Tether (Patreon)

This is a story I’ve been intermittently trying to write for a few years now. This specific iteration is one I recently submitted to a magazine.

————

On the shore of a beach, a demon was being born. Suddenly aware of his own existence, he found himself suffocating beneath the burning earth.

Still-cooling claws pushed sand out of the way, desperately trying to find a way out of the molten tomb.

Eventually he breached the surface, fell down on his back, and stared up at the stars, panting. The night air stung his unpracticed lungs, and he felt like a crab that had just molted.

He didn’t know how he knew what a crab was.

High above him, a white light pierced the sky, a rectangular slice of sky opened up and spilled forth a figure, snow-white, rounded wings opening to catch his fall.

Light footsteps approached, crunching softly into the damp sand. “Evening,” said the stranger. He offered a hand up, which the demon refused. He (the demon) struggled to his feet on his own, the other one watching him respectfully.

The demon stumbled, legs unused to bipedalism. The angel is next to him in a flash, helping the stranger up. His skin, the demon noted, was soft and smooth and cool to the touch like marble. He doesn’t know what marble is, either.

The angel gave the stranger a wide, kind smile. His teeth are impossibly white.

“You’re naked,” said the demon, brushing sand from his hardening shell. His whole body was coated in a dark blue carapace, like an insect, with a tail like an earwig or centipede.

“So are you,” replied the angel, whose pale, nacre-like flesh had mottled spots like a cowrie shell. “What’s my name, again?”

“Ozymandias,” the demon said, knowing it to be true. “But everyone just calls you Ozzy.”

“Has a nice ring to it. Your name is Basil, by the way.”

“Like the herb?” Basil asked, taken slightly aback.

“No,” said Ozzy. “Like the monster. You know, the basilisk?”

“That’s so much worse actually,” said Basil.

Ozzy looked away, further inland. “I think we need to go that way.”

“Sure,” Basil said, as he has no better ideas.

As they walk, Basil’s carapace hardens. Eventually, his chest and belly glow like a firefly’s, which is helpful in the dark.

“Can’t you fly?” Basil asked after pushing away another tree branch blocking his path.

“Certainly,” Ozzy said, smiling. He’s always smiling, actually. “But I like walking with you.”

“Oh, cool.” Basil said, not sure how to respond. “I guess.”

Eventually the forest gave way to suburbs, the artificial light stinging Basil’s eyes. Ozzy walked directly towards what appeared to be a payphone, and dialed a number. He hheld up the receiver for them both to hear.

“Rank and number, please,” the voice on the other end said. They sounded tired.

“We’re new,” Ozzy said, as if reading from a script. “No rank yet.”

There’s a pause. “Right, okay. Location?”

“Northern hemisphere, longitude twenty-nine or so, latitude close to minus-ninety-five.”

“There’s a Department of Benevolence branch in the town of Rainshadow. How close are you to that?”

“We are currently in the outskirts of Rainshadow. What’s the address?” Ozzy asked.

“2277 Founder’s Road. Tell them Celestine CR-8912 sent you.”

“Thank you, Celestine.” Ozzy said.

The phone went silent.

“How the hell did you know all of that?” Basil asked.

“No clue,” Ozzy admitted. “I just did.”

“Do you know what a crab is?”

Ozzy contemplated this. “I think I’d know one if I saw it.”

“Fair enough.”

The DOB branch turned out to be a squat, gray building. It was brightly lit from within, shining like a beacon on the sleepy, late-night street.

“Are we sure we want into a building run by the Department of Benevolence?” Basil asked.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Ozzy replied.

“If you’re really benevolent, why would you need to say so?”

“It’s run by angels, Basil. Nothing more benevolent than that.”

Basil harrumphed but didn't argue further.

There’s a waiting room on the inside, empty except for a meek-looking receptionist.

“We’re new,” Ozzy said to her. “Celestine CR-8912 sent us for registration.”

“Welcome,” the receptionist said with practiced kindness. “I can verify and print your documentation while you both get orientated, if you like?”

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Ozzy said.

“Excellent. Please make your way to the end of the left hallway. Your demon should go to the third door on the right hallway.”

Basil flashed Ozzy a look.

“Sounds good,” Ozzy said. He walked away.

Basil knocked on the third door. It opens, and another demon in a nurse’s uniform greets him. She’s large, but not imposing.

“Hello,” she said. “You’re new, I take it?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s a joke, kid. Obviously you’re new.”

“Right,” Basil said. “What are we doing exactly?”

“First, getting you a physical. I’m going to need you to run some tests.”

Basil complies, and the other demon notes his height, weight, and biological composition. His heart rate is measured, as is his blood pressure and a few other statistics. There’s a slight sting as the nurse takes a shaving from one of his horns, and then another from his tail.

He flinched as another piece of shell was carved off. “Is all of this really necessary?”

“We’re almost done, kid.”

The nurse lifted Basil’s chin up, driving what felt like a wedge into his lower neck. Basil audibly yelped this time, then again as something was pressed down on it.

It burned intensely for a minute, before sizzling down to warm.

“What the fuck was that?” Basil asked, still shaking. He tried to feel whatever is now on his neck, but a hand swats him away.

“Let it cool completely.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Basil said.

“It’s your ID sigil. Everyone gets one. Normally it’s not chiseled in like that, but your carapace is too tough for anything else.”

“Follow up question: Why is my ID grafted onto my neck?”

“So you won’t lose it.”

“Right. Okay,” Basil said, voice dripping with sarcastic fear, “That makes sense.”

“It will eventually. Trust the process; your angel will fill you in on the details.”

“What does it say?” Basil asked.

“SL-1200. SL is sloth.” The nurse paused. “The sin, not the animal.”

“Awesome. Can I go now?”

The nurse gave Basil a simple outfit and a cool rag and sent him back out into the waiting room. His neck no longer hurt, but he was still quite annoyed.

The sigil was shaped like a circle and felt like metal, and he could feel ‘SL-1200’ on it as he touched it, along with some kind of lined pattern he couldn’t recognize.

Basil began tapping his foot nervously, waiting for Ozzy. He made a conscious decision to stop, then resumed. It’s not like anyone would care.

A little while later, Ozzy stepped out of his orientation room and sat next to Basil. He was also now wearing a tee shirt and pants.

“How are you holding up?” Ozzy asked. He pu one hand on Basil's arm feather-light, as though polishing something delicate.

“Ehhh,” Basil said. “My orientation or whatever didn't make a lot of sense. I think I got cattle-branded.”

“What?” Ozzy asked, his grip growing slightly tighter. “Where? Are you okay? Does it hurt?“

”My neck, yeah, and kinda.”

“Let me see it.”

”Fine, but don't touch it.“ Basil pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the sigil.

Ozzy touched it, intending to trace the edge.

“Christ, I just said not to touch it!“ Basil said, pulling back.

Ozzy blinked. ”Right. Sorry. That pattern... I've seen that somewhere before.“

”Did you get a brand too?“

”No,“ Ozzy said dreamily. ”I saw it... before.“

”Before what?“

”Before we were... alive, I guess.“

”Mmm. Well good to know that my ritualistic scarring wasn't all for nothing.“

”No, that was still weird.“

”Was it weird?” Basil asked. “What did they give you?“

”A piece of string.“

”What? Why?“

”It's a... tether, I think. Why would burning you not be weird?”

Basil made an indignant little noise. ”This place is like the DMV, kinda, right? And everyone knows the DMV sucks.”

“I don't think they stick metal onto people at the DMV.” Ozzy said neutrally.

“How confident are you in that assertion?”

Ozzy gesticulated. “That's not the point. Look, something about this place is fishy. You noticed that earlier, and I see it now too. It's... weird. It's not fair, I think, that you got burned and I didn’t.“

Basil cocked an eyebrow. ”Do you want to get burned too?“

”Other way around,“ Ozzy said. ”I'm not even sure what the string is for.“

”Mm, they told me you'd understand and fill me in.“

”They told me that you'd understand and fill me in.“ Ozzy said, turning to the front desk and walking towards it. “Excuse me, ma'am. What are we supposed to do? Where are we supposed to go?”

“You have a pickup coming in a few minutes,“ the receptionist explained. ”Please be patient. I know this is... a lot.“ She sounded genuinely sympathetic, and more than a little tired. ”Just stick together, okay?“

”Very well,“ Ozzy said, pausing as he turned away. ”What's the string for, by the way?“

”It's a representation of the metaphorical red string of fate.“

”Because it's a literal piece of red string? Sure. But what does it do?“

The receptionist chuckled. “It's a little bit magic. You and your demon each hold one end, and it will bind to you. Only you two see it, and it will lead you back to one another no matter what.“

”That's kinda gay,“ said Basil from across the room.

Ozzy turned. ”Do you not want to hold it?“

”I didn't say that.“