19-2

  Vantaiga busied herself about the expansive caverns of the new paradise she created beneath her mountain keep. Deep beneath the rocks, there would be no stern stare of Coronus or unwelcomed visits from presumptuous gods. Under the shelter of the mountain, she could create more delicate and diverse life. Without drying winds, heavy rains, stifling heat, or judgement, she was free to create to her whims and desires.

  She took particular pride in a new fruit tree she designed to cover the unsightly ceiling rock. Silver cordon branches snaked high overhead, clinging to stalactites by thick tendrils. Waxy, bright leaves to reflect the light fanned out on twigs in all directions, hiding the dingy grey roof of the cave behind a canopy of greens and yellows. From the branches, red roots draped down in curtains to dip into clear babbling streams. She further coloured the roots with bunches of mottled purple fruits among sweet-scented flowers of pinks and burgundies.

  The terraces and grottos of her new paradise were decorated with shrubs and ferns, while the stone floor was softened with mosses speckled with blue and white flowers. For the paths and pools throughout the cave, she lined the stones with lichens of frost grey and mint green, adding a touch of magic so they glowed when her subterranean retreat went to sleep.

  The sunlight for the plants was a puzzle to her at first. Initially, she’d created large balls of magic to hang overhead, but this reminded her too much of Coronus and his ever-judging eye. The intense brightness of the orbs also made it hard for people to look up and enjoy the unworldly plants she was creating over their heads. It wasn’t until her worshippers introduced butterflies to the caverns that she had a better solution.

  When released, the butterflies would immediately circle around the magic orbs of light. Making the orbs smaller and more numerous didn’t help as the butterflies would merely circle the smaller orbs in smaller clusters. She then thought to make the butterflies themselves the source of the light for her cavern. Unfortunately, this only made the butterflies circle each other in a stunningly beautiful, but totally pointless, radiant spiralling vortex. Finding her efforts comical, Syffox suggested she stop tormenting the insects and create a new creature altogether to light her caverns.

  With that idea, Vantaiga created her first intelligent creature: a small, almost insect-like people with delicate features and shimmering transparent wings. She made them glow brightly when they were active and put them in charge of taking care of the flowers and blossoming trees. They gave such energetic, playful displays of beauty she decided to call them pickcys.

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  Fascinated by her new creation, she created other caretakers for her secret caverns. She made fearies, flying creatures that were larger than the pickcys and with soft, pretty features. To them, she gave the task of attending to the fruits and harvests. For the care of her streams and pools, she created nyxies. These were human-sized beings with pale green skin, dark green hair, and large silver eyes. They were also the Goddess’s play companions when she would swim or bathe.

  A final creature came to her when she happened to stumble across a mole burrowing among some flowers. From the little rodent, she created a short, stocky creature with large comical features and curious round eyes. She called them brownys and put them in charge of the soil, planting, and mushrooms.

  Syffox reclined next to a trickling waterfall, watching her work. Vantaiga was busy designing a new flowering vine to join between the stalactites and stalagmites. He spent his time these days entirely at Vantaiga’s side. Only on her little farm, many centuries ago, did he remember when he’d had the time to just watch his beautiful Goddess.

  It gave him immense pleasure and pride to see her play. He was also guilty of enjoying watching her failed efforts as well. Vantaiga found herself thoroughly entwined in her vine creation. Futilely fighting to bring order to her latest endeavour was giving Syffox no end of humour... secretly.

  Exasperated, she abandoned her efforts with a huff. Without her magic to support it, the vine tumbled down from the ceiling and buried her in a snarled heap. With curses and flying leaves, she tore herself from the tangle, leaving only a single vine to remain wrapped about her as covering. The vine twisted teasingly over her body to end in a small tendril of leaves wrapped around the green gem of her mantel.

  She walked wearily to Syffox, rubbing her head. Creating life was not physically demanding, but it did take a toll on her mind. She dropped down beside him and collapsed on to his chest. “I’m done for today. The pickcys will just have to wait before they can have more flowers to take care of.”

  Syffox kissed her on the top of her head and took over massaging her scalp, savouring the thrill of magic and energy that shivered through him every time he touched her. “You’re working too hard again. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

  She purred as she melted under his fingers. “I can’t help it. There’s so much to do up there. When I come here for a break, I feel I have to rush everything.”

  “You need to learn what a break is. Stop rushing. There’s no hurry for anything down here. You need to rest or you’re just going to make yourself an angry Goddess.” Syffox moved his hands down her neck and began working the muscles of her shoulders.

  She didn’t actually have muscles to knot up anymore, but it still felt nice to have his fingers pressing into her skin. The leaves of her wrapped vine rustled as she shifted them to give him better access. A slight murmur escaped her from his touch. “Keep doing that and I’ll never get to rest.”

  Syffox mused, “How do you expect me to stop when you say things like that?”

  Vantaiga simply settled more onto his chest. The feeling of his warmth and the press of his fingers pushed away her frustrations and crowded thoughts. She murmured in comfort. This is what she wanted. Her vines could wait. Her fearies could wait. Her people could wait. She was taking this moment to enjoy her man’s touch and the feeling of his body.

  Is it wrong to kill to survive in this accursed world?

  This question plagued Xavier's mind, along with the nightmares, as he spent his final days in prison. In a ruined world where only the rich thrive and everyone else clings to survival, Xavier lived as an industrial slave, fueling destruction for the profit of the elite.

  Until the Ashari arrived — extraterrestrials wielding technology far beyond human understanding. Xavier and other inmates were thrown into a new hell, battling monsters for a chance at survival. But who are the true monsters? The beasts of the Deceitful Maw, or the humans exploiting their every breath?

  Follow Xavier's journey. Discover what it means to survive… or to live.

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