A Steller Encounter

(none)

(none)

(none)

[[include component:preview
text= A man with a troubled past encounters something enchantingly beautiful, but he has a hard time believing it’s truly what it seems to be.]]

[[include :scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme]]
[[include :scp-wiki:theme:dustjacket]]

[[>]]
[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]
CW: This tale covers themes of religious trauma, religious fundamentalism, PTSD, and brainwashing, and contains mentions of religiously motivated murder.
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:info-cw]]
[[/>]]

~~~~

[[=]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]

I thrash against the bonds placed on me by my enemies.

Servants of the Serpent have subdued me, and my twisted, half-human wreck of a mind understands what they intend to do. One of them has [[[i-didn-t-forget-hub|a magical voice]]]. A voice that snips the threads by which one mind is bound to another, that purges the psyche of all outside influence, remaking the listener into what they would have been if they had never been touched by any force beyond human understanding, including the beautiful, all-enthralling light of the five-fold divine.

It is a fate worse than death, and I have already lost the battle to escape it.

Having finished blinding one of my comrades to that glorious light, the mage with the disenchanting voice reaches me. He stoops to look me in the eye. He’s full of such awful pity, like I am a slave he intends to free.

Perhaps I am a slave, but slavery to [[[SCP-3125|the Cosmic Starfish]]] is the truest freedom I have ever known. There is no greater beauty than its pentagonal form. No glory greater than the thoughts with which it gifts me. No melody more wondrous than its everlasting beat, that one, two, three, four, five, to which me and mine long to make the world dance.

“Please don’t,” I beg, but of course it only makes him pity me more, and as he speaks, his voice drips with sickening tenderness.

He speaks to me of my old self. Of the person I was before I saw the Starfish’s light. Do I remember his name? I do. It was Dylan. How would he have felt about the Fifth Church? He would have been horrified to see the minds and bodies of mortals, including so many who he loved, twisted and rewritten. Dylan valued his independence above anything else.

How would he have felt about the things I’ve been doing for the church? He’d have hated them. The sound of screaming sacrifices would have brought him tears of sorrow, not joy. The sight of victims’ twitching, bleeding forms would have made him vomit. The soul-rending glories me and my comrades create would have been utterly deplorable to him.

I knew that already. I didn’t need this self-righteous pest to tell me what my former self would have thought of the things I’ve done. He would view me as a monster, perpetrator of atrocities beyond counting, or, at least, beyond the only number worth counting to.

This snake tells me only what I already know, and yet his voice brings more to my mind than distant, uncomprehending memory of Dylan’s feelings. The feelings themselves rise to vex me. Feelings I had forgotten. A sense of independence. A need to know truth from falsehood. An instinct toward compassion. A conviction that a human being is more than a sacrifice to be claimed or marked or consumed or destroyed or devoured by wonders and horrors beyond mortal comprehension.

These feelings grow and grow until they take up so much of my mind that they no longer feel like intrusions. Soon, they feel like clarity, and it is the Cosmic Starfish’s blessed-cursed song that feels like a fog, a fog that has consumed my mind for six years. A fog that was never meant to lift, but has now lifted, forcing me to gaze on all the awful things I saw, and all the awful things I did, in the Starfish’s thrall.

My rescuer moves on to free the mind of another Fifthist, but one of his comrades stays behind to comfort me. He undoes my bonds. Sobbing, I pull him into a hug. For a moment, he pauses. It’s awkward for him to be held so close by a stranger, but after a moment, he returns the gesture. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “You’re free now.”

Images from the past six years flash through my mind. Abominations. Crimes. Horrors. It takes me a moment to put it into words. “I killed people,” I finally say.

“I know,” says the man holding me.

“I did worse things. Things I… oh god. Oh, god, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” he hurries to assure me. “Your mind had been taken over, but now you have it back, and no one is ever going to take it from you again, understand?”

I cannot bring myself to say anything back.

-----

I make my way through the cool spring night, on my way home from an evening class at my university.

In the years since my mind became my own once again, I’ve been learning. Learning about things my brainwashed self could not understand. About the beauty of life. Not the beauty of a concept, a number, a vision, but of the real, uncountable, amazing forms ‘mundane’ life can take.

If I wanted, I could supplement my studies with research into anomalous life forms. I have chosen not to. I’ve seen enough of the unnatural. I prefer to forget that it exists. I don’t see the point in trying to study things that can’t be understood.

Not that I’m one of those Jailors. I won’t hurt anyone who doesn’t want to hurt me. On the rare occasion I encounter an anomalous person, I can look past their horns or tail or carapace long enough to be respectful. I know those things are superficial—that there’s a human mind underneath.

I also know I have no right to call someone else a monster.

I’m yet to encounter anyone who wants to punish me for the things I did. I’m yet to encounter anyone who doesn’t understand that my will was not my own. I’m yet to encounter anyone else who thinks of me as a murderer.

I try to stay thankful for that. I try not to forget how lucky I am.

Above me, the comforting glow of a California cityscape drowns out the stars. To my right, on the far side of a sturdy rail, is a long, sheer drop into cold, brackish water that crashes against the cliffside, accompanied by the sound of coastal birds and… some kind of squealing?

I almost disregard it and keep walking, but curiosity leads me to peer over the guardrail, down into the water. There’s something there.

What the heck is that thing?

It looks like a manatee. It isn’t, though. It’s way too big, something like forty feet long. That’s larger than any living sirenian. Hell, that’s larger than the giant ones that are now extinct.

Its body is plump, and its tail is two-pronged, like that of a dolphin. Its light grey hide gives off an ethereal blueish glow. There are gaps in its flesh. Patches that are exposed or rotting. A hole on the left side of its back reveals several ribs and a few pulsing organs. One of its fins is half-skeletal, flesh stripped away to reveal the five-fingered structure that hides inside every marine mammal’s front flippers. Even fifty feet up, I can smell it.

I could mistake it for a rotting corpse, except it’s moving, floating gently atop the water, looking up at me with intelligent curiosity in its eyes.

I can’t help but look back. Even though it’s half-dead, it’s beautiful. There’s a kind wisdom in its eyes. It’s soft and gentle. I somehow know, deep, deep in my soul, that it would never, ever hurt me.

I’ve only heard one other voice so deep in my soul.

I run. I sprint to the end of the sidewalk and then keep running. Brakes squeak and horns honk as I dash into the street. I come within an inch of being hit, but, luckily, the light hasn’t been green for long. Once I’m across the highway. I rush the rest of the way home, run up to my apartment, and slam the door behind me. Only once it’s closed and locked do I allow myself to stop and gasp for air. There’s a crushing stitch in my side that aches with every breath.

I force myself into the present moment. It didn’t follow me. I’m in my apartment, hundreds of feet from the nearest drop of salt water.

What the hell was that thing? Something paranormal, obviously. Undead? A ghost? A zombie?

How could something undead be so beautiful?

Over the next half hour, I calm down enough that I can sit in my living room and use my phone. There’s no point in looking for info about that thing on the unveiled internet, and I have nothing to gain from learning about it. I have no reason to pursue this further. I need to distract myself. Cats. I look for cats. Small, fluffy cats with cute faces, mouths open in a way that reads like a smile to human eyes.

Eventually, I calm down enough that I can start heading to bed, though as I try to get to sleep, I can’t fight off the gnawing dread that I will dream about the thing I saw in the water.

-----

For the first time in more than a year, I enter the Wanderer’s Library.

I don’t come to the Library often, and I never check anything out. I know that the strange creatures that serve as this place’s “librarians” were once people, transformed and enslaved as punishment for breaking the Library’s rules. Some of them did nothing more than fail to return a book.

I’m never going to risk that happening to me.

I don’t come here at all, if I can help it, but today, there’s something I need to know that the mundane world can’t tell me.

I’m still in contact with Paul, the Serpent’s Hand agent who comforted me the day my mind was freed. We sit in a lounge in the library, on a wide, dark red sofa that faces an empty table.

“It reminded me of [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steller%27s_sea_cow Steller’s Sea Cow],” I say to him, “but it was too big, not to mention that stellers have been extinct for hundreds of years.”

Steller’s Sea Cow was a relative of the modern dugong. They got to be around thirty feet long. They were widespread in the Pleistocene, just like a lot of other giant versions of modern fauna. They were nearly wiped out by the environmental changes at the end of the ice age, and the handful that survived into the eighteenth century were hunted to extinction less than a generation after European explorers discovered them.

“I have a theory as to what you might’ve seen,” Paul says. “Hold on, I’ll go get a book about it.”

He stands. I stay put while he approaches an Archivist to enquire about this volume.

I look away.

I don’t understand how a freedom fighter like him can so casually use the services of a slave.

Paul disappears for a moment, and returns with a single large volume, //The Gods of Ancient Beasts.//

“Gods?” I ask.

“Yes,” Paul says. “There’s a god embodying just about every concept you can think of, including every animal. [[[SCP-7189|When their animal goes extinct]]], those gods die, but they don’t always stay dead. Sometimes, the god comes back because their animal is cloned or replicated. Other times, people keep the animal’s concept alive just by thinking about it.”

“The thing I saw didn’t look alive. It didn’t smell alive either.”

“If you saw the god of Steller’s Sea Cow, we would expect them to be partway between life and death. Not alive, because their species is extinct, but not quite dead, because they live on through human awareness of the species and their story.”

I look down at the book. After a moment, I’m able to summon the courage to pick it up and open it.

There’s an introduction explaining what Paul just said, followed by chapters on the gods corresponding to a variety of animals. Most of them are prehistoric, but a few died off more recently, like with the [https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/and-i-was-present-at-the-death-of-a-god god of thylacines].

Some of them have been seen recently, looking half-dead, just like my sea cow did.

“You look nervous,” Paul says. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “So, you think this is what I saw? A god?”

“It’s my best guess.”

“What was it doing there? It was out in the open, where the Jailors could’ve easily spotted it.”

“If this god has been dead for a while, they might not know about the Jailors. They might not know much about the modern world.”

“So, I just happened across it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Even if they don’t understand much about the world, gods never appear to people at random. If you saw this god, they wanted you to.”

I fight to keep from trembling. “What does it want with me?” I ask.

“If the appearances of other animal gods are anything to go by, they probably hope you’ll help bring them back to life.”

Visions of the creature flash through my mind. Its beauty. Its grandeur. Its grace. My desire to get closer. To commune with it. A desire I can’t trust. A desire that might not be my own.

For a second, my breathing goes heavy. I fight it down, but not quickly enough to keep Paul from noticing.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asks.

“Why would it choose me?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Gods work in mysterious ways. Perhaps this being thought you would be especially able or willing to help them?”

“Well, I’m not,” I say. “I am neither willing nor able to help bring a god back to life.”

Paul studies me for a second. “You don’t have to answer this if it’s too personal, but do you mind explaining why? A lot of people would be grateful for this. Are you afraid of attracting Jailor attention?”

“I am,” I say, “but that’s… that’s not the main reason.”

“What is?”

I pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it into words another person could understand. “That thing, it was beautiful. I think it might have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“It shouldn’t have been beautiful. It was a half-rotten corpse. A giant, glowing monster. The way it made me feel, the way it drew me in—”

Realization flashes across Paul’s face. “It reminds you of… before?” Paul asks.

I nod.

He lays a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think it’s likely that this being was controlling your mind.”

“Could it, if it wanted to?”

“I won’t pretend to know exactly what it can do, but I doubt it.” He hesitates for a moment. “There’s no record of these things controlling minds.”

“What was with that pause?” I ask.

“It’s nothing. Just Jailor disinformation.”

“About these things controlling minds?”

“According to //the Jailors//, yes.”

“So… they have been accused of it, then?”

“Not credibly.”

“How do you know?” I ask. “I know the Jailors are bad guys, but what if they know something no one else does? Don’t they deal with supernatural dangers more than anyone else?”

“A lot of other people have interacted with these beings. I don’t think it’s plausible that they could be controlling people without anyone else noticing.”

“I’m not risking it. If there’s even a tiny chance I could lose myself again… I can’t do it, no matter what.”

Paul looks at me for a moment, with compassion, but also concern. “That’s your choice,” he says. “You have every right to refuse this entity’s calling. Just make sure you think it through. You should at least check out the book and read it. That way, you can make an informed decision.”

“I can’t check out books. I don’t have a library card, remember?”

“Oh,” he says. “Right. I could get it for you, if—”

“No. Then you’d be responsible if something happened to it. I can’t endanger you like that.”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not.”

Paul sighs. “Alright.”

-----

That night, I lay in bed, trying to force myself to think about something other than the being I saw. For all I know, just thinking about it could give it power over me.

I can’t help myself, though. It was so majestic. So enormous, yet so harmless. The Cosmic Starfish made me feel a lot of things, but never, for a single second, did it feel harmless. Even when I was deep in its thrall, I always smelled the blood on it. It made me love that smell, but it never tried to hide it.

This thing, this Sea Cow god, felt pure and gentle.

But things aren’t always what they seem.

I close my eyes and try to drift to sleep. As my consciousness fades, my bed seems to vanish from below me, replaced by the gentle embrace of the ocean, as if I were floating atop it.

Next thing I know, I’m sitting in a small ocean cave.

I’ve been to this cave before. It’s within swimming distance of the closest beach, and not that far from where I first encountered the Sea Cow.

The creature is in the water in front of me, just a few feet away. It’s nighttime, and the entity’s glow is the only thing that illuminates the cave. It moves through the water with such gentle grace. It looks so vulnerable. In it, I see the innocent majesty of a creature that was once driven to extinction by human greed. In its eyes, I see a sadness that tells me it’s more than an animal, that it’s wise enough to know its own story, and know that it’s a tragedy.

I should tell it to go away.

Is there any point, though? If this creature is what I fear it to be, why would it respect that request?

I look down. It meets my eyes with a kind, soft gaze.

“What do you want?” I ask.

//Come to me.//

The words echo though my mind. If I didn’t know this creature were here, I would think they were my own thoughts.

“I’m not going to serve you.”

//Come to me.//

“Why do you want me?”

//Come to me.//

“Out of everybody in the world, why me?”

//Come to me.//

And I want to. I want to go to it. I feel no string being pulled on me. Nothing about my desire feels false or alien. It feels as if I have simply discovered something captivatingly beautiful and now desire to see it more closely. Only a desire. Not a command. Not a compulsion. I feel like I could refuse, if I wished, and the only cost would be that I’d never see this creature again.

-----

I swim against gentle waves as I enter the cave from my dreams.

I’ve come here at night, mostly to ensure there’s no one else around. Being seen talking with a god is just about the surest way to gain the Jailors’ attention.

Why am I here? Why am I doing this? This is insane. I don’t know this creature. All I have is Paul’s guess as to what it is and what it wants. I should be on a plane right now, flying as far inland as I can in hopes of never seeing this thing again.

I swim to the far end of the cave and pull myself up onto some rocks.

Something glows deep below the surface of the water. I look down into the inky depths. The glow rises. Soon, it’s no longer just a light. Soon I can see its shape, its glowing form, then its size, and just a moment after that, it breaches the surface.

Its stench makes me gag, a horrible, dead rot mixed with the briny smell of the sea cave.

It’s poking its nose out of the surface and looking right at me. I stare at it, fighting for enough control over my nerves to say anything, anything at all, to this creature.

“I came,” I say. “What do you want?”

It squeals and swims forward, nuzzling my ankle. I pull my foot back. This thing is dead. Is it dangerous to touch?

No. I’m a bio major. I know that’s not how dead bodies work.

But if this thing is an embodiment of human imagination, who’s to say how it will work? Maybe its sheer aura of harmlessness makes it impossible for it to hurt me. Maybe its divinity means it carries supercharged, divine diseases which are already incubating inside me.

Maybe I should’ve checked out that book.

Despite my concern, I find myself slowly reaching out. With a swish of its tail, it shifts toward me. After another moment of hesitation, I lay my hand on its snout.

I get an affirming squeal.

“You like that?” I ask.

It scoots through the water, toward me, like a dog begging to be pet.

“You’re… you’re sure you’re a god, right?”

It doesn’t answer.

“Can you even understand me?” I ask. “Spin around if you know what I’m saying.”

It shifts back a bit, then it rolls around, going upside down and then right side up again, exposing the rot that dominates its stomach. Somehow, the stench gets even worse. I cover my mouth. As soon as it’s done, it swims back up to me, presenting its head for more affection.

I start to ask it if it’s sure it’s a Sea Cow and not a dog, but maybe it isn’t all that strange that it behaves this way. Steller’s Sea Cow was a highly social animal. They lived in large family groups, and had little—far too little, in the end—fear of humans. Why shouldn’t the embodiment of that species appreciate affection?

I find myself touching it again. Its snout is cold and wet, and its hide is loose and rotten, but, somehow, the act of stroking it relaxes me.

I pull my hand back. It whines, and moves a bit closer, but I don’t go back to petting it. “Listen,” I say, “I don’t know what made you approach me, of all people. I don’t know exactly what you thought I would do for you, but I think you’re talking, or, well, squealing to the wrong person. I’m not really looking to be anybody’s disciple.”

It looks up at me sadly. Its gaze flits downward, as if to say, “should I go?”

“You don’t have to leave,” I say. “I mean, I must have wanted to meet you. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.” Assuming that decision was my own. Assuming that desire is my own.

The creature nuzzles me again, but I scoot further back on the rock to get away from it.

“I read a bit about you in the Wanderer’s Library,” I say. “You know what that is, right?”

Its head shifts in a way that I think is supposed to be a nod.

“I learned what you are. You’re a god, right? The god of a species? You used to be dead, and you still kind of are, but you’re starting to come back to life?”

An affirming chirp.

“And you want me to help you?”

Another chirp.

I gaze at it. It looks big, but it feels so much bigger, denser with grandeur than anything natural could ever be.

“I don’t know that I’m the best person to help you with that,” I say. “I mean, it’d be really dangerous. Do you even know how dangerous it would be? Do you know who the Jailors are? What I’d have to risk in order to help you?”

It doesn’t respond.

“Helping you come back would mean risking my life,” I say. “I would be choosing that cause, that struggle, over everything else I could dedicate my life to.”

Its eyes go sad. Once again, I’m afraid it’s going to go away. Before it can, I reach out to pet it. I scoot a few inches closer to make that easier. It likes that. My eyes water. I tell myself it’s the stench. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be turning this thing away. Why don’t I want it to go away?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not willing to dedicate my life to your cause. I have my own dreams. My own ambitions—”

The creature whines softly. Guilt pierces me. Is that feeling real? I have no way of knowing. I hate that my choice is making it sad. I find myself wanting to help it be happy instead. Would that make me its servant? It’s so much bigger than anything else I’ve ever seen. If I let myself touch it, will I be lost in its vastness like a drop in the ocean?

Or, in being one with it, will I become something grander?

I take a moment to gather my nerves. Am I about to make a horrible mistake? Will I one day look back on this as the moment in which I lost the independence I was so lucky to regain?

Will I feel the same sick, enthralling joy I felt about the Starfish? Is that all I’m feeling now?

I find myself speaking. “Mind if I get in the water with you?”

It squeals with joy.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, despite the stench. I scoot forward and lower myself in.

The creature drifts toward me, as if encouraging me to embrace it. For now, I just reach out and pet its head, but my whole body is now closer to it. Throughout myself, I feel its presence. It’s so huge. Steller’s Sea Cow once graced thousands of miles of coastline, once spanned a million pods. I’m not petting an animal. I’m petting an entire species. It’s far, far older than the thoughtless apes that murdered it, and it could’ve outlasted us, had our own greed and short-sightedness not driven it to extinction.

As a member of the species that exterminated it, do I have an obligation to help bring it back? Do I have the right to stand back and refuse to undo that wrong?

I shouldn’t let guilt influence my decision. Steller’s Sea Cow was exterminated before I was born. If this species had gone extinct naturally, everything that matters about the situation would be the same. It would still be beautiful and worthy of life. I would still be the one with the opportunity to help it.

It leans toward me as if encouraging me to embrace it. Its shifting bulk almost pushes me beneath the water. “Hey, hey, careful,” I say. It goes still. I pull myself back up. I take a few strokes toward it and touch it again.

“Here’s the thing,” I say. “Assuming I decided to help you, assuming I was willing to risk the wrath of the people who run this world, I’m not sure that there’s anything I can do for you.”

The creature nuzzles me.

“There are other people who could probably do a lot more for you than I could. Braver people, with more skill and experience fighting the Jailors.” Even as I say it, I’m not sure that it’s true. After all, I do have experience being part of a secret cult. I do have experience hiding from the Jailors. Maybe I’m more qualified to help this creature than I’d like to admit. “Why me?” I ask. “Of all people, why me?”

All it does is nuzzle me again.

“You really think I’m the one you want?”

It squeals.

“Is it because I… because of the kind of worshiper I used to be?”

It doesn’t respond.

“You know I was bad, right? I did—”

It surges forward so suddenly that it splashes my face. I close my eyes and my mouth, trying to keep out the sudden spray of salty water and stinking rot. “Hey, stop it!” I say. I swim a few strokes back. This time, it lets me get away from it.

“I’m not going to found a religion,” I say. “I’m not going to try to place other people under me as my disciples. I don’t want power over anyone’s soul.”

The creature squeals softly. Is it okay with that? Is that not what it wants from me? What else would a god want from me?

I don’t know. All I know is that I want to continue communing with it, and I do, until it grows late enough that I have to go back home if I’m going to get up in time for class tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” I tell it. Why am I sorry? What do I feel like I owe it? “I have to leave, for now. I’ll be back, though.”

It splashes the waves with its tail. I think it’s excited to see me again.

-----

I find myself in the Library the next day.

As I approach a desk, and the strange creature trapped behind it, I can’t help but wonder who this Archivist once was. Were they a human, or something stranger? How long have they been here? This place is older than humanity. Older than the planet earth. Perhaps older than the universe itself. Could this creature be that old? Have they been rooted in place, behind this one desk, for thousands of years? Millions? Billions? Is there anything they could have done to deserve that?

When I was in high school, I once had to pay a library fine because I accidentally got some soy sauce on a romance novel I checked out. Could it have been as simple as that? A simple accident, for which this person is being forced to pay with an eternity of servitude?

It’s okay. I just have to be careful. I approach the desk. Archivists have no eyes, which makes it difficult to tell if I have the creature’s attention. “Hey,” I say. “I’m looking for //The Gods of Ancient Beasts.//”

The Archivist reaches down into a drawer. For a moment, I expect it to give me a card with the book’s location on it, but it pulls out the book itself and presents it to me.

I guess it hadn’t been reshelved yet.

“Thanks,” I say. I pick the book up.

It’s quite long, and quite large. I glance up at the Archivist. At someone who had their life stolen by this place. At what I would become if something happened to this book while it was in my care. Even if it was an accident. Even if it wasn’t my fault.

No need to borrow it. I can just read it here.

-----

There are two ways to bring a god back from the dead. You can physically bring its species back to life or you can spread human awareness of it.

The former is beyond my means. The latter, well, I don’t think I could do enough to bring it fully back to life without violating the Veil, but there are ways I could safely give it //some// additional attention. I could write a book about Steller’s Sea Cow. Raise awareness of their story. Make the idea of them take up more space in more human minds.

Would that be enough to make a real difference?

I’m not the first one to find myself in this situation. Far from it. Every god documented in the book already has the attention of someone interested in bringing it back. These gods never seem to have any trouble getting someone to help them.

Is that evidence that they are controlling people’s minds like the Jailors say?

Maybe seeing one of their worshipers would help me figure that out.

Many of the groups dedicated to these other gods have worked with the Serpent’s Hand. That would be the best way to get into contact with them.

-----

It’s not until the next day that I manage to find Paul in the Library. I approach him. He looks up from the book he’s reading and greets me. I greet him back, then sit down next to him.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“I’ve been looking into what I can do for that god,” I say.

That news seems to please him. “Are going to help them after all?”

I take a deep breath. “Maybe,” I say. “Probably not as much as it wants. Probably not enough to bring it all the way back to life, but, well, right now I don’t understand how much help that even is. I want to figure that out, to learn how much difference I can even make, and to see what some of the followers of other ancient beings are like.

“I read the book you showed me. It mentioned that groups dedicated to similar gods have worked with the Serpent’s Hand before. I was hoping, maybe, you’d have some more information about them? Maybe could even bring me into contact with them?”

Paul smiles. “Sure thing. I’ve actually worked directly with a group that reveres the god of Mammoths. I could put you into contact with them.”

That easy? “Yeah, that’s… basically what I had in mind.”

“It might take a while, though,” he says. “They’re really skittish right now. The Jailors have been cracking down on them recently.”

“Cracking down?”

“The groups are starting to have enough success to make the Jailors nervous,” Paul says. “Knowledge of these gods is spreading in the anomalous world. They’re too well-documented here in the Library for the Jailors to fully suppress it, and some of their followings are large enough that amnesticizing followers doesn’t accomplish anything. Their allies will just find them and restore their memories. That’s forcing the Jailors to resort to deadlier ways of dealing with their worshipers.”

My mind flashes back to an encounter I once had with the Jailors.

Almost as clearly as if I were still there, I hear the crackling echo of machine gun fire, loud enough to drown out my pounding heart as I run through the pouring rain. I hear the stomping of soldiers’ boots advancing toward me. I hear the scream of a comrade hit by a stray bullet.

That thick rain hid us from the soldiers. Forced them to fire into the dark. But for it, I wouldn’t have gotten away.

“Dylan?”

I’m in the library again. I take a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. The Jailors have a lot of power. Opposing them is always a risk. Still, there are things to take heart in. The Jailors only have to resort to such drastic measures because these ancient gods are winning. Yours can win too.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Thank you for telling me. You should definitely put me into contact with that mammoth cult. I’m sure they’ll have a lot of useful advice for me.”

And, hopefully, I’ll be able to tell if they’ve lost themselves to their god.

-----

I find myself back in that cave.

I’ve been coming back here as many nights as I’ve been able to, and a big part of me wishes I could come here more.

Maybe I shouldn’t need to come here to feel in contact with her, but I do. I can’t pray to her. Whenever I try, the moment I begin to really, truly open myself to the divine, I feel… naked. Defenseless. Like I’m inviting something into myself that I could never force back out, and when I feel that, I pull away.

This leaves me without any option for connecting with her outside of physically going to the cave.

I stroke her back as I float next to her. I’m starting to get used to the smell. “Should I be trying to treat you more like a god?” I ask. “I feel… I feel like I’ve been treating you more like a friend than anything else.”

She just nuzzles me. I don’t know if she wants more from me, but whatever’s going on now, she clearly enjoys it.

“I’ve been trying to learn more about how to help you,” I say. “About other humans who have tried to help other gods in similar situations. I managed to get a friend to introduce me to one of them. The meeting’s tomorrow.”

A joyful squeal.

“It looks like it’s going to be very dangerous,” I say. “Trying to help you, I mean. It’s… those Jailors I told you about, they’ve been cracking down on the followers of gods like you. If I fully commit to bringing you back, that’ll mean they’re cracking down on me, too. That won’t end well.”

There’s a long pause.

“Did you choose me because I don’t have as much to lose as most people?” I ask. “Did you think I’d be more willing to risk myself for you?”

As much as I value the second chance the Hand has given me, I can see how someone would think I have less to lose than others. My family… didn’t survive my time as a Fifthist. A lot of my friends didn’t, either.

I haven’t made a lot of new connections in the years since. It’s hard to let people get close when you know you’re a murderer. Even if it was mind control, even if it’s not really your fault, it’s hard to look at people the same way when you know that they’d hate and fear you if they knew what you’d done.

Especially when their defenselessness, their complete unawareness of the supernatural, makes them exactly the kind of person you used to hunt.

“That is why you chose, me, isn’t it?” I ask. “You figured I didn’t have much of a life to risk?”

The creature rolls over, exposing her belly, and nuzzles me some more.

I chuckle. “Are you even listening to me?”

She squeals.

“Sure you are.” I sigh and rub her belly for a minute. “It’s getting late. I should get going.”

The creature rolls back over. I climb out of the water. She whimpers. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll see you again soon.”

-----

As I make my way to class the following morning, I happen to notice a group of uniformed people on the beach.

I stop walking.

I take a deep breath and start again. I can’t let myself start jumping at shadows. I should just keep going to class. That’s exactly what I do.

A few steps later, I realize one of them is approaching me. I take a deep breath. This is cause for irritation, not terror. I just need to shoo this woman away.

I glance at the patch on her chest that identifies the non-profit they’re working for.

They’re the ‘So-cal Coast Protectors.’

Fuck. How much do they know? Do they know anything? Are they even here about the god? What else would they be here about? What other supernatural phenomenon would bring their attention here? If something else of note were happening in the paranormal world, would Paul have told me about it?

“Excuse me, sir,” the woman says, as she reaches me, “can you spare a minute of your time?”

I have to act natural. I can’t let on that I’m nervous. “Not really,” I say. “I need to get to class.”

“Please, just one question, if you could. Have you seen any strange wildlife around here recently?”

“No. Why would I have?”

“We’re investigating some potential sightings of an endangered species in this area. A large manatee.”

God damn it. They know. They know a lot. I don’t think this woman knows about me, or else she’d be detaining me right now, but if they’re looking for the god, it probably won’t be long before they find her.

“We’d really appreciate it if you could provide any information you have,” the woman continues. “There’s an oil drilling project set to begin here soon. It’s going to be devastating to the local environment. If we can prove this endangered species is present, we might be able to stop it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I can’t think of any time I’ve seen a manatee around here, ‘large’ or otherwise.”

My heart races as she studies me.

“Okay,” she says, after a moment. “Thank you for your time.”

-----

I don’t go to my meeting with the mammoth cult that night.

Instead, I head back to the cave.

I try to be careful. I know a thing or two about how to tell if I’m being followed, and I don’t think I am. I shouldn’t be coming here, but I have to. I can’t… I can’t make this decision without talking to her, and I still can’t bring myself to pray.

The god is up on the surface as soon as I arrive. She lets out an excited squeal. “Shhh!” I hiss. “Quiet down. And try to glow less.”

She’s able to dim her light a bit, though not completely extinguish it. I swim to the back of the cave and push up onto my usual perch. She swims over and nuzzles me. I reach down to stroke her. I want to close my eyes, but I have to stay vigilant. If there’s a boat outside, one that could be searching the coast for her, I need to see it.

“The first time we met,” I say, “I asked you if you know who the Jailors were. You didn’t really respond. I need you to answer that question now. Other than what little I’ve told you, do you know anything about them?”

Once again, no response.

“Please answer me,” I say.

She looks at me, sad.

Maybe it’s ridiculous to demand answers from something that can’t talk.

“I’ve already told you the basics,” I say. “They rule the world. They don’t want anyone to know about entities like you. They want everything strange and magical locked in a box that only they have the key to. If they ever find you, that’s exactly where you’ll end up, and if they realize I’ve met with you, well, best case scenario is they lock me up, too. More likely, they just kill me.” Once again, I can almost hear the sounds of machine gun fire and pouring rain, the latter mixing unpleasantly with the sensation of water on my skin.

She squeals. It’s far quieter than it was last time, but it’s still positive. Perhaps reassuring, as if to say ‘I’m sure we can handle it.’

“I’m not sure we can, though,” I say.

She tilts her head.

“I’m not sure we can handle it,” I say. “I’m not sure we can go up against them and win.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I said that I would try to find a way to help you,” I say. “That I’d try to find something I could do, even if I wasn’t willing to risk putting everything on the line.” I stroke her head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I gave you false hope. Just being with you, being seen with you, having anything to do with you, this is already risking everything, and I…” I pull my hand back, “…I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry. I just… I told you about what happened to me. How I lost everything. Became nothing but a puppet.”

The god whines.

“I know you would never do that to me,” I say. “I know you could never hurt anyone.” I close my eyes. “But they can. If they find out about you, they’ll do horrible things, not just to you, but to me, too.”

She whimpers. I scoot forward and get in the water with her. She rushes toward me, and I embrace her. Tears drip down my face and mix with the ocean below.

“The Cosmic Starfish stole everything from me. Everything I was. Every relationship. Every desire. Every moral. Every thought. I lost them all.” I sob. “Most people who lose those things don’t get them back. The fact that I did, that I got another chance, it was just as much of a miracle as if I’d come back from the dead. Maybe more.” I loosen my grip and look her in the eye. “I can’t throw away that second chance. I can’t do something that requires me to risk everything the Hand gave back to me. If helping you could be a side project, just a small part of my larger life, I could do it, but as much as I feel sorry for you, I can’t risk everything for you. I’m sorry. I really am.”

I let go of her. She whines while I pull myself back up onto my rocky platform.

She looks up at me with pleading eyes. I reach down to pet her. “I won’t sell you out to them,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone anything that would hurt you. That, I promise. In fact, I’m going to try to get the Serpent’s Hand to help you, but… I think this is the last time I should see you. I can’t risk being seen together with you.” I stroke her. Her flesh is soft. I don’t want to pull my hand away, but I have to, and I do.

She was never controlling my mind. I know that for sure, now. No mind-stealing tyrant would ever let me walk away like this. I was attracted to her because she is beautiful. In doing this, in letting her down, I find myself with absolute proof that she never meant me any harm.

She doesn’t have to mean it, though. Only the Jailors do.

“I’m glad I met you,” I say. “I’m honored that you chose me, out of everyone in the world. I wish I could’ve lived up to your hopes for me.”

She looks up at me. I reach down to pat her head one final time and then pull my hand away. “I’m sorry,” I say.

I can see in her eyes that she understands. After taking one final moment to look at me, she tilts her body downward, and retreats into the depths.

-----

Part of me is tempted to never go back to the Library. With Jailors around, even accessing a Way is dangerous. If they see me do it, I’ll be detained, and they’ll learn about the Way I used, which will endanger everyone else who relies on it.

I have to go one more time, though. I owe Paul an explanation for not showing up to the meeting he arranged.

I don’t have any trouble finding him. As soon as he sees me, he walks right up to me. “There you are,” he says. “Where the heck were—?” He takes a closer look at me. The irritation drains from his voice. “Gods, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry for not showing up last night,” I say.

“Good,” he says. “That wasn’t an easy meeting to set up. People that deep in hiding are hard to get into contact with.”

“I told her to go away.”

“What?”

“The god. I changed my mind about helping her. I told her to go away. To choose someone else.”

His face softens.

“I’m not a freedom fighter like you,” I say. “I can’t risk everything for this.”

Paul takes a deep breath. “You have every right not to,” he says.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“You should’ve called me, though. We sat here waiting on you for four hours. It made me, made my whole cell, look like we don’t have our shit together in front of some important allies. Plus, I’ve been worried sick about you ever since.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I should’ve called you.”

“Were you afraid of being spied on?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t even think of it. I’m sorry, it was just… a very emotionally turbulent night.”

“So, it was hard,” he says, “to tell her to go away?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry I had to do it, but… I was so lucky to get my normal life back.”

“I understand,” he says.

I don’t respond.

“There’s one other thing I have to tell you,” I say. “The reason I did this now, after so many weeks, is that I saw the Jailors poking around the beach.”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

“People calling themselves the ‘So-cal Coast Protectors’ were asking around about a giant manatee. I guess that name could be a coincidence—”

“It isn’t,” he says. “They do that on purpose. It’s an intimidation tactic, and it’s another thing you should’ve called me about immediately.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“While we were waiting for you, the woman you were supposed to meet with mentioned that the Jailors have found a method for containing these gods.”

“I know,” I say. “The book talked about it. They buy up all the land around them and keep people away.”

“No,” Paul says. “That’s how it was until a few months ago, but since then, they’ve found a way to properly restrain them. If they get a hold of your god, they can and will put her in a cage, probably forever. You say they’re already searching for her. Do you know where they’d find her?”

“I’ve been meeting her in an ocean cave. I don’t think she’s always there. I think maybe I’m the only one she appears for. I could direct you toward it.”

“I would appreciate that.” He pulls out his phone. He pulls up a map app and hands it to me. I point him toward the cave.

“Listen,” he says, “you have the right to stay out of this. It’s not your job to fight for this god unless you choose to. However, if you are the only one she’ll appear for, we might not be able to rescue her without your help.”

“Hopefully that means the Jailors can’t find her either.”

“Maybe, but their ‘[[[tactical-theology-hub|tactical theology]]]’ people have a better chance of getting around her defenses than we do.”

That gives me just a moment’s pause, but then I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t risk it.”

“Even if you’re the only one who can save her?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had the chance to live for a god instead of myself,” I say. “I can’t do that again.”

“Is that what she seemed to want?” Paul asks. “For you to live your whole life for her?”

I take a deep breath. “No,” I say, “but what she wants doesn’t change anything. So long as the Jailors are around, I have to risk everything to help her.”

Paul sighs. “Look, this is the last I’ll say about it. I really mean it when I say I respect your choice, but nothing you’ve told me about this god makes me think what she wants from you is all-consuming, absolute devotion. The fact that she is //asking// for your help already makes it different. If you help her, you’ll be risking a lot, but even if the worst happens, the sacrifice you make will be your own.”

I look away from him. I say nothing.

“Putting everything else aside,” Paul says, “every preconceived notion you have about divinity, and every circumstance that’s as much out of her control as it is out of yours, what did //she// being seem to want from you?”

I hesitate. “I guess she just wanted to be friends.”

“And you wanted that too?”

“Yeah. I did. I do, but…”

“She needs your help. I’m not trying to guilt trip you, but this decision may turn out to be the most important one you ever make. Are you absolutely sure you won’t regret it?”

I start to say no. I start to say this is the choice I have to make. The only choice.

But I can’t say it with a straight face. How can I swear I won’t regret turning her away when I already do?

-----

Paul’s able to get a couple of his colleagues together, just enough to make a serious attempt at a rescue mission. He’s able to identify a safe house with aquatic facilities just large enough to house the god. She won’t be contained there, the way she would be by the Jailors, but it will give her somewhere to hide where they’re unlikely to find her.

It’s just a matter of getting her there. The Jailors are watching this entire coast like hawks. How do we smuggle her out of that cave unseen?

Paul reckons the Jailors’ force here is likely to be relatively small. “They might not even be sure the god is still here,” he says. “They’ve probably identified the cave as a potential hiding spot. They might have already checked it.”

“Would that mean they already have her?” one of the other agents asks.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I think she only appears for me.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s safe,” Paul says. “It just means they’d have to expend some resources to find and contain her. Once the Jailors don’t find any sign of her on their first pass, they’ll search more carefully, and they’ll find her. We need to transport her to a safer location before that happens.”

-----

In the end, it’s just me and Paul who plan to go into the cave.

Of course, to retain the element of surprise, we have to get there without the Jailors noticing.

There’s a boat out on the water. We’re pretty sure it’s theirs, and they’re watching us. Right now, that’s not a problem, because they can’t tell us apart from any other pair of beachgoers, but we can’t make our move until we’ve done something about the fact that they’re watching us. So, for now, we have to wait.

The wait is agonizing. I force myself to take long, deep breaths. To focus on what I’m fighting for. On the beautiful creature I nearly turned my back on.

“First pre-engagement nerves?” Paul asks.

“No,” I say. “This isn’t my first time doing something like this. Just… just the first time I’m the good guy.”

“Right,” Paul says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’ll work out. Our plan is solid.”

I don’t know how he can make himself sound so sure.

I watch the boat. We don’t know whether the Jailors suspect that this cave is where the god is hiding, but even if they do, that belief is probably nothing //more// than a suspicion. They may be focused on the cave now, but if it becomes clear that the Hand is at work elsewhere, they’ll prioritize responding to that.

It’s not as simple as setting off a magical explosion. It needs to seem like something the Hand might really try to do. Thus, the other Serpent’s Hand agents have gathered on the opposite side of the bay, and they’re performing a locator ritual.

The Jailors don’t know the Serpent’s Hand already has the god’s location, so they should find it plausible that the Hand would come to the area and cast something to try to find it. Of course, the Hand can’t do so in the open, but they can make a deliberate error while casting their cloaking spell in order to ensure the Jailors detect them. Once they detect that the Hand is searching for their quarry, they’ll have no choice but to divert their resources to an attack on them.

That’s exactly what they do.

They leave a small craft with two agents behind, but their main vessel, and hopefully the majority of their fighters, speed toward the far end of the bay.

We rush into the water. It only takes us a second to get out into the ocean and beneath the surface. Once we’re there, the water’s poor visibility hides us.

We arrive at the cave. This is the most sensitive point in the mission. There’s no way to avoid being above water as we enter, and the cave’s mouth is fully visible from their boat.

Fortunately, we have another distraction planned.

This one is cruder. An explosion spell cast at a distance, which causes a plume of water to gush upward near their boat.

From this close, Paul has more than enough magical ability to score a direct hit on the boat, but that would give away that he’s nearby. We want them to think he’s further away, so instead of attacking the boat directly, he misses it by several yards, which will leave the Jailors under the impression the caster isn’t close.

They look away.

We scramble into the cave as quickly as possible, staying above water for a little time as we can. Once we’re in, Paul takes cover behind the cave entrance, while I swim into the pool I’d been using to commune with the god.

I take a deep breath. “Hey, can you come out?” I ask. “I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms. I wouldn’t blame you for being mad at me, but—”

A glow appears deep in the water below and rockets up toward me like a dog ecstatic to see its human come home, an image not dispelled by the fact that, once she breaches the surface, she licks my face.

Her breath is revolting, but I reciprocate the affection with a few pats on the head. “Listen,” I say, “I’m happy to see you too, but we need to be quick. The Jailors are hunting for you. They’re right outside this cave. Me and some friends have a safe place to take you. Paul here can direct you to it, but we need to get moving.”

The Sea Cow spins around and raises her back out of the water. I look up at Paul. “I think she’s asking us to ride her,” I say.

I swim onto the creature’s back. I lean down and grab her with everything I have, doing my best to breathe through my mouth so the smell doesn’t push me away. Paul is less squeamish. He climbs onto a more rotten part of her further down her back, grabbing onto an exposed rib to keep himself stable. “Alright, then,” I say, “let’s go.”

She turns around and, with surprising speed, rockets out of the cave, jumping over its rocky entrance, landing with a splash in the water on the other side.

The Jailors definitely noticed that, but I don’t get to see their reaction, because I’m back under water in an instant. The sting of saltwater forces my eyes closed, and they stay that way, because she swims at a downward angle.

She’s fast. Faster than any car I’ve ever been in. I should fall off, but I’m able to maintain my grip with eerie effortlessness.

At first, I think she’s wise to prioritize keeping herself hidden underwater, but that thought only lasts until my body starts to complain about the fact that I’m not breathing. Over the course of the following minute, that complaint grows louder and louder until my lungs are burning. Every instinct in me is telling me to let go and swim up for air. I have to fight that with everything I have, because if I let go, I’ll be left behind while Paul takes her to the hideout, and the Jailors will catch me, and they’ll make me tell them where she ran to.

Just when I’m about to lose that battle of will, she breaches the surface. She stays above water only for a moment, but when we plunge back into the depths, a small bubble of air surrounds her.

It’s small, just an inch or two around her, not even enough to keep most of me dry. I have to press my face against her rotten flesh to keep my nose and mouth inside it. The air is rancid, but I can breathe it. After a moment, I can hear that the god is breathing it, too.

She is a mammal, after all.

The air is also just enough to allow Paul to speak. “Follow the coast,” he says.

The safe house is a few hundred miles north, and there’s an entrance to it that’s accessible from the ocean.

We reach it after only a few hours. Paul directs the goddess through the passage that leads up into building’s enormous tank the size of an Olympic swimming pool. I pull my face away from her rotting flesh and take a long, deep breath of fresh air.

We did it. We actually did it.

“Alright,” I say, after an affectionate squeeze. “We’re here.” I let go of her. So does Paul. Paul swims over to the ladder on the side of the tank and climbs out. I don’t, though. I stay near her.

“Something wrong?” Paul asks.

“No,” I say. A moment passes. “Mind if I speak privately with her for a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Paul says. “I’ll be right outside.”

He leaves. I look back over at the god. “You didn’t hesitate to appear for me,” I say. “I guess that means you forgive me?”

She swims over and nuzzles me. I look her in the eyes. There’s so much warmth there. I don’t think she was ever even mad.

“I’m still not sure exactly what our relationship is going to be like,” I say as I stroke the back of her head. “I’m going to try not to bring any of my previous god-mortal relationships into whatever we have going on.”

She nuzzles my hand, and I start petting her.

“I still don’t know how much I’m going to be able to do for you. I don’t want to make my devotion to you into my full-time job, at least not until I finish college, and even if I make you my life’s work one day… I have no idea how much I’ll accomplish. Are you sure that’s okay?”

She squeals.

I take a long, deep breath. I probably shouldn’t be as relieved as I am. Not because I should still be worried, but because she never gave me any reason to doubt her.

“Thank you for choosing me,” I say, “for whatever this is. I don’t know if you made the right choice. Someone else might do a better job bringing you back—”

She licks my face again. I smile. “I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to do,” I say. “It’ll probably be a while before I can bring any members of your species back to life. In the meantime, would it help for me to just… share your story? The story of your species, I mean. How beautiful they were. What happened to them, and how awful it was. I’ve thought about writing a book. Would you like that?”

She squeals.

“Good,” I say. “I don’t know what it would mean for me to worship you, and even if I did, I’m not sure if I would want to do it. My ideas about worship probably aren’t applicable to you, and that’s probably a good thing. So, how about this? I help you where I can, we hang out whenever we both want, and, the rest, maybe we can just feel out together as we go?”

She squeals.

I pet her a while longer. Once again, I leave only when I have to in order to get back home on time.

This’ll be a long-distance relationship until I finish college, but that’s okay. I’ll come up and see her when I can, and… I have a feeling I’ll be able to reach out to her from a distance if I want to. I give her a final pat on the head, and then leave.

“I’ll be back when I can,” I say.

She squeals.

[[=]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]

A Steller Encounter

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source