"We are a very rare species," Theophilus began,
watching Ellis with his huge, almost hypnotic eyes as he spoke. For just a moment Ellis was reminded of Kaa
the Rock Python from Disney's The Jungle Book.
It was both amusing and slightly disturbing to imagine that character
sitting in the cage opposite him, recounting a story in so civilised manner,
but as Theophilus continued, and Ellis began to be enthralled, the image passed
to be replaced by other imaginings.
We are a very rare
species. Most Philosophically minded
Humans call us Hexopterids, whilst those less inclined to long words in ancient
languages prefer Sixwings. There are
perhaps only a dozen or so of us left on Shadow. Where I come from, in the jungle-covered peaks of Mistvale, where
we are known as the Kwetza, there was only one: me.
I never knew my mother. It is often the way with my kind. It takes a long time to form and hatch even
a single egg and often we never get to see the offspring we have created. In Mistvale it was even more common, for we
have long been worshipped by the tribe that now inhabits the Mistvale ruins;
those who call themselves the Nahua.
The Nahua believed that we – my
entire pedigree, you might say - were all one being, a single, immortal
creature who governed the world and kept all in balance through an endless
cycle of death and rebirth. When an egg
was laid that was the sign that the old flesh must die and so a ritual was
performed to sacrifice the old Kwetza so that the new one might live, as if we
were some kind of Phoenix. Thus my
mother was murdered before I had even hatched.
Why my mother had stayed up until that point, I am not sure. Perhaps she didn't know what would happen to
her once she had laid an egg.
Certainly, I did not fully understand my position with the Nahua for
many years.
And so it was that I hatched,
maybe years later, before a congregation of devout, in an ancient ruined
warehouse, which the Nahua had transformed through carving, sculpture and
tapestry into a grand temple to rival any in Shadow. And there, wingless though I was, they worshipped me.
It takes many years for an
Hexopterid to mature; decades, in fact.
During that time I learned much.
I learned the languages and traditions of the Nahua, for Sixwings,
though not, in fact, sentient in the wild, absorb understanding at a phenomenal
rate when surrounded by other species which are. I learned the layout of their
small settlement amidst the jungle ruins of mountainous Mistvale, the heart of
my divine kingdom. I learned the secret
paths through the jungle, the ways to all the best fruit trees, the busiest
streams and waterholes where prey might be found. I learned to look on the world and know it as my own. I learned entitlement, arrogance,
greed. I learned to be worshipped.
My people, the Nahua, saw to my
every need and lived their lives according to my whims. I like to think that I was not an unkind
deity, but nor did I have their best interests in mind, save where they
mirrored my own. They sought my comfort
and I gave it for the feelings it elicited within myself. They sought my wisdom and I doled it out for
the pride of considering myself to be wise.
I was not unintelligent by any stretch of the imagination and my
decisions were often just, mostly good, but I had much still to learn about
true wisdom.
I spent my days curled up,
asleep in my temple, rousing to greet the petitions of my supplicants. At night, I stretched and went wild amidst
the forested streets, hunting and priding myself on being lord over all I saw. Unchallenged as I was, I did not know enough
not to be satisfied. Everything I could
ever want was mine and I knew of no other way to live.
So it remained, until the
stranger came.
He arrived in the midst of the
Nahua community on a rare, sunny day when the mists that gave Mistvale its name
had risen to reveal the dense green jungle hidden underneath. He had made his way slowly up the
mountainside towards the settlement and had drawn the eyes of over a dozen Nahua
scouts hours before he would eventually reach us. They reported to me at once, as was proper, asking me if the
stranger should be killed. The Nahua
were exceptional archers and the man would have been dead before he knew he was
even under threat.
I was curious, however, and did
not wish the stranger to die without at least knowing who he was and why he had
come to my domain. The scouts had
described him to me, pale skinned, dressed in oddly dark, heavy clothes,
wearing an unusual, cylindrical head-dress and armed only with stick. Having never before met a gentleman dressed
in a suit, wearing a top-hat and carrying a cane, I was puzzled. Given that I was supposed to be god I found
I was suddenly full of uncomfortable questions.
By the time the man had arrived
at our settlement, too hot and out of breath, the whole community had been roused to see him. By all accounts he was a little overwhelmed, but, or so I
gathered from the lips of scouts and the man's own report of events, he was
extremely pleased to see us. They
brought him swiftly to my temple, handling him a little more roughly than I
would have liked and I could tell by the look on his face as they threw him at
the base of my holy dais - part terror, part fascination - that he had never
seen one such as myself before.
"Who are you?" I
asked him, sounding as imperious as I knew how, "Why do you trespass on
the sacred mountain of the great Kwetza?"
The man did not hesitate to
answer, and, through his fear I could sense a certain brave enthusiasm. He tipped his odd headwear and looked up at
me, seeming as keen to speak to me as I had been to him.
"I am Dr. Forsythe, Sir
Kwetza, Barnabas Forsythe,” he said in a clipped voice used to formality, “and
I am an explorer and naturalist - a Philosopher. I came here seeking knowledge."
"What kind of knowledge do
you seek?" I asked, surprised that anyone would seek such a goal, for the
Nahua were an uncurious people, and so I had assumed that such curiosity was a
divine characteristic.
"Any," the man
replied, "I hope only to learn whatever there is to learn in this
place."
"Why?" I shifted uncomfortably on my scales, as if
such adjustment might help me to comprehend this new information.
"So that I might
understand the world a little more.
That is my calling, indeed the calling of all Philosophers, I would
vouch."
“And did you hope to learn
these things from me?” I asked, assuming that I could be the only reason one
such as this would come.
“To be honest, Sir Kwetza, I
had not heard of you until your people here told me they were bringing me to
you, though I am most honoured to meet you.”
I won’t deny it. I was shocked. How could anyone not have heard of me? How could they not know about the god who made the sun rise, who
made the stars come out at night, who’s very existence ensured the continuation
of the cosmos.
“How can you not have heard of
me?” I asked, raising my head high in anger.
The man started, his fear
suddenly spiking, but he did not look away and replied with and open, honest
expression, “We don’t hear very much from this part of the city anymore.”
And so began a very long
conversation, the first of many, during which Barnabas Forsythe explained about
the world which lay beyond the mountainous ruins of Mistvale, feeding an
insatiable hunger for more knowledge, which I did not know I had, even as I
gave him crumbs in return for his questions.
Barnabas was keen to know all
about me, and though I was happy to speak of myself, the truth was I knew only
what the Nahua had told me and that was not, in fact, very much at all. As we spoke he consulted the books he had
brought with him in his pack, books he permitted me to examine, though I did
not feel that I needed any such permission.
They were mostly zoological texts, discussing in great depth the various
creatures known to live within the Mistvale district. Hundreds of creatures were listed, all of them interesting but
far less so than myself. Despite this
there was no mention of me.
I was outraged, Barnabas was
merely puzzled. He wanted to know what
species I was, for he had never heard of a serpent of such great size and
intelligence.
At this point it is probably
best to mention that my wings had not yet grown. An Hexopterid does not grow its wings until it is fully matured,
I and was only just nearing that stage of my life when Barnabas Forsythe
arrived in my village. Hexoprtids were
well known amongst naturalists as a zoological curiosity, though, of course, we
were very seldom seen. Our most
prominent feature, however, aside from our strange, almost empathic ability to
develop intelligence, was our wings. It
is certainly no slight on Barnabas character that he had not worked out what I
was, especially since he was no expert on serpents in general.
When not teaching and
questioning me he was exploring the mountains and valleys of Mistvale with the
Nahua guides I had commanded to look after him, for I was growing fond of the
strange Philosopher. Out there in the
wild he pursued his greatest passion, ornithology, discovering new species of
birds every day – or so he would tell me when he returned to the temple.
It was in this way that
Barnabas and I became friends - good friends, I like to think - and yet, in a
single moment of pride, I would let one question ruin everything we had built
up, and I couldn’t have picked a worse time to do so.
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