This is a current work in progress, an urban fantasy with more of an erotic flair. The idea was given to me by the dream muses, so I noted it down when I woke up. That was last month. It’s all spinning into an interesting story that I hadn’t anticipated. This is a small scene. A quick side note: Myrdin is gender-neutral, so I’ve used ‘they/them’ for their pronouns. ‘Divus’ is the name for my race in this book.
Myrdin turned the book over in their hands, the bedsheets beneath it still a crumpled mess. The comforter reeked of their sister’s fever, and the book’s material itself was human drivel better left as fodder for their fireplace.
A ball of flames sprouted forth from Myrdin’s hand, fingerless red gloves avoiding the sparks that ate the book alive. It reflected in the round brass glasses on the Divus’ face before it was mere ash upon the bedspread. “Of course, it would be her,” they mumbled as they left the room. It wasn’t the fact that their sister was a resurrector that bothered them, but the idea that she had the nerve to get off and discover herself through human filth. Humans existed to serve those higher than them in society and nature, and the Divus were well above and beyond. The fact that their families were paid for their service was generous enough. Myrdin smiled darkly.
At least there was a way to get their own sort of stress-relief.
The black marble greeted Myrdin as their heeled footsteps crept from the red bedroom. A young human male, about nineteen years old, greeted them in fear, his head turned down to face the floor. “Hello, master. How may I help you?”
Myrdin grabbed the young man’s jaw and jerked it upright, their golden eyes glowing with mischief as the human dared to make eye contact. “It’s ‘how may I serve you,’ and you are never to look me in the eye again, understand?” Myrdin took delight in the whimper that came from the boy and tossed him aside. As the dull thud of a body hitting the floor met their ears, they left the pathetic creature to whimper in the dark.
Myrdin quickly made their way through the estate they and their sister shared, and then crossed the dimly lit lobby to reach the other side of the expansive building, the judge awaiting them as they’d discussed. Myrdin tapped a black staff against the large doors to the judge’s quarters, taking a brief moment to fix their short, wavy red hair that fell just slightly over their brow. When the doors opened at the will of their owner, Myrdin slipped inside.
“You’re certain Amaranth is a resurrector?” The judge waved a dark hand to close the doors once more, throwing them into near darkness as Divus often preferred. His eyes glowed ice blue despite the lack of candles, which was quickly fixed as the judge gestured toward a few candelabra in the parlor.
“Positive, Nuvian. Her bed told as much.” The sounds coming from behind her door had drawn Myrdin closer, and as they’d approached to listen, it was more than enough of a confirmation before the soiled sheets were found. “Have you already contacted the elders to convene?”
“Yes, I sent the message this morning.” Nuvian adjusted his black and gold robes as he leaned against a desk. “Is she prepared to go through the test?”
“Probably not.” Myrdin’s hand flexed at the memory of the last one. It had been the first time they’d seen such a performance, and at the touch of their own hand. It was ironic their sister was next to be confirmed.
“You don’t have to perform the test this time, I’ve already—”
“I’ll do it. It means nothing to me.” Myrdin waved a hand as if it were all trivial, which it was.
Nuvian lowered his eyes in silent judgment, the creases on his face from age showing where they normally did not. “She’s your kin.”
“And what does physical touch mean to most of us?” Myrdin threw up jazz hands. “Nothing. This is for the greater good — to continue our lineage. There’s nothing intimate involved.”
“It’s the principle of the matter. It doesn’t mean you’ll be stepping down permanently as an enforcer.”
“It’s my job, I’m doing it. End of story. Now…” Myrdin clapped their hands, their staff reclaimed from where it had balanced itself on the floor. “Our next step is to let Rydel know if he doesn’t already. I’m sure Amaranth confided in him first.”
“They’re close already?” Nuvian smiled. “That makes this much easier, doesn’t it?”
“Kind of. I know she admires him, but not in the way we need her to.” Myrdin twirled their staff again, unable to stand in one place for too long. “Although, it doesn’t really require a romantic connection, does it? They’ll just be going through the motions to fulfill their duty.”
“I don’t think it would, considering.” Nuvian genuinely hadn’t the slightest idea. He’d never entertained physical intimacy due to being infertile and asexual like most Divus, and he couldn’t claim to understand any of it. Sex included. It was a word — a sound upon his lips and nothing more. “It would be ideal to produce more than one child, however.”
“Ooh, we could make it an event!” Myrdin made a sound of glee and threw up their hands. “Put on a show!”
“Have them… perform publicly? That seems inappropriate.”
“It’s a rare event. How many resurrectors have you come across?”
“Exactly! It’ll be a celebration, a welcome to the new Divus child we haven’t seen in ages.” Myrdin tossed their staff in the air and caught it again, finally stilling their pacing to look Nuvian in the eye. The elder’s long black hair had finally started to gray. “This does call for a celebration, doesn’t it? Maybe they’ll give birth to another savior!”
Nuvian sighed and approached the front doors, setting a hand on the curved handle. “Let’s just contact the others first. We’ll have Rydel present for the test and when that is all said and done, we can move forward with further plans. It should ultimately be up to Rydel and Amaranth how they proceed, but we’ll discuss this further at a better time.” Nuvian opened the door and stood aside. “Good evening, Myrdin.”
More to come.
©2020 Shane Blackheart
The story is set in the 80s, and this song holds a theme for it: