"
"The God of Opportunity and Fleeting Moments wants to indulge my desire for revenge—if I satisfy that part of me, that fleeting moment of satisfaction, then as a fellow god, I will give you something you want—power." Gaea chuckled. "Eighty years, and this was your endgame, wasn't it? Lock me away from my world, and let me watch it burn before my eyes and then allow me to escape—allow me to indulge in my own hatred and then get everything you've ever wanted. So... no."
Caerus stood aghast; no other cards left to play. "What? Are you—"
"We're done here, Caerus." Gaea walked away, as Caerus stood with a look of dismay on his face.
"You've always been such a weak, little girl!" He shouted at her from behind. "The wise and beautiful, Mother of Nature, but you're so annoyingly soft—you're no god, you hear me?!"
Caerus dashed toward her in a burst of anger, but his advance was stopped mid-attack, as if a puppeteer had pulled his strings taut.
"A fleeting moment of anger," sweetly said the Lamb, emerging from the mist. "Gods shouldn't indulge the very vices they represent, Kairos."
"What—no, you were gone—"
"No. Waiting... for Ge. So, we remained in your realm until the day she would return."
Cast with fear, Caerus' eyes shot open. "We?"
A low, rumbling growl emerged from the pale white mist, and a large paw sauntered into view. A raven-black mane bellowed softly in the breeze, as the Lion bared his teeth, poised to pounce. And then the Lion leaped, jaws snapping and biting into Caerus' bare neck. The nape snapped with a crack, and the head was torn asunder, and tossed to the centre of the wheel train. The Lamb released the hold, and Caerus' body plopped to the ground as blood spewed from the wound of the headless corpse.
Gaea looked away from Caerus' corpse, overcome with a strange melancholia. "You waited," she said softly.
"We waited," said the Lamb in a gentle voice. "For you."
The Lamb strode toward Gaea and rubbed against her with affection. "The years have not been kind, have they?"
"No," said Gaea. "I'm not myself—not right now."
"You'll get there."
Together, they walked away from the realm, as the gears disassembled and the bridges dismantled and collapsed. Debris rained down on the realm, as Caerus' fragile construct began to die along with him. When they emerged from the small cottage, the foundation rumbled and it all turned to rubble.
----
THREE DAYS LATER
Gaea watched the pigeon feed from her palm. She threw more seed at the ground, and the rest of the brood pecked away in unison. At the stroke of midnight, the public park sidewalks and pastural stretches where smallfolk and animals had thronged were empty and deserted. And in that darkness, only the Lion and the Lamb witnessed her growing discomfort. For days now, a gnawing anxiety burned through her, sending shivers down her spine whenever thoughts of Caerus crossed her mind.
"Your soul is adrift, kindred Gaea," said the Lamb, nibbling grass. "It's making the animals uneasy."
Agitated, the pigeons rose to the sky, wings beating at the air as they took flight.
"Now that's not wise," said the Lamb. "I can feel their anxiety—they're disturbed."
Gaea winced, looking up at the sky with an expression of regret. "They'll suffer—the night was not made for them."
"It wasn't," the Lamb said. "The earth will crack with the weight of your emotions. Exercise control. You're a god."
"One of the unfortunate ones—emotions count against you. They slow you, dull your reasoning. You should get rid of it. Make sure it doesn't grow back." The Lion grumbled.
Gaea chuckled. "I don't think I can do that, but thank you for the suggestion."
"Emotion," the Lamb wondered. "What does it feel like?"
Gaea averted her gaze and pondered for a moment. "A longing that never fades. Or a yearning—that's always there."
"Does it hurt?"
"Almost always."
"But the enemy god is slain," the Lion interjected with deep growl. "All the gods will know better than to linger anywhere but our shadow. We are the beginning, and the end. We are the dreams that give them hope and the nightmares that consume them in the deepest of sleep."
Gaea smiled. "I know, but—after I escaped my captors and made for Caerus, I thought revenge was what I was after, but as soon as I saw him, it was the last thing I wanted. You know, as the daughter of Chaos, I was given emotion because it's in emotion that chaos manifests itself. I so much as have my feelings hurt and I cry an ocean that swallows a city and kills millions—"
"Humans die—what of it? The species is designed to end." The Lion said in a low growl. "They kill each other in the millions with or without us. The race seems to have a particular fascination with mortality."
"Yes," Gaea said. "I know exactly what they are. Just as I knew exactly what Caerus was. Every creature has a function; we're all cogs in the wheel, pinions that allows the gears to turn so the clock could wind on and on. Just as I need the rain, the rivers and the sunlight, Caerus is the Lord of Opportunity and what he needs is very rare to come by. He acted in a way that ensured his survival—and I couldn't fault him for that."
"Not all gods are made the same," said the Lamb. "That is why one was not nearly enough to imprison you. There were more—working against us."
"Yes," Gaea admitted sullenly.
"God, human, hound nor devil—if it draws breath, it's beneath us," the Lion growled. "They'll show themselves—in time."
"And if not?" The Lamb poked with curiosity.
"Then we chase—hunt them to the ends of the realm."
Tears filled Gaea's eyes unbidden. Perhaps, among the gods, she truly was weak. As if by command, the skies rumbled and pouring rain fell from the sky.
"Cry if you must," the Lamb said, climbing on the park bench where Gaea sat. "But when you're done, remind yourself just who you are." The Lamb leaned on Gaea's shoulder, as she fought back her tears.
"Is this what it feels like to be weak?" Gaea asked.
"I do not know," said the Lamb. "For all I see is strength redefining itself."
The night was fiercely black. Amid the steady drizzle of rain, the half-moon beamed overhead surrounded by a serenade of stars. In undisturbed peace, they watched the heavens they once knew take shape once more. Off in the distance, a lone wolf howled. Scattered miles apart, others howled back, loud and endless. The Lion growled with a gnawing irritation, and rose to his paws in unhurried grace. He bellowed with a thunderous roar and the birds burst from the branches and took flight. Tremors shook the earth, sending a rhythmic quiver which silenced the night. The kindred gods of the earth shared a laugh as the earth rested, calm as still water.