The Mook Maker

Ari was ready to let go.

 

Her past, forever lost to the haze of confusion and forgetfulness, no longer mattered. 

 

She once had been a lone girl, abandoned, unworthy, lost and damned, cast away by her people for transgressions she didn’t even remember, or understand, who had once grieved the loss of her memories, was terrified of the fog that descended upon her mind. 

 

There was a Serpent in that fog, hidden, laying in wait. 

 

For a time, she struggled, she ran, she took all the suffering, and all the abuse the world was capable of, and didn’t utter a single whisper in protest. 

 

It was the way of the world. 

 

What would a simple girl do about it? 

 

It used to feel unchangeable, even as the thoughts slithered away, as the snakes in the grass, as shy, as slippery, as unseen, as they were venomous. She still didn’t doubt it. 

 

The customs of her people demanded she obey the will of her father, to respect, honour and exalt her ancestors, she could still remember this, even as the recollection of the events long passed that skittered away from her grasp one by one, as those little, moving things, caught and devoured by the serpent in the dark.

 

She had clung to the memories for a while, as they all disappeared, and her life went to ruin, as did the world around her. 

 

Her family, her ancestors, and false gods, left her alone, dirty, stumbling through the land, abused by the commoner villagers and bandits alike, tainted and unwanted, her mind shattered. 

 

That Ari was nobody’s daughter, she understood now. 

 

Sometimes, she could recall words of her mother, yelling at Ari she wasn’t a daughter, she wasn’t a member of the family, that she was a monster. The words of her father, and his face, if he ever spoke, had been lost to the fog and serpents within. 

 

Fleeting moments like this were becoming rarer and rarer. 

 

Nobody’s daughter didn’t need to honour her ancestor, because she had no ancestors to honour. She has been cast away, disowned, forgotten. No one missed the girl left in the dirt. 

 

That girl was gone. 

 

Dead.

 

Maybe that girl never existed.

 

Ari, the girl who she had become, embraced the fog that devoured, and the Serpent within, and the monsters beyond. She now answered to a power beyond human ken, it liberated her from her guilt, taint, and blame. The girl was no longer affected by the trivialities of men and was bound only to one master's will. 

 

It was all she thought, in that fleeting moment of clarity, when she understood more than any mortal could imagine, as the serpent that haunted her mind rendered itself to flesh, to Ari’s very womb, to be reborn again. 

 

No longer did it matter what the cruel bandits did to the girls like her. 

 

For Ari was remade in flesh, and the Serpent, sated by the memories devoured, grew in flesh, to slither the world again, among her kin, born of the fog, born from her, among the root with thousands of eyes.

 

Eyes! 

 

The thread of life’s warmth pulsated in Ari’s sight, and the arcane forces throbbed within her veins, and the language of the Spirits came to her clearly, as if it always had been her own. 

 

She understood so much; she was given so much. 

 

Ari heard the shadows sing, and everything became clearer with their tune. 

 

Thousands of voices, the choir was beautiful, humming the melody of the world’s demise.  

 

Her Lord and Master gave her an order. 

 

His orders would be obeyed. 

 

The barrier to raise, and temples were yet to be built, to shield against the treacherous heavens above, to spread the power of her Master, to drown the land in the fog as red as the blood from which a new life shall soon be born.

 

In the end, all would be one. From a single root. 

 

But this, this was the future. As much as she felt in her bones, in her blood, the present was now. 

 

Ari had a task, a trial of her own. 

 

Her mind was, however, overburdened with the thoughts, the revelations, the ideas, and the memories, all swirling together, as the voices of the Spirits echoed in her head, and in her ears, their grand designs revealed. 

 

The memories of Ari’s mother, vague yet disgusting as the carcass of a dead animal, were among it, distracting her. 

 

She danced around the courtyard of the ruined shrine, trying to grasp at the powers which her freshly remolded flesh had given her, to erect the barrier - a wall - a fog, to hide them all. 

 

Ari moved and tried, driven by an instinct that barely settled in. She didn’t understand why. Perhaps it was the shadows that led steps, humming the melody resonating through her surroundings, or maybe she wanted to trample down the essence in its place, so the ruby fog may rise. 

 

It wasn’t a proper dance - one to please a noble audience with, or the complex ritual to beseech the heavens for favour - for Ari didn’t know how to do any of those things, yet in bore significance she could not put into words, despite all the blessings that had been bestowed upon her. 

 

Ari had plenty to learn. One journey ended in the muddy ditch for the girl that was dead in the world, but another began for the herald of the Root, carrying the Serpent. There was so much clarity on her new purpose. 

 

The unseen power trembled within and without, in the laid stones beneath, and in the squared timber, in a way she still couldn’t describe, to weave together like the very tapestry of fate, telling her she did right.

 

It worked.  

 

The memories, like the snakes peeking from the reeds, distracted her, blaming voices coming from the faces she no longer remembered, came back, and with them came a failure.

 

Monster. Said the woman’s voice from the past. 

 

Ari wished the Serpent ate those memories as well before she rendered herself to the flesh of the Herald’s womb. 

 

She refused to go back. Alas, the silent companion, no longer present in her mind, could not take the distraction away, and once again, the girl's focus slipped. 

 

Like the threads she did not weave properly, it came apart.

 

The threads of magic, invisible and intangible, enveloping this place were nothing like the ordinary fabric she was accustomed to weaving. Instead, they resembled the fundamental element of the indescribable essence, quivering like a subtle tremor she could feel in her bones. Something fractured, came undone, and just like a stone tumbling down a mountain.

 

Almost as if the very surroundings denied the change, denied the claim, and dared to refuse the Master’s call.

 

She sent the debris flying when the invisible force slipped her control, sweeping the surrounding ruins like the summer rain. 

 

The voices continued their song, but their disappointment was palpable from the piece of debris she accidentally sent her master’s way. Madame Ekaterina shielded him. It bounced away from her armour, but the act was done. 

 

“Forgive me, my Lord!” she breathed out, falling on her knees, lowering her head in front of her master, her god. 

 

His presence shone like a beacon lit on the thousands of whispers singing in the low, gentle croon. It shined, guided her, and all the Spirits united them in the single purpose. 

 

Ari failed that purpose. Maybe her thoughts of threads ruined her great work - the girl she once was could sew and weave - and her limited imagination, and her limited imagination was her undoing. Or treacherous flashbacks to words long forgotten betrayed her. 

 

The litany of shadows even told her the names of the Greater Spirits, a list of beings to be disenchanted by her failure. 

 

“There is no need. You are learning, Ari.” The Master said, “Rise. You don’t need to kneel in front of me.” 

 

She wouldn’t dare. They gave her so much. 

 

Ari was freed from the shackles of the mortals’ customs, but even then, she had to show respect for her lord and his greatest spirit that had assembled to witness the act. Their voices, unspoken but still ringing through the girl’s head, muttered about her failure, though many offered even greater gifts to help her in the task. 

 

Even the Bat Spirits, one that gave her the first of the blessings, were invited to see this, and she failed. 

 

“Yes, my Lord.” she said, “This one apologies. This one doesn’t know how to do it properly.” 

 

Silently, she blamed the memories slipping away; she decided. The one she swore to leave behind - Ari was nobody’s daughter - should not come back. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

“It refused, my Lord. This place refused, and this one was too distracted to focus.” 

 

Ari answered. It was the truth. She was distracted, distracted by the reminiscence of the past she ought to leave behind, and she should not have been now. She embraced her new call with her very being. Ari would not forgive herself, even if her master were willing to forgive her for her failure.

 

His orders would be obeyed.

 

Ari was suddenly tempted to ask for permission, to seek the ones that once disowned them, and tear them apart, with her own claws, as the monster she called her. Not for revenge, but to forever remove them from history, completing her rebirth, so, in the future, there should be no distraction. 

 

Nothing would bring her back. 

 

The Bat Spirit offered to give her claws. She could sense them through the shadows that sang. She would accept. 

 

“A shrine is still somehow consecrated? Lady didn’t turn it down?” 

 

“She can’t, Master.” Madame Arke, the Greatest of Bat Spirits, said: “She pestered us about turning her priest to spawn too so she could grant them powers.” 

 

“You know how to do it?” 

 

“No. But we have a lot of ideas, Master.” 

 

Grant Ari claws, she thought, not intervening with the matters between her master and his Greater Spirits. They were symbols, as well as tools. 

 

Monster.  

 

The woman from Ari’s past repeated, and the girl, now reborn, wanted to be a monster, to embrace all the blessings, and finally, complete the first spell. The Spirits had plenty of blessings for those who followed. 

 

“...but Ari could do it. She has powers now…” 

 

Ari stayed silent as the Master discussed this with Spirits, not daring to interrupt. It was not her turn to speak, though she dared to look up, to watch the assembly of the Spirits around. 

 

They did not mind. 

 

She did not fear them either, even the water spirit, floating in the air as if it was the sea, her tentacles waving in the air, wasn’t terrifying. The word for the creature, an animal, living in the oceans, came to her through that shining aura. She did not know that word. 

 

The Spirits, though, were all magnificent. 

 

Ari was blessed. 

 

This was where she belonged, she thought, wordlessly arguing with the lurking memories which Serpent left behind. 

 

Memories, a sparse recollection of the events long gone, were few, but unruly, like the little moving things prancing around once the snake praying on them was gone, and Ari didn’t need them anymore. 

 

She was where she was supposed to be. 

 

This was where she was supposed to go all this time. 

 

The remembrance of the times gone now bothered her, haunted her, but she didn’t want to return to that time or place. .  

 

She was home.

 

Perhaps not among the Greater Spirits. She felt privileged to be among them, still unworthy of their company. They were the Master’s closest, and His finest, beautiful, powerful and elegant.  

 

They never shunned her, but perhaps it was among their smaller kin where she belonged, as they welcomed her without protest, without discord, without hostility. Many stayed in the village where she was sent, or even accompanied her, some hidden, others visible, protected her. 

 

She wished she could do as much as they did. 

 

Madame Kirke, the Moth Spirit, came closer, offered one hand, and Ari reached back. It was the Greater Moth Spirit, who rose from the shrine that bound even the old dragon to the service of the true god. 

 

The power, unseen, yet rippling through flesh, answered, but Ari was not worthy yet. There was a link, connection, even if faint, to the enchanted tree outside, the very one that has been expected from her as well, for she was the herald for the beings from the beyond. 

 

If only she had a way to seep this into the stone as the Moth Spirit could command the plants, other than that she tried that already, to redefine the boundary of the shrine, and all the sway it contained within, some persisting even as the structure was brought to ruin. 

 

She couldn’t do anything. 

 

“Arke, please try to boost her power. We were able to overpower it before.” 

 

“Yes, Master.” 

 

Her Lord ordered, and Madame Kirke stepped away, and now, the winged form of Madame Arke loomed over her. 

 

Ari had no fear. She even marvelled at the Spirit’s living outfit, bound of flesh, bone, and skin, a living dress. 

 

Through the Bat Spirits, the flesh was reshaped, reborn, freed from all restrictions, bound to the will of the only entity that mattered: Her Master. 

 

If only she could bind this place down as the Bat and Moth Spirits reigned over the life itself. 

 

She couldn’t, yet she would try. 

 

His orders would be obeyed.

 

But then, the memory, the treacherous, unwanted one that Ari sought to cast away, protested. Monster. 

 

Ari wanted to become the monster the memory had cast her as, to spite it, or to agree with it, only to make it go away. 

 

After all, she was where she belonged, among monsters. 

 

As the incomprehensible forces flowing freely from the claws of the Greater Spirit ripped through Ari’s muscles and blood, she embraced it with her very being once again. 

 

She was not afraid. Greatness awaited. The Bat Spirits had plenty of gits. 

 

“Grant this one claws.” She uttered, as her hands and fingers tingle only slightly. There was no pain. Those unworthy and treacherous had experienced the greatest agony, Ari knew, but it did not happen to her, a further proof that her journey has been the most righteous one.

 

It was but a moment. Short, fleeting, but ‌also unforgettable, and eternal. 

 

When it ended, there was the same tickling, throbbing sensation in her veins, filling her heart with excitement. Her body was the clay to be reshaped, and she wanted to be remoulded to be a more fitting form. 

 

She looked at her hands. 

 

The fingers were tipped with the sharp, black claws, like one Madame Mai had, and her skin, though still tan, as it has been before, gained a smooth, scaly texture. Small-minded people, a spectre of the past abandoned, would dread them, but Ari felt pleased with the change. 

 

It brought her closer with the surrounding spirits. It was common among them, an ordinary trait among the new people, not the reflection of the bygone days which abandoned her, only to be abandoned themselves. 

 

“They are beautiful.” She said, to spite that reminiscence that once caused her to fail, to infuse the place with the essence of her Master granted to her. 

 

It throbbed in her veins, stronger than ever before, but would it be enough? 

 

This place, this shrine, was already in ruins, yet there was the trace of power within that refused her before, lingering, while outside, the hallowed trees changed by Madame Kirke’s magic thrived, yet it did not transcend the boundary of the temple. 

 

If only Ari would seep the essence of her master into the very ground, into the cold cobles she knelt upon.

 

Ari just didn’t know how. It was not the trade her past self had learned, nevertheless; she had an idea. An inspiration. 

 

If the power she needed was flowing within her, contained within her very being, under the skin, she would have to let it out, she realised. Then, without hesitation, she opened her wrist with the newly grown claws. 

 

The blood gushed out, but Ari was not bothered by it. 

 

In it, there was the power she wanted to channel, to seep into this place.

 

Quickly, decisively, she wrote in the stony courtyard the name of its true master to rule over it. Something deep within her guided her hand as the sanguine fluid pulsated with the unparalleled potency it did not have before, for she was chosen. A herald. 

 

They were the foreign words. 

 

Ari could write in her native language, even if barely, it was one of the skills she had been taught in the past, supposedly by her parents, likely so the girl would not embarrass them with her ignorance rather than the desire to enlighten. She remembered neither her lessons, nor the faces or true motives of her teachers, that had been long lost to the serpent, and Ari was comfortable to leave it this way. 

 

She embraced her new form, her new role, as she wrote the world in the no longer alien language of the spirits instead of the one of her ancestors, praying for this place to be reborn through her otherworldly patrons, just as Ari has been 

 

The tongue of her ancestor, ones who cast her out, was not welcomed there, and neither were their designs. 

 

The cold, dry stone drank the blood.

 

Ari could feel it, seeping into the ground, into the boundary of the shrine, sizzling, bubbling, choking the desecration still holding domain here, amongst the rubble. 

 

Suddenly, as the gusts of wind, the mist enveloped the destroyed shrine, but then, it dissipated again in the blink of an eye. 

 

The unseen border disappeared, but the barrier, the concept of which nestled itself in Ari’s mind, failed to appear, even as the choir of shadows sang the litany of her failure even further. 

 

Ari banished the desecration of the old gods, but in the end, failed to create what she was tasked to do. 

 

She felt ashamed. 

 

“This one failed again, my lord.” 

 

Even as the wound she had used to draw the blood to her ritual closed itself, the girl was ready to make the sacrifice anew, until the barrier she was tasked to raise would manifest itself. 

 

His orders would be obeyed. 

 

“You almost did it.” 

 

“This one is so sorry.” She blurted out, even as the healing magic of the Rat Spirits erased the cut she had caused. 

 

“No, Ari.” Her Master decided, stopping her act, waving his hand in dismissal: “You did not fail. This was just a test…” 

 

Test she had failed, she thought, her disappointment palpable.  

 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

 

She replied, not questioning the decision, yearning to undo the mistake, to make certain that she would - given another chance - do better. 

 

“If you can negate the magic of the dragon priestesses, even if occasionally, it is enough.” The Master continued, “Besides, it’s the Serpent you are carrying in you, aren’t you? You would need that blood.” 

 

The realisation swept over. In the eagerness of fulfilling His one plan, she jeopardised the other. 

 

“Forgive this one, my lord!” 

 

She once again lowered her head down in obeisance. 

 

“There is no problem. Narita would have healed you either way,” he continued. “I would have to ask you for the other task, Ari.” 

 

She was wasting the blessing given! It would not happen again. 

 

“This one is ready, my lord.” 

 

“You are the one to speak to the natives. You now understand both of our languages…” 

 

She did, she reminded herself, and it was her duty, her mission, and her penance, and her privilege to spread the word, one she was selected for. 

 

“...gather the followers, the volunteers, who would join us.” 

 

Then, a little thing came to her - the meaning of the word - a ‘native’ or a ‘human’ - people of this land. Others differed from her. It made her giggle. Among the blank, dark spaces of her memories, she could still recall the town she was born in, even the castle within, but it meant very little. 

 

It did not apply to her. Not anymore. If it ever did, she was where she belonged now.

 

“This one would bring them to you, my lord.” 

 

“The Defilers…” 

 

The Rat Spirits, she thought, it was strange to call them this way. Ari has been touched by the power of Madame Narita, and she did not feel defiled, as it has been that long time ago, in the life past, and forgotten, but invigorated and gifted instead.  

 

“...they could heal people like you without causing any pain. That would be the test.” 

 

That she understood. The Spirits held more power than inflicting the pain and suffering upon the unworthy, but she has been spared of it, never doubting the will of her Master. She pledged her soul, and her ethereal service, to him, and never looked back. 

 

It was the way. 

 

“Also, look for people who don’t feel intoxicated after Lily’s berries. My girls would help you, Ari.” 

 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

 

“Yes. Master.” 

 

“I want to find more people like you.” 

 

“This one understands, my lord. They would bow to you, accept your blessing, and be saved.” 

 

“Start with the fishing village, then proceed with the mining town. I do not know the names of those places.”

 

Ari did not know them either. She never asked, and now, she might not have to. 

 

“Yes, my lord, this one shall not disappoint.” 

 

“Thank you, Ari.” 

 

“My Lord, this one is ever grateful. This one would spread your word.” 

 

Ari raised her hand, looked upon her Master, then bowed down, deeply and in respect, once more before she dared to finally stand up. 

 

The girl, once lost, and cast out, forgotten, left in the ditch - that one was dead. 

 

She looked down at her hand, her fingers now tipped with the claws, and felt free, liberated from the shackles of a past she barely remembered, and understood this was how it was always meant to be. 

 

 Monster. 

 

The woman’s voice from her memories was still haunting her, but she would eventually turn to silence as well.

 

Ari knew what she had to do. 

 

As the Cat Spirit arrived, splitting a tear in the very fabric of existence, carrying her through the endless shitting void to the land by the sea, she found solace in the choir of voices, ever present, singing in harmony, and unity, without the discord, without jealousy. 

 

In the end, all shall be one, and there would be no more lost girls stumbling in the wilderness.

 

Ari felt reinvigorated. There was a task ahead of her, and she looked forward to it, to liberate others from the ties that bound them, to bring them into the fold where no one was ever abandoned. 

 

She did consider pleading with the Cat Spirit to take her to the old place, the one the old Ari came from, but she dismissed the idea - she would not stray away from her task or her Master. 

 

When she arrived in the shrine of the root, on the coast, she found the tree, raised as the monument to her new god, whole again. The cavity from which the new form of the Viridian High Lady emerged from was sealed once more, pulsating with new, renewed vigour, and remnants of the past sacrifice were all but consumed. 

 

Even the false gods could be reborn in the service of her master, and so shall to the mortals like her. The new people, unbound by the words of ‘native’ or ‘human’, better ones who embraced the shadows that sang, and the harmony, the unity they brought. 

 

It all would begin by the single step. 

 

Ari left the tree - the new shrine - behind and walked away to find Min Shin. 

 

The villagers must have carried him away. 

 

There was no reason for him to deny the call now the High Lady had returned and joined. 

 

She had a lot to offer to him. Now he was blinded by the enraged dragoness, only the Bat Spirits could give him fresh eyes. 

 

The shouts from the village distracted her thoughts as she walked. 

 

She looked around. 

 

First, she blamed herself for the commotion, a small mind unable to handle the blessing bestowed upon her, but it was not the case. 

 

They run around, some wanting to leave, the others pleading to the few Spirits present, and finally, to her, pointing towards the sea. 

 

“Priestess! Priestess! Look!” 

 

She rushed forward, between the huts, towards the decaying wharf, and looked to the horizon, the clear skies and the wide blue sea, as clear as it was when she left. There wasn’t a storm coming, and thus, no reason to panic. 

 

Ari looked closer. 

 

There was something which changed, and it was not the weather. 

 

There were sails on the horizon. 

 

New souls were coming to learn about her Lord and Master.