XLVI. Liberi Fatalis

A fire fizzled in the heath as Morana leaned over a massive oak table, littered with piles of books, boxes of herbs and cages of live rodents. The modest quarters she occupied were filled with such equipment and ingredients, with a small, unmade bed in the corner being the only real living space.

She hummed quietly to herself as she leaned over a tome and read the text written in blood upon black pages. An orb hovered nearby and orbited slowly around her as it emitted a warm glow. Water dripped incessantly on the stone floors from somewhere above, and the fires last embers glowed red under the steaming cauldron that hung above it. The walls were lined with bookcases and shelves, filled with jars of creatures and body parts suspended in fluid. Osric appeared in a violent explosion of smoke and black flames, floating momentarily upon raven’s wings before they evaporated into smoke and ash. Morana smeared a blood-covered finger on the page to illuminate another hidden paragraph, not looking up from her reading.

“And you chastise me?”

“It has become significantly easier to warp, and the drain upon spirit is nearly negligible. I am not accustomed to such freedom of movement with so little in the way of a recovery period.”

Morana smirked and continued to read the text. “Who wrote this Osric? I thought I had learned all there was to know of the black arts. In fact, I was becoming quite bored merely reading perversions or copies of my own works over, and over again.”

“Her name was Lyubitshka; she hailed from outside Sarevon, though the city has long been lost.”

“A shame I’ve only about two more days to read its pages. Strange that nation should produce such masters of the craft.” She cut her eyes in Osric’s direction immediately after she absently spoke. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” Osric replied dryly as he made his way to the table. “What is today’s lesson? I have already learned all that I can from that tome.”

“I fear to ask how.” Morana replied with a wry smile.

Osric looked away, his cheeks burning red, recalling the galling experience of asking his sister for the menstrual blood needed to read the pages. “Has Alden gleaned the needed information from that man?”

Morana snapped her fingers, relighting the fireplace. “He is unfortunately strong willed. I say we just kill him. Have his corpse give us the answers we seek.”

Osric shook his head, he had considered that alternative and found it to be, quite literally, a dead end.“Once his soul is free of his mortal coils, it’s left our reach. To assume the Eloi have not become aware of my ambitions would be folly at this stage. My question is; can this Alden be trusted?”

Morana scoffed, annoyed by her apprentice's constant questioning. “You paranoid bastard, you still ask that after all we’ve done for you?”

“The two of you seem to have a, shall we say, history. Forgive me if I remain wary.” Osric idly examined an eviscerated weasel splayed on the table, its entrails removed for divination.

Morana ignored him as he made his way around the room, obviously in awe of the raw material she had displayed and stored within. “It is in the past, Osric. Have you forgotten what we shared already?”

He paused at a curtain that hung conspicuously before a niche in the wall. “Yes, it must have been one of the memories I removed. What is behind here?”

“You’re a callous fiend Osric, and this comes from a woman that wed the beast.” She retorted.

“Due in part of removing remorse and memories of humanity, what is behind this curtain Morana?”

Morana marked her page in the tome before shutting it, and turned to face Osric. “Open it and find out.”

Osric pulled down the curtain, revealing a steel pedestal. Atop it was a jar filled with amniotic fluid and a second trimester fetus floated serenely in the center. Its umbilical cord was attached to a placenta on the bottom of the large jars lid. The top of the jar had some strange metalwork with blinking lights and tubes that extended out to other jars on the ground. Several wires snaked out from the base and were jammed into a lightning gem. Osric drew back, first surprise, then morbid curiosity crossed his face. He looked to Morana for some sort of explanation. She merely shrugged as he examined the contraption and the living being within.

“This thing is alive…”

“Yes Osric, and it is not a thing, it is a child. It is our child.”

Osric shot her a look of shock and horror. “What did you just say?”

Morana sighed as she floated across the room to join him. “Perhaps you should not erase so many memories to avoid current sins, Osric. Or perhaps I taught you that technique too soon.” She set a kettle over the fire with a wave of her hand, and filled it with water with a snap. “This child was our contract. As with all of my students, I demand their first-born child. So far you are only the second to agree, but agree you did.”

“But, this child is too old to be ours…” Osric continued to watch the pulsing heartbeat in awe and confusion. “Can a child be born with the absence of a mother’s womb?”

“Yes, as Alden will attest. In his time, children were created in factories to become soldiers. Geneticists manipulated their--”

“Gin-net-tie-cist… what a queer word. What does it mean? Is it some form of sorcery?” Osric queried, his scholarly curiosity taking precedence in the face of such a shocking revelation.

Morana smiled and shook her head, amused by how quickly and easily he was distracted by the new and the fanciful. “No, it was a science, though for one such as you they may as well be one in the same. As for the age, it has been accelerated. They couldn’t very well wait nine months for the child to be born and another eighteen years for it to reach adulthood, so they quickened the process.” Morana gestured to the fetus. “They fed information to it as well as nourishment, so when it emerged, it had a basic understanding of speech, its military occupational specialty, etcetera. I am more or less doing the same, though I know not whether the results will be to my expectations.”

“So, this is the power of our ancestors, to create and manipulate life to their desire.” Osric breathed in awe, his face pressed against the glass of the artificial womb. “They were as gods.”

“It is refreshing to see you so impressed Osric.” Morana giggled. “But this is merely an imitation. A fallible attempt at what those before me had perfected.”

“But why use me?” Osric stood up, his pragmatic side reasserting itself. “Surely Alden would have sufficed.”

“Alden is dead; the dead cannot reproduce.”

“Then by that logic, neither should you.”

Morana smiled as she stared at him, through him. On more than one occasion, Osric had attempted to gather a straight answer as to who and what the woman truly was, and each time she evaded. Alden was no help, and even Drogo was fearful to speak her true Identity.

“My punishment was to live.” she replied cryptically.

“I see then.” Osric inadvertently shivered, it was as if she were daring him to press further, and he had lost his nerve. “Nevertheless, why would you choose this method? Could you not just carry it as a normal woman does?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am rather vain.” Morana stretched in a seductive manner, causing her breast and curves to become emphasized under her form-fitting garment.

Osric looked away; still enraptured by the life he had a part in creating next to him. “There is always the option of failure. What if we do not succeed? This child shall be alone.”

Morana raised her eyebrow in surprise before laughing aloud. “Who knew the prospect of fathering a child would change you so Osric. Where is the cold and calculating man who entered not ten minutes ago?”

“I merely want to pass on my knowledge.” Osric replied, still avoiding eye contact, the terror she brought had begun to creep into his heart once more.

“Then do so, it is what I have been doing.” Morana gestured to several octagonal spheres upon a bookshelf. “I’ve placed all my knowledge and several valuable life lessons in those memory stones.”

“…it needs parents.”

Morana disappeared in a flash of smoke, and reappeared in an armchair adjacent to Osric. “Why are you being so attached? This is a means to an end like any other. We can bind our souls to this child and possibly avoid the horrors of a beast enraged, or use this child to continue in our footsteps.”

Osric leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest as he thought of a way to express his sentiments. “And I am the callous one?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Has he released hold of your mind so soon? If so do not let sentimentality cloud your judgment after having come so far.”

“Of course not. My resolve remains as strong as ever, and my mind has always and forever been my own.”

“Sure Osric.” Morana sneered. “Then what has you so out of sorts?”

Osric paused, debating whether or not he should speak, but suspecting Morana already knew his response. “I’ve, I have always wanted to be a father…”

Morana’s eyes filled with rage as she rose and struck him hard across the face. “You damned fool! Don’t do this! Not after all you’ve dragged me through! I won’t return to that demon’s maw! I won’t spend another moment in that hell wishing for death! This is the type of memory you should be ridding yourself of!”

The kettle began to whistle shrilly, Morana angrily waved her arm in its direction and sent it crashing into the opposite wall. “I have told you, the further from Therion you get, the more your resolve will be shaken. You must forget this nonsense, you are no longer a human, you are a damned soul. The only vindication comes from crossing into Elysium and destroying those that so judged you.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that!” Osric screamed as he shoved Morana away from him. “Let us commence with the lesson so I can be done with you.”

Moran stared him down for several moments before she was convinced of his resolve. “Then meet me in the courtyard, I shall teach you what happens when the morning never arrives.”

He nodded and vanished in a wisp of inky smoke. Morana looked again to the child in the jar and angrily flung the curtain over it with a snort of disgust. She abruptly turned as Alden knocked on the door, muttering several curses and hexes under her breath.

“Won’t work on a dead man lady.” Alden said through the door.

Morana swore again and waved her hand, flinging the door open. “What do you want? I am in no mood for men and their weakness.”

“You know,” Alden ambled into the room; his hands hung from his pants pockets. “I knew it was only a matter of time before he showed his true colors.”

“…Its human nature, and despite all we’ve done, he is still human.” Morana turned to face Alden, her eyes cold as a serpent ready to strike. “Do not fear my dear General; I shall drive its last vestiges from his very essence.”

“What about that?” Alden interrupted as he pointed to the curtain, eager to change the subject. “You’re not really trying to clone yourself?”

“Not clone, I believe the term was experiment jar babies, correct?”

Alden smirked as he scanned the bookshelf with disinterest. “That’s ‘test tube babies’ Morana. Radiation in the atmosphere caused sterility, and gestation took too long in those still capable. Those were our reasons. Conditions were closely monitored. You? You just stuck a fetus in machinery you have no idea how to operate. Even I say that’s going a bit far.”

“It shall serve its purpose, to give me a body for my soul to inhabit when the time shall come again. It is not some maternal instinct.” She glided over in an instant to smack Alden’s hand. “Please do not touch.”

“I liked you better when you’re childish; it helps me forget you were the one who nearly drove humanity to extinction.” Alden grumbled as he rubbed his hand.

Morana grinned, taking on the aspect of death itself. “A means to an end.”

She smiled again and vanished in a haze of smoke as Alden shook his head. “That is one terrifying woman.”