toothycat | (no subject)

Original here.

The demiurge sat at his desk, reading letters. Many had piled up during his brief absence. They were mainly from children, of course. Children's letters always reach the demiurge. Unlike adults', which arrive but rarely.
"Dear demiurge! Please make the sun come out tomorrow!"
"Dear demiurge! Please make tomorrow be rainy!"
"Dear demiurge! Please make it so my sister gets no presents for her birthday! She's horrid."
"Dear demiurge! Please make it so I get a different brother for my birthday."
"Dear demiurge! Please make there not be a war."
"Dear demiurge! Please make it so we win!"
"Dear demiurge! Please make it so my father comes back alive, OK?"
"Dear demiurge! Please make my father come back..."
"Dear demiurge! Please make my gran well!"
"I am so tired... How much longer until I die?" - yes, adults' letters do occasionally arrive.
"Dear demiurge! Please make daddy divorce his wife and marry mummy."
"Dear demiurge! Please make my parents not get divorced."
"Dear demiurge! Please don't punish daddy for what he did. Daddy is good. Just make it not hurt so much next time."
"Dear demiurge! Please let me grow up big and pretty so men like me. Then mummy will take me to work with her."
"Dear demiurge! When I grow up, I want to be bigger and stronger than dad, so I can kill him."
"Dear demiurge! My mummy doesn't believe in you. Please don't kill her."

The demiurge lowered his face into his hands and cried.

Original here.

"You can congratulate me", the demiurge Mazukta said to the demiurge Shambambukli.
"Oh? Why?"
"I've been thinking a lot here about injustice..."
"Congratulations!", the demiurge Shambambukli said with feeling.
"What? Oh, yes... No, I meant something else. So I was thinking about injustice, and I came to some interesting conclusions. Is it not true that unfairness exists in my worlds?"
"It is."
"Well, then. Taking a sober look at the situation, I decided to do a good deed. Hey, what was that shudder for?"
"You see, Mazukta..."
"I know, I know what you want to say to me. Both about my methods and about my understanding of justice. I've taken all that into account. And I decided that it would be better if I didn't fix anything in creation myself."
"You'd like me to help you?"
"No!" Mazukta grinned triumphantly. "I've come up with a much better solution. I've given a world the ability to self-improve! Neat, no?"
"It sounds good, but how...?"
"How did I implement it? It's very simple, like all ingenious ideas."
Mazukta pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it around.
"Here! This is my invention. A compact of cooperation between demiurge and human. Who has a better understanding of injustice? Who is hit hardest by unfairness? Who knows precisely what needs to be fixed? Humans! But in order to fix the world's injustice, human efforts are not enough - a miracle is needed. Miracles are created by a demiurge, but he by his very nature... well, you know my nature."
"I do", Shambambukli sighed sadly.
"Thus, the demiurge has the power to change the world, but no understanding of what needs changing and how. Humans understand, but lack the power. What does the demiurge do?"
"What?"
"Hah! This is what. The demiurge appears before the humans and gives them part of his power - plenty enough to do the trick. And then he stands aside and watches the results."
"Mazukta, I foresee big problems!"
"Tosh! What problems could there be? You think there will be chaos? There won't. It's not like I doled out power to everyone, or even to random humans. Only the chosen! Those who are bound to use the power rightly."
"And by what criterion did you... choose?"
"A number of criteria. Firstly, I judged that women would be more peaceful and less likely to turn the power to destruction. Secondly, I chose the most intelligent women - so that they would not act without due thought - and the youngest, and thus the most inclined towards changing the world for the better. Moreover... although, it doesn't matter. Believe me whhen I say I placed my power into the best hands I could find."
"I believe you, but..."
"A thousand wise, energetic, peaceable women - that is my army of reformation! It was quite tricky to find them, actually. But now, the world will be as it should be!" Mazukta smoothed the agreement deed lovingly. "I've made the humans happy, and didn't forget myself either."
"What have you written in there, then?", Shambambukli enquired.
"Oh, that's the very key of the whole thing!" Mazukta giggled in satisfaction. "The one party to the agreement - that is, myself - undertake to empower the other party with supernatural abilities, that said other party can remake reality as it sees fit. And in exchange, the other party comes under my exclusive control after death."
"You what?!"
"Think for yourself. Who are these people going to be after they die? Junior demiurges! My apprentices. In a way, that's training for them over there. Their entire lives, three or four hundred years (mages live a long time!) they'll spend reworking creation, learning their way, gaining experience... And then, rather than run off to a fresh incarnation, they'll help me patch together new worlds. Can you imagine what my throughput will be?"
"Mazukta, something seems wrong about this whole idea..."
"But most important", Mazukta interrupted, "and this might be a good thing for you to ponder - is the fact that every one of these thousand apprentices will know very well what injustice is and how it is to be fought. We will produce ideal worlds, impossible to compete with, and in huge quantities! Just imagine the prospects!"
"I can't even imagine."
"There, you see! Wait another two hundred years or so for the first students to arrive, and then I'll begin..."
There was a brief ringing, and Mazukta cut off.
"Already...?", he blinked.
"What's the matter?" Shambambukli asked.
"It's the signal that the agreement has taken force for one of the students... but this soon? Perhaps an acci..."
The bell rang again. And again. And again.
"Something's wrong", Mazukta spoke, concerned. "I'll go take a look."
He went to his reception room; Shambambukli followed.
"What's all this?!" Mazukta stared around in consternation. "How on earth am I supposed to separate the human essence from the essence of the wood burned along with them? Why did they permit themselves to be cremated? And why so soon? And so many?!"
The bell kept ringing, without interruptions.
"Nine hundred and ninety-eight, nine hundred and ninety-nine", Mazukta counted, "a thousand, thousand and one, thousand and two... Where are the extras coming from?! Two thousand, three thousand five hundred, six thousand, seven... eight... ten... fifteen thousand! Shambambukli, what's happening? I meant well! I wanted... happy... good deed... Forty thousand! Forty-eight thousand! But why?!"
More and more witches kept arriving...

Original here.

"Where am I?", the human asked.
"What an idiotic question!", the canary sighed. "Why do you all always start with that?"
"Still, where am I? This doesn't look like heaven or hell."
"It's neither. This is the demiurge Shambambukli's waiting-room. But the boss isn't in right now, I'm keeping an eye on things for him."
"Who're you?"
"Can't you see? I'm a canary."
The human looked more closely.
"Bah! You're clockwork."
"So what?"
"So how are you able to converse?"
"I'm not conversing. I'm just repeating phrases from a standard set. Admittedly, it's a pretty large set. But it's rare for you, humans, to ask anything original, so it's all good."
"But you're not alive!"
"I assure you, I am much more alive than some here."
The human pouted.
"Not funny."
"Not for me either. If you must know, you are insulting me. I am a living creature and proud of it."
"Nonsense. A wind-up canary can't be alive!"
"Justify that."
"You don't metabolise and you don't reproduce. That's enough."
"How am I supposed to reproduce, I ask you, if I am the only inhabitant of this world named 'Shambambukli's Waiting Room'?"
"Mitosis."
"You what? Piss off!"
"So you're not alive."
"And you, when you were still a living human, you reproduced by mitosis?"
"No, of course not."
"So you weren't alive either?"
"Uh..."
"The matter is closed."
"No, it's not. You don't metabolise."
"I do."
"What?"
"Here!" The canary nodded at its key. "This is how I feed."
"How is that feeding? Someone just winds you up", the human laughed.
"Not just any old someone, but the demiurge himself! Take you, now - what do you eat?"
"Well, bread, for instance."
"And where does bread come from?"
"It's made from wheat."
"And the wheat?"
"It grows in fields."
"By itself?"
"Well, yes. The sun shines, the rain comes down - so it grows."
"And who do you think winds the sun up?"
The human considered this.
"There, you see", said the canary. "You, humans, can't manage without all this indirection. You get your nutrition fifth-hand. As for me, I get it directly from the demiurge. So which of us is more alive?"

Original here.

"Winter", said the demiurge Shambambukli.
"Winter", the demiurge Mazukta confirmed.
The friends, wearing thick fur coats, sat on the top of a tall rock. Around them, as far as the eye could see, a white snow-covered plain spread.
"Pretty", said Shambambukli and threw a snowball.
"Pretty", Mazukta agreed, and jumped off the rock. "Well, then - to work?"
"Sure!" Shambambukli followed him down and looked around. "What shall we start with? Trees, mushrooms...?"
"Nah, let's not waste time. Let's start from the humans. You make the snow man, and I..." Mazukta stopped and looked worried for a minute. "No, actually I'd better make the man. You do the woman."
Shambambukli nodded readily and started rolling up a large ball to form the woman out of. For some time the demiurges worked in silence.
"So, then..." Mauzkta examined the results of his handiwork. "Yeah, that'll do. And how are you doing? Wow, that looks great. Shapely! Shambambukli, where have you seen women like that?"
"In dreams."
"Aaah... all right, then."
Mazukta walked all around the snow woman, muttering approvingly.
"Pretty. Mine's not too bad either, actually. Of course, men are usually made of dirt, but where are we going to get any in this weather?"
"We could wait until spring", Shambambukli said.
"Spring will be a long time coming here", Mazukta replied drily. "And it will mean the end of this world. I did explain - weren't you listening?"
"Nope", Shambambukli admitted honestly.
"Hm... Then, to repeat. We're in a world of eternal winter. A world of ringing cleanliness, cold beauty and crystal perfection. That is how I see it."
Shambambukli stayed silent, waiting for Mazukta to elaborate, but no elaboration followed.
"And...?" Shambambukli encouraged him.
"And what? There's no sun here. So there won't be a spring... this astronomical era, anyway. Right, let's carry on building."
The demiurges busied themselves with their work once more. Mazukta carved ice cliffs into trees and bushes while Shambambukli placed snow flowers, birds and butterflies in the branches. Soon a veritable heavenly garden grew around them, and the demiurges placed ice sculptures of animals in it.
"All right," Mazukta declared, satisfied. "I reckon that's enough for today. Tomorrow we'll breathe life into them and have a world of beauty and harmony. Just look how beautiful it is! What rich shapes, what shine! Wasn't this a grand idea?
Shambambukli took a few steps back and looked around; took a few more steps back... tripped over a stone and fell on the snow.
"What's this?" he said, surprised, after getting a good look at the stone.
"This? Well... actually, it's the top of a tower. A factory cooling tower."
"A factory cooling tower?! Mazukta! What's under the snow?"
"What, what... it doesn't really matter what used to be under there. There's nothing there any more for our purposes. Just various junk. The important thing is how beautiful the world is after Ragnarok!"

Original here.

"When you're creating a new world", the demiurge Mazukta, sprawled in an armchair, declared, "you must take care not to leave any of your construction materials behind. It is especially important to remove all unstable elements, otherwise sooner or later the world will be destroyed by a chain reaction."
"Oh, yeah, I know about that", the demiurge Shambambukli nodded. "A chain reaction is when a uranium atom undergoes fission."
"Not quite." Mazukta frowned. "A chain reaction is when one country makes a uranium atom undergo fission and right away all the others want to, too."

Original here.

The prophet entered the tent and stopped just inside.
"You called?"
"Uh-huh", the demiurge Mazukta replied. "Fancied a chat. So, then, mate, messed up rather, didn't you?"
"So I did."
"Got anything more to say?"
"I do. Let my people through."
"They are not your people."
"They are mine. Now - they are mine."
"Since when?"
"Since they came to believe that I was sent to them by the Creator."
"That is, me?"
"Yes."
"I did no such thing. You know this perfectly well. And these people bear no relation to you. I am still astonished how anyone could believe your naive tale of a foundling. You are heir to the throne, and they are slaves; the least of the world's tribes."
"Precisely for that reason."
"Precisely for that reason - what?"
"For that reason - they are my people."
"Ah, yes, of course. Humanism, friendship, freedom of will. Those are neat ideas you came up with. But you are aware the world isn't really built like that, right?"
"Of course."
"You are a false prophet! You bring only chaos. I organised the world according to well-proven, wise and just laws: each for himself, the strongest is right. And what do you do? You've thrown aside your ordained purpose, made up a false theory, brought dispute and strife... what a country you've destroyed! How did you manage that, incidentally?"
"People needed portents", the prophet shrugged. "I gave them portents. After all, I was the best student in the applied magic class."
"It was a wonderful, highly developed country! One of the foremost, you might say. One of my favourites. And they, incidentally, kept my laws strictly!"
"Yes, they believed in the right of the strong. But my people believe in the strength of the right."
"And where has this faith led you? Mountains to the left, the sea to the right, the enemy forces behind and a burning forest ahead. In a few hours your people will be just a memory, left to educate future generations. What did you expect to accomplish?"
"I don't know", the prophet said. "I just pitied them. I wanted to give them hope."
"And you did. It's a dangerous thing, you know - empty hope."
"There wasn't any other kind", the prophet replied. "For the poor, broken people I made a new teaching; I lied to them, saying that they were chosen to bring the light of truth into the world. I made them believe in the mercy of their Creator."
"In my mercy?! Are you quite right in the head?"
"Probably not. But while there is hope..."
"Oh, yes? And what are you hoping for? That by some miracle you will be able to cross the flaming forest? Are you aware, incidentally, that fire burns? This is a law of nature that has not hitherto been countermanded. Or perhaps I should part the fire for you? So you could just walk through like it was a highway?"
"It would be a very kindhearted thing for you to do."
"Ha. Maybe I should lay a carpet for you and put some vending machines with cold drinks?"
"If that is your will", the prophet replied drily.
"Know, then, that that is not my will. And that's that. You can pass that on to your flock."
"I know. But they have such hope for salvation..."
"And a very stupid thing, too."
"It is stupid. But they hope."
"...!", Mazukta said and cut the connection.
The prophet stood a while longer in silence before turning around and leaving the tent.
"So...?", the elders asked him.
The prophet rubbed his forehead and replied in a colourless voice:
"Tell the people to get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For what...?" The prophet shook his head, straightened his shoulders and spoke decisively: "We march onward."
"Onwhard? Where?"
"There. Into the fire. Those who truly believe will be saved; thus spoke Mazukta."
"Won't we burn...?"
"You doubt your Creator's word?"
"No, but..."
"Then we march. Call a gathering."
The mountains rose to the left. The sea roared to the right. The enemy army stood behind, watching the deranged slaves walk towards the fire.
"It's hot..." someone near the prophet complained.
"Keep going. Go on forward. Soon, there will be a miracle. If you believe in a merciful Creator - there will be a miracle. He will not betray your hope. Remember this."
Up close, the flame was blinding; sparks burnt skin. Those in front felt their hair begin to scrunch; somewhere, a child sobbed.
"There will be a miracle", the prophet whispered, lifting his staff high, "there will be a miracle for certain! Just a little more... one more step, and it will happen! Just don't stop!"

Original here.

"What happened?", the demiurge Mazukta asked the furious-looking demiurge Shambambukli.
"People", the demiurge Shambambukli replied.
"Bah, people," Mazukta waved, "what a reason to be upset... what's up with them?"
"They've made themselves a deity and worship it."
"A deity? You mean an idol? Stone or clay?"
"If only! I can spare clay, I've got plenty of it..."
"Gold, then?"
"Me. They made an idol of me."
"My god!", Mazukta gasped.
"Quite", Shambambukli said.

Original here.

The demiurge Mazukta threw an apple high and caught it again; spinning it about, he examined it on all sides before stating thoughtfully:
"People believe that their souls are like apples."
"How's that?", the demiurge Shambambukli enquired.
"That is, like apple halves", Mazukta corrected himself. "Something like this."
He carefully cut the apple in half and put the halves on the table.
"They have this belief that each person has an ideal match. That before I send souls out into the world I cut them in half, into a male and a female half. Like an apple. And these halves wander and seek each other."
"And they find each other?"
"Ha!" Mazukta snorted. "Shambambukli, how do you imagine that would work? What's the probability of such a meeting? You know how many people there are in the world?"
"Lots."
"Quite. And moreover... well, supposing they do find each other; what then? You think they'll make a whole apple and live together in peace and harmony?"
"Well, yes. Isn't that so?", Shambambukli asked in surprise.
"No, that's not so."
Mazukta picked up a half-apple in each hand and raised them to his face.
"Here are two fresh, appetising souls, ready to go down into the world. What does the world do to human souls?"
With a crunch, Mazukta bit into one of the halves.
"The world", he continued, his mouth full, "is not static. And it is cruel. It mashes everything under itself. One way or another. It cuts pieces away, or bites them off, or minces them into a puree entirely."
He bit the other half and was silent for a time, chewing. Shambambukli stared at the two cores and swallowed nervously.
"And so", Mazukta declared majestically, "they meet! Tram-tararam-pam-pam!" He joined the two halves. "And do they match each other? Do they, my butt!"
"Mazukta", Shambambukli spoke carefully. "Is there a reason why you're telling me this?"
"No reason. I just wanted to talk. Why?"
"No, never mind... I just thought..."
"But now look here", Mazukta interrupted him and took some more apples. "We cut each in half, join two random halves of different apples - and what do we see?"
"They don't match", Shambambukli nodded. "Mazukta, I wanted to ask..."
"You can ask later", Mazukta waved. "Watch."
Putting together two different halves he bit along the join and demonstrated the result.
"What do we see? Now, they are a pair!"
"Ye-e-s", Shambambukli nodded thoughtfully. "Now they match each other ideally."
"Because the world bit them together, not separately. The analogy is clear?"
"Perfectly."
"Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?"
"No, nothing; there's no reason to ask anything now. I was simply a little surprised that you started this conversation; perhaps you have problems in your family life?"
"Me?" Mazukta laughed. "No, no... everything's great. A wonderful wife - well, you know her; great children... the daughter is just like her mother, calm and caring. She likes flowers. I've given her a garden, she spends all day planting things there, weeding it... a very well-adjusted child. The sons are growing up, too. Completely different. One of them makes plays with boats, dreams of being a sailor. No worries there. The other spends time in dark alleys, though, and keeps suspicious company. Always sullen, never smiling. He's hung up pictures of skulls on his walls, wears clothes with lots of chains... well, it's just a stage, it'll pass. But the youngest, he worries me."
Mazukta frowned tensely.
"He's too serious for his age", he explained. "And he plays strange games. He's found a rusty sickle somewhere and sits there, sharpening it and giving me weird looks. I don't like it...

Original here.

"Here", the demiurge Mazukta said. "This is your share in the world to come.
The man turned his share about, this way and that; hefted it in his palm; and stared at the demiurge in confusion.
"Why is it so small?"
"It is I who should ask you why it's so small", the demiurge parried. "Poor work, perhaps."
"I worked hard for you!", the man declared with pride.
"Since when", Mazukta wondered, "is suffering an accomplishment?"
"I wore sackloth and ashes", the man frowned stubbornly. "I ate offal and dried peas, drunk nothing but water, touched neither women nor boys - although, as you well know, sometimes I really wanted to. I tried my body with fasting and prayer..."
"...and?", Mazukta interrupted. "I understand, you suffered - but what did you suffer for?"
"I suffered for your glory", the man replied without a pause.
"That's a fine glory I've got there, then!", Mazukta cried, offended. "So I torment people with hunger, make them wear rags and deny them the pleasures of sex?"
"Actually, yes", Shambambukli, sitting to one side, remarked quietly.
"Shush, you", Mazukta waved him silent. "This is a different situation, I'm the Kindly Sky Uncle in this world."
"Oh, I see." Shambambukli nodded and fell silent.
"So, what's up with my share?", the man reminded them of his presence.
Mazukta scratched his head thoughtfully.
"How can I explain this to you so you understand... Take a capenter, for instance. He builds a house, and sometimes he hits his fingers with his hammer, and this makes him suffer. But he still builds a house. And for the house he receives payment, honestly earned. But you - you've spent your entire life just hitting your fingers with a hammer. Where's the house? Where's the house, I ask you?"