NEON GENESIS EVANGELION: COMMUNION
Part III: "Love of a Hungry Mother"
c. 2 million years ago
Luna had not taken a breath in several billion years, so it was of no consequence that her mouth and throat were full of sand. What was of consequence was the firmness of her body, as if its particles had recalled what it was like to live as a mortal, all the pieces huddled together in material form. More consequential still, was the irrational hunger that drove her to crawl, swim, and squirm up through the all-encompassing coffin. Time and weather had filled up her seed's vessel, though Luna knew intrinsically that her progeny had spilled out across the globe while she had slept. It had taken eons to recover from the lance's strangulation of her link to the Communion, and even now, she was barely aware of it. While the freedom of her mind was refreshing, she was unsteady on her feet, and spent an uncomfortable hour expelling tiny rocks from her every hole. A throbbing famine replaced the transcendent joy she had taken for granted, so she staggered across waves of craggy hills in search of whatever it was she craved. After scaling the first, Amun appeared, her naked skin fluttering like folds of fabric.
"You are attempting the forbidden," intoned the Flame-Haired One.
"Don't say that first thing in the morning," Luna groaned.
"You've felt so far away," Amun said, that smile slowly emerging. "I'm just glad to see you again."
"I was fine before all of this," she said, putting up a hand as she coughed up some finely ground precious metals. "We didn't need to be the same thing. I never asked for this."
Amun swirled closer, allowing her form to be blown by the wind cresting the hill tops. Halting her quivering body an inch from Luna's, she inhaled deeply. "There is something exotic about you," she said, tilting her head. "Something vulnerable. The lance has had an endearing effect. It makes me want to hold you. Protect you."
Luna shuddered. Amun was another part of her, of the great being that was the Communion, but now things were off-balance. Like a repressed mania, Amun threatened to overtake her, and the lance had stripped her of all armour.
Withdrawing with a rare hesitancy, the rippling god-fragment sighed. "Won't you return to me? To the Communion?"
"If I pull away, I might know you better."
"You suppose we were different beings to begin with, do you?" Amun's eyes widened. "The moment I saw you, I knew you were the missing piece."
"We will see what the universe allows," said Luna, aware that her feeble body was now leaking water from the eyes. "We have all the time it will give us."
"That may be, that may be. But you know the Communion forbids the union of our two seeds."
"The Communion will watch as a part of itself does as she pleases," Luna retorted, legs threatening to give. "Isn't this all just part of the grand experiment? A survey of all the paths life might take? The Communion desires to know if we will soon be part of a pantheon, if transcendence will be achieved again… if someone offers up a map."
Amun said nothing for a time, until the wind died down, and the sun was half-hidden behind a range of distance mountains. There was no need to speak, for even though the Communion was but a whisper, Amun's gaze was enough. Luna would remain on this rock until all the life she had spent was returned to her. She had, by a reading of the nearest star's health, a billion more years before she would return wholly to the Communion, or become something else.
* * *
Pangs of hunger shook Luna from the void. She did not remember Amun leaving, but when she came-to she was lying on a hill far from her seed. Whether Amun had moved her, or she had simply wandered in a daze, she could not tell. A jagged rock sat in the earth beside her, stained dark along its peaks and edges. Luna rubbed her neck sleepily, finding black, dried flakes there. The realization that she was neither alive nor dead brought a lucid quality to her thoughts, urging her to stand and face this place. It felt as thought years had passed since Amun's last touch. Though she could faintly see fires in a valley ahead of her, the principle source of illumination was sunlight reflecting off a great pale orb in the sky, which must have been formed when she crashed her seed's vessel into the surface. Laughter rose up in her, a giddy delight at the first change she had made independent of the Communion. She remembered the wonderful plan she would realize, with her seed to the east, and Amun's far to the south. The sound of her glee flowed through the valley, extinguishing the fires. Luna decided to visit the creatures that had crawled from her seed's primordial ooze.
It was a slow walk, guided by scattered visions, like pedals of light slowly tumbling upon the path between Luna and her children. They were as her people had been before transcendence, though with stranger, older features. The hominins were caught unexpectedly in their abode, a deep crack in the wall of a cliff, while gathering spears and flakes of stone. One starting a fire turned his head and almost fell into the new flame. The rest seemed uneager to move, wary of the smooth-skinned, blue-haired woman before them. A younger man, maybe a boy, walked slowly into the open space before Luna, hugging a bundle of furs in his arms. Without turning his gaze away, he held the bundle out to her. Evidentially it was cold, as hinted by the patches of snow she had taken no notice of. The garments fit loosely on her delicate frame, but were not unwelcome. The boy said something to a greybeard in a lyrical pre-language, causing a cabal of old women to break into whispered council. By the change in the spearmen's demeanour, Luna imagined she had come across them on the cusp of a hunt. Their speech began to reveal itself to her, and she discerned she had been identified as some sort of divinity. She imagined she must be exuding a pheromone to create such an impression, in her lurching state. As she crept out into the cold, liaison boy-thing at her side, it occurred to her that the crippling hunger might be a need for food.
The presumed alpha of the hunting party squatted low to the ground often, touching and tasting it. After peaking around a jagged stand of rocky outcroppings, he raised an arm. While adjusting his grip on his spear, he made two further gestures. As the group rounded the great rocks, Luna staggered, not from fatigue, but from wonder. Beyond the rocks, an orange dawn cast long shadows of a family of mammoths, making their way across the flatlands to feed. She had become so accustomed to seeing only the smallest furry things, and this sight brought her back to a mortal age, and teddy bears from her father. Composing herself, the divinity urged the boy to start moving, with a few words she had learnt. Catching up to the hunters planning their approach, she was seized by a sudden clarity and vigour.
Three strides longer than that of the greatest terrible lizard were punctuated by a leap that took Luna in a shallow arc towards a furry landing pad, wind whipping about her face as she hugged her knees. Too hazy-headed for eloquence, she allowed the momentum to send her through the enormous body like a bullet, marring the white field with a gush of elephantine viscera. As the mammoth fell behind her, she unfurled in a single motion, standing to present a red goddess to her fresh worshippers. The other beasts bolted. The hunters, who were too far away to see anything but vindication for the bold young liaison's friendliness, began to hurry down a gentle incline onto the plain. Luna impatiently reached arm-deep into the hole, feasting greedily, letting a warm satisfaction wash over her.
* * *
The cave-dwellers were less fearful, despite the already embellished tales spun by the proud hunters. Luna was a terrifying deity, but she was clearly theirs, and so a great blessing. Evidentially, tyranny and autocratic abuse were not things they worried about in this era. A doe-eyed young girl offered up a crude bowl of meat for the umpteenth time since the hunting party had returned. That little brow furled with concern as Luna merely picked, contradicting the hunters' descriptions of the goddess' insatiable hunger. She could overhear a cluster of men planning a vast mural on the inner walls of their communal home, struggling to recreate their blue-haired goddess' violent feast with mere lines and shapes. The mammoth's flesh had been a relief, but it was not enough. The lance, broken and dispersed throughout her body, sealed her off from the unending flow of mana that had once sustained her. Although the life on this planet came from the primordial soup spread by her seed, and thus ultimately from her, even a whole family of those snow-beasts would not satisfy.
Song and dance circled the fire pits of the community, far back into this cleft in the earth. The cave was larger than she had first seen, sheltering near to two hundred kin. Luna had said little, only praising them as proficient hunters, which she hoped would be enough to bring them joy without unnecessary metaphysical confusion. Unlike Amun, whose seeds gave birth to a lattice of life that quickly reached sentience, Luna had until now seen nothing but slow-witted animals from her divine womb. Unlike Amun, she had never seen the worshipful eyes of her own children. For a moment, standing in the cave between the happy noises and well-fed hominins, she felt she could ignore her burning hunger. It was the bowl-holder's worried look that broke the mood.
Glances and words were soon exchanged between the women, but Luna's mind was elsewhere. She had taken for granted how much she had been able to hold in her mind, when she had been closer to the Communion. Now, she could be distracted as easily as any mortal. She needed proper sustenance. While twirling a strand of hair, her liaison emerged from the back of the cave, where he had been making enthusiastic suggestions to the muralists. He came before Luna, and the bowl-holder retreated gracefully, vanishing into the celebration. The din fell away as the boy knelt, looking at Luna with a ferocity she had not seen in immortal or mortal life. Her inexplicable exploits aside, she was certain these people, and this boy in particular, were aware of her nature deep in their very being. He held out his hands, palms towards her, and bared his neck.
"You're kidding me," she whispered.
As the tribe gathered, a gnarled old woman declared that the world was born from the blood of gods, and that blood must be returned, or else the world would break. Luna knew not if that idea had been planted by her, or if was something intrinsically known. It was a sentiment that would be echoed through time, from the grizzle-caked temples of the Aztecs to the immaculate cathedrals of Christendom. Cupping the boy's face with hands softer than any he had seen, she felt a deep ache, crying out for everything that had left her when she had scattered her seeds across the void. All these precious creatures belonged to her. As she began to remove the thick animal skins from his frame, Luna wondered if she might hum a song from her world, starting a ritual that would spiral out of control millions of years later. Instead, she completed the task in silence, the eyes around her enchanted. Unlike the imposing mammoth, the boy seemed a soft fruit in her arms, all thin skin and juice. As if to drown out her noise, the elders started chanting a mantra that she hardly noticed nor cared for. Her last feeding had been mere refreshment to this rapture, a sensation that obliterated all others, drowning her in the delight of fulfillment.
* * *
Her eyes were still lolled back in her head when she opened them, her first sound a happy sigh. She was lazily aware of the defiled young body entwined with her on the ground, and the figures peering at her. The body slipped off her as she stood. Rubbing her eyes with one hand and blocking out the sun with the other, Luna looked down the cave's depths. These people had been up all night, worshipping her. Somewhere in this cave, the boy's parents were happy to see their child serve some small purpose, as his chances of survival had always been slight. Luna had to leave, or else upend their little society. The lance drained her of strength as quickly as she regained it, leading her mind through a macabre montage of feast after feast, until every soul had returned to her. Could she devour them faster than they reproduced? Would she dig back into the sunken vessel and consume her seed? She imagined her child, grown, submitting as that boy had. Would it ever be enough, or as Amun had said, would it be like this until this world died? Either way, she would not make puppets of these hairy fools. With no warning or fanfare she turned and walked into the morning, leaving nothing but her unfinished meal and footprints in the new snow.
With but a tinge of hunger remaining, Luna felt more aware of the Communion, and a curious quivering of anticipation that almost gave her the shivers. Amun was on some rock orbiting some star, playing with her children as much as tending to them. Though she pined for Amun, her curiosity desired the Builder. She regretted leaving her seed alone, as she regretted the state of Amun's restrained child to the south. She understood now that she would have to be patient, as even though she felt closer to her transcendent self, she was a far cry from the being that had skipped through the stars. If she was going to have her seed meet Amun's, she would need these primitives to develop into something capable enough to assist her. Such a feat would surely draw the Builder's attention, for surely he had created a forbidden scenario to attract transgression. She thought of him as a "he", for no mother would abandon her children with nothing but the vaguest of guidance. Even her kind father, now a fogged ghost in her mind, had let her stumble through puberty without a picture book or frank talk. Now her new father expected her to plant his pretentious garden? Self-discovery on a cosmic scale seemed unwise for an imperfect divinity. She looked forward to meeting him, when she had fashioned the Communion's peer. More than a cry for attention, it would free her from her loneliness.
She wandered through the open terrain, jagged peaks and crags on either side, white rivers of snow inching down them day by day. A dead, white landscape to the mortal eye, but as ever-changing as clouds to Luna's limitless perspective. As the hunger returned, she fed again and again, learning the movements and patterns of the different hominin kin groups. They warred incessantly, slow-motion ethnic cleansings that eroded rival tribes over centuries. When the hunger became insufferable, Luna took the remains from the pervasive low-scale massacres, avoiding the religious fervour of her first contact. As the world she was anchored to spun around and around its star, her understanding of the feeding process matured, allowing her to reclaim the soul without killing the body. Adjusting the spectrum she was visible in, Luna started to move amongst the tribes and clans as a phantom, leeching bits of soul. Perpetually drifting between want and satisfaction, the unseen goddess watched the hominins kill and massacre until only a single race remained. The grisly march towards supremacy was all too human, just as her people had been before the Communion. Without a doubt, these creatures had come from her divine body.
"Behold," she said to herself, millennia after inspiring those cave paintings, "the last honest age of humanity. Soon you will pretend this is about creeds and ideals, but as you are still children, you see no need to disguise your nature." She paused for a moment. "What flawed gods we are, to make you in our image. What monster made me?"
c. AD 250
Without moon or stars, a single church cast the brightest light in Rome that evening. The sound of fire eating wood was quickly matched by anguished screams, as the men and women within gave up their prayers and accepted their fate. Guards kept the citizens at bay, and none dared to approach, for curiosity might attract suspicion, and suspicion might find new kindling. Luna had held high hopes for the followers of Mani, but it seemed that Paul of Tarsus had fashioned the world's vastest religious network. Though weak, it was not timid, and held the intellectual depth of the Hebrew faith married with an openness that was quickly drawing adherents from every corner of Roman society. Weaving effortlessly through the crowded streets, Luna soundlessly thanked human nature for the rise of such cities. All roads did indeed lead to Rome, and on those roads came souls of every quality, allowing her to cease wandering and begin putting down roots. She had only needed to show herself, as she did to the cave people, a handful of times to understand where her true power lay. These Christians would give her the tools she required.
The city was never still, but it was especially lively now, floating all manner of gossip and hearsay to her celestial ears. The Emperor had tolerated the edicts of his predecessors for many years, but infighting amongst the Christians, who had yet to settle on scriptural cannon, had frustrated him. Though he had Christian family himself, he valued civil order more, and so reinstated the persecutions. Tip-toeing around over-turned tables and anxious clerics, Luna found what she needed in the Christian district, filled also with Manichaeans and other such un-Roman faith groups. The leading bishops had taken issue with a sect dedicated to Theotokos, the mother of Jesus. Graffiti based on a sighting of her from the previous decade had spread through the city. The orthodox bishops feared the sect would turn Theotokos into a mother goddess that eclipsed the Messiah, and used the surge in icons of the Blue-Haired One to have their rivals purged. While the bishops paid lip-service to Imperial law, Luna's worshippers burned alive. She saw no reason to intervene on that note, as many Christians had thrown themselves willingly before the magistrates, demanding to be put to death, such that their numbers overwhelmed the clerks and led to their strange ejection from the premises. "Use cliffs or rope," the magistrates had said, "if you are so eager." To save martyrs-in-progress would be futile.
Behind a broken door, Luna manifested tattered robes and became visible, wrapping her hair up in cloth. Christians respected suffering, so she made certain to appear weary, even though her hunger was calm.
"Can any good soul lead me to the gardens in the north?" she said in calm, world-choked voice. "With the Emperor moving his soldiers about so, there is none who'd brave the journey, even for her."
"Gardens?" asked one, sceptically.
"Her?" asked another.
"The Mother awaits," Luna replied, "with shelter and the joys promised before the Temple fell."
A young man stood. "I have heard of this place!" He combed sandy hair around his ears with his fingers, like an excited fidget. "My sister's folk took the road north, through barbarian lands. Her husband knew of a peaceful realm, where simple people might live." The other Christians deferred to the young man, taking on his enthusiasm. "I do not think God would accept one such as me by fire, who has accomplished so little." Luna marked him as a leader in the community, but was intrigued by something else.
Now, Luna had spoken the same at several gatherings during the persecutions, but never had she met one such as the young man. The sandy-haired mortal had an aura too delicious to ignore, finer than any she could recall, and a drive that would soon send him north.
With that set in motion, Luna left their sight. The more eloquent vandalisms of the city, murals under bridges and in tunnels, often depicted Theotokos in a rich land of primordial growth. Gliding out of the city, it was a land she returned to. The limitations inflicted upon her by the lance had been a curious boon, spurning her on to creative discoveries she might have never known if she were still wholly immersed in the Communion. Her mind was such that it could contain other minds, making her daydreams into something tangible and open. Her Dream had become a refuge over the years, and Luna could not be certain as to whether she had influenced the myths, or if the myths had influenced her. Within the Dream was an ancient world of towering plants and deep valleys. Walls of rock stood upon each other like stairs, covered in a sprawl of vines and greenery. It was every bit the Eden of their Theotokos, the shared delusion of deity and worshipper. The sandy-haired man would certainly come, and though his people would be lost, he would miraculously find his way.
She could perceive everything within the Dream, locking her gaze on the new arrivals when they came in a day later. Travel was an easy thing, when the destination moved to you. The tasty young leader was named Laurentius, and his group of half a dozen were rapturously taking in the vista. Laurentius wished them to remain calm, as he only wanted to confirm the tale before collecting the rest of his sect in Rome. He wondered if his sister had found the "garden", though Luna was certain she was with the Germanics by now. The man's organizing ability, wedded with his overpowering aroma, marked him as the perfect tool. He would bring stability to her existence with the lance.
Laurentius and his people came to a gently arching bridge, spanning a ravine deep enough to swallow half of Rome. At the other side was a wide house, a flower carved out of stone. The exotic bloom came from a memory of one of Amun's many lush worlds, solid pedals of rock reaching a dozen stories into the sky. At the foot of the bridge was Luna, appearing in her blue-haired radiance, emitting a light from within her. In the Dream, she was almost as her true transcendent self, brighter than the false sun in the false sky.
"We have much work to do," she said, "if we are to save humanity."
The seven stopped, awe-struck and vindicated. Before them stood Theotokos, an answer to any doubt that had ever crept into their heart. They quivered, they seemed dazed, and if not for their manner of dress and smooth skin, Luna would have mistaken them for the cave-dwellers. The sandy-haired apostle, on the other hand, was surprisingly composed. His awe was not his friends' primal, drug-like euphoria. It was a cerebral awe.
"Holy Mother, is this not Paradise?" he asked. "Are the final days upon us?"
"That time is not now, for too few have faith. The Lord will not return to so small a chorus."
"Lead us, Holy Mother," he said, prostrating himself. "If it pleases you, tell your loving servant how we might fill the chorus."
"We will make the lion love us, until the lion sits beside us, until the lion lays with us."
* * *
A gentle warmth blew through the Dream, over the pedal peaks of Luna's stone house. Her hair blew this way and that, at times as long as her form, at times longer, changing shape to suit the wind. The Communion bristled with uncertainty, unwilling to stop her, unwilling to look away. Only Luna and Amun, the aspects of the Communion bearing the bloodlines laid down by the Builder, remained unruffled. For the Communion's anxiety was the anxiety of an audience, and nothing more. Watching the makeshift tent-town spread at the far side of the bridge, her followers excitedly milling about, she wondered if a present god caused more pain than a distant one. Word of a timeless paradise had spread through Rome and the surrounding provinces, bolstering the strength of the Theotokos faction in the fragile Christian community. Though the mainline inheritors of Paul's ministry continued to suppress them, there was little need for concern. Luna intended to harness the faith around her to set down foundations for her conspiracy, not supplant Christ as the sole object of worship. It had been half a decade since Laurentius first led his people into the Dream, and he had brought many of his kin and friends. Most were of little use, save for the influence they pressed upon those who remained in Rome. Despite her insistence, none would enter her house or cross the bridge, save Laurentius. They considered it a sanctum to match the holy places in Jerusalem. It was more amusing than anything, as the Dream remained pleasantly Mediterranean for those living at the foot of her abode, even when the Mediterranean itself was cold and belligerent. She did not offer her house because she was worried they would catch a chill.
"Holy Mother," said her disciple behind her, his quiet footfalls almost too faint for her divine ears, "another deacon has lost his tongue."
"Eventually the Emperor will understand how cruelty benefits the very faith he is trying to strangle." Luna caught Laurentius' scent in the wind, as potent as when they had first met.
"Three more houses have joined our community, including the branch of the Flavians you were concerned about." While common-born Christians lost their lives in the persecution, the nobility merely lost their property, making them especially effective tools in turning the Empire.
Luna smiled behind her sea of blue hair. "I expect great things from Helena and Constantinus. They have a sure aura, as will their child. If this tyrant does not tolerate us, the one that follows will. The pain of Our Lord's children will soon be at an end."
"But what of your pain, Mother?"
"How bold!" she laughed, turning to face him, plain white robes billowing. "Speak your mind."
"You seem to carry a great longing," he said with no trace of nervousness. "It must be a burden to remain here on earth, while your loved ones reign in Heaven."
The man was right, if not about the particulars. She urged the wind to send another hint. Little tastes were not enough. "You should stay this night, dear Laurentius, if you are concerned."
"If you command, Holy Mother."
"Again and again, I do not command." Frustration picked at her composure, but she found his calm humility too amusing to make her cross. "I was once flesh and blood as you." It was not a lie.
For the first time, he hesitated. "I am not sure what service I might—"
Luna shifted to him in a blur, her blue mane following like a wake. "You are a good man, for reading the gospels of so many apostles," she said, close enough to feel his quickening breath. "But, there are some truths that may only be known through experience." She poured her will into him, penetrating his darting eyes, as Amun had once done to her. "Show me the quality of your faith."
They descended a spiralling stair deep into the stone bloom, as heavy towers of cloud fell across the sky. He gripped her hand like a lost child at first, easing up with each step, until he was running his fingers along her wrist as if to comfort her. There was little to be gained by explaining it to him, so she let her force of presence and the intensity of his belief sooth him. As they entered her chambers, wide as a city square, his easy, gentle movements let her know he was ready. No furnishings adorned the bleak space, save a dais that had never seen an audience. With a gesture for his benefit, she drew soft mosses out of the stone, reclining like an empress receiving grapes.
"Here," she said.
He sat down at the edge of the overgrown dais, a respectful distance from the folds of her robes. He deadpanned a compliment on the decor. Reaching around his waist, Luna pulled just enough for him to feel her want. Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be guided down into an embrace, his back to her chest, her legs and arms closing around him like a hungry flower takes a fly.
"It is not your body," she whispered. "Oh no, no, my child, it is your soul."
"My soul belongs to God, and even then, he would find better wares in a Germanian hovel," he said, or perhaps he though it. For the two of them, there was no distinction in this place.
"I am God's Mother, and all things come from me. All things return to me." She ran a finger through his sandy unkemptness, drawing him further in with the press of her thighs. "If the flock is to be led to greener pastures, the shepherd must be nourished as well." The scriptural reference resonated, setting ablaze that part of his mind that wanted for martyrdom, that foundation of Christian passion.
Laurentius turned in her grip to face her, reaching around her slender frame. He did not ask what would become of him, or what it meant to return his soul. He had been prepared to burn the day the persecutions returned. Though Luna knew he was a helpless thing in her grasp, her hesitation to consume him was washed away with his confident gaze. She placed upon his lips an unnecessary kiss, and though he did not flinch, he did not open. In her mind's eye she saw his light seeping into her, and the submission of his being caused him to betray a small cry. Drawing more, she took hold of his mouth as much as his soul, the first man she had known since the Foundation's proxies in that van, all those eons ago. Though their clothes remained, Laurentius breathed heavily from their intangible union, his every spiritual inkling confirmed. She was so far away from her other self, the lance between her and respite.
"Understand," she purred, "that if you come to me again, you will be a vassal of the celestial through me." She slowed her drinking, letting the flow trickle off. "Other men will die on a single day, but you will die with our every embrace, until only your shell remains. Your children and their children will nourish me, the price for the life I have given this world. You will—"
With what strength he had, the smiling fool reached up to touch a finger to her mouth. "I and my kin will be the world's love for you." With that, he fell asleep upon the moss.
* * *
The tent-city was alive with a heady mix of apocalyptic joy and sensible terror. Luna walked among them, letting them touch her hair and caress the hem of her modest robes. Laurentius had been making regular travels between the Dream and Rome, gaining influence with his serenity and theological insight. After all, he had rather personal experience with the metaphysical, and this had granted a weight to his thoughts, felt by all who heard him preach. Even the orthodox clerics had begrudgingly accepted him, making him a deacon. With the persecutions coming in more frequent bursts, this prominence was beginning to attract Imperial eyes. Luna wondered at the intent behind his anointment. Her followers feared the bishops of the Roman Empire as much as the Emperor, for Christian infighting invited crack-downs and assassinations. It was becoming difficult to tell who was purging who. Adding to the confusion were the rumours of Theotokos, spread largely by the bishops, who claimed she was a vampiric demon in the guise of the Virgin. Others said she was a siren out of Greek lore, or a pagan goddess jealous enough of Christianity to sabotage it from within. Several long-time worshippers had vanished from the Dream, by all account not martyred, leading some to speculate betrayal.
Although Luna walked and spoke with her followers often, today she had other motives. Laurentius had sustained her for two years, bringing a lucid power that she had not held since the accidental creation of the moon. If only her devoted vassal could live forever, she felt she would have the strength to complete her task. The man had not furthered his line, choosing a rather predictable life of physical celibacy. If the Emperor dealt with him now, she would be hard-pressed to find a taste as sweet.
A young woman wept to entangle her fingers in Luna's blue strands, but it was not her overwrought tears that drew the goddess' eye. Though all scents were faint beside Laurentius', this new addition to her garden might have nectar of worth. Stopping for but a moment, the divinity took the girl's wrist, nearly causing a swoon. A quick taste of soul-stuff told her all she needed to know, and she commanded the girl to be at the door of her house come nightfall.
Luna spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on a hill, overlooking the rolling, lush dreamscape. Crowded around her, the nervous worshippers enjoyed fanciful tales from the Holy Mother's many travels. Though often lacking in a moral lesson, the stories instilled a sense of wonder, and an appreciation for the cosmic beauty of creation. When the tent-city began to light the cooking fires, the most treasured worshipper returned with two retainers.
Laurentius walked slowly with a stout wooden stick, his legs of little use, and half his body numb. Though he was three decades old with nary a wrinkle or blemish, his devotion to Luna was taking its toll. Ignoring the sandy-haired man's protests, she dismissed his assistants and wrapped her robes around him. Like some strange bird they raced to the stone house and the mossy dais where they had spent many a night.
"A few more years," he said, "until the Emperor grants us toleration. You were right, Holy Mother! By preaching to power we have won sound allies."
"You still call me that," she smiled.
"I can't imagine you would prefer 'Thirsty Demon-Waif', Holy Mother."
"Oh, spare me your wit!" She pulled the feeble man down onto the moss, like a doll. Even in his inner-most thoughts, he did not mind such submission, though it tugged at Luna. She had done this to him. She would do it again.
"I have a request," he began, but Luna hushed him with a look.
"You have wanted one thing since the beginning. You do not want to leave this world on a soft bed, but in a glorious testament to your faith and Our Lord. I will grant you this, but you must perform one final task for me."
"I have never seen anyone wait at your door, other than myself. I will not leave you wanting, Holy Mother, when you still have so much work to do for God."
The numbness had spread through the necessary parts of his body, so Luna was present when the girl entered the room. A fanatical delirium defeated any shame or fear the weepy thing had, allowing her to be directed materially and immaterially in her union with Laurentius. Invisibly reaching into him, and then into her, she ensured the meeting, then ordered the girl to call in her kin and select a room in the house. Lacking Laurentius' humility, she was easy enough to convince. As the creature went scurrying off to fulfill her duties, Luna pondered the term "Holy Mother", and how long it had been since any had said her name. She had tried to tease it out of Laurentius once, but short of forcefully compelling him, he would not dishonour her by pretending to be her peer.
Two weeks later, agents of the mainline bishops, in a clandestine fashion, presented evidence to the Emperor that said Laurentius was not only preaching illicitly, but was concealing a monster in the hills to the north. He was seized soon after and tried alongside several prominent clerics from every Christian sect, including the sitting pope. Purges often had a way of swallowing the instigators. Luna watched the entire affair as a spectre, admiring her disciple's refusal to speak of the fabled Theotokos, even though there was no danger of her being discovered. The charged men pled guilty without hesitation, and Laurentius was last to be dragged to the public square, where he was strapped between two metal grids and held over a fire pit.
The crowd was thick to see the popular Laurentius grilled. While the fire was still being stoked, she climbed up on the grid to reach her arms in. Though unseen and feather-light, she willed Laurentius to feel her, and though he desperately wished otherwise, she stole his pain from him along with what remained of his soul. His essence was just enough to keep her own skin from bursting. While cooked flesh filled the crowd's nostrils, Luna told the man over and over that she loved him and was sending him to Heaven with all speed.
As his mind began to break, he shouted out, "This side's done, turn me over and have a bite!"
"Idiot," she said to the lifeless meat. She fell off the gridiron, laying there for a moment before crawling back into the Dream.
c. AD 300
With some meticulous, invisible fiddling, Luna had ensured a large family shared the stone house with her. Laurentius' seed had produced fine, luscious children, though the Holy Mother returned to her sporadic miniscule tastings to keep herself lively as they grew. She vowed to grant Laurentius' fate to no man or woman too young to willingly submit. Though the societal structure of those living in the Dream meant there would be no refusals, she felt it necessary for some reason to draw this thin line between monstrous and godly.
The gridiron martyrdom had inspired a renaissance within the Theotokos movement, transforming it into a faith all of its own. Although her worshippers continued to move amongst Christians in order to exert political and cultural sway, there was no longer any pretence of worshipping God or Christ. Their devotion was wholly for her.
Just as Luna could sense auras that could nourish her, she could sense auras that held other uses. She gathered dozens of her brightest and most able worshippers at the door of her house (as none would dare enter save for the Chosen Kin), to officially begin their great project.
"To give this world life, I spent most of the power native to me," she said in a clear voice, audible even to the crowd on the other side of the bridge. "The Chosen Kin, who hold the bloodline of my beloved Laurentius the Martyr, will continue to comfort me as I wander this world a broken god. But we will be whole again, and at the end of all things, you will all join me in a blessed communion. In honour of our destination, our movement shall be known as the Sea of Souls. I cannot do this alone, as I am still weak from the birth-pangs that shook the moon into the sky. Emperor Constantine's Edict of Toleration has given us an unparalleled opportunity. Under the guise of Christianity, you must spread throughout the Imperial government, to every post in every far-flung province. The age of martyrs is done. Only the Kin need give their life to me. Please, my children, bend under the pressure of government, and do not break. You must live! The seeds we plant in the Empire will one day grow a tree so vast its roots will wrap around this world. When the world is ours, you will all return to me, and I to you, and we shall be one."
With that, Luna's worshippers dispersed to set down roots. Thought they knew little of her true plans, they had witnessed enough in the Dream to be inspired for generations to come. When the time was right, she would show them more. The Builder's ruins were deep in this world, like the others, and one day she would take the descendants of her disciples to witness the place and its truth. In the years that followed, the Dream moved with Luna wherever she went. She traveled along the northern shores of Africa, through Mesopotamia, into Persia and the Orient. As the Kin grew in number, she kept only a small cadre in her house, allowing the others to build lives in the outside world. These Kin took on as their family name the name of Laurentius, moving to the barbarian lands north of Rome. In the tongues that emerged there, they were called "Lorenz", and their movement "Seele".
( To be continued. )