Page 35 of We Were Eternal Once

“Ah yes, with your train of ghosts following you about,” he says, his fingers moving to mimic a person walking.

“You broke into my house to ask for her name?” you ask.

“I am a man of manners,” he says, as though showing up in our garden unannounced is in good taste. “I mentioned I represent a small group of local lamia. They heard you walk amongst us, and request an audience.”

“Why?” you snap.

“Curiosity? Venerance? To look upon an Elder?”

“So you don’t know. You were just told of their whims, and now I must oblige them?”

“Our group is…diverse. Some of us feel that we should not kill humans, others see us as the preferred species—gods and goddesses amongst man. Some are heretical, to the point of believing there are no gods or goddesses and only us. The stories told by humans of gods are really encounters with our kind. Most came to Alexandria because it is the collection of knowledge and commerce. They wish to learn from others, either human or not. You are an original source, if not the original source,” he says.

“I am not the first, if that is what you are insinuating,” you say.

“I insinuate nothing. Like I said, I am here as a proxy to the group. We agree on little, but this is something we all share an opinion. If the Mother of Silence⁠—”

“Do not call me that.”

“…if you would grace us with your presence, we might have answers we long for.”

“I’m to follow you to a group of our kind, none of whom I’ve met before, and trust you mean me no harm? That you will accept me and what I have to say as truth?” Your voice is steel, but I can feel the warp to the metal. There’s a vulnerability in your words I’ve never heard before. A plea for safety? Are others of our kind so dangerous to someone like you?

“You fear us?” He is incredulous, his smile flickering. “That we should kill you?”

“There are things worse than death,” you say quietly. “I do not fear you, I fear what you are capable of. Perhaps the truths of the past should not be resurrected. Perhaps our origins should remain clouded and storied. Who am I to rob them of their idealistic theories of what we are?”

“We are divine, of that we all know.” Essemteu laughs. “I don’t think your words could unsettle them. These are great thinkers from all sorts of lands and time.”

“Divine?” You laugh. “What is divinity?”

“To never age? Or grow ill?” Essemteu presses. “Is that not like the gods?”

“Have you controlled the weather? Changed shape? Flew in the sky? Felt the sun on your face?” you ask. You lean toward him as you speak, the distance devoured by your line of questioning.

You enjoy this, I realize. This debate against someone you deem equal. Had I spoken like this, you would have silenced me. Jealousy burns in my throat but I swallow it down, instead searching for my own rebuttal.

“Well, no,” Essemteu blanches. “But not all gods can do that.”

“Some do. None of us ever will. If we are divine, it is of the lesser stock. Perhaps we were created, then found wanting. Perhaps we are escaped from the river Styx? Or perhaps we emerged separate from the humans for the sole purpose of controlling their population?” you muse. I’ve never heard you speak of us like this—as though we were wanting.

Do you find me wanting, still?

“Wanting!” Essemteu barks. “Wanting. We are immortal.”

“Simple sunlight can kill us,” you say, waving your hand.

“Maat’s feather tells us there is always balance.”

“Convenient, that your gods give you answers, yet we are gods ourselves.”

Essemteu snaps his fingers. “This! This is the call they wish you to answer! Such is the nature of our meetings—debate, stories, conjecture! The thoughts of an Elder hold much weight.”

“So you wish for me to join your club and wax poetic about what it means to be old? Forgive me for not finding this appealing.”

But you do. Why are you playing coy with this man? He must see through your protestations. You are no longer coiled, waiting to strike. You are amused. He need not spend centuries at your side to see that.

“I see we are at a stalemate,” Essemteu says, standing. “I would apologize for wasting your time this evening, but what is time to someone like us?” He winks at me and I frown back at him. “Should you change your mind, we meet very near the Mouseion. It is the abode with the handprint on the door.”