MISC: Finale

[Jeanne Morningstar]

Finale
by Jeanne Morningstar

[Note: this story was inspired by a writing exercise from Jeff 
Vandermeer's Wonderbook, based on a surreal image from the 19th century 
magazine Jugend.]

*****

The xoanon stood before the Overscribe and prepared to sing. Xey did 
not, as yet, have a name. By the time xey were done, xey would, and the 
Overscribe would write it in the Book of Life. Throughout most of xeir 
life, xey had had to communicate without words, which was sometimes 
frustrating. Now xey would have a language, a place in the world, a 
history and a name.

The two birds on the Overscribe's shoulder--in this instance of the 
rite, an owl and a parrot--began to chatter. Xey had been told much 
about the significance of the form the Overscribe would take and those 
of the birds that would appear on their shoulder, but it was all rumors, 
from those who had not passed the Rite. Those who did preferred to 
forget about it, if they had a choice. No deity or demon wanted to 
remember the time when they were mere half-shaped energy emanating from 
the fires of the God Sphere which lay within and without the material 
world, before they took root in one of its afterlives or divine realms, 
or passed into the more abstract dimensions of the Pleroma. The xoanon 
resolved that xey would not forget, that xey would continue to hold 
within xemself this time of uncertainty and raw unformed potential. This 
would help keep xem of the trap of rigidity into which so many of xeir 
fellow divinities fell.

"What is your faction?" said the Overscribe. Their voice, as always, was 
flat and uninflected. Xey had heard about their legendary impassivity 
but nothing had quite prepared xem to experience it in person. They 
tapped the quill pen in their hand, and beside them lay the paint 
brushes with which they would paint the image of the xoanon's final 
god-form. They were a being somewhere between a human and a tree. The 
pages of the Book of Life, the pens with which they wrote in it, and the 
leather covers all grew from their bark/skin, and the ink oozed from 
their sap/blood/ichor. At the moment, they had taken the form of an 
imposingly portly bearded man in a waistcoat, with a halo orbiting their 
head.

"The Goetia." The Overscribe tapped their pen once more. The news, the 
xoanon knew, would surprise xeir cohort. Everyone had assumed xey would 
become a Supernaphim because of xeir highly delineated conscience, but 
xeir insistence on forming xeir own beliefs made xem a poor fit. The 
Goetia were beings who tested people and brought them in touch with 
their hidden selves--proscribed by the religions on many worlds, but not 
necessarily evil. Their double-edged nature intrigued xem, as did their 
independence, although their infamously factional nature and convoluted 
internal politics were the other side of that coin. When this was all 
over, xey would have a new history, where xey were always part of the 
Goetia. The Burning Court would assign xem a new title--xey were hoping 
for Marquis, but would probably end up being a President.

The owl twittered and hooted something in the Overscribe's ear the 
xoanon couldn't hear. The parrot jumped up and down and repeated 
"Goetia! Goetia! Goetia!"

"Then so be it," said the Overscribe. They scribbled in the Book of 
Life. "Now sing." They stood, still and impatient.

Xey could not help but hesitate. What if xey failed? Not everyone passed 
the Rite of Naming. Perhaps the divine powers xey channeled would slip 
from xeir hands, and xey fade away into nothingness, or become a twisted 
non-being that haunts the edge of the God Sphere.

"Now sing! Now sing! Now sing!" said the parrot.

"Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!" said the owl. Who indeed? There was only one way to 
answer that.

So the xoanon began to sing. It was an ugly, coarse, rough, throaty 
noise. It was ugly, but ugly was what xey wanted. Ugly was what 
expressed xeir nature. Something discordant, strange, unassimilable.

First xey sang of fish that swum through the mucky rivers, gulping at 
insects. Then xey sang of toads that squirmed and hopped through the 
ooze of swamps. Water flooded in around xem, and fish and toads swam in 
around xeir feet and joined in in chorus. A globe of glowing gas swirled 
and congealed around xem and became xeir body. Xey cast xeir song out 
into the air, a signal containing the code of xeir being, and the gas in 
turn took ichthyic shape, the song no longer coming from the empty air 
but rumbling from xeir batrachian throat.

Finally, xey sang of bats, whirling through the air night and spitting 
out their cries to see the world around them. The sun sank, the stars of 
night flickered on and bats swooped through the air, like the finale of 
a firework show. The xoanon reared up on xeir back, spread xeir 
new-formed leathery wings, and let out one final 
croak/squeak/cry--"Xyrnarr!" The swamp creatures clapped their hands and 
chanted xeir name in unison. A tangle of thorny vines sprang from xeir 
feet, forming at the feet of the Overscribe into incongruous roses.

The Overscribe stood still and impassive and said nothing. They did not 
seem impressed. The xoanon reminded xemself that by the nature of their 
job, they could be impressed by nothing, even the birth and death of 
words. They rubbed their beard for a moment and pondered. Finally they 
spoke. "Xyrnarr."

"Xyrnarr! Xyrnarr! Xyrnarr!" the parrot and the owl chanted in unison.

The Overscribe scribbled the name in the Book of Life and drew the image 
of xeir new form. A mighty wind rushed in on the swamp, and a darkness 
set around xem. Xyrnarr knew xey would open xeir eyes and find xemself 
in the Burning Court. Before xey did, xey made one last resolution: xey 
would continue to use "xey/xem" as xeir pronouns, so xey would not 
forget what they had been: xeir protean, raw, unstable nature, always 
transforming even in xeir new identity. This would be xeir mark and this 
would be xeir gift to those who called xeir name.

****

Notes:


The first chapter of Jeff Vandermeer's writing textbook, Wonderbook 
explores how different aspects of a person's life, interests and 
experiences can come together to fuel and shape their creativity. These 
were some of the particular stimuli that inspired this story:

The first thing I came up with as soon as I figured out the 
nature/context of the image (an allegory/parody about art and criticism) 
was the name "The Overscribe." It was influenced by a kind of Grant 
Morrison-doing-Kirby-esque thinking about gods, something that underlies 
a lot of my writing. (The resemblance of the two birds sitting on his 
shoulder to Odin probably inspired that.) The God Sphere is a concept 
that originated in a fanfic story--meant to explain the nature of 
divinity in the Marvel Universe. It's the metaphysical layer that places 
like Asgard, Otherworld etc. inhabit.

A xoanon is a wooden statue of a god from ancient Greece, most of which, 
of course, are now lost. I learned the word from the Doctor Who story 
Face of Evil, where it was the name of a mad computer that absorbed some 
of the Doctor's identity and took on the role of a god. Watching the 
classic Doctor Who stream on Twitch was one of the big things that 
inspired me creatively lately, so this is one of several instances in my 
recent work of taking a mythological/historical name that's 
conspicuously associated with Doctor Who and using it in a completely 
different context. One of these days I'm going to name someone/something 
"Zagreus."

The Goetic element is just because the visual of the singing fish 
reminded me of a Goetic demon. The rite of passage aspect comes from a 
friend of mine who recently underwent prelims. A lot of the story's 
imagery was inspired by Vandermeer's characteristic ecological themes, 
which I don't normally use as much--the swamp and the Overscribe's 
nature and such. Finally, the reflection on pronouns and identity came 
from my own frustration with queer people who follow over-rigid 
conceptions of identity and deliberately forget--for a lot of 
understandable reasons, but still--the process of figuring that out, 
which can make queer spaces a minefield for people who are in that 
stage, which I was not so long ago.