***

Eighth Stitch

Your life is but a thread in the Great Needlework. Always value the Cocoon over your own existence.

***

A cobalt phalange, floating in the Nectar-blood puddle, stands upright. A metal claw escapes a mouse’s paws, and zips through the air. An invisible force carries it across the Pool, towards the center. Its edge scratches Lionel’s index fingertip. A drop of his blood falls in the yellow sludge.

“What in the name of the Strands is—”

A sharp click interrupts Lionel’s interjection. The claw clips with the phalange, assembling them together. Three more arrive from different directions, already connected to a bone.

“Throw away your toys!” screams Juliet.

A gorilla, who was playing a cheerful tune on my ribcage, gets her instrument ripped from her hands. It whizzes past the face of a female Risen, and attaches itself to my skull. The assembled bones levitate, and zoom across the room to join the skeleton in construction. A brown scarab flees, its hiding spot taken away.

A force tugs at my being. I slip off the bear’s claw. My vision blurs. I speed through the air, and join my rebuilding body. The Nectar-blood rises and sticks to the cobalt bones. I take on the form of a canine-shaped slime sculpture.

“For people who believe in ‘suffering no treachery,’ the Forge-dwellers sure have quite a few tricks up their sleeve,” says Lionel.

Energy surges through my back legs. Tension builds around my thighs. The Nectar-blood transmits the Pool’s message.

“Rise,” it whispers.

I obey. My metal bones grind against each other. My spine stiffens. I bend my body upwards beyond what I thought possible. I hazard a gaze towards the floor. The height between my head and the ground dizzies me. I almost tumble.

“A demon…” Juliet mumbles.

“Emilia betrayed our trust, our faith, and now our species. What a pathetic imitation of Risen kind this creature is,” Lionel says.

“I am not a creature, nor a demon. My name is Anubis,” I answer.

All Risen gasp. I reach for my throat with a paw. My claws piece the Nectar-blood, and reaches a cavity. Inside, four strands of silk vibrate.

Lionel inhales, and slaps his fist against his palm. He charges forward, snorting. A hand slaps my jaw. A punch on the top of my skull follows. His strikes disjoint my neck, scattering vertebrae inside the slime. The bones stack back on top of each other, like a cobra taking on a strike pose. My head repositions. I stare into the Risen’s bloodshot eyes with two empty orbits.

“Abomination. Your existence defiles the grace of the Strands,” he says. His breaths cause ripples in the Nectar-blood on my abdomen.

“And your attitude reeks of the Calling. It seems we are both blasphemers,” I answer.

I extend my right arm, and ten cobalt plates sweep through the air to cover it. The metal readjusts until its arrangement resembles a Risen limb. My claws extend into five ant-wide fingers of razor-sharp blades. I pull this new weapon back, preparing to slash at Lionel’s neck.

Juliet storms between the two of us. She pushes against our chests with her palms. “Stop your bickering, both of you! Anubis never asked for this conversion. This is Emilia’s fault. Let the Calling leave your hearts, and work together to reverse this.”

Lionel drops his fighting stance, and addresses the Forge-dweller.

“You don’t understand. The jackal is dead. This monster replicates his behaviour, but only obeys the Pool; not his own free will. This thing belongs to the Iron Sea. Let me put it back where it belongs!”

Juliet turns to face me, with a tear running down her cheek. Her head is raised upwards — not down, as I’m used to. She peers into my skull.

“That’s not true, right, Anubis?” she asks. “That furry fiend who gave me the scare of my life; it’s floating inside that slime. I can feel it. We can cure you. We can—”

“Enough,” interrupts Lionel. “Look.”

The Risen male sweeps away the Forge-dweller with this hand, and places a finger on his throat.

“Let me tell you something interesting, goo dog. After Emilia flung your body into the Nectar Pool, she fell, and broke her neck. Why, you ask? Your Forge-dweller friend pushed her off. That is why Juliet survived. Repentant fools don’t deserve death.”

My ears flatten. The Nectar-blood twitches. Juliet evades my eyeless glare.

“Try thinking straight when nature’s entire arsenal wants you dead!” she pleads. “It was either both of us, or only her. Look at yourself! She made you a repulsive beast!”

The insult pierces my soul. I screech, and lash at Lionel’s exposed neck. My knife-claw stops dead in its tracks. The length of a bee’s leg separates edge from skin.

“You missed. Try again,” he says, smiling.

I extend my other arm, and invite ten cobalt plates to take place on its viscous surface. The metal obeys my command, and forms an equally threatening set of blades. I attack. My slash bounces on an unseen force field.

“So close. Try again,” he repeats.

“What sorcery is this?” asks Juliet, bewildered.

“Oh, I’m not the one deflecting these hits. He is,” Lionel answers, pointing at me.

I summon eight skull-plates, and allow them to wrap around my head. I drop down on my knees, and lunge foward to bite Lionel’s throat with metal teeth. I hit an invisible wall, and topple to the ground. The Nectar-blood jiggles against the floor.

“Devilish Forge-dweller technology. The jackal will never succumb to the Calling ever again,” the Risen male explains. “The Pool watches his every move, and intervenes at the slightest disobedience. He is an automaton; a shadow of his former self. Do you believe me now?”

Juliet refuses to answer. She sulks, defeated. I raise a leg, and attempt to stand back up.

Lionel cracks his knuckles. “Now, I think I’ve given you plenty of chances to strike. It’s only fair that you allow me to fight back.”

A blow slams my head against the cobalt floor. The metal resounds in my ears.

“You will find that unlike Emilia, I prefer punches over sermons when it comes to teaching.”

I squirm on the ground. I find the strength to channel my thoughts into sound, once again. “Violence is the Calling’s mark. How can you call yourself a teacher if you value brutality over words?”

Lionel raises his foot, and prepares to stomp on my ribcage. “If you wanted to pass as an emissary of peace, you should have maybe said that before trying to slit my throat. If you’re going to be a hypocrite, take some advice from your Mother. Don’t act against your words until the final moment.”

I attract four nearby cobalt plates, and attempt to fuse them to my chest. The Risen male attacks before I can shield myself. Nectar-blood splashes away from Lionel’s kick. He retracts his foot right as the armor finally clicks against my torso.

“I don’t know if you can feel pain. If you can’t, you’re missing out. There’s something extremely valuable to be found in the smacking I’m about to give you. A lesson of humility, which can’t be learned without a few broken bones. In your case, it will take a good pummeling before we reach that point. Better get started.”

Lionel bends his knees, and prepares to jump. I contract my limbs in a foetal position, bracing for impact. The blow never comes.

“This isn’t a lesson! This is pure savagery!” screams Juliet.

The Forge-dweller’s shoulder rams against the Risen male’s hip. He staggers, but keeps his balance. I use this opportunity to roll on the floor, and stand back up. The last cobalt plates sweep towards my back, legs and tail. My fully reassembled body displays canine head and legs, neighbouring Risen arms and torso. The light of the Sun reflects on my armored shell.

“Forge-dweller scum never change. Trusting you was a mistake,” says Lionel.

He takes a step back, and begins running towards Juliet, his fists clenched. I curve my back legs in a zigzag shape, and release the tension. My leap lands me between the two of them. I retract my claws, raise my hands, and push them against Lionel’s as to lock him in a tug of war. Drops of sweat trail across his forehead as we push back and forth. The crowd of Acolytes and Risen inches closer, cheering him on.

“Lionel! Lionel! Lionel!” they hail.

“It’s time for all of you to understand something,” he says between heavy breaths. “The Calling is essential.”

The audience gasps. I weaken my grip, and Lionel nearly knocks me prone. Juliet pushes on my elbows with her palms, and helps me regain my balance.

“Emilia wanted a factory organized by the tick of a clock. She dreamt of a Hive ruled by productivity and discipline. And, to achieve this, she made you fear the Calling.”

The Risen male thrusts his hands forward in a burst of strength. I resist. The claws on my feet scrape against the metal floor.

“The Unification should be named Dissociation. It removes the spark of savage passion that makes you alive. The gifts of the Four Strands surround us: the scent of torchvine flowers, and the breeze flowing against your skin. A world filled with beauty, with no one to appreciate it. That is what Emilia wants. A Hive populated by unfeeling automatons.”

Lionel lowers his fighting stance. I imitate him. He looks around the crowd, before turning his gaze towards me.

“You are a forgery of nature, jackal. You are the result of a twisted faith that sacrificed sensibility in the name of progress. The motion that animates you is blasphemy against the cycle of life.”

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“Now, will you accept to undo this mistake, or am I going to have to throw your bones in the Iron Sea one by one?”

Risen and Acolytes remain silent, awaiting my decision. I raise an arm, and examine its surface. Plates of cobalt interlock each other; Nectar-blood seeps from the cracks. I bring my paw to my muzzle, and tap its surface with a claw. The metal chimes. The air circulates between the armored shell and the yellow slime. I try to extract its scents. Nothing.

Despite my efforts, the atmosphere remains tasteless. The fusion of odours that once breathed life into my world has departed for good.

Refuse to forgo the Calling, and you will die from it! I attempt to repeat the Fifth Stitch to Lionel. Two strands of silk in my throat intertwine, and let out a very different message.

“I am not Anubis the jackal. I am Risen and Acolyte unified, sealed in a vile shell of unlife. Anubis is dead. May his soul join the Four Strands, and may my body feed the black waters below,” I answer, against my will.

The Risen join their palms together in prayer. They lower their heads, and close their eyes. Juliet nods, her eyes fighting between resolve and sorrow. Two talons burrow around my shoulder-plates. The wings of a massive vulture Acolyte flutter above my head.

“The easy way out. I’d expect nothing more. A true Acolyte would never accept its execution without a good fight.” Lionel sighs. “I suppose you will now find out what lies under the Hive — or rather, what doesn’t.”

“May the answer to the Hundred-Year-Old Question be revealed to you,” say the rest of the Cocoon-dwellers.

A Risen female scatters the Acolytes around the open gate. Gusts of wind slap against my skull. A path towards oblivion opens.