THE PARTING OF ROMAN SEA

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As a rule, a rabbit’s life was short. And to indulge in the fantasy of courage only hastened the inevitable debt. A wild hare might thump his foot all day and all night, bravely warning his kin, only to lay within the wolf’s jaws with his spine snapped by moon-fall.

Being a pet was not much better.

Arguably, he was spared the fear of becoming prey. That was just a lie that naive pets believed and wiser pets generally chose to believe. Humans and their similars were left to decide the final reality of the safety they provided.

Puck had not been born in a cage. He had been stolen from the wild.

The wild.

A definition rapidly shifting as the Earth began to repel the claims that had long since poisoned it so deeply. There were princes in the sky, the oceans and within the land itself. They had grown tired long ago, and their silence gave way to neglect. Still, there were those who didn’t care about what was remembered, who was to blame, nor who should be rewarded.

While Puck still rolled within his mother’s womb, a demon had placed his paw upon her belly.

Puck remembered the cold pierce of claws and the fever that followed. Born in the deep of winter, he arrived last, small and still. His mother recognised the sin of his existence at once, yet she was possessed of an unnatural compassion. She nudged his motionless form and continued to lick him. And at last he drew his first miraculous, and undeserved breath.

All of his short life Puck was consumed by the question. Had the demon cursed him to be born small and sickly? Or had the profane hand granted him clemency?

Being a lowly creature meant that he was unworthy of such thoughts. And yet, being a pet and being provided with an unusually generous level of care, resulted in an abundance of time engaged in the worthless pursuit of philosophy.

Alar giggled softly as he gently petted Puck. “You’re having your deep thoughts again.”

Puck blinked and leaned into the touch which Alar had perfected over time. The young man had always been fastidious in his care. Of course, once Alar willingly accepted the brand and the commandment, failure was no longer an option. Now they were bound to one another.

Puck did not see himself as part of the grand plan as envisioned by the Commixtionis. After all, he was not truly hallowed. He had not hidden the shameful touch. Indeed, often Alar tenderly stroked the scars hidden beneath his fur with all reverence.

“This must have been so painful. Living as a wild rabbit is so dangerous. Yet you survived.”

Puck could not speak to explain the blasphemy. And if he could have, he doubted he would have revealed himself. He cared for Alar, he appreciated the comfort provided, yet he had not chosen to turn from the princes. Puck had been taken. And no amount of tenderness could level the debt he believed owed to him.

At night, Puck would dream. As the day of the amalgamation drew near, the quality of his dreams changed. The demon of his infancy visited him. He extended his paw and Puck recognised the nature of his talons. The scars over his shoulder would blister and ache as the demon’s loving tone pierced his ears.

“You still listen for the sweet voice of a failed realm.”

“It is my nature to listen.”

The demon laughed. “Even within your mother’s belly you were evasive. At first, anyway. Then you curled upon yourself and sought the blade of my claw. You were desperate for my blessing.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m Falsus Rue, rabbit. Remember me.”

“Why?”

Falsus shrugged. “This is only a dream.”

Puck turned from him. “I grow tired of this conversation.”

“No. You grow bitter. It’s alright, let the bitterness consume you for now. I shall grant you a blade of your own, and hearty flesh with which to carve a destiny worthy of a wolf.”

“Riddles and poetry bore me.”

Falsus laughed again. “Fine, dear Puck. For now I’ll accept your insolence.”

Puck looked back at the demon, only to find him gone. He awoke in the crook of Alar’s arm.

The young man murmured in his sleep. “I surrender.”

Puck’s nose twitched, his whiskers frantic in the dark.

He hated being a rabbit. He loathed the weakness of his spirit. And he had lied to the demon. Or at least, he had refused to admit his desire for strength. Puck closed his eyes and imagined being a predator. To hunt without guilt and experience ecstasy upon the obliteration of another.

His eyes snapped open as Falsus’ voice whispered into his ear.

“I’ve taken guilt from you already, rabbit. And I lied, too. It’s not bitterness you feel. It’s hunger.”

✙ ✙ ✙

Roman lay across his bed, the sheets kicked low and sloppy. He awoke with remnants of Lily bleeding to the surface of his mind. She didn’t fade the way most things did. The light trespassing past the curtains caused his eyes to ache. He rubbed his face. Fuck. Another day.

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the mattress.

A deep breath and he stood. His left knee complained. The scent of coffee drifted through the room and struck him as tender as a kiss. If only most things could be resolved so cheaply.

He walked toward the mirror. His pyjama bottoms hung low, and scratching his chest he observed himself. Greying, shaggy hair that failed to soften the hard angles of his face. His scars had grown pale as they crissed and crossed his torso. It was a pattern pointing him someplace he refused to follow.

His head bowed and memories of Lily pulled at him again. The first time they met. Still young, still clinging to the belief that they were entitled to something.

Roman had a contract to discuss with Soren, so he braved the Galleon Tower. The design was extravagant, a gleaming idol in service to the disease of Echelon. It was over 100 floors, so he had to take the lift. That was unfortunate, because he detested small spaces. Finally he spilled from the elevator onto the top floor and sought the nearest window. Looking out onto the night, Echelon’s skyline stretched and obscured the reality of what lay beyond its finely defined borders.

Roman began walking toward the end of the corridor. The interior favoured a 1920′s feel. The walls were a vivid jade, silver patterns slithered like snakes, terminating in sharp geometric forms. The chandeliers were lit low. The space glowed with the pretence of comfort.

A man and woman were ahead. Lily. She giggled as the man caged her against the wall. Leaning in, he kissed her deeply. Her deft hands moved beneath the man’s jacket. Roman watched as she pulled something free. Something small. Her hand curled around it like a contented cat.

As Roman neared, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. She was still kissing the man, yet the edge of her mouth curled. Did she wink? At the time he wondered: had they met before? Maybe. Still, it was obvious she was working, same as him.

So he let it go.

Roman looked at the mirror again. He stepped closer and tapped the stain of his reflection. No change. Not so much as a ripple. Reality.

Lily had seen him and his reflection alike. She had reached for him. An offering given freely. “Just stop, Roman. Just refuse. Choose me instead.”

Knock. Knock.

“Yeah?”

“Coffee, Roman.”

“Yeah. I’m coming.”

Roman dressed briskly. The suit still fit at least. He holstered his gun beneath the jacket and finished fidgeting with his tie. One last look in the mirror and then he parted with reflection.

Ellis greeted Roman in the kitchen with a warm, loving wag of his tail. “‘Mornin’, Roman.”

“Good morning, Ellis. Thanks for making coffee.” Roman poured himself a cup and sat at the small kitchen table. A newspaper sat folded, waiting for him. He shook his head. “You really out did yourself.”

“It’s nothing.”

Roman looked over the lovely artifice of the dog as it sat beside him. His hand tightened on the mug. “Ellis, you know I would never want you to demean yourself for my benefit.”

“You worry too much.”

“I mean it. You’re stuck living with a practical ogre, you shouldn’t have to entertain one, too.”

The dog’s head tilted as it giggled. “I enjoy this form. I enjoy being with you in this form.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Roman’s voice grew tight. “You should be in whatever form you want, or no fucking form at all, just, whatever makes you happy. Not me. I want us to be equals.”

“You’re the one failing to allow yourself to be equal, Roman.”

“That’s not true.”

“Ever since I passed the sentience exam you’ve been different.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Roman remained silent, his fingers scratched at a defect on the table’s surface.

Ellis sighed. “It’s not the same, you know. You’re not making the same mistakes. You’ve changed.”

“C’mon, Ellis.”

“You could try to find her.”

Roman’s hand rose and struck the table. “Oh fuck. Absolutely not.”

The dog rolled it’s eyes. Roman’s brow furrowed.

Ellis growled. “Christ, I’m just trying to help. Read the goddamn paper.”

Roman watched as Ellis trotted away and jumped up on the couch. Laying down, their head lowered and rested on their paws. Roman stretched his neck and opened the paper. The headlines were mostly recycled. Same. Same. Same.

Wait.

Commixtionis’ Arch Reverent Seer, Mortimer Talus, who was long rumoured to be dead, makes public appearance after over a decade. “I come before you in this final hour, before the fall and resurrection of man, to offer prayers of sustenance to those lost souls who may now, at long last, remember their truth and embrace their fate. You who will endure, will inherit a battlefield worthy of one final war.”

Roman grumbled under his breath.

End of times? Entirely possible. Cataclysmic event? Eh, that’d be preferable. To want to endure it? No. When he was young, Roman feared dying as the result of an accident. A drowning, a motor vehicle crash, a falling piano. As he grew older he recognised how foolish he’d been. To die instantly in an accident. That was a blessing.

Roman shook his head and mumbled. “I surrender.”

He looked up and Ellis was staring at him. “What?”

The dog sat up, their head lowered. “Mr. Soren has a contract for you.”

✙ ✙ ✙

Alar held Puck in his lap as he gently petted him. He harboured a genuine concern for the rabbit’s happiness. Alar had been raised always knowing it was his fate to be sacrificed. He accepted the divinity of his lot. Puck represented the princes, the breath of the wild, and the guile of nature.

Puck remained eerily still, only his whiskers moved, and only a vibration, a minuscule blur.

“Tell me, Grandson, what troubles you at this late hour?”

Alar looked up at the Seer. “I worry for Puck. I have the gift of choice. He has not.”

His Grandfather rested his hand upon his shoulder. “You are thinking with a mind of now. Understandable, yet flawed. When flesh and spirit conjoins, true choice will be resurrected.”

The old man reached forth and scratched behind Puck’s ear. “And besides, it is likely Puck has known of his destiny since birth, the same as you. Only you lack the ability, for now, to understand the tale of his life.”

As Alar nodded, Puck remained lost in thought. The demon had come to him again in the night. Puck waited upon a sandy shore. On the horizon he saw a small boat seemingly adrift on the ocean. The sun was just beginning to rise. Puck feared the water, yet he feared turning from his destiny more.

Slowly the dingy grew larger, he could see the paddle as a lone figure steered the boat to shore.

Falsus Rue.

At last the demon stepped from the boat and dragged it onto the shore. Puck hopped timidly toward him.

“Why am I here?”

The demon lowered one knee to the damp beach and brushed sand from Puck’s fur. “You are like a child to me, rabbit. Do you know that?”

Puck’s nose twitched. “Is it true?”

“Yes. I laid the shadow of my heart upon your mother, and you, intending harm. Yet once I marked you, I claimed you, and you became mine. And I am yours.”

Falsus pointed toward the water. “A mighty Sea, small Puck. Within it you must drown to be born again.”

Puck’s heart sank. “I fear I don’t believe your promises.”

Falsus lifted Puck into his arms and gently stroked him. “I know. That’s okay. You will surface and I will listen for you to call my name.”