(no subject)
Well this ended up in a very different place to where I thought it would. Still, it was fun, and took me 1 hour 20 minutes.
Afterwards, as she lay wheezing on the floor, she realised that she must have changed around some oxygen atoms, changing them into something the human respiratory system couldn't breathe. As the result of of several years' experimentation with home made narcotics, combined meditation techniques and that week in California she didn't want to think about, it was a fairly modest ability. If anyone had been watching, it would probably have passed as simple hyperventilation.
A few weeks passed, while her control grew over the matter she altered. She could feel the individual specks- the atoms and molecules, she supposed- but bringing them together took more effort than she could must.
I can make a gas, she thought. So how does a gas become solid?
A very brief consultation of a physics textbook told her that she needed an intermediate liquid stage. It took two months, and when she first told 'her' molecules to slow down, grow cold, and observer might have just watched her breath condense. Admittedly in a warm cosy living room, but the visible effect could easily have been mistaken.
Finally, she could produced enough of the liquid stage to see it and analyse it. She bought a child's chemistry set, and found that it was magnetic, ever-so-slightly alkaline, and while it was colourless as water it didn't refract light in the same way. Also, if she lost concentration it evaporated, but if she was only slightly distracted it bundled itself as though held in an invisible bowl. Intrigued, she looked up anything about matter forming in invisible bowls, and decided to name her mysterious new substance as firmament.
Finding the freezing point of firmament was more a matter of suggestion than discovery. Telling the liquid to slow down and cool down as she had the gas didn't seem to work. Instead, she felt the atoms waiting impatiently to pull apart again, like children about to compete in a running race. For the first time, she felt herself negotiate with the firmament, whispering soundlessly of the joys of solidity, stability, of atoms in rows and lattices and networks. She coaxed and persuaded by turns, the brute force of her will augmented by months' of patience.
Finally, nearly shaking with exhaustion, she looked down at the grey lump on her carpet.
It looked like already-chewed gum, about half the size of her fist. As she picked it up, she realised that it was translucent- the shadow of her fingers was visible even though several inches' thickness of firmament.
All right, it was more like putty than ice, but she was still astonished. She rolled it thoughtfully between her palms, noticing it was blood-warm. It didn't seem inclined to evaporate without her active concentration, in fact she had to pinch a little off and will it to melt away before it could be destroyed.
Looking at the shape in her hand, she saw that she'd rolled a child's idea of a snake. Impishly, she pressed her little fingers into either side of the large end of eyes, and pulled a thumbnail across to make a smiling mouth. It looked sweet, so she smiled and kissed it before going to put it on the scales.
She must have slept little before work, so it wasn't until the next evening that she saw the snake was missing. Presumably dissolved, but she felt a little pang of sadness nonetheless. She could feel the ability to create more firmament solidly routed into her brain, but that first shape was important to her.
“Call me and I'll come,” said a voice.
Frozen with shock, she could only watch as something slid into view. The snake hadn't quite got the hang of moving, so was attempting a wiggle more usually seen caterpillars. Even so,, it looked up from deep set eyes and silver and green scales. There was a slight red tint on the scales of its back, like a lipstick mark.
“Come on then,” she said kindly. “what's your name?”
“Yours is the voice to give, and the kiss, and the life, and the shape. So yours is the name to give.” The snake smiled, and she saw that it had no fangs. “All I have a mouth and some abstract concepts.”
She held out her hand, and the little snake slid gratefully onto her palm and curled up in it. He wasn't noticeably breathing, but was still warm and moving. “I'll call you Kiss. Can you pronounce that?”
“Of course.” There was no hint of a hiss. “Now, those concepts I mentioned. You've done all the work up til now, but I'm an...interface. Yes. Use me to make your creation easier.”
“My creation, hmm? What shall I create next, then?”
“You know, creation.” Kiss was surprisingly adept at rolling his eyes. “That's what raw firmament is for. A big garden, a guarding serpent- hello!- maybe some golden apples, they're always popular. Did you ever see the Garden of the Hesperides? That was a lovely one, shame about the rampaging Greek heroes.”
The sheer scale of the project was boggling her mind. “I-I just wanted to see if it could be done.”
“Good news!” Kiss curled comfortingly round her wrist. “It can. I mean, not all at once if you don't want to. You'd have to start with some way of getting to your garden, then decide what to put in it, what sort of people-”
“People?” She looked down at the little snake. “Do I import them in?”
“You can if you like, I suppose. But I said people, not humans. Really, it's your imagination, your will, that controls it. You want hundreds of handsome centaurs? Not a problem, though I'd advise again a vineyard. Or anything that ferments.”
“Not centaurs. Not mammals, maybe. Something soft and peaceful.” She stood and stared at the wall, right at the gap between bow-shelved bookcases. “A way of getting to the garden, hmm? The last time I looked, gardens had gates.”
* * * * *
Three years passed.
About eight months after she went missing, the woman was found by the snake in the garden, as she peacefully munched on an apple.
“You were right,” she greeted him cheerfully. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you,” said the apple tree behind her, before wandering down the river where the rest of its grove played splashing games with the willow people.
Kiss to his accustomed place around her arm, his head resting on her collarbone. “I hear you kissed awake those rowan trees yesterday. The oak folk are already off to go pay court to them.”
“Now how did the oaks learn to pay court, I wonder?” She carefully buried the apple core.
He grinned unrepentantly.
“Son of a birch,” she laughed brightly. “I dread to think what else you taught them.”
“Nothing sinful,” he assured her, “which means nothing technological, either, of course.”
A swarm of amber, heavy with pollen, buzzed past her shoulder. “If we'd said 'you can do anything you like, except make fire', then by now some bugger would have demanded to know what fire is. As it stands, they've no concept of fire, and not much concept of sin, either. They've got the hang of wood-turning though, so it's not as though they're not entirely helpless without metalworking.”
The snake slid into the grass. “I'm off to go eat the moon before I forget and the damn thing starts waxing again. What about you?”
“I'm going to ritually eat myself stupid, then go snooze in the cave til I return with the spring,” she told him. “Lick a maple person when I wake up, most likely.”
And somewhere in the distant autumn, a dozen innocent kinds of people danced and played all day.