Broken Recollections of Functionality in Creativity
The name was unfamiliar; highly unusual. It was rare that there was something with a name that I had not at least heard. The revelation that there is such a thing sends a small thrill through me, as well as terror. Knowledge is power. Power is knowledge. Without one, the other cannot exist. If I don't have both, I have neither. With neither, I am terrified.
Even more troubling that it came from Peri. My dear Peri, whose mind is a wild criss-cross of ideas and thoughts, paralleled with dreams and emotions. His words are never without thought, though many assume that. His words always have meaning. To grasp that meaning, you first much grapple with the collection of broken ideas and slivers of near-forgotten things. Everything has a purpose, and a purpose allows the birth of clarity. Peri's mind is rarely a struggle for me to smooth out, like a crumpled paper, and read as easily as a well-aged tome.
His mind is my playground.
That he should mention Vellum, and with such affection, baffles me. He has very few friends. As a matter of fact, I am one of four living creatures with which Peri feels any sort of emotional connection. And my relationship with him is definitely, by far, the strongest. He tells me everything, whether it be in long strings of broken ideas or through the subtext of what he doesn't say.
But of course, I have dealt with Peri's enemies. To date, none exist of whom I do not approve. Having their fates scribbled from the fabric of the world was a rather easy feat; all it took was time. To my knowledge, all those whom Peri offended no longer are. No enemies. I've made sure of it.
Not a friend, can't be an enemy. That leaves acquaintances, but, of course, Peri has countless of those. He speaks at everything, regardless as to whether it has the mind or will to return the favor. He never asks for names, though surely a few may have offered them.
Moot point, however. Peri would not have mentioned this Vellum unless he — it? — were of rather great import. Peri does not mention names as a matter of triviality.
It's rather easy to call to mind the image of a calendar, check the date, flip back a few pages, and realize just what all the fuss is about.
“Ah,” I sigh, taking a sip of my tea. (Earl Grey. A favorite of mine. Peri seems to enjoy it well enough, though I know for a fact it is not his favorite; no, no. He enjoys wilder flavors, exotic ones. He does not realize it, but it reminds him of how his mind once was, damaged and rabid. That, of course, was before Raudi, though.) “Your youngest child has been born, then.”
“Early,” Peri tells me, his eyes narrowing at something in the brush.
“Ah, yes. Quite a bit early, too,” I agree. “He must've been quite excited to be welcomed into this world.”
“Yes.” Peri's eyes stay tuned to the cluster of shrubbery, and are suspicious. The thing moves, a pattering of soft footsteps, the rustle of the leaves from the motion, the sound of air as it cuts away from the sudden movement. It glides from the brush to the trees, the sound of scrabbling bark and then more rustling — this time from high up. And then the gentle creak of a tree branch as it soars between trees.
Fast. Small. Compact. Clawed. Strong. Quadrupedal. Fine boned to be able to carry itself so easily. But unsure of itself — it could have taken us by surprise, yet decided to flee once it saw us. Young, then. Rather young. Chances good it would be of a moderate size once fully grown, given it's current measurement. Even young, though, it would not have fled a potential meal unless it was sure there were other things in the forest it could snack on. So, dominant in the food chain. A predator. Can only be one thing.
“Manticore,” I soothe Peri, whose eyes listlessly follow the pattern of the flowing leaves as they twirl in the breeze. “It will not harm you. Tell me more of Vellum.”
Peri's eyes flick to mine. Where they were once sickly yellow, they're now clearer, healthier. Almost a soft golden in color. Good. The eyes are a window to a soul, and Peri's eyes once revealed a cracked and decaying existence. Now, his eyes sing for me a different tune; now they sing of revitalization. He is not yet fully free of the blemishes that mar his conscious, though. And I doubt that he will ever be fully free of the demons that plague his body and mind. That's where Raudi came in, her job to pull from his soul those things which plighted him and ease his suffering, but Peri grew attached, of course — silly fool. Grew attached and refused to force her to bear too much of his burden. Refused to force her to carry too many children, in case it harmed her. Refused to make her associate too long with the things that passed through her body, which were born in his ravaged existence.
Ah, he fell in love with her — might as well call it what it was. I'm rather well aware of the crippling nature of such emotions, so who was I to stifle or criticize the nature of his?
“I fear he makes Raudi uneasy,” Peri tells me. It took him naught but a second to reply to me, and vaguely, briefly, I wonder how much passes through his mind in such a small expanse of time. Surely not as much as what passes through mine. In but a small three minute conversation, I could puzzle out a cure for a plague, how to harness and unleash the power of a human soul, how to make a spell to summon angels — if they existed, which I hoped so very, very dearly because of the things I could learn from them, yes, yes, yes — and puzzle out the mystery of the fabric of creation, and possibly how to manipulate it. All while speaking about boring dribble such as the weather and whether or not omens plagued nearby areas.
Not even a second ticks by after his statement before I give my reply.
“Ah, but many things set the teeth of that woman on edge.”
Tension in his eyes. He fears his child because his partner fears him. Though he may not have realized it, at some point he's come to rely on Raudi's dependability — she may be hard to tolerate (at least to me) and rather peevish, selfish, arrogant, malicious, and manipulative, but she is predictable (though I find most creatures to be, but then again, I think about things others do not, so very little is unpredictable to me), which gives a sense of comfort and routine to Peri, who desperately needs such things. The fact that she, who is unimpressed by so much and is hard to move to fear, is terrified of something as small and seemingly harmless as a child has rattled Peri in ways I couldn't begin to fathom. The thread with which he tethered himself to reality was deeply seated in her, and when she lost herself, so did Peri lose himself. He doesn't want to fear the child, but the child causes a rift in his life which he can't easily smooth over. He wants to care for the child and show it affection as he has his other offspring, but he cherishes the sense of reality that Raudi gives him too much to jeopardize it.
Still, though, he wants to have both — this child, and Raudi — and so he comes to me for advice, as he always has. And of course I will give it.
“Yes, but,” Peri presses, “she refuses to touch him. Claims he's...”
A grin curls across his face, and I knew that look well. That was the look of a man haunted by demons, bound to contracts that would shred his soul. That was the look of a man in love, of a person coming to terms with unrequited affection. It was a look that started and ended wars, and left nothing but destruction in its wake. It was the look of a man who was terrified of his thoughts, yet still too fascinated by what he was uncovering to stop thinking, thinking, thinking.
Once you start thinking, you find you can't stop. And who would want to? I promise you, it's a liberating thing, thinking. It's exhilarating and terrifying and I would give up my claim to immortality before I let someone steal from me my mind — because who was I without it? Who was I if I could not think.
Mortals thought so very little. Most creatures did, actually. So very few people actually stopped to think. Compulsive leeches, they all were. Destroying, destroying, ravaging, ravaging — rape, rape, rape. Ictus, ictus, ictus.
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, they all return to the earth from whence they came. And perhaps it was the earth that sealed their minds and made them nothing more than creatures humming with the will to simply live, unburdened with the weight of thought. They were born to be simple creatures.
(Being reborn of a demon, freed of the shackles of the earth, I was one of a kind. I didn't crave things the earth could give me. I simply wanted knowledge. I wanted to think.)
Why would Peri grin in such a way about his son? Surely, he cared for the boy. Surely, his wife's suspicions were unfounded — she thought, surely, too little to piece together any sort of direct and verifiable conclusions about her child, so — ?
“What has he done?” The question is full of eager anticipation.
Of course something happened. Creatures thought too little to pull together opinions based on fact. There had to be something concrete — something that was witnessed — to create such a stir. And things that happened that were not usual terrified all — except me, of course, but that's expected. The minds of other creatures rarely had enough information to piece together the whys and hows of thing they saw that were unusual, so it was no surprise that Raudi would be terrified of a child she did not understand.
What did the dear Raudi see this child do, though, that set her against her own flesh and blood, which went against the very fabric of creation?
Peri remains silent for a moment, and my mind goes into a cartwheel frenzy. Of all the possibilities, very few were plausible, but all of them were exciting. Which one — which one unfurled right before my eyes, in the family of my dear friend?
“When she was pregnant,” Peri explains. Takes a sip of his tea. Puts his thoughts in order. Continues. “She saw things.”
He stops again, takes another sip, orders his thoughts.
But mine are in a mess, tangling over each other in their frenzy. Excitement. Elation. Anticipation. Anxiety. Eagerness. The list of possibilities narrows, the dead-end conclusions being crossed out, the ones still plausible pushed to the top. I run through each one, mapping it out much like a doctor maps out the body of a patient he's long since memorized. All the possibilities leave me breathless, eager.
Which will it be? Which will it be? Which will be? Whichwillitbewhichwillitbewhichwillitbewhichwhichwhichwhich.
“She claims that she saw horrible things, wonderful things, mysterious things. She claims she saw the birth of the world and it's end. She claims that she saw things she did not know existed, and things that ought not to ever be allowed to exist,” Peri tells me quietly, his eyes trained on the still liquid in his cup.
Excitement. Elation. Anticipation. Anxiety. Eagerness. Which will it be? Which will it be? Which will it be? Whichwillitbewhichwillitbewhichwillitbewhichwhichwhichwhich.
Cross out the few theories that don't fit that. Narrow them down. Move the ones remaining to the top. Re-examine. Know them like a slut knows her own body.
Whichwhichwhichwhichwhich.
“She claims Vellum is dangerous. She says she will not raise him. She told me to get rid of him.” Peri gives me a wounded look. “I don't know how to abandon my own child.”
(Of course not. It goes against the fabric of creation to do such a thing, so the fact that Raudi is terrified by the unexplainable that follows this child — )
Exitement. Elation. Whichwhichwhichwhich. Anticipation. Anxiety. Whichwhichwhichwhich. Cross out, move up. Whichwhichwich. Run through them like a spoon through tea. Liquid. Fluid. Whichwhich.
“Of course you have no need to abandon the child,” I assure him calmly. “There is nothing dangerous about him.”
“You're sure of this?” Suspicion. Relief. Sneaking hope. My friend is such a simple-minded creature.
“Of course,” I continue. Nothing in the world is dangerous, obviously. Everything was made to influence one another. You cannot have peace without war and war without peace. You cannot have love without hate and hate without love. Both must exist, or neither will take its place. Nothing is dangerous. Everything is. “You cannot have knowledge without power, or power without knowledge.”
He nods, agreeing. I do not know if he understands what I am telling him, but whatever nugget of truth he takes from my words, he agrees with it. Clings to it. Like the fool he is; the simple minded creature. Because he does not understand, but I have long since gave up trying to explain anything to anyone.
Creatures let their brains turn to rot, they do. And it is such a sad thing to see another reacting based on instinct rather than thought.
“What is he, then?” Peri asks, and a thrill runs through me.
My list of possibilities is quite short now, but nothing is certain. I do not give false hope, and I do not tell lies. Lies belong to the man afraid of the truth. Lies belong to the thing hiding in the dark and refusing to think. Lies are instinct, not fact.
I am none of that. I am truth.
“I don't know,” I tell him. “I would have to examine him to know for sure. But rest assured, dear Raudi's concerns about him are unsound and illogical.”
Peri relaxes. He trusts my judgment. He knows I speak only the truth. He knows that I know what his son may or may not be.
And as Peri grows more relaxed, I grow more anxious. I must meet this child. I must see. I must witness him. I must know.
“Thank you, friend. You've put my mind at ease. Come, let us forget such trivial things and enjoy our tea.”
Such a simple minded creature, he is. And how infuriating.
I will never forget anything. My mind records, records, records. My mind is constantly in motion, and I will not let it stop for even a moment. What he considers trivial, I consider vital — and vice versa. I will forever be fond of my dear friend, but I will never understand how he can be content with such a simple mind.
“Of course,” I agree. “There is time for me to see Vellum later.”
I am immortal. I have all the time in the world to see him. And I will see him.
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