A Human Affair

They call it “the human experience.” Before The Hunt, the human experience was leaving home for the first time, finding a job, falling in love. The acidic levels of fear and anxiety, fuelled by depression, make the current human experience far shorter and less romantic.

We all have different reasons to keep going. Hope for a better world, ancestral promises and pride, passion for change, or perhaps- out of spite. As the world dares you to die, you stay alive because dying is too easy, too typical.

This story is about a human experience. It is the result of hundreds of years of constant change bringing out the worst in humanity, and how that somehow, beyond all reasonable thought, brought out the best.

Part 1 The Altar

“Pluto’s Seventh Moon, it’s hot!” I withered under the abrupt appearance of the sun. The thinned atmosphere, still recovering from years of carbonic abuse, shone a fluorescent purple as the volcanic rays penetrated our all-too-thin wool clothing.

“Stop whining, we’ve work to do this morning. We’re already behind.” At this, I fell into step behind the Numen, carefully leaving space so as not to trod on their intricately woven robes, falling like gentle water over their small shoulders.

We crossed the courtyard and I shivered as those below waved in moony-eyed awe of their deity making an appearance. Personally, I always felt like the glass flooring created the appearance of trodding on those below. The Numen paid no attention to them, striding with a purpose towards the planetarium.

As we stepped inside, I breathed a quiet blessing to the spirits of night and shadow. The observatory was made entirely within the earth, and with the darkness comes relief from the blistering heat of day. “May the Ninth Moon Save You.” The ritual greeting from a keeper of the night, that I returned without thought, “May the Second Sun shine your way home.”

The keeper showed us in. Awaiting us were three important looking people, mastering themselves as we entered to portray an ere of masculinity in the presence of the Numen. I rolled my eyes, and awaited the inevitable attempts to force the old ways that would soon merit a very awkward conversation and a swift, fruitless voyage home to wherever these people came from.

“Good day.” The one to the left began, “We a-” The Numen seared off the words with a swift and unyielding gaze.

“You will address the saviour as Great Numen and humbly request blessings before beginning.” I guided politely, giving them a chance to begin again. They seemed uncomfortable with the formality, but began again with caution.

“Great- uh- Numen. Might we trouble you for a word?” It wasn’t a perfect start, but The Forgiving One allowed for continuance with a gentle nod.

“We are of the great state of Geirggiah here to offer our gifts.” The other two pulled out a great chest and pulled from within it a small statue, a remake of a long-since destroyed Confederate general, whose name was lost to time. His position was remembered only by the flag that waved regally alongside the man atop his horse. The second gift was less grand, a small jeweled ring of deep blue. The third was a letter, an offering of lands to the south. The gifts were presented with great ceremony and posturing. One could only assume they expected great remarks of awe and excitement.

The Numen simply looked on for a long moment. Then, with a great sigh, pulled out the blade that no one, not even these simple, stupid political strategists, could mistake. The Sword, the Numen’s claim to power, was unbeatable. Each Numen since the Hunt has possessed one of similar make. They were said to be forged with the blessing of the 6 spirits; earth, sun, water, fire, moon, and atman. The power of the weapon had been bestowed upon the descendants of the first Numen, who arose to end the Hunt hundreds of years ago.

With it, The Numen advanced. The blade gleamed along the speaker’s right ear. I stood in terrified awe, as it dropped to the floor at his feet. I barely heard the scream before the blade was at his throat.

I wanted to shut my eyes, anticipating the next move, but it didn't come. Instead, in words so low you had to lean in to hear them, the Numen spoke into the remaining ear while pinning the other two with an icy glare. “Do not speak to me as if I am an equal. I am The Numen, a deity, an awe. Your gifts, along with your presence, are an insult here. You will leave here. You will go back to your people and warn them of my greatness. You will explain to them that no symbols of old power parading as ‘gifts’ are tolerated here. You will leave with your lives and you will never return.”

With a gesture, the objects were brought to the stone plate that rested in the middle of the conservatory, from which all 9 moons were visible. The roof was drawn back from the middle allowing the sun to concentrate on the altar. I saw a short flash as the blade screamed through the air, slicing through the statue causing the vibrational shockwaves to crumble the final relic of a dying time. Covering the other objects in its wake and quickly melting away what remained.

As the three voyagers took their leave, or rather tripped over themselves to escape, two others took their place that I recognize to be the counsel. I stood, a few paces back, in stunned silence from the seemingly unwarranted violence. The counsel members four, stood around the altar, watching the blood trickle from the severed ear.

“It is done then?” One large counselor asked.

“Yes. And two birds have been stoned this day.” The Numen smiled, satisfactorily.

“The rumors to the south?” Another countered.

“Squashed.” Came the Numen’s reply.

“And the altar gains it’s blood.” Said the third. A final statement, I did not fully comprehend.

Part 2 The False Child

It wasn't until that evening, after dinner, that I felt it was safe to bring up what I’d heard from the readers in town. I sat clutching my mother’s locket, unsure of how to begin. The Perceptive One, recognized my hesitancy right away. “What troubles you?”

I looked up from my studies, startled by the question. Then, taking a deep breath, I began. “Forgive me. I wondered- I would like to learn more about The Forgiveness.”

“I should think your studies would tell you more than you ever want, or need to know.”

“Yes, they do. Thank you.” I quelled my wonderings, recognizing that it was not my place to ask questions of the great one.

“And yet, you wonder still.” They prompted, graciously.

“I do. My studies tell me that the first Numen arose from the result of the Great Hunt.”

“Yes,” They nodded approvingly, “referring to the Laws Passed by the governing body of this land to take action against those who would try to abuse the laws, and to master the overgrowth of population and lack of resources.”

“A death sentence.” I said darkly. “A witch hunt which turned neighbors and family members against one another for fear of being tracked through their technology use and considered a threat by the finalgorithm.”

“What is your question?”

“I wonder, how did the first Numen actually come into being? Was it magic, did they already exist in dormancy until The Hunt reached such levels as to be our doom?”

“It is not known how the first Great One came into being. Only that in doing so, The Sword ended the suffering, those who didn’t have a leader found one in the Numen, and peace was restored once more. There can only be one Numen, and only one great weapon to yield.”

I took another deep breath, knowing what I was about to say would sound impertinent, but feeling it was my duty to inform the Numen. “There have been- whispers. Whispers of another Numen...to the south.”

The silence was deafening. I closed my eyes, awaiting some punishment for my words. When I opened them again, the Great One was in motion. They whisked from the right side of the room to the left, searching for a scroll, laying it out, finding another. It appeared erratic. Then, suddenly, it stopped. “Where?” I sat dumbly, confused.

“I-I’m sorry?” I said, lamely.

“Where did these rumors say this false Numen resides?” The Numen called out, imperiously.

“I’ve heard many rumors. Some say this false one lives in the southern states, seeking refuge with those who believe. Others say they travel north, spreading their whereabouts through tales and proficy.”

“Very well. It is time we met this face to face. I have known these rumors for some time. But if they have reached the close, it is no longer something we can ignore. We go at first light.”

Part 3 The Light

The physical embodiment of hope looked... unexpectedly common. I sat on the rail line, watching our deity read a book to pass the time. There was nothing visually godlike about them. Though unconforming to gender-identities, they wore the clothes of a masculine being, their small frame a deep caramel. Moles lined their neck.

We reached Aviary Point. Word had been sent in all directions that this was to be the ground where Numen and False Child would meet. I shook away the question of a new Numan. The grief I would feel at losing them was too great. This person, whoever they were, had to be false.

We stepped into the grass, overgrown and unkept, and I saw someone in the distance. The False Child stood silently. They approached us, grasping at a sheathed sword. Seeing it, my heart skipped a beat, for along the hilt, sat a small emerald locket. I reached up to my neck and felt the same cool gem resting peacefully between my collarbones. The similarity didn’t escape the Numen either. They looked to me in surprise. Before words could escape their lips, a flash of light caught our eyes. The False Child, my mother, charged at us in full sprint.

I cried out in astonishment, and attempted to push the Numen out of the way. When it became clear they weren’t going anywhere, I looked on in horror, awaiting the inevitable bloody battle. The Numen drew their own sword, preparing.

After what seemed like agonizing minutes, the two swords met. What ensued was a series of slashes, ducking and parrying, fierce cries and masterful sword handling. I didn’t know who to root for. I was trapped, in awe of the masters, both of whom I loved, one of whom I’d never gotten to meet. It was clear that my mother had been trained by a great master. I didn’t understand how she came to be here, in possession of a weapon that not only remained intact when touching The Sword, but was able to fend it off entirely.

My heart dipped painfully, and the sensation that I was on a plane crashing to the earth overwhelmed me. Suddenly, the battle reaching its peak, a strong voice echoed through the plain. “Stop.” It commanded. I turned to see the Numen, head held high, holding their blade out across their own chest. “I have had a vision. I am no longer the true Numen.” With a sudden slash, and a cry which I later recognized to be my own, the Numen lay on the ground, The Sword disappearing beneath their graying fingers. “Let there be peace.”

* * *

A personal sacrifice. The primal antonym of survival. What is more human than this? The Numen came into being when they were needed, and returned when their time was done. There was no fear in their eyes, no scorn or sadness. Just hope. Hope that then transferred to me as the cycle carried on.