The End of Time
Written by: Karin [uschibear ]

The Island, the most serene Eden in the world, had been banned from visitation for centuries. I know, as a recipient of all the knowledge contained among its citizens, I am both God and worm. Each of us, as a service to our race was charged with discovering whether or not these immortals should be allowed the cure, which is our magic to bestow, or should suffer in isolation for eternity?

I stretched and rolled in the tiny egg, so infinitesimal it would require eyes far more acute than any the people confined to this exquisite jail owned. Although they had the skills as artists to create beauty to match that around them, did their hearts finally have the humility and humbleness to allow them the cure, and therefore death?

Would they kill me, as they had the first three of my ancestors? Ignorance of the transformation that would take place if they allowed me to grow and mature, to spin my chrysalis had been the downfall of them. They thought only of their precious roses, required food for those such as I. The next three, had fared little better.

How could such a gruesomely horrid death come from those who brought art to life? Great paintings, intricate fabrics, poetry that begged to be memorized and recited when love was found, and entrancing strains of music which held the listener in rapt attention and till the last note died a lingering death into silence.

Now as I burst from my egg, a tiny sliver of green undulating caterpillar, I found myself on the underside of a rose bush leaf. The green almost the exact shade of my skin, it would hide me perfectly until my first molt required me to climb into the heart of a magnificent bloom and beginning the second stage of growth. I must gorge myself on the attar, the very molecules which gave the flowers their enchanting scent. The gardeners who created stunning landscapes for them to enjoy found the next three generations there, and before we could escape, crushed us under heavy heels carved from the same wood sculptors used to make life like copies of our cousins the moths.

I had the heartbreaking awareness I was their last chance. Would they see beyond the destruction of one flower, to understand I must be allowed to grow into a fat blob of emerald skinned jelly which could barely cling to a thorn to begin the arduous task of spinning my protective cocoon. Did they understand our process well enough to understand I must transform in order to grant them their desire to cease?

The last one before, my cousin Anterria, had been dropped a hundred years ago, and had made it through to the last days before breakout before a curious gardener had pulled her chrysalis from its branch and broken it open. Unaware he would kill the lovely creature inside, he finally made the connection between our meter long glass like protective enclosure, and what we would become. At least he proclaimed his discovery.

Love brought death to those who left the curious ecosystem. Being human, and unable to understand the fundamental changes in their poor bodies, the drive to explore took them on to every corner of their world, bring a deadly plague with them, killing hundreds. It took the best part of a century in their years, to discover the pattern which emerged, and then suddenly, not a single ship visited. Those who remained, transformed to immortal completely, and as is the case, were sterile as well. No need for new souls when those who were there would live on in perpetuity.

Not one child had been born after the mythical beginnings of their memories. The arrival of a sailing ship, and the first grateful sips of water the parched adventurers had let dribble into parched lips, had set in motion a change. This erased as only the contagion could do, the first stage of the change. The unique atmosphere of Eden, Island of Paradise sustained those who remained to complete the final steps, and if I released the equilibrium which kept them from aging, then the twenty five embryos and small fetuses which the women carried, would also begin to grow as they aged.

Those who left took a fatal gift with them. It killed those who traveled and those who loved them as surely as if the knife were already in their heart. A miserable, painful, breath robbing plague which burned them up from inside. The coughing so severe; it broke ribs. It became known as Blue plague, far more deadly than any of the previous influenza's which had reeked havoc as they spread from one continent to the next. Those who managed to survive were forever weakened, unable to do the heavy labor required by farmers and craftsmen.

At first it wasn't understood, but over the course of many outbreaks, the others finally comprehended. They banned all contact with Eden. Deadly as it was beautiful. Those who remained were left to suffer alone and forever alive. Curious travelers came to look, and to point, but never close enough for those trapped to entice then to shore. Eventually curiosity ceased, dying to the more practical needs of commerce and fishing.

The source of the contagion resided in a quietly cordoned hall, away from anyone who would partake of the sparkling fountain at the alter there. The other sources of water didn't have the same startling transformative properties. Only this one, where you needed to kneel in supplication to reach forward over worn marble stones into a pool which magically never overflowed. The water danced, so clear the illusion of nothing remained. One could hear the droplets dancing and splashing, but the eyes insisted it did not exist. Only if the kneeling curious were daring enough to reach out, to test, then did their questing hands find water. The scent sweet and the feel soft to the skin, it begged to be tasted.

And then change began, the Blue plague took weeks to show and then only in those who left. From each ship which visited a few remained, and when the last one left, and only the curious searched their shores with spyglasses, there were perhaps two hundred souls trapped.

Our own history recited the reason for this one place, this single island on a world otherwise forever pastoral, peaceful, prosperous, perfectly poised in equilibrium for the people who lived on it. Humanoid, like so many other places, Earth, Qinta, Sanata, and Holastem all showed thriving populations of the same biosphere and eventual development of the human genotype.

We had our own history of misguided philosophies and tortured dictators with insane agendas. Eventually we progressed to the point of long lives, thousands of years, but blessed with the eventual end of time. The knowledge we would end. The water, we as magical bestowing beings, needed to nurture us, was unique to our ecosystem as far as we knew. I knew I could grant their fondest wish, including the ability to age, and end time.

In a turbulent era, early in our discovery of other sentient beings, a generous misguided leader decided to place alters, magically protected in obscure locations in several worlds. Early in their life cycle, where our studies had indicated the humanoid track would proceed. Those worlds where insects would take the higher path, were not altered. It would be a sin to play with them.

A thousand thousand years later, we began to track them down. The molecules which gave us long magical lives of enduring self discovery and creative outlets, were a curse for humanoid life forms. Our enlightened state, we were Gods to many lesser cultures, and the plague of guilty consciences forced the high council to send out many ships. Each manned by one mature Mantillan and ten eggs, carefully set in stasis to be planted in those worlds we had unforgivably altered. The ship carried the antidote, the DNA alterations to bring aging back to humans cursed with immortality. In other words, magic means to cure.

We had the vaccine for the fatal Blue plague, created by the fountain, the price paid by those who left the island before transformation was complete, brought to the others with hugs, kisses, and love.

We had the neutralizer which would end the effect of the fountain, turning it into a cure for half a dozen chronic immune disfunctions including the scrooge of cancer.

I sighed, driven, climbed my way outward on the branch to seek the roses. The delectable scent and my insatiable appetite blended into gut wrenching need, and I buried myself into the center of the yellow rose. My jaws ached, but I could not stop, driven by instinct older than our prodigious memories. I knew each and everyone of our species had survived the gorge, the teaching tapes played in the stasis sublimation station imparted the necessary basics and our mission statement. Nothing in them prejudiced the young to become anything specific. That too, had long gone from our home planet. We'd perfected sentient machines which were more than happy to do the mundane tasks of maintenance.

Impressed upon my psyche the imprint of guilt, and guise of magic we wove around us. For it could only be magic, which would give these trapped souls what they desired most. Release from utopia so varied and yet so much the same. Nothing new to bring forth, as their brains were not yet evolved to shed old memories from their data storage. I'm sorry. I should not compare the brain of a living thinking, organic being to the banks of binomial bits which stored AI programs for machines.

Above me I noted the yellow roses had been coaxed to climb an arched trellis to form a quiet corner arbor. Now that my eyes were able to discern more than dim objects and large splotches of color, I noted the sturdy hooks at the top of the bower. I also heard the head gardener, the very same one who had killed Anterria. His quiet well modulated tenor seemed to be explaining something to an unseen audience. I turned my antenna, tuning the distance until the buzz cleared.

"Hush, and no you cannot go closer to observe. I have mistakenly taken the life of more than one of these creatures, and now that another has finally appeared, and it seems they only come once in a century, we will let it mature!" The syllables projected clearly now that I'd adjusted for the frequency of human speech.

"But Daniel, I promise to be careful. You've been at us for decades about how we can't allow another death. Everyone has it ingrained, we practically eat, breathe and sleep it." The female sounded petulant and bored.

I guess I was a new form of entertainment. I could hardly blame the curious. Something different, something new. I understood having watched what our nursery keeper and starship captain had seen over the 900 years in orbit. Nothing approached Eden, not sea life, nor bird life, or any of the ships he'd noted still sailed the oceans of this world. To be sentenced to eternity, with no chance of new stimulus, it would horror to me.

"Isabella, no!" Daniels voice brooked no disobedience. "I will cause you pain beyond your imagination, for days on end. You know I can. I will protect this one. The creature which will emerge is much like our butterflies and moths, but much more."

He was right there. My wings would span two meters, and from top to bottom almost three. They are iridescent. In this case, since I had chosen to eat yellow roses, every shade of gold from pale yellow to deep umber. Laced with fine black lines like old Earth's Monarch butterflies. There had been hope they would evolve into something more when we found them.

"Then can we at least have a window, there," Isabella pointed to the side of the glass enclosure I only noticed now.

"Aye, you and all the others may take turns watching. This one will cocoon itself like the last one, I have no idea how long it's life stages will take. We might have to wait for some months. It will be big enough to dwarf us I think."

He might have murdered Anterria, but he had taken the time to dissect her poor body. He'd understood instantly how the wings would expand, and we were indeed related in some way to the moths they so loved to sculpt. He was the oddity, the scientist among the artisans.

"Can we bring our paints?" Isabella asked, "I wish to be lucky enough to see it emerge!"

There was hope for these spoiled immortals. I noted the undertone of regret others had been misunderstood and treated like the pests which devasted the few crops they planted.

Perhaps this would be a successful mission after all. I had hope. I wonder if I will be able to communicate with these people. Are there those among these artists who have turned to science? Do they finally understand the need to clearly communicate? Why hadn't even one of them gone the route of experimentation and learning how things worked and why? Other worlds where we had retrieved our life altering fountains had. Was the magic of science beginning here at long last?

One world had even found a vaccine and limited the use of the fountain to the wisest of them, preserving the greatest minds of science for all time. Not this one. Here this gift was cursed and segregated in fear. Change was slow, almost imperceptible. I marveled yet again at the diversity of the universe. How choices and survival of the fittest dictated advancement of technology and science.

I dragged myself into the center of another rose. Cursing the need to gorge, the pain in my jaw and my grossly swollen body. Looking back, I saw the limp decimated blooms that marked my progress toward the top of the arched trellis. Close to my goal, which was only a day or two away now, as I'd worked my way through the hearts of twenty or more flowers, was a single brilliantly carmine bud, just beginning to break the green shell which had encased it. I would have a few spots of lively fire on my wings after all.

This was magic indeed, the final pattern of shading in my wings would be random, but I could dictate the hues by choosing which roses to eat. The red one was next to the considerately placed hook. I looked forward to the task of spinning. The gorge was almost over.

Oh, how I longed to respond to the questions. The observations. The gardener, who's name was Thomas correctly presumed my chrysalis was becoming more transparent which each day. I knew it would take 130 days from the moment I closed the last hole in my cocoon. Once I struggled free, I would be able to communicate with those I chose, and I chose Thomas as my first contact. The man showed such care for my fragile case. The arbor had been segregated and guarded from all possible disturbances. He ordered a large tent to be settled over me and my rose arbor. No wind swayed my home.

I had a perfect transformation period. Many of us had died in centuries past when storms wrenched us from our delicate attachment points. Thomas made sure I would never have such a horrifying experience. There, I felt it, the tear had started. At last, I wriggled fiercely. The air inside suddenly cooler, I had to hurry. The temperature made my wings begin their expansion. Of all the things in the universe, please don't let me be the one who could not free myself from the broken case. It did happen.

My eyes caught movement. Thomas understood my predicament. The glass like cover hadn't split properly. He approached with a tiny blade, like the one he used to graft roses, with a touch more delicate than an eye surgeon's, he sliced the stuck portion across my back open and pried it apart.

I twisted, sliding my new body, with its narrow waist, and pixie face out into freedom, my wings following. Clinging to the branch I hoped there would be enough room for my wings to grow. Again, Thomas to the rescue. He reached up, freeing my trembling arms and legs, and gently placed me on a patch of lawn, in the open where sunshine speared through an opening in the roof of the tent.

I began the rapid flutter, the strain on my shoulders and hips was welcome. I heard the sighs as Thomas' companions stared in rapt attention. I looked over my shoulder to see what I had created during the long sleep. I was right. One bright crimson spot in each quadrant. Concentric borders of deepening yellow, the palest close to the red. Stained glass sections between black dividers grew in minutes and I fanned them dry.

I folded them together and then opened them to show their full glory, iridescent in the sun. Gasps rose from the unseen spectators, and I turned. Thomas stood there his mouth open.

"I greet you, majestic creature. I wish I could talk to you," his voice was reverent.

I adjusted my antenna once more. You can, I am the answer to your fondest wish. Nod if you understand me.

Slowly his head tilted forward, once then twice.

I bring the end of time.

"A miracle! It speaks. It brings a cure!" Thomas shouted.

Chaos erupted behind the glass window. Cheers and questions.

Do you believe in magic?

"I have always believed this place was magic. Black magic. You bring the white. Welcome"

We have work to do.

I would bring the magic of death to Eden. They were worthy.