5: Chaye Sarah
Again, apologies for lateness. You know how it is...
He comes, as they all do, to the Well with an impossible wish. But that is the thing about the Well: in the infinite quantum deep, even the impossible can happen.
The priestess greets him, bids him rise. Behind her, the glowing rim of the yawning chasm casts eerie light on the scene. "My father, my brother, my son," she says, "you seek that which cannot be found. You want that which cannot be had. You ask that which cannot be answered. Your dreams hound you like dogs, chase you through the night and nip at your heels by day, and now they have driven you here. The Well makes all things possible, but I must ask: You understand that there are others who traveled longer and further to be here?"
He nods gravely. Along the way he had met other pilgrims who had crossed molten deserts in their bare feet, who had sailed their own tiny boat all alone around the Cape of Lightning, who had started the journey as a hopeful teen and were only now arriving, shattered and cynical, in their middle age.
She continued: "You understand that there are others who likely deserve it more?" Again he nodded. "You understand that the Well promises success, but not necessarily in the way you expect?" For the third time, he nodded.
The priestess' eyes flared. "Then tell us your dream... and your offer."
He reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a small gold and glass relic box. "My wife," he said-- after pausing long seconds to look at the object in his hand-- "recently passed on from illness. We were unable to identify an containment donor before her death, though her scan is complete and recent. My own container is prepared, but I want the boy to have a mate... you understand? What does my own longevity mean, without my wife there to share it?"
The priestess thought on this for a moment. Her eyes flickered across the relic box, then up to meet his. "You have brought genetic material?"
The man nodded. "Most of one finger survived. I am authorized to negotiate for her genetic copyright as well as my own. Both will be signed over."
The priestess took the small relic box. "Permitting us unlimited cloning? Hm. An interesting paradox... Your souls in two new bodies that aren't your own, and your bodies being created to house new souls." Without another word, she threw the relic into the dark void behind her, before he could stop her.
Suddenly, her body stiffened, convulsed. Her eyes closed and fluttered. Her hands clenched... then released. The eyes opened again and her body relaxed. "You will find her on your way home. I cannot say what she is like or who she is or when it will happen, but you will know her when you see her, and she will be a perfect carrier." Her eyes darkened ominously for a moment. "How you convince her to contain your wife's scan is your own problem to figure out."
He nodded, bowed low, his face scowling. Clearly, this wasn't the practical demonstration of a miracle that he had hoped for, but the Well was what it was and there was no authority that could be exerted over its priestesses. As he shuffled out, he wondered for a moment what would become of the clone (or clones) that the priestesses would no doubt make from his relinquished DNA. But then the thought passed; as she had said, he had other problems to figure out.
------
For consideration: Genesis 23:1 - 25:18; rituals of death and matchmaking; paying the price
He comes, as they all do, to the Well with an impossible wish. But that is the thing about the Well: in the infinite quantum deep, even the impossible can happen.
The priestess greets him, bids him rise. Behind her, the glowing rim of the yawning chasm casts eerie light on the scene. "My father, my brother, my son," she says, "you seek that which cannot be found. You want that which cannot be had. You ask that which cannot be answered. Your dreams hound you like dogs, chase you through the night and nip at your heels by day, and now they have driven you here. The Well makes all things possible, but I must ask: You understand that there are others who traveled longer and further to be here?"
He nods gravely. Along the way he had met other pilgrims who had crossed molten deserts in their bare feet, who had sailed their own tiny boat all alone around the Cape of Lightning, who had started the journey as a hopeful teen and were only now arriving, shattered and cynical, in their middle age.
She continued: "You understand that there are others who likely deserve it more?" Again he nodded. "You understand that the Well promises success, but not necessarily in the way you expect?" For the third time, he nodded.
The priestess' eyes flared. "Then tell us your dream... and your offer."
He reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a small gold and glass relic box. "My wife," he said-- after pausing long seconds to look at the object in his hand-- "recently passed on from illness. We were unable to identify an containment donor before her death, though her scan is complete and recent. My own container is prepared, but I want the boy to have a mate... you understand? What does my own longevity mean, without my wife there to share it?"
The priestess thought on this for a moment. Her eyes flickered across the relic box, then up to meet his. "You have brought genetic material?"
The man nodded. "Most of one finger survived. I am authorized to negotiate for her genetic copyright as well as my own. Both will be signed over."
The priestess took the small relic box. "Permitting us unlimited cloning? Hm. An interesting paradox... Your souls in two new bodies that aren't your own, and your bodies being created to house new souls." Without another word, she threw the relic into the dark void behind her, before he could stop her.
Suddenly, her body stiffened, convulsed. Her eyes closed and fluttered. Her hands clenched... then released. The eyes opened again and her body relaxed. "You will find her on your way home. I cannot say what she is like or who she is or when it will happen, but you will know her when you see her, and she will be a perfect carrier." Her eyes darkened ominously for a moment. "How you convince her to contain your wife's scan is your own problem to figure out."
He nodded, bowed low, his face scowling. Clearly, this wasn't the practical demonstration of a miracle that he had hoped for, but the Well was what it was and there was no authority that could be exerted over its priestesses. As he shuffled out, he wondered for a moment what would become of the clone (or clones) that the priestesses would no doubt make from his relinquished DNA. But then the thought passed; as she had said, he had other problems to figure out.
------
For consideration: Genesis 23:1 - 25:18; rituals of death and matchmaking; paying the price