Jonathan's Creation
A thought came into being in the void, lingering like a lone candle in the darkness. Gradually new thoughts, beliefs, images, and ideas gathered unto the first thought, tightly orbiting it, joining it. Soon voices began to speak, adding yet more to the thought.
Unshakeable justice.
Honesty.
Purity.
Fury.
After a time, the ideals became descriptions.
The strongest arm.
The keenest sight.
The swiftest feet.
A soft, female voice made itself heard: A kind heart.
Slowly the vortex of swirling thoughts began to spiral in new ways, gradually forming into a recognisable shape. Lines of fiery red defined the arms and legs, yellow the torso, and cold blue the head.
Give him Dreams.
And Hopes.
Give him clarity of thought.
Bestow a sense of Purpose.
Again the soft voice spoke: Give him a name.
Jonathan awoke screaming, his mind suddenly alive. He looked down at large hands that moved at his whim. He ran them over his muscled chest, and down his legs. His mind teemed with sensation, every touch fascinating him. Jonathan raised his hands to his face, fingernails scratching over his stubble; fingers running through his long, brown hair.
He breathed in and felt his lungs fill with cold air. He looked about, but saw nothing but a grey haze.
A voice filled his mind: You must know what it is to be.
Agony lanced through Jonathan. The dim light of the haze was suddenly brilliant, scorching his eyes, and his skin felt as though it was being pierced by a thousand icy needles. Blood pounded in his suddenly aching head as his stomach churned, and an ear splitting shriek tore through sensitive eardrums.
The voice spoke again, its soft tones soothing him and overcoming his pain: You must know death.
Before Jonathan's eyes, his hands began to wither, and he felt his body deteriorating as it aged rapidly. As his body died, he felt his consciousness separating from it, his mind fading as he drifted away from his mortal shell. The voice brought him back to being, his body revitalised.
You must know compassion.
A deep and abiding warmth, tinted with an inexplicable ache, filled Jonathan, who smiled as unbidden tears rolled down his face. The emotion was complete, filling him with both care and dread all at once, overcoming all his senses.
Now, go into the world.
Jonathan felt a rushing sensation overtake him, and the haze vanished, only to be replaced by a mountainous vista populated by grey boulders, green pines, and distant peaks shrouded in thin clouds.
"At last," said a weary voice.
Jonathan turned to see an old man in a grey cloak. He was seated on a stump, absently plaiting his long grey beard, and tapping his foot to some tune unknown. The strange man ran his grey eyes over Jonathan and said dryly, "Why must they always forget the clothes?"
Jonathan opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the old man.
"Nevermind, here."
A brown rucksack was thrown to Jonathan, and he opened it. Inside was a homespun white tunic, brown trousers, and a pair of cracked leather boots. He fished all of the contents out and began to dress, his body completing the necessary movements automatically whilst his mind revelled in the fact that he had never done this before. As he pulled on his new trousers, he noticed for the first time the swirling, dark blue tattoos that covered his body.
The old man chuckled and said, "Pretty, aren't they? Marks you for what you are. Keep 'em covered round mortal folk, they draw plenty of attention. Yours are a bit different to the ones the others had. More of 'em, and different styles. Curious."
He walked up to the mystified, but dressed, Jonathan and pressed his forefinger to Jonathan's brow. Heat pulsed where he touched, and he frowned slightly.
The old man returned to his stump and sat, saying, "So you're it then. The final gambit."
"What?" asked Jonathan. His voice pleased him: it was deep and rich, filled with warm tones. He wondered how it sounded if he was to sing, or shout, or scream.
The old man waved the question away, "The understanding will come to you in due course, best I don't force it. Glad to see they have not compelled loyalty upon you though. Seems they listened to me for once."
Jonathan looked puzzled.
"Loyalty cuts both ways, boy. If it can be broken, it can be turned. Your older kin are proof of that. Now come, we have lots to do, and not half the time we need to do it!"
Jonathan followed the old man down the mountainside, surprised that he was struggling to keep up with one so ancient. As he followed, more and more questions filled his mind. One, however, continually rose to the top.
Who was he?
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