***

Third Stitch

The Calling is your only enemy. Be kind to all who oppose it. Do not give in to hatred, for anger is the Calling’s mark.

***

With each passing minute, the grid expands further upwards. A protective shell forms around a cylindrical cobalt pillar. Ten giraffes stacked on top of each other could barely reach the summit. My nose twitches, excited by a distinctive odor lingering in the air. It reeks of sweat's pungent smell, yet bears a touch of pleasant sweetness. Little room remains for doubt: unbridled excitement consumes our Risen Mothers and Fathers, and the Nectar Pool draws near.

Gorillas display Risen-like smiles — a rare sight for such a stoic species. Invertebrates begin jutting their heads out of their protective terrariums. They expose their frail bodies to the wind’s unyielding gusts, only for a chance to glance at our final destination for a few precious seconds. A single blast of air would mean certain death in the toxic black waters far below.

An explosive tension builds up in my legs. I release all pressure at once, propelling my body forward in an elegant leap. I dash across the final tiles separating us from the arched entrance to the Nectar Pool, and rush inside at top speed.

The gate slams shut behind me.

“Jackal! Do you think yourself privileged because you are my Acolyte? Know that we are all equal before the Four Strands!”

I yelp out a high-pitched note. Emilia’s muffled screeches echo behind the transparent door. I rush back to the entrance and scratch the glass with my claws, not even leaving a dent. An unfamiliar voice speaks.

“Separate the Acolytes. Break their necks. Tear their skin. Devour their flesh.”

I jump, and place my body against the gate, trembling. I growl, but my flattened ears show my terror. A Risen approaches me, clothed in a strange brown apron and a welding helmet. Plates of cobalt cover their shoulders, clearly meant for decoration over protection. She notices my reaction, raises her headwear, and laughs.

“So, the Elder Smiths were right! You can understand everything I say! Oh, you should have seen your face! Don’t worry, I’m nice. Can I pet you?”

She approaches me with her palms raised, and extends an arm to touch my fur.

I then recognize the fabric she wears. Leather. I snap my jaws at her fingers, but she retracts her hand at the last second, her eyes widened with surprise. She backs away, keeping her gaze focused on my body. I would pounce on her the moment she blinked.

“I’ve never killed an animal. These leather aprons were created from the pelts of beasts who refused to renounce the Calling. A crate, carried by silkflies, once dropped hundreds of corpses on the Forge’s docks, and we crafted clothing from them. We eat and sleep in silkroot, like you! Have you been to the Hunting Room? We built it for your kind, at Emilia’s request. Despite our differences, our collaboration is necessary for our survival. Do you understand? Relax, and let me repair this door. Your friends are waiting outside.”

Hearing the familiar name of my favorite activity, I allow panic to leave my body. I walk around the Risen, granting her access to the door control panel. She advances towards it, eyeing me with distrust. I respond to her gaze with a deep growl, and focus my attention towards the room itself.

Hexagonal alcoves cover the walls, arranged as to leave not a single region exposed. Honey-like liquids fill them, alternating between pale blue and warm yellow. The inside of the Nectar Pool captures the sunlight passing through the glass roof far above. Each chamber reaches wide enough to welcome an adult horse within. A twisted system of silkroot ladders and cobalt catwalks grant access to the upper cells, at the price of an exhausting climb.

“Pretty, isn’t it? The Unification of Silk and Cobalt Given Form - the Nectar Pool. An answer to the Hundred-Year-Old Question. It was about time. While I can’t deny you Cocoon-dwellers are quite ingenious when it comes to living things, your beliefs are ridiculous. Four millimeter-wide strings holding millions of tons for a hundred years? Couldn’t your people come up with anything that made a little bit more sense?”

I strike a claw against the cobalt floor, and draw it across its surface, producing a grating sound.

“Could you stop that? I’m trying to concentrate. You fried all the wires by zipping through the laser sensor. Let me repair this mess, and I’ll be out of your sight right after. Promise.”

I snarl. An odor reaches my nostrils.

I remember the day Father Theodore died. His Acolyte, a cougar, had fallen to the Calling. The Risen lost himself in prayers to the Four Strands as he backed away from his beloved friend turned foe. I watched from afar when the feline pounced on his Parent on the narrow catwalk. Both fell screaming into the abyss below.

For days after this incident, I kept walking up to the place where they had fallen. I breathed in the delightful aroma of Risen terror, still lingering in the air. Emilia never understood why I lied down on that one spot for hours, with my legs stretched and my head lowered towards the Iron Sea. “Respect for the dead? How fitting for your name,” she said.

I now mentally follow the scent to its origin, and tune into the accelerating rhythm of the Forge-dweller’s heart.

The beating amplifies, until it becomes deafening. The entire room pulsates every single time blood flows in the Risen’s arteries. My heart decides to join this primal dance, matching the rapid tempo. My lungs struggle with gasps of cold air.

My prey notices this change of attitude, and stops tinkering with the electronic circuits. She reaches in a frontal pocket, and pulls out a screwdriver. Its metallic section, no longer than a rabbit’s ear, doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest.

How fitting for your name. What did Mother mean by this? I do not have a name. I never did. I am nothing. Something calls, I answer. Input, output.

Heat builds up in my legs. Warmth spreads across my body, transforming my muscles into springs primed for action. It’s a familiar feeling - but this time, I do not aim for a gate.

I aim for a throat.

The Risen female, realizing the ineffectiveness of her weapon, opts for a different strategy. She brings the tool behind her back, and struggles to jam it between two broken wires.

A single word struggles. Anubis. I separate the three syllables. A. Nu. Bis. I juggle with them. Nu-Bis-A. Bis-A-Nu. I try to forget, but they remain. The word speaks a distant memory.

“There once lived an immortal judge, in a land of sands and temples, who separated the righteous from the unworthy. You now bear its name, fit for a true Agent of the Strands.”

The rage in my body finds a worthy opponent. Emilia’s voice wrestles with fury from a distant era, with Risen blood at stake. A primal howl battles against a plea for tranquility. I do not know who to root for.

“None are safe from the Calling. It preys on us all; yes, even the Risen. Only Unified do we stand a chance against its maddening influence.”

This time, My Parent’s voice does not echo in my skull, but rather on the walls of the Nectar Pool itself.

“Be at peace, Forge-dweller, for I banish the fear within your heart. Be at peace, Anubis, for I have given you the strength to drive away the Calling’s impulses.”

Mother’s prayer strikes a finishing blow to the beast possessing my body, and I fall to the floor, sapped of energy. Only my eyes remain capable of motion.

Her eyes closed, and her hands raised to her heart, Emilia steps through the open gate. Sparks flicker inside the electronic circuit, as to protest against the unusual connector jammed inside. The rest of the group follows her lead in absolute silence. All Risen, including the Forge-dweller, imitate her stance. Every Acolyte lowers its gaze towards the ground. She stops before my fallen body.

Mother kneels to the floor, extends her arms, and wraps them around my neck. A tear runs down my back, and disappears in a forest of fur.