PROLOGUE
It must have been the creaking that woke us up. Woke me up. I’m not sure that the … Other one …, Nature, ever even sleeps. And I know they wouldn’t have woken me up if I had somehow managed to sleep through all this grinding and groaning anyway. No, they would have let the New Age dawn and set themself as its ruler, allowing me to slumber through those crucial, crepuscular hours when all matters were determined – only to wake in the impossible glare of a morning … a morning that was entirely theirs.
But luckily I stirred before the stars had fully settled into their course, before the New Age had been fully delivered. I woke and in doing so spoiled that Other one’s … my … my (though it pains me to put it so plainly) twin’s plans. Here, in the space beyond, neither of us need be burdened by anything so mundane as a body. We exist in our truer forms, a shapeless shift of colour, like the sheen of oil on water. My Other, Nature, stood gazing out at the stars,
and just as sparks raced through the depths, so, too, did orange and red and yellow glare and flare across their form. I took this to mean they were excited.
‘Greetings, Other,’ I said. It was nice to see them give a little jump. But their form had smoothed over, the reds and oranges muting to blue and grey, by the time they turned and offered a reply.
‘Greetings, Nurture. Welcome to this New Age.’
Nurture is not my name. Nurture is simply what I am, what shapes me and how, in turn, I shape the world around me. The sound of myself – Nurture – emerged in my Other’s voice with a rasping, rotten taste. We really do not get along well.
I stood and stretched and went to my Other’s side, the two of us peering over the Deeps, which writhed and roiled, out into the expanse of the farthest sphere. ‘It has not yet arrived.’ The stars were still settling – bolts of fire now and then flaming out, sparks fizzling, and the creaking grated on as well. Even for us, it was an awesome sight.
‘What sort of age will it be?’ Nature murmured, a question that had no proper answer, that spoke of potential and danger.
It was difficult to stand so close to them. We are meant to be together and yet meant to be opposed. It’s not such a paradox. The world is full of such pairings. Whatever divinity or demonity created this universe must have loved polarity, dichotomy, duality. They loved, I’d say, twins. Some would say my Other was my missing half, that we completed each other. Others would say that we negated each other, cancelled one another out. I felt them strongly,
repulsingly – every atom within me twisting away from them. But I also heard them, an echo of myself. Myself turned inside out, front to back. I fought to keep my form steady, a roil of calm green and blue.
‘A New Age,’ I equivocated. ‘Ripe to be ruled.’ (I did not need to say ‘by me’. My intentions were loud enough to be heard, or felt.)
‘It is my turn,’ they said. ‘In the last age we were both awake for, the rule was yours.’ They stared over the Deeps, their form drawn in and concentrated, thick enough to look like smoke.
‘Ah, yes,’ I said, sarcasm dripping from my every word. ‘It was ordained to be my age. But you horned in and interfered …’
‘Just once.’
‘A dozen times! You couldn’t keep your wretched …’
‘You were mangling things. I sought only to help …’ They pivoted, turning their attention from the Deeps to me. A shiver ran through me, a vein of dark purple. ‘Let us share this age, Nurture,’ they said. ‘We are … siblings … after all.’
‘Share?’
‘Yes. I will take the, er, left half of the world and you take the right half, and away we shall go.’
I hunched together, gathering my substance, anticipating a long argument (arguments with Nature are always long. One might even say, eternal). ‘Firstly, my beloved Other, the world
does not have halves. It cannot be split like a melon. Second, even if we could divide it cleanly in half, you would still intrude. We know this about ourselves. We cannot share.’
‘We can do anything we want,’ they muttered. ‘At least I can.’
‘We are in a state of bonded opposition, you idiot. We exist only because we are opposed to each other.’
‘I know,’ they sulked.
I ignored their pouting, grey shape. ‘We are two sides of the same coin. You can’t crawl over onto my side, not without wrecking the coin.’ I paused. This metaphor (like most metaphors) was not exactly right. ‘Forget the coin. We are like …’
‘You can forgo the comparison. I know what we are. We are twins.’ Their voice curled unpleasantly around the word. ‘And like any siblings, we fight to differentiate ourselves. I am only myself because I am not like you.’
‘Exactly. So you cannot do anything you want. What you do will always be, in some way, linked to and shaped by your need to oppose me.’ That is how creation works – the power to create something from nothing … yes, it comes from playing opposites against each other.
They were still sulking, glooming over the edge, staring into the endless field of stars. ‘What would you even do with this age, if you were to rule?’ they said at last.
I relaxed a touch, let my substance spread out, washed through with green-gold. ‘Let Nurture reign,’ I replied.
‘Well, obviously,’ they snarked.
My threads of green-gold snapped back, flared orange. ‘If I were to rule … without your interference …’
‘I am Nature. I do not interfere. I simply am,’ they insisted. ‘It is you who nudges in and messes things up. Nurture. Coddling and cooing and shaping and meddling.’
‘Nature,’ I scoffed, and I couldn’t damp down the flickers of red that coursed through me. ‘You ought to rename yourself Neglect. I don’t meddle, and I resent that implication. I simply open humans’ minds to their full potential, allow them to see within themselves and others that they have the capacity to change and grow and develop. That’s Nurture. You idiot.’
‘Oh, good grief. Be quiet.’
‘Who are you to tell me …’
We both fell silent as the stars gave a particularly loud groan. Who were we to be making such a scene before them?
My Other hunched closer, their words little more than a hiss. ‘You’re ridiculous. Humans don’t care about capacity and potential. They care about hunger and thirst and power and …’
I cut them off. ‘And what would your rule look like?’
They gave a shrug, if a formless thing can be said to give a shrug. (I said it, so there. They gave a shrug.) ‘People are born. Some are strong and healthy and wise and they succeed. Others perish or suffer.’
‘That’s no kind of world.’
‘On the contrary, Sibling. I’d say it’s Nature. Human nature, at least.’
They had a point. Humans could be rather brutal. And simple-minded. In fact, if I had to be honest (which I don’t) I would admit that if you left a group of human children entirely alone to raise themselves, the results would be much what my Other had outlined. Which is why Nurture is so important. ‘We will never settle this. We can’t rule together – we would just … cancel each other out. And we’ve proven that you can’t be trusted to take turns and leave my age well enough alone.’
They bristled at this, a glisten of orange flares. ‘I don’t trust that you’d give me a turn, after having taken yours. Very well. We can’t share and we can’t take turns. So let’s fight for it. Winner takes all.’
If I had eyes, I would have rolled them (in general, I prefer being unincorporated, but this is one (significant) drawback). ‘We cannot fight each other. Or rather, neither one of us can win in any decisive way. That’s what it means to be in bonded opposition. Remember what I was saying about the coin, the sides thereof?’
‘I know,’ they whispered and I could feel – like a deep, cold shiver – their resentment and hate. If they could get rid of me, they would. Even if it meant getting rid of themself. They shook their form, like a dog in from the rain.
‘Let us … pick humans to be our proxies,’ I suggested.
They sparkled a bit, gazed back out over the edge. ‘Yes. Find two humans, one for each of us, and let them bash each other bloody.’
If I had eyes, I would have rolled them. ‘You are so predictably banal. We are superior to mortals, so shall we make it a bit more subtle? A little more substantial?’
‘Oh?’ Scepticism coated their voice. If my Other were to rule over this planet, they’d be sitting up on some throne, probably made out of charred human bones, munching greasy snacks while the world descended into utter depravity. And they’d declare that a complete success. ‘What do you have in mind, Nurture? That we gather two humans, have them hold hands and murmur supportive phrases to one another until one dies of boredom?’
I almost laughed. ‘Let me think,’ I said.
I shuffled towards the edge of the Firmament, to look down on earth. Clouds scudded below, grey and murky, and I was reminded of such things as wind, moisture, air. I turned and again stared at the stars; they groaned only intermittently now. The gears no longer shrieked. The age was slowly settling in. It was too early to perceive the scope of the stars’ realigned orbits. They would take their time to establish the new routes, the patterns that would stamp this age. They would rustle and shift through the dawning and then settle down. I turned my gaze back to earth, sat on the edge. From here, I could see the ripples of the ocean, the humped green and grey of mountains. If I squinted, I could bring into focus a ship cutting across the waves or the slate tiles of a towering roof. Humans. They are endearing. In their way. Mostly because they are, just a little, like us. A shadow to our True Forms, a reflection in a warped glass. We see humans and know both what we are and what we are not.
‘Let us each choose a set of twins,’ I proposed, slowly, the seed of an idea taking root within me. ‘They will be a sort of mirror to us.’
‘Charming,’ my Other smirked. ‘And will we use them as puppets? To test our skills against each other?’
‘Let us each raise our twins according to our … essences, our directives.’
They snorted. ‘Our Natures, you mean?’
‘As you will,’ I said, decorously (though my thoughts were not decorous). ‘Let us preordain a time when the two sets of twins will meet and then …’
‘Then they will bash each other?’ my Other said hopefully.
‘What would be the point of them bashing each other at some future interval rather than having two idiots bash each other right now?’
‘Well, I suppose that we’d have the pleasure of anticipating …’
‘That was a rhetorical question. No … we need to have a contest that truly pits our essences against each other. Your twins will be ruled and raised all Nature. My twins will be fully nurtured.’
My Other leaned back, stretching their form out along the Firmament, staring up at the stars, at the velvety Deeps. ‘I see,’ they said. ‘The twins should mature at about the time the age settles in. And when they are mature, what then? They meet and …’ I prepared to interject before they could say bash each other, but to my surprise they continued in another
vein. ‘The twins will compete in the three areas of human ability – strong body, strong mind, strong spirit,’ they said.
I nodded. ‘That is good. But there are many possible contests that might test such abilities.’
My Other waved a tendril at me, a flare of amused yellow. ‘You fuss over the details.’
‘That’s a nurturer’s way,’ I glowed.
‘Very well. I can see that you won’t be appeased. Shall we cast lots?’ They gathered their substance and began to search around, groping at the surface of the Firmament and finally coming up with a hefty chunk of rock. This gave me pause, and I prepared to dodge; it would not be out of the question for my Other to grow tired of this conversation and try to resolve matters by bashing my head in (metaphorically; I have no head). But, no, they simply turned the rock one way, then the other, and then gently tapped it. The rock obligingly split into dozens of thin leaves; they spread the stone leaves towards me. ‘For each area – body, mind, spirit – let us each inscribe three of these lots. Then we will cast, one area at a time, to set the … nature … of each contest’. For each of the three areas, and then cast to determine.’
‘Agreed.’
‘A test to determine strength of body,’ they said.
I formed a tendril and pressed it against the rock, paused. What would be timeless, fair, worthy contests that measured strength and fortitude … weight-lifting, I inscribed on one leaf. Sprinting, I wrote on another. A bit of doubt crept in. What if my twins weren’t able in body? What if, despite my nurture, they couldn’t run fast? Well, this was only one avenue of
competition. They might fail here and win in the others … I inscribed wrestling on the third. It seemed like a classic. Then I dropped my three stones into my Other’s outstretched tendril. They shook their form vigorously, the stones rattling, and tossed all six into the air. I reached out and plucked one, letting the others clatter to the Firmament. We leaned close to read the inscription: trial by combat; using whatever the arms of the era are. I groaned. That would be what my Other wanted. Bashing, by another name. I stooped down to collect the other chips. Goodbye, foot race. Goodbye, weight-lifting. Goodbye, pure and noble contests. I turned over the other two stones that Nature had inscribed. Both read, trial by combat; using whatever the arms of the era are. ‘You put in three of the same,’ I spluttered.
‘That’s not against the rules,’ they retorted.
‘I can see we will need to settle the full rules. Carefully.’
‘Let us finish deciding the contests.’
‘A contest of the mind,’ I said, seizing my leaves of stone. My Other inscribed theirs with confidence, if not haste, but I hesitated, mulling. If my twins were feeble in body, beyond my capacity to nurture them to success, then their minds must be their crowning glory. (Truly, little is beyond my ability to nurture to success, but when dealing with my Other, it is best to be cautious … they never are.) Mathematics, I inscribed, my letters growing cramped as I added, computing without aid algebraic equations of fifteen digits. Ah, that was a good one. Navigation, I wrote, using tools only of their own construction and the earth’s features. Pleasing. I pondered, staring into the Deeps. Strong mind. Deep mind. I didn’t want some
mechanistic memorization, rote-learned … no, something with texture, richness. Extemporaneous poetic composition with metric and rhyming structures, according to aesthetics of the era.
This time, my Other dropped their leaves into my outstretched tendril. I shook and tossed and they plucked one from the air, turning it over so that I could see that it read: Story-telling. Of original invention.
‘Story-telling?’ My voice rippled with disbelief. ‘You actually believe this to be a worthy measure of mental strength?’ It wasn’t that I disliked story-telling; I was surprised my Other believed it to be of any worth. But then, I wasn’t sure what they valued in humans, beyond bashing brains.
They tossed the stone aside. ‘It is but one of the three. I couldn’t think of anything else. Human minds are so feeble … On to strength of spirit.’
Again, I took a moment to ponder. To listen to the stars creaking. It seemed my Other did as well, for their diaphanous form rippled and wavered and coursed through with threads of silver and red. There were the classics, of course, like withstanding torture. In truth, many of those trials seemed so … unpleasant. Withstand complete darkness for a week, I wrote. Fast for four days. Charm a savage beast. I was disappointed in my lack of originality, disappointed in the trepidation (not fear!) I felt in thinking of what my Other might be inscribing at this moment … I could nurture strong spirit, yes, I could.
I gave the stones to my Other, watched them fling the shards high. I r
eached out and seized one, closing my form tightly around it, feeling the sharp edges bite.
‘Well?’ my Other insisted.
I turned the shard over and read: ‘Dance with beauty and abandon.’ I blinked, gazed up at my Other. ‘You wrote that?’
They didn’t meet my gaze, but instead turned over the other shards – the ones not chosen. I read the discarded lots – mine and theirs: Predict the future. Levitate objects to a height of at least ten feet without touching them. I shook my head. These stones were a fair summary of how my Other and I are opposites, how we understand human capacity so differently. (And I am right and they are wrong.) Only this one stone, the one in my hand, gave me pause. Dance with beauty and abandon. It is almost something I would write. Almost. But I did not say this to my Other. Instead, I scoffed (such is our mode with each other). ‘Telekinesis? Soothsaying? Humans can’t do such things.’
‘My twins will be able to,’ they replied. ‘Shall we carry on? Finish sealing the wager? Or do you wish to save us all time and agony and concede now?’
I glared. Surely this was all bravura on their part. ‘Let us state the rules. Firmly and clearly. Then select our twins. These are the three areas of competition: contest by arms of the age, story-telling, and dancing with beauty and abandon.’
‘Agreed.’
‘We will agree on a fair and impartial judge on the day of the contest.’
‘Agreed.’
‘We will not interfere with each other’s twins in any way. Nor will we use any magic or supernatural enhancement on our twins.’
‘Agreed,’ they said, then added, ‘and the loser of the competition will be exiled for the duration of the age into the Darkness beyond the Deeps, to be retrieved by the victor when the age is done.’
I gasped. Exile? And I’d trust my Other to release me? They had such a smug look about them, such an insufferable glow. I knew they expected me to back down. ‘Agreed. And to be clear, when you say “age” you mean the span of four human generations or a time not exceeding a century.’
Their form curled with a pleased green-yellow. ‘How legalistic of you, Nurture. Concerned about the length of your exile?’
‘Concerned about how often Nature seems to cheat,’ I replied. ‘Let us set the time of the competition.’ We turned and stared up at the stars.
‘It must occur before the age has fully settled, so that I … the victor … might claim the rule.’ We watched a meteor streak through the Deeps, a brief trail of fire. ‘Mars and Venus.’ My Other pointed.
‘Yes,’ I said, staring. The one, a blot of red. The other, a glow of sea-green. ‘A good pair. Well opposed. When they move into … when they align with Gemini.’ I pointed to those blue-bright stars, waiting in the Deeps.
‘Indeed,’ my Other agreed. ‘We will need to shift their orbits, then seal our agreement. It pleases me. A profound symmetry. A doubling of twins.’ My Other’s voice took on a greasy, contented tone. ‘Well, now. The nature of the competition is settled, and we’ve chosen our time keeper, as it were. So, on to the selection of … souls.’
They used that word to tease me. In the almost-endless stretches of space between one age and the next (or at least in those stretches when I am not asleep – sleep is of such value to Immortal beings) my Other and I have had more than enough time to discuss the metaphysical, physical, existential, hermeneutical … essence of the universe. I believe in souls. I believe that humans have them. I believe that gives humans free will. Which in turn gives them passion and desire and the ability to change and grow. That souls are what make humans nurturable. My Other believes that humans are granted only an animating force, a spark, they might say. Nothing more.
‘Yes,’ I replied, all tart courtesy. ‘On to the souls.’
In this interstitial period, as the stars continued to shift and settle, the souls that would come into being in this age were all nestled together, awaiting their time on the stage. I find it strange that whatever being fashioned these souls left them here, on the edge of the Deep, to find their own way into the world … or to be toyed with by me and my Other. But, then, I think of the two of us, and wonder, sometimes, where we came from (we each have different versions of that story) and why it is that we seem forgotten as well. No matter. These were thoughts for the timeless stretches between ages. Now was the moment for action.
My Other was sifting through the souls. ‘This is the only moment that matters,’ they said. ‘If I choose correctly, my work is done. My twins will grow according to their Natures: strong, robust, clever, insightful …’
‘Just choose,’ I snapped, suddenly, surprisingly, on edge.
My Other’s colours swirled with delight. They knew they had got under my skin. As it were. They held aloft two souls, little spheres, transparent but with solid bits inside, like the cat’s-eye marbles kids play with in certain eras. I extended a tendril and after a moment of reluctance my Other let me hold the souls they had selected. They were like metal – heavy, cool to the touch. I could even taste the tang of iron as I grasped them tight. I passed them back to my Other, who looked unbearably smug (smugness is a horrible lilac shade).
‘You shouldn’t need to dally much with your choice,’ they said, sounding intolerably like a schoolmarm. (Bashing each other now seemed like a very good idea.) ‘Just pluck any old two out of there and nurture them up, right?’
I didn’t even bother to glare. ...
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