‘I don’t like it.’
Not a promising reaction. Iseult had been laying out her hypothesis for a while now, walking Orikka through her reasoning. But despite the coherence of her logic, even with the dubious assumptions it required - the unknowns of the effects of a kin-resurrection on a newborn god, whether it would renege the godhood or retain the kin-killing mark, Orikka was resistant to the idea. It was not the unknowns, nor the prospect of dying themselves, but as Iseult had anticipated, the idea of birthing a child predestined to die.
‘We don’t know that death would be the final result. It’s possible they wouldn’t die, but would simply be able to move between the soul and living worlds. And it’s not so bad, being dead,’ she added in a small voice. Orikka sighed, a compassionate, empathetic sound. ‘Oh Iseult. Don’t you miss it? The sensations, the intensity of living? It’s a beautiful gift. And to birth a child destined for death, one whose primary purpose, without their consent, is to die for the benefit of my other children is, so deterministic. Where is their freedom? Their entire future will be laid out before them, don’t you remember what that is like?’ Iseult recoiled, Orikka had hit their intended mark, using her past against her, throwing it in her face like a weapon.
She steadied herself. This wasn’t the time to get off topic, she could deal with her feelings about that later. She rallied, ‘Aren't we all? Born to die, essentially. We live, yes, but with the knowledge that death is at the end. And life is more sweet for it. Only gods have eternity, and that is a life stolen from others, powered by the consumption and corruption of other’s souls. It’s a life that should be returned, those corrupted souls deserve to be purified, to be allowed to return to the soul world and reassemble to be born again. And if a messiah is the way to enable that, so be it. I would rather take the inherent risks and destine a single child to imminent doom rather than condemn so many to eternal torment. Even if it’s not my sacrifice to make, I would bear the guilt of doing so.’ She breathed deeply, her rising emotion manifesting her more in the world of the living, the time trajectories of the soul dimension fading before her eyes as resentment rose. They hadn’t had a lead in so so long, it was time to take a risk. Orikka looked away, their eyes on a distant point as they considered her words. ‘Alright,’ they said, turning back to her, speaking softly but firmly, ‘only so long as the end is hidden from them. They must be allowed to live by their own choice until the time for their sacrifice.’ Iseult nodded, accepting the compromise.
She did sympathize with the unborn child, she really really did. But this was greater than any single being. This was literally the weight of the universe, of every soul in existence. And as of yet, her was the only way.
They decided on a humanoid child, so as to be able to travel more easily in human worlds, and learn of their godly sibling’s religions, as well as to learn empathy for all the souls they would eventually command. Orikka had wanted a lamb, but Iseult had insisted otherwise, a lamb was too on the nose for her comfort. And the symbolism of the choice shouldn’t supersede the practicality. For Orikka’s sacrificial body they elected to use the body of a previously dead woman, Iseult amused by the effective virgin zombie birth her god would be partaking in, to Orikka’s confused bemusement.
The city they chose was a mid-developed one, not one of the utopian cities that might detect a being like Orikka, and not one that was so technologically behind as to be isolated from the rest of the world. It was a centralized place, one with a significant import and export industry, well connected with other cities, a melting pot of different ethnic and religious groups. The city of the daystar, birthplace of the god visions, and home to the palace of mirrors. The city that was built in a day. The city of Sonsoliel.
The technological status was not to imply that Sonsoliel didn’t have its fair share of gods, some even walked the streets, a phenomena unheard of in Iseult’s old city, where gods were more abstract things, only seen historically. The god Babkoche wandered endlessly, his great elephant body piloted from above with heartstring strands by his hivemind flock of parrots, like a giant lumbering puppet. People threw scented powdered dye before him, his great colorful footprints left behind until they were washed away by the rain, the parrots imparting messages of fortune wherever they went, to the devout. The crying god, the god of no tears sat at the edges of their water fountain, stone wings, each feather articulated, curved around them, finely carved stone hands, almost life-like, over their eyes. Their tears filled the pool, the sweet waters free to any who would have a drink, though they would shed tears of their own after as they released the sadness from their heart.
The god of visions herself, Zichu occasionally came down from the palace of mirrors, though mostly with much more pomp and flair, the procession often accompanying the city’s king Sja, a tall woman with very straight features, her crown of monarch butterflies pinned in her short hair. Previously a monarchy with the god given right to rule, the royal family now governed in accordance with a constitution. Zichu was seemingly unbothered by the slight that another god might have taken to having their god ordained monarchy being stifled in such a way, but perhaps Zichu had seen it in her visions and had time to come to terms, or even approved of the change. It was impossible to tell, she was often incomprehensible to all but her most devout.
Unusual among gods, Zichu required constant care by her devotees, as her lungs exclusively breathed the embalming fluid that she was born in, a fetus in a dead woman’s preserved body, discovered after her burial. She was entirely blind, her eyes and most of her face having burned away staring into the dancing sunstone, unearthly lights flashing in its depths, rings indicating its age just barely visible, her godseed, stored outside of her human body. She had been born with it clutched in her hand, but it had slowly grown over time, until it was too large for her to carry around. She couldn’t be away from it for long but whenever she was near it the burns crept even more over her. It was unclear what would become of her, when she was completely burnt up, and what would happen to her sunstone. Despite it all, she was beloved by her city, a priceless treasure, the responsibility for her care passed down daughter to daughter, each king groomed for the role in addition to their government duties.
And most critical to their decision, the real reason Sonsoliel was picked, was that it was the closest place in the world to passing through the veil. A city where time itself often slipped, out of phase with itself, where days passed in an hour and tomorrow happened a week ago, looping over on periods of time of great momentousness. The claim that the city was built in a day was slightly contentious due to this aspect, it was very possible that that particular day had been several weeks long, an unusually long time skip, but not impossible. If there was any place for a messiah to learn about spacetime and the diversity of souls and gods, Sonsoliel was it.
End Arc 1
