The Last Woman and the First

By wingo

Rollo of Almery felt defeated. Mingo the Masterful had halted the caravan for the night and the two homunculi, Wisk and Brask were carefully supervising the victual preparation to be eventually distributed to the party. Rollo recognised the waystop, a-long decrepit ruin situated on the road to Almery. He had been here before, but at the time, he had been fleeing a deodand and had not stopped long enough in one place to admire the skilful mastery that still radiated from the mostly standing stonework even after aeons the place was last inhabited. What a feeling it might have been, he thought to himself, to work on something with care, time, and precision for something that most of the workers would not have lived long enough to enjoy.

His musings were not for long though. “Hoy fleet-foot! attend, the Master speaks” rasped Wisk, while Brask served out the portions onto plates made out of leaves. Mingo had gotten to his feet and was waiting for the full attention of the party.

“Well now troupe, remark that Almery is two days ahead”, Mingo intoned in his low, laborious voice giving each member his equal attention. “This gives us plenty of time to practice for the jamboree that the Great King Sutha has organised. I had grown weary of these limbs when the sun was fully red. Me, who had mastered more than any of Phaandal’s conjurations than those before me, who had mastered the lore of vianding dragoncraft and deaodand alike, remembered the silky taste of smoky, grey air, and who has outlived all the magicians, before and after my time, am now committed to rest my shadow on this earth. So remember well that I aim to win the Kampas. Wisk and Brask have expressed keenness regarding ownership of your remaining days on Earth and are most eager to garner your trust and confidence wilfully”.

Three days ago had the company formed, when Mingo had visited The Plaza, the only institution of its sort, as far as anyone knew on what had remained of Earth. As the red sun had looked on, Mingo had made a bargain with the chief of goblins that had commission of The Plaza to obtain three criminals, one each from low, medium and high to form part of his dance and theatre troupe and Rollo had been chosen. Along were Keilvish-the-Brash and Pretty Naz. Rollo had then watched as Mingo had worked up some devilry with his words and the company caravan was soon moving at a rapid clip. Rollo had been puzzled by the lack of animals until he had met Wisk and Brask, who were as adept at changing forms as duplicating them, a handy feat considering that there were only three real players in the troupe, with Mingo having taken the role of director.

They dined in silence, the three keeping their heads lowered and focusing on eating. They had tried to escape, all three, but Mingo had installed a part of himself in them, and such forms of resistance aroused him to their schemes and their will would be sapped. Mingo had been quite cheerful in his caravan when he had first detailed the plans to his would-be players. Keilvish had sneered at any import that would have him flounce for bits and had unwisely launched himself onto Mingo’s person.

Only then was the true scheme of Mingo revealed. He had transferred his parts into the three of them, and the attack had failed. On landing, Mingo had announced, “The days to us are but short, if they were ever long. King Sutha has planned a revelry to outshine any that have been held before. With a stratagem of unknown devise, he has managed to procure a most curious substance that will give its taker everlasting peace, a final ceasing to any who are vat-born. He promises this miracle cure to any who amuses him and his court the most during this revelry. Hear then my scheme, which I have prepared from Jaxa’s Flouncing Bunnions”, and Rollo found himself moving without his volition. In short order the three new members of the troupe had completed a stunning routine of pirouettes, athletic gymnastics, and competitive team pyramids. Mingo, watching, had declared himself satisfied on the magic’s potency. “But merriment and rakishness at the fete must not be left to the chances of athletic vigour alone” and he had uttered further spells whose import Rollo was unable to immediately grasp. Soon after they had been given their first viand of the trip with lots of elbowing and muffled guffaws between the two homunculi.

After the meal, Rollo had found it harder to move his limbs, though he saw Pretty Naz and Keilvish moving as before. Maybe not as before, no, not entirely. Keilvish, who had been buff as a deodand, and who always walked with a swagger, was now moving with an exaggerated motion of hips that swayed to-and-fro. He stopped and sought to walk again, but his movement would not change. He moved to exchange words with Mingo who sat peering into the campfire. “What have you done to me?” asked a most dulcet and sonorous voice that stirred reactions from Rollo that had never been fully realised. Pretty Naz too stepped into the light, looking puzzled, though only barks would issue from her mouth. Wisk and Brask had been glancing sideways at Keilvish and stepped close to Mingo to exchange propositions. Taking Keilvish by the armpits delicately on both sides, they had marched him to their tent, all protestations from him only further inflaming their passions. Rollo had moved to do something, what? Say something? What? But his innards were as lit with a cold fire. Pretty Naz was collared and tasked with guarding the campsite, and Mingo eventually went to his camp to sleep, leaving Rollo and Naz in the open, undoubtedly prevented from any mischief by Mingo’s wards.

So, it was in this order, that the company reached King Sutha’s palace. The plaza leading up to the palace had been razed and widened as if to accommodate all of the thousands of the remaining pure human race on Earth. Rollo could see a thousand or maybe more but not by much. The palace itself a grand five-story structure was the main building of the kingdom, of maybe even the world. He did see many gaily-cladded groups and assumed that they too were here to compete for the Kampas. Dark had already ascended, when King Sutha made his appearance. “Welcome Vat-born! Welcome!”. The assembly had gathered in one of the larger courtyards, that looked small and misbegotten, compared to the forlorn solitude of the vast places still unfilled. The wines and amphora had flowed by then and there was a nature of general merriment in the air. Mingo had dressed Keilvish in loose fitting robes so as to not excite any comments and Wisk and Brask were keeping a close eye on the three members. “Long have been our nights, and shorter our days” intoned the King, slurring every second word. “But there has been no one to soil those times with our ill-intent”, he paused for some time as though stuck by a deeper introspection. He continued, his voice stronger, but also more bitter. “We, who were born in cold brine, and warm jelly goo and crystallised glass. We who were cursed to live always till the sun itself swallows the Earth. We…. the only type of children ever born, never to experience the tenderness that the poets spoke of.. WE have at last found a cure.”

At that announcement, there was a tumult of roar, hiss and applause. All of Almery had come to hear the fantastic proclamations and what they had heard was agreeable. “But there is a catch” whispered the King, after the ululations had settled and the throng strained to hear the sibilant promise. “But has there ever been NOT the case with us” boomed the King and the cries were taken up once more. “The creatures that we found, on a world with a dark sky and dead stars, who shared with me the cure, themselves only had enough for some. Long I searched their plane, but there was no one alive to ascertain the verisimilitude of the claims. No matter! Eternal bliss is in sight for some, the rest will have to await the final cold embrace of the sun, while others must settle for being ministered under goblin piety strictures and the deodand slave conclave. But those lucky few… ahh! What bliss awaits. So come now, my friends and let us revel till the first piece of cold stars fall on earth!”

The event was a gala affair by all means, Rollo had to admit. First came the Porophyry Fires, long outcast of the Gwenkly Forest, who put a show of a man turning into a bat and the imagined damsel, who drew the loudest cheers when unveiled, was played by a ghoulish looking pale man with long hair, who spoke into his hands in gravelly whispers and fell down ever so often. King Sutha laughed louder with each fall, the wine and goblin meat flowed, amphora smokes were freely shared. Next came the Prismatic Bunglers, they of quick hand and of deft touch had a play where an imagined woman, here a goblin dressed as a woman of authority, had to go through multiple scenarios where she was attacked by ingenious weapons, and she had to defeat the attackers, the usual tactic being of kicking between the would-be attacker’s legs. Rollo had to admit that the goblin played the part with great zeal and gusto, though the play came to a dramatic end when the goblin tore off a man’s private with his teeth and began gnawing on them on the crescent-shape raised stage. The events continued through the day, more smoke was shared now, the entire ordeal a miasma borne of foul humours and shared by all. By King Sutha’s decree, Mingo had been given the honour of holding the last event, as the only surviving wizard, and as per the demand of the others who had grumbled that his performance earlier might lead the King to disfavor anyone else.

So it was, that when Rollo and his troupe finally came to the stage, expectations had been built to a crescendo. Mingo nodded in the direction of the King and rolled his sleeves. “Now then. Larry-up and Hoop and skatter, and Up and go.” The three flawlessly executed the routine of twirl, jounce, twist and tango, rhythmic hurling and three-man pyramid building with every combination. The crowd seemed suitably impressed, but they had seen better performances prior to this one. “And now, for the final piece, a play” said Mingo quietly. Anointed in a bucket with bells, Rollo stepped on to the stage with ponderous gait, bowed shoulders and slightly trembling hands. Wisk and Brask had divided into multitudes of people to give the scenery a crowded feel, with Mingo conjuring an image that heightened shadows, deepened colours and made the voice on stage audible to everyone in the assembled crowd.

Rollo approached Naz who had been strapped to a table and spoke with a final hope at majesty, “Arise, the female form, praise Rivenarr the Wise for your creation, and join your male brethren in the glories of Old Earth beneath this fetid green sun.” The simulacrated crowd and the real looked one as Naz rose from the table with unsteady feet.

“Speak what name most pleases you and it would be yours”, Rollo had now turned to face both the crowds in jubilant anticipation, his crown of fools accentuating his every movement. But no sound came from the stage. Rollo turned back to look at his last creation, “Why do you not speak, creature? Does the form not please you?” But when Naz opened her mouth to speak no sound would come forth.
The scene now shifted; Rollo now stood gazing at the distant skies. “Rivenarr” came a voice, with a pleasant lilt, cast with a higher pitch than what any had heard, and it broke Rollo’s heart into a hundred pieces, though he did not know why. Keilvish came sashaying onto the screen, the crowd sat with rapt attention.

“You look forlorn, what bothers you?”

“The last of the first genetic material is expunged, and the creature that issued forth is sub-standard. She has no voice, no female organs, is malodorous in that she excretes waste through her skin and seems desirous of harming everything that breathes. The only change I can make to her primordial ooze is to increase her tolerance towards life itself so that she does not seek to harm it without necessity” said Rivenarr with a pent-up sigh. This elicited a pause that seemed to linger forever.

“Rivenarr, I am afraid” a small, anguished voice, no more than a whisper. Rollo felt a curious sensation, an immense need to go to the voice and protect it with all his might. “It will be alright, my creations will keep on climbing out of the ooze with a varying amount of human mixture as long as the second genetic material is available. They shall re-build our Earth with vast lands of metal and glass and work on newer and newer creations.”

“Who will they build this for?”

“Who? These are the descendants of explorers, philosophers, poets and wizards. They will keep building so that everyday the sun passes the Earth, it will be reminded that here still lies a race that lived on in glory till its very end.” The crowd was bewitched with Keilvish’s voice, Rollo saw, grasping on to every word like catching fairy gossamer in trembling hands, undoubtedly, some foul sorcery of Mingo.

“And what if they choose not to? What if they lay in stupor and malaise? What if they should seek oblivion instead?”
The bells on Rollo’s head chimed prettily as he swung his head about to answer this unseemly query. “Ha! That will never happen. For they will never be faced with a choice to seek oblivion.”

There was open weeping in many quarters of the audience now, apparently, even the copious amounts of wines and amphora were not enough to dissipate the assembly’s self from the effects of the play. “The winner is Mingo the Masterful and his troupe” King Sutha said to the crowd with a hitch in his voice.

They assembled then in a great circle to observe the effects of the Kampas on their brethren. King Sutha and Keilvish who had long been embraced in amorous affection came to join the rest of those who would take the cure. Rollo had been surprised to hear that he, Naz, and Keilvish were also granted the privilege of taking the cure along with Mingo and King Sutha, while Wisk and Brask alternated sullen looks at Kelivish and Mingo. King Sutha took the cure first, as was right, and Keilvish, his paramour took it just after to better embrace in the void. Naz took hers with an oddly peaceful countenance that Rollo had never seen on her before. Mingo came next, applied Kampas to the side of his head that swelled immediately as had been the case with the others, glowing with a faint pinkish-orange glow.

Rollo felt the constricting effects of Mingo’s magic ease from his body, and he felt able and sure-footed again. He took the Kampas in his hands, the crown of fools still tittering on his head. The cataracts of the baleful sun glared and waited impatiently to look down on one final scene of defiance on old Earth, and Rollo of Almery realised he had never felt more alive.

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Pub: 03 Mar 2025 00:37 UTC

Edit: 03 Mar 2025 04:06 UTC

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