Descent07 - Paradise Damned (12 page)

“Perhaps she’s broken,” Metaraon said.

Elise wanted to strangle him.

“How do I fix her?” Adam asked.

Metaraon paced in front of her, dragging his wings back and forth before her eyes. “Well,” he said, “I may have some ideas. I believe she can be repaired.”

“I’m not broken,” Elise said.

Adam just kept petting her, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Whatever it takes, my son,” He said. “Whatever it takes.”

Elise healed. Adam
returned. The cycle repeated.

There were times that He took breaks from torturing Elise, and she was left unattended in the garden. He would vanish for hours on occasion, maybe even days. But Elise’s sense of time quickly grew too distorted to tell.

The moments that she escaped Adam’s attention were little more than blurry images. Sometimes she was in bed at James’s old apartment with breakfast at her side. At other times, she lost herself in a dark, overgrown wilderness, only to find herself in the gleaming emptiness of Araboth heartbeats later.

None of it really mattered, because she always ended up back
there
…with Him.

Eons passed.

Metaraon visited her one day while she was still shivering on the ground, skinless and bloodless and sucking in air that felt like razors. “You’re still not
doing
anything,” he said, exasperated.

Elise’s few remaining teeth chattered together. The rest were fragments of bone, which Adam had left in a pile as if to make a point. Her dry, cracked tongue hung heavy over her bottom lip.

“You’re better than this,” Metaraon said.

She wished that He would appear and force Metaraon to leave. Adam may have been insane, but He didn’t taunt her like that. She would take the pain over the indignity any day.

Her lack of response seemed to frustrate Metaraon.

“You were made for this place.
Kill
Him and be done with it!”

Elise pushed one hand away from her chest. It took immense physical effort, but she curled three of her fingers against her palm, leaving the middle finger exposed.

Metaraon kicked her.

It didn’t hurt any worse than the other things Adam had done, but that wasn’t saying much. White-hot agony flared in her midsection. Elise had been seriously injured enough times to know that she had probably broken most of her ribs, punctured her lungs, and was bleeding internally; none of these injuries were significant enough that she wouldn’t heal them eventually, if Adam didn’t repair them first.

“Pathetic,” Metaraon said. “This will be rectified shortly.”

Her vision was suddenly filled with swirling white feathers. His feet lifted from the ground in front of her. A shadow crossed over Elise, then disappeared, and she knew that Metaraon was gone.

Elise closed her eyes to focus on healing again. That way, she wouldn’t have to watch that door.

Whether she was in Motion and Dance, the gleaming city of Araboth, or the wild jungle, it was always waiting for her now.

So she focused on healing.

But then the world around her shifted, and the garden became Motion and Dance.

Adam was coming.

When the studio settled around her again, with parquet flooring under her broken body, she began to tremble.

Voices spoke from the other side of the wall.

“I have brought a visitor for your wife,” Metaraon said. It sounded like there was no concrete, no mirrors, no material between them at all. His voice was perfectly clear. “This will remedy what ails her and make the training far more effective.”

Even through the wall, without being able to see Him, Elise could tell that this news troubled Adam. “A visitor? What nature of visitor?”

“A friend.”

“She doesn’t need friends,” He said. “She has me.”

Metaraon lowered his voice. Elise suspected that she wasn’t meant to hear what they said. “You want her to be happy, don’t you?”

“There is nothing I would like more than that,” Adam said.

“Trust me. This will fix her.”

Reluctantly, He said, “Very well.”

The air shifted, and Adam appeared in the room.

She couldn’t help it. A low groan escaped her throat. It wasn’t a sound of protest, but one of resignation—like a death rattle escaping shriveled lungs.

“Hello to you, too,” He said. He almost sounded like James now, too. He spoke in a quiet, cultured voice, carefully articulated and immeasurably patient. It was so much worse, knowing that He wasn’t even doing it on purpose. “How do you feel this morning?”

Elise didn’t bother answering. She remained curled on her side, knees to her chest.

Adam sat beside her. He was wearing gray sweat pants, a black t-shirt, athletic shoes. She could feel Him watching her, even though she kept her eyes fixed on the mirrors behind Him. He still hadn’t thought to complete the illusion by allowing Himself to be reflected in them.

It gave Elise an unobstructed view of herself: auburn hair spilled over the parquet, freckled skin, exercise gear, perfectly healthy body. When she looked down, she saw that she had been healed.

Adam reached toward her. Elise flinched.

“Oh, come now,” He said.

“Get started so we can be done with it again.”

“Started with what?”

“Just do it,” she whispered. “I’m not going through your door.”

Gentle puzzlement radiated from Him. “I didn’t come to discuss the door again. I came to tell you that you have a visitor.”

“I don’t care.”

Adam laughed. It was a wonderful, delicious sound that made heat pool deep within her core. The laugh meant that pain wasn’t coming. He never thought that training her was funny; He took it with the gravity of a holy rite, as if sacrificing her to Himself each time. Elise ached for that laugh.

“Get up,” He said, taking her hands.

It didn’t occur to her to fight back. His skin was smooth, and His hands were strong; Adam supported her until she was on her feet.

This was a trick. It had to be.

Adam gestured toward the door, and it opened, baring gray light on the other side. Elise shielded her eyes.

There was a silhouette moving within the light—a clearly human shape, with wide hips and a long neck. It gained definition as it grew nearer. Finally, a woman entered the room, peering cautiously around the door. She had blond hair bobbed at the chin, a plump face, brown eyes.

Elise’s breath caught in her throat.

No
.

It was an illusion. It
had
to be.

But when the woman’s eyes fell on Elise, and her whole face brightened, it didn’t look like an illusion. Her gasp, her squeal of delight, the way she rushed to wrap Elise up in a bear hug—it didn’t
feel
like an illusion. She even smelled like peach body wash and lip gloss.

“Betty,” Elise said faintly.

P
ART
T
HREE

Love Story

EDEN – 4009 BCE

From nothingness, came
light.

The man opened his eyes to find a wall in front of him. The new light that he had discovered was on the other side of this semi-translucent surface, traced with a lacework of red veins.

He scrabbled at it with his nails, fighting to break through. A crack formed. He pushed harder.

His fist punched through.

The air on the other side was cool. A dry hand grasped his wrist hard, almost painfully so, as if afraid he might slip.

“I have you,” said a voice, muffled by the wall between them.

Those three words were the first voice that the man had ever heard, aside from the gentle
whoosh
of fluids racing through his body. The voice made his heart race. He wanted to know who was speaking to him.

He continued to push and punch and claw. A thumping from the other side told him that his new companion was doing the same, occasionally touching his hands as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

Finally the wall broke away, and he breathed for the first time.

The woman who had taken his hand continued to rip at the wall, allowing him to see her piece by piece. She had blue eyes, olive skin, and red-brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders in waves. Her cheeks glowed.

She was so beautiful.

“Hello,” she said, wiping fluid from his ears. “My name is Eve.”

“Eve,” he echoed.

What a beautiful name. The way it fell from his mouth was perfection—his lip catching on his teeth for the consonant, the musical note of the vowel. He loved even more the way that speaking it made her face brighten. Her eyebrows lifted, eyes widened, and cheeks dimpled.

“Eve,” she said again, delighted. “That’s right. That’s my name.”

She helped him to his feet. He stood among the ruins of a porous stone sphere, damp with amber fluid. Her skin was slick, and though he knew it was because she had broken him free of the egg, he thought it was almost like she had birthed him from her womb.

The fact that he recognized these things—that animals produced other animals from a uterus, that the things on his arms were called hands, that the language he spoke was divine in origin—was as marvelous to him as the delicate scent of apples drifting from Eve’s skin.

With every breath, he knew more and more. He knew that the egg that had birthed him had been sculpted from clay and hardened with the blood of the Tree. He knew that Eve had begged her husband for another companion, and his existence was due to His acquiescence. He also understood that he was loved—so very, very loved.

Even if he hadn’t known that final fact, he would have felt it in the way that Eve embraced him, resting her cheek against his chest. Her wings enfolded both of them. It was only then that he realized he had wings, too, and that he could stretch them out to brush the tips with hers.

“Your heart,” she said. “It beats in time with mine.”

He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her sweet scents. Her thoughts flowed through him. She fed knowledge to him, filling him with facts, and their shared energy was a white light that joined their hearts.

But one thing was missing.

“What is my name?” he asked.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands, tilted her head. There was a universe in her pale eyes. He was only minutes old, but he already knew that he would be happy to dwell there for eternity.

“Metaraon,” Eve decided, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip.

He had a name.

The wonder of it all, being born, being in her arms—it brought him to his knees. Still, she held onto him, as if she never planned to let him go.

Eve brushed her lips over his cheek.

“Metaraon,” she said again, her voice filled with joy. “I have waited so long for you.”

They recovered together,
alone in each other’s arms, for many hours. And they were happy. Eve poured all of her knowledge and spirit into Metaraon, and he was complete.

The trouble didn’t begin until they left the nest.

Eve led Metaraon into the garden, wondrous and wild. “He’ll be so happy to meet you,” she said, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Just wait until He sees what we’ve produced. He’ll adore you.”

“Who?” Metaraon asked.

“Your father. Adam.”

He rolled the name over in his mind, contemplating its syllables, and the implications.
Adam
. That name evoked strong emotions within Metaraon’s newborn heart.

Adam
meant love.
Adam
meant awe. Strangest and most powerful of all—
Adam
meant fear.

The trees parted, exposing a clearing beside the river. A trio of thrones were nearby, each one equally grand: one built of wood, another built of stone, and another forged of clay. All of them were empty. A growing Tree stood on the opposite bank, thrice the height of the man standing underneath its branches; a few ripe apples had dropped to the grass and began to soften in the sun, giving off a too-sweet perfume.

“He’s here,” Eve called to the man on the other bank. “Adam, it worked!”

Adam didn’t even look at Metaraon. He was too absorbed in the sight of His hands and the patterns that sunlight through the branches of the Tree created on His skin. Metaraon realized that He had no shadow of His own.

“Eve!” Adam cried, splashing into the river to cross to the other bank. “Eve, something is wrong!”

She caught his wrists. “Be still. Let me see.”

Metaraon stood back as Eve traced her hands over Adam’s hands, arms, and shoulders, as if searching for information with her fingertips. Sadness darkened her eyes, and Metaraon felt it as acutely as if the sadness were his own.

“What has happened to me?” Adam asked, lifting His semi-transparent hands.

“It’s the Origin, my love,” Eve said. She reached up to touch His cheeks, but her fingers seemed to slip through the cheekbone, and she drew back. “Your spirit is still in the process of merging with it. That’s why you’re becoming more powerful over time, while your body is…”

“Gone,” He said, the word flat with shock.

“Yes. Regardless of what’s happened to your changing spirit, your body is not immortal. There’s nothing I can do to preserve it.”

“Lilith could sculpt me a new one,” He said.

Eve’s brow knitted. Even though Metaraon was new to the world and had only known Eve for hours, he could tell that she was somehow hurt by what Adam said. “Perhaps she could,” Eve said cautiously, “and perhaps that would help for a short time, but I fear that you’re quickly becoming too powerful for any form to contain permanently. These…changes…will only continue.”

Adam sat on the throne of wood. It looked like it had been grown from the surrounding trees, and its high back haloed Him with leafy branches.

“Am I dying?” He asked.

“On the contrary,” Eve said. “Your mortality is merely stripping away as you ascend. Whatever remains will be eternal.”

“But I won’t be the same man.”

She fell to her knees in front of Him, clasping His hands in hers. “Our love will endure.”

“I only sank into the Origin to stay with you,” Adam said.

“I know, my dearest,” she whispered. “I know. And look.” She gestured toward Metaraon, acknowledging him for the first time since they had entered the clearing. “Do you see what I’ve made for us? He’s the beginning of our family, just as you always hoped.”