I was six, by human reasoning, when he had found me in the alleyway, surrounded by the other Exspes of my village. I was noticeably younger than the men and women that encompassed the area and Anethesteus had come to me with curiosity ablaze in his unconquerable eyes. He had kneeled onto one knee and reached out with a hand that exemplified kindness, a hand untouched by age despite existing before time itself. Without a word, he’d brought the excess of my patchwork of rags between his two fingers and began to knead the fabric between them thoughtfully. “Why are you here, little one?” His voice was synchronously boisterous and bashful. I responded with the only logic that had acceded into my stunned mind, “I have nowhere else.”
The eager interest that had charged his eyes just before dissipated, and was replaced with a void of worry. He’d been concerned at my retort; I hadn’t the slightest indication as to why this desultory figure cared for my situation, and yet had no doubt that he full-heartedly did. “You are too young to have nowhere to call home,” Anethesteus had told me. “I’m not young!” the words had escaped my lips with an immaturity that invalidated my point. He laughed then, and it was a laugh the likes of which I had never known nor ever will – affable, animated, ardent. “I’m not young,” I’d repeated with more surety and steadiness backing my words.
Seriousness had then clouded Anethesteus’ ever-changing eyes. “Where are your mother and father?” his tone had not been harsh, nor demanding. “I do not know,” I’d answered guardedly. My deceit had not phased his omniscience, and he had patiently waited for me to retract my previous dishonesty. “They are home,” I could not conceal my despair from him. “So you have a place you know as home.” There had been no malice in his words. “I used to,” I had replied, tears already making there way to the forefront of my eyes. “Why is it no longer your home, little one?” his voice had been soothing in my ears, the kindness reminding me of the gentle mother who had once held me tight when I’d wake up, startled and crying out, from a nightmare. “I started to change.” There was no avoiding his gaze as the tears began to spill, the salt of my tears burning my cracked skin. He had not reached out to me in an attempt to comfort me, and I’ve never been quite sure of why that is. Instead, he simply asked, “What changes did they disapprove of in you so drastically that they’d leave you at the mercy of the cruelty of the streets?”
“No,” I had explained to him, cautious of the response he’d take to my words. “I changed other things. Look.” At that, I touched one of the bricks that made the wall I’d slept against for weeks and envisioned it dissolving into an acidic state; it did just that, before our very eyes. He was surprised; his omniscience had skipped the birth of a boy with matter-altering abilities. I know, now, that this was because I am Creation’s lone fluke; never having been part of the plan of history, his all-seeing eyes never knew of my existence until he passed down that alley. I wonder, though, at times… in all the infinite vastness of Guardpike, what was the contingency of him passing through that very alley? Am I truly not part of the initial plan for the course of history; was Anethesteus’ founding of that lonely soul curled in a fetal ball of misery truly coincidence?
He had not looked at me with perturbation. Not with leery abhorrence as my mother had as she yanked my endeared blanket away from me that I had transcended into a gilded-silk sheet. “Why do you not turn your rags into robes, this alley into a moat and these bricks into impenetrable castle walls?” he had asked. The thought had never crossed my mind, but no pondering was necessary. “I’d be alone in that kingdom. I don’t want that.” He smiled at me then, and asked “What is your name?” He rose from his original kneeling position and my eyes followed his as I replied, “Mah-Kierre.” He had a smile that held genuine compassion and an unparalleled authenticity. “That one’s a mouthful.” His laugh blessed the lane yet again. “I’m going to call you Maker, if that’s alright with you.” I recall nodding in immediate consent, as if not of my own accord. “Well then, Maker, I have a kingdom of my own. Would you like to come live there with me?” I nodded again, unable to speak due to astonishment of his selfless offer. And so, my life began anew.
The eager interest that had charged his eyes just before dissipated, and was replaced with a void of worry. He’d been concerned at my retort; I hadn’t the slightest indication as to why this desultory figure cared for my situation, and yet had no doubt that he full-heartedly did. “You are too young to have nowhere to call home,” Anethesteus had told me. “I’m not young!” the words had escaped my lips with an immaturity that invalidated my point. He laughed then, and it was a laugh the likes of which I had never known nor ever will – affable, animated, ardent. “I’m not young,” I’d repeated with more surety and steadiness backing my words.
Seriousness had then clouded Anethesteus’ ever-changing eyes. “Where are your mother and father?” his tone had not been harsh, nor demanding. “I do not know,” I’d answered guardedly. My deceit had not phased his omniscience, and he had patiently waited for me to retract my previous dishonesty. “They are home,” I could not conceal my despair from him. “So you have a place you know as home.” There had been no malice in his words. “I used to,” I had replied, tears already making there way to the forefront of my eyes. “Why is it no longer your home, little one?” his voice had been soothing in my ears, the kindness reminding me of the gentle mother who had once held me tight when I’d wake up, startled and crying out, from a nightmare. “I started to change.” There was no avoiding his gaze as the tears began to spill, the salt of my tears burning my cracked skin. He had not reached out to me in an attempt to comfort me, and I’ve never been quite sure of why that is. Instead, he simply asked, “What changes did they disapprove of in you so drastically that they’d leave you at the mercy of the cruelty of the streets?”
“No,” I had explained to him, cautious of the response he’d take to my words. “I changed other things. Look.” At that, I touched one of the bricks that made the wall I’d slept against for weeks and envisioned it dissolving into an acidic state; it did just that, before our very eyes. He was surprised; his omniscience had skipped the birth of a boy with matter-altering abilities. I know, now, that this was because I am Creation’s lone fluke; never having been part of the plan of history, his all-seeing eyes never knew of my existence until he passed down that alley. I wonder, though, at times… in all the infinite vastness of Guardpike, what was the contingency of him passing through that very alley? Am I truly not part of the initial plan for the course of history; was Anethesteus’ founding of that lonely soul curled in a fetal ball of misery truly coincidence?
He had not looked at me with perturbation. Not with leery abhorrence as my mother had as she yanked my endeared blanket away from me that I had transcended into a gilded-silk sheet. “Why do you not turn your rags into robes, this alley into a moat and these bricks into impenetrable castle walls?” he had asked. The thought had never crossed my mind, but no pondering was necessary. “I’d be alone in that kingdom. I don’t want that.” He smiled at me then, and asked “What is your name?” He rose from his original kneeling position and my eyes followed his as I replied, “Mah-Kierre.” He had a smile that held genuine compassion and an unparalleled authenticity. “That one’s a mouthful.” His laugh blessed the lane yet again. “I’m going to call you Maker, if that’s alright with you.” I recall nodding in immediate consent, as if not of my own accord. “Well then, Maker, I have a kingdom of my own. Would you like to come live there with me?” I nodded again, unable to speak due to astonishment of his selfless offer. And so, my life began anew.
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