A God Without a Name

(An excerpt from the short story, The Prophet & The Nightingale, written by J. Flessa circa. January 2022)

Within the realm of Inferis, a place of shadows and smoke, tucked away in the furthest reaches out of sight of prying eyes, there was a forest of dark wood maples. Their leaves were as crimson as the fires that burned in the pits of The Wailing Breach, but rumored to be just as beautiful as the Mother of Mercy.

A black marble pavilion stood at the center of The Nightwood, draped in wisteria and morning glories. A figure stepped away, kicking up scatterings of leaves as she raced to the nearest stream. Ever shifting and unsure of her natural form, Noćtis crouched down at the river bank to test her newfound ability to shape change. Golden eyes stared back at her as well as the natural gray pigment to her skin that connected her origins back to Lunis; the living part of their shared cosmic godly essence.

Noćtis shifted into what she remembered Lunis looking like. A gray skinned human with moonlight white hair. Her appearance shifted again to mimic that of a grey skinned umbra elf with Noćtis’ naturally black hair. She tried copying Nemus’ appearance only to end up as a gray furred rabbit folk instead of a deer folk.

Finally, she settled into a gray skinned tiefling. Black hair ran like a darkened river down her back between a set of horns that swept back. She felt bouncier on cat like legs, and more balanced with a lion's tail swishing in the grass behind her. She tried to imagine herself with wings like she had seen on Messorem, but they came to her like that of bat wings. She shed them with a shiver and a roll of her shoulders as they disappeared into thin air.

Still, through all the shifting, her eyes remained golden.

‘They connect you to the other half of your soul,’ Messorem had told her when she asked why they never changed. She very much enjoyed them, especially when they became cat-like and luminescent.

Noćtis’ hair stood on edge as static filled the air. She hugged herself as she glanced around, eyes wide.

Off in the distance amongst the red maples, the air shimmered in a vertical line like a mirage trying to take shape. Noćtis stood, and a tearing rang through the woods. She looked back at the train in her dress to check if she had caught on something.

Looking back at the shimmering air, Noćtis noticed the mirage had opened like a tear in a silk tapestry. She approached it, catlike curiosity pulling her closer. One sweep of the grove told her she was still alone.

“Hello?” Noćtis called.

She half expected one of her family members to step out from behind the trees. Nemus walked with her on many occasions, and Lady Sapientia & Lady Eleatheria came to teach her about The World Garden almost every day.

They had never arrived like this before.

Noćtis reached for the tear, and static nipped at her fingers. She shook her hand, backtracking slightly.

“Don’t touch anything suspicious,” Noćtis repeated to herself. A lesson Lady Sapientia had taught her when they spoke about planar travelers. ‘Tears will happen here and there, do not pay them any attention for it might be the occasional traveler taking a peek. If it becomes concerning, come get someone.’

Noćtis backed up, and sat on her heels. Her black sheer ember touched dress pooled around her as she waited. She fiddled with the golden bracelets that held her drapery to her arms before resting her chin on her knees.

The planar tear cast gray light across the leaves pooled on the ground. Noćtis poked at the maples, some crunching while others gave way with a soft huff.

“By the name of the gods,” a voice echoed.

Noćtis perked up, a cat hearing the rustling of critters in the distance. She focused on the planar tear. Standing, she inched closer.

“Please,” the voice called again. “Give me the power to help my mother and father. Spare them from death’s door, and give them peace. I beg of you.”

Noćtis peered into the planar tear, gray light shining across her eyes.

The air was sucked out of her lungs as the static from the tear latched onto her, and tugged. She fell forward, spilling onto the cold marble floor of a small chapel. Noćtis found herself chilled by the new environment. Her bones creaked from the cold as she pushed herself up from the ground.

A candelabra clattered to the floor, and Noćtis startled. She flipped around to see a young woman, an umbra elf, leaning against an altar. The dark tendrils of Death Divinity curled off the altar, reaching out to an obsidian blade dipped in crimson.

Blood dripped to the floor from the woman’s arm.

She let out a breathy laugh, mania dancing in her eyes like sparklers.

“Did it work?”

Noćtis looked about the room. Globules of lights danced across the ceiling, and illuminated a mosaic of ravens across a starry sky. A visage of Morsa was holding her hands out to her escorts of Inferis.

"Ispričavam se, ne znam na što mislite,” Noćtis tried in the language of Inferis. The umbra elf furrowed. Noćtis shook her head. “I am sorry, I do not speak common very well.”

The woman cocked her head, red hair like wine falling over her shoulder. She looked over Noćtis with cold amber eyes. Her gaze landed on the sweeping horns that adorned Noćtis’ head.

“You’re from Inferis,” the woman spoke in the native language and Noćtis perked up. She did understand me. The woman stepped down off the dais, blood staining the train of her silver evening gown.

“Did Morsa send you to help us?”

Noćtis furrowed. Morsa? Why would mother send me? She looked around the dark marble chapel again. Where am I?

“My apologies,” Noćtis started. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of or why Lady Morsa would send me to whatever this place is.”

The manic light drained from the woman’s face as it twisted in a sneer. She whipped around, taking the second candelabra still standing by the altar, and threw it. The metal clattered against the marble, and the flames petered out.

Noćtis covered her ears as the ringing scraped against the inside of her skull. She squinted up at the woman, who was stringing curses together. She was hovering about the altar, her stature unsure of whether to destroy the ritual she set out or keep it active.

The air grew heavy, the globules dancing across the ceiling dimmed. Noćtis shrunk in on herself. This doesn’t feel like the doing of Inferis. She looked back from where she had fallen in search of the planar tear.

It was gone.

Noćtis scrambled to her feet. “No,” she murmured. “No, no, no, I can’t stay here.”

“What are you?”

Noćtis’ shoulders shot to her ears as her tail wrapped around her leg nervously. She turned slowly back to the woman who was brandishing the obsidian dagger, and descending on her.

Backing up, Noćtis’ back hit the locked doors of the chapel. She held her hands in front of her as if to ward off the rolling anger filled storm clouds coming from the elf.

“I don’t know what you want-”

The woman slashed out at her. The blade bit into Noćtis’ skin.

Noćtis slid to the floor, clutching at her forearm as golden ichor seeped through her fingers. She whimpered as panic crawled up her throat. I can bleed? I can be hurt? How? She tried to force the cut closed, fingers slipping against skin.

“You're a god.”

The woman’s voice was barely a whisper. Noćtis met her eyes, and the manic glint was back. Shadows curled at the woman’s back as she came closer. She crouched in front of Noćtis.

The fledgling goddess pressed herself against the door.

“You’re the one without a name, aren’t you?” The woman asked. “The one that began to appear in the constellations about three hundred years ago.”