Kayti

I always knew I was different. It wasn’t anything specific—I just never felt like I belonged in the orphanage. I guess most of the kids there don’t, but hey, doesn’t make it any less true. I never had any ambitions of finding my birth parents, though. I knew they were dead. I don’t know how I knew that—well, I didn’t at the time—but no one else had my conviction. The matrons never contradicted me, but I overheard one whisper to another:

“But we don’t know—”

“Shh. If it makes her feel better to have closure, let her have it.”

As time went on, there was a lot less concern for my feelings. It started with the other children. It started after the first death.

The matrons reassured the others that it was a coincidence when they thought I couldn’t hear them. And they could deny it, then. The other children still looked at me with suspicion. That’s just what happens when your closest friend dies in an orphanage, I guess. After a few months, I started trying to reach out to them again. The matrons encouraged me, and I made a friend. We were close.

She died, too, six months later.

After that, no one would look at me. I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t me! But how could I explain? No one could. The matrons treated me coldly, the kids all shunned me. The matron who I went to most, the one I was drawn to on the few times I needed to ask questions, she died too. It was a lingering illness, almost a year. The other matrons whispered, but I already knew. Somehow. I knew whether or not she was dead.

By the time I was ten, no one even wanted to be in the same room as me. The matrons compromised by clearing out a largish broom closet to serve as my private room. They did ask me if it was okay. I didn’t argue. I was scared of me too, by that point.

The day I turned eleven was the first day I saw the door.

It appeared to me in my dreams. I dreamt that I opened my closet door one day and fell into another world. It was wonderful, full of magic. It showed up in my dreams again and again, a place where I was accepted, where I could start over. Where there was an explanation for what happened around me, even if I couldn’t understand it. Someone would always try to explain it to me—sometimes a man with a stern glaze, once a being made of pure light that I couldn’t bear to look at for more than an instant, but more often a woman with purple eyes and long falls of my blonde hair. I never understood the words. It was always in a language that seemed utterly foreign, but struck me with the same weight the matrons tried to use in the religion lessons.

It was three months later when I found the door was a real place. But that’s another story for another day.

Eleven was also when the matrons started our full religious training. Each of the girls at the orphanage was expected to pledge their lives to one of the Nine when they came of age at sixteen. In those five years, we spent four and a half months training heavily under the acolytes of each god, two a year. In the months before we turned sixteen, we were allowed to go back and forth between the lessons of the Nine as we wished, in preparation for our decision. Our “birthday” had been on the first day of the year until we turned eleven. The girls were allowed to pick a date for their twelfth birthday. Mine was April 23rd. In five years, that would be the day I had to decide what I would do with the rest of my life.

Historically, most girls gravitated towards Kai, the god of Etar. Eulli, god of Day, and Raliel, god of Order, were popular as well. There were a handful each year who selected Yari, god of Night, or Triaphos, god of Truth, and every few years a girl would gravitate towards Haenall, god of Life. They were the Creators and Maintainers. The gods responsible for the world we lived in, to whom we owed our existence and its continuation. No one had ever dared to pick one of the Destroyers. Not until me, of course.

I didn’t even know why I did it. No one ever said it during the training, because you never wanted to disrespect a god, but no one was expected to spend more than the mandatory four and a half months in the company of any of the three Destroyers. But I never felt like I belonged. Not here, not with any of the Six. I spent my “free” months avoiding lessons, avoiding commitment, visiting a different acolyte’s lesson each day. No one bothered to question me on it, because of course, no one wanted to get close to me. It had been years since the orphanage had a death, and I knew most of the others attributed it to me staying away. So when I went up on April 23rd, the fourth girl this year to make my choice, I didn’t know what I was going to say when I opened my mouth. One word came out, bypassing my brain altogether and coming from a place deep inside me that I couldn’t name.

“Saelonu.”

Silence fell over the crowd. Someone laughed. I could hear the whispers that arose.

“Saelonu?”

“She must be the first.”

“A Destroyer? Is that allowed?”

“Of course it’s her.”

“Of course it’s Death.”

Saelonu, god of Death. She had never struck me as evil, not like the other two destroyers. Jiskosi, god of Chaos, was unashamedly against anything the other Eight wanted to do, only staying in this world to cause trouble. Pailiat, god of Lies, was more subtle, but insidious, spreading hatred and resentment through misunderstanding. Death, on the other hand, was natural. Didn’t the myths even say that Saelonu had competed with Haenall to become Kai’s apprentice? Hadn’t it been Haenall’s deceitful, manipulative tricks that kept the kind-hearted Saelonu from her appointment to meet her potential master? If Kai had chosen Saelonu over Haenall, would there have been anyone questioning my choice?

Well, of course there would be. This was me. But this was my choice. As I said it, I felt something wash over me—belonging. Was this what it felt like?

That wouldn’t last either. Maybe it was because I had been isolated for so long at the orphanage, but I was uncomfortable with the amount of attention the others at the Temple poured on me. The High Priest celebrated me like I was a precious jewel, something to be shown off and polished. The other acolytes looked at me with disgust, mostly. Resentment. Fear from a few of them—I think stories from the orphanage traveled quickly. I only felt like I belonged when I was by myself in corners of the temple.

The pressure got to be too much. The other acolytes alternatively putting me on a pedestal and trying to tear me down, and the High Priest trying to hold me up as an example to all the other orphanages—your kids can choose my god! Look, here’s one!—nearly drove me insane. So, the night before I was scheduled to take my final vows of service to the Temple, the night before I turned twenty, I escaped in the middle of the night.

Little known to them, I had already made my private Devotion to Saelonu weeks earlier. The ritual to become a full Priest, with the magic that it bestowed, was a closely guarded secret. So, of course, I had swiped the High Priest’s spellbook. And about half the objects in the Temple at various points of time, but I had put everything else back. Mostly.

Alright, this is my confessional, so I might as well be honest—I put back the things I couldn’t sell. I had taken small things from the orphanage, but only rarely, because the beatings when they found out were enough of a punishment to deter all but my worst compulsions. The Temple more often ignored when things went missing, because it was less organized and I was the golden acolyte in the High Priest’s eyes. And I did return most things when the compulsion wore off. I even returned the spellbook, once I had memorized a few choice spells and completed the Devotion. But you can see why I don’t usually mention it.

So I ran. Aided by magic they didn’t know I had, I was able to make my way out of the city and to a place where no one knew me. Where I wasn’t the little Death girl. Where I wasn’t either the best or the worst, never somewhere in between. Never fully human, never fully me. Never belonging.

That was when I finally learned what belonging was. But it was also when I learned what I was. That’s another long story, too long for me to tell you all of it now.

In all my years of training, they had never mentioned Godspawn. I’m not sure the priests even knew we existed. I always knew I didn’t like Jiskosi, and her spawn just about proved it. He was a jerk, he tried to kill me, so on. It was a long few years, and I spent a lot of it running. For the first time in my life, I had friends to run with. It was heaven, which probably says more about my life up to that point than it does about the time I actually spent on the run.

All things come to an end, as they do. My friends all had other ties, other obligations. And I was still a little afraid, even after learning my powers were precognitive, not causal. I hadn’t made people die, I had just been attracted to the people who were on death’s door, whether they knew it or not. But something in the back of my mind didn’t want to chance it, to pass my curse onto the only people I had ever loved, and who had accepted me. We would find each other when we could, but I still had no roots. Nowhere to land. I drifted from place to place, and that’s when it started.

Something was wrong. People talked about the gods being angry, but none of the priests knew what to do. I couldn’t blame them—I was a child of a god and I still had no idea what to do. I tried to help, but I didn’t want to out myself. I could only do so much magic. To be fair, my higher level magic wouldn’t have been much help. I could cure the sick, and ease the passing of those who were too far gone, but I could do both of those things while posing as a priest of Haenall, or even Kai, and did. No one in the small town I had found myself in could tell the difference.

Then, the storm.

It didn’t end. By which I mean, without intervention, it never would have ended. I did all I could to protect the town. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, but I could try. I could fail along with the rest of them, and meet my god.

I really, really didn’t expect that to be so literal. Or before I died.

She appeared to me like a waking dream, while I was helping rebuild the tidal barriers and the storm was pressing forward, threating to drown us all before we could finish. She filled my entire vision, and I could see everything once again—the door, the woman, the man, the light. It gave me a headache and I forced myself to focus on one, the blonde woman who could have been my mother. Father? I really try not to think about how Godspawn were conceived. She said my name.

“What the hell?” I said. Or probably something like that. I don’t remember it super clearly.

I need you.

“To do what?” You know, now that I think about it, I don’t know if the people working around me could hear me. I suppose it wasn’t high on my list of concerns, and would have fallen even further in the next few seconds.

No, you misunderstand. I need your body.

“Uh, I don’t know what it’s like with gods, but around here we mortals really frown on hitting on your kids.”

I had never expected to hear a god sigh in exasperation, but I guess if anyone was going to make it happen, it was going to be me.

We have been cut off from this world, and it is being besieged. I can’t stop it from outside. I need a foothold.

“Okay, so what do you need me to do?”

I need you to cease to exist.

That was where I about lost it. I would have started yelling if it had really sunk in, but I was still trying to process.

“I’d rather not.”

You don’t have a choice, although I would rather do this willingly. You have already pledged your life, your body, your soul, to my service.

I do kind of remember a line like that in the Devotion, but I was paying more attention to the whole getting-magic-to-get-out-of-here portion of the ceremony. Also, it was the middle of the night and I was trying to be quiet.

With your body, I have a way into this world. But it must be mine.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m busy here!”

What you’re doing will never save these people.

In all this time, with all that she’s done, few things she’s said have angered me more than that. “I know that. But I have to try.”

You can do better. You can let me succeed.

“You said you can’t get in, right? Then this isn’t your world anymore! All you gods have done is left mortals with a giant mess to clean up!”

And I will do my best to save them. Those I cannot, I will provide a painless end, and a safe haven afterwards.

“Afterwards, huh? Is that what you call it?”

It’s one of many names. You will soon find out.

“Not if I have anything to say about it!”

You do not.

Have you ever tried to fight a god in a battle of wills? I have. I really wouldn’t recommend it. You’re not going to win, trust me. Not to sound arrogant, but if I couldn’t win, you don’t stand a chance. I like to say it was close, though. I’m not sure Saelonu would disagree.

So yeah. I lost. She took over my body, yada, yada.

Next thing I know, I was in front of the door.

Now, this part gets a little fuzzy. I don’t remember it very clearly, so I can’t give a play-by-play. I don’t know if that’s on purpose, or if it’s just a problem of time. But I can give a summary.

Saelonu told me the door was an entrance to another project, as the gods call them. There used to be a series of them, one created by each of the Nine, but they had since been merged into one. (No, I don’t understand how that works with the whole time thing. Please don’t ask.) There was a tenth, who was trying to destroy their work because… You know, I’m not even sure. But the tenth was the one who had locked the other Nine out of the project. Ten—Chanos, Void, pick a name—was now trying to destroy the project entirely. The Nine were trying to stop Chanos, but Chanos was able to directly disturb the project and they weren’t. That’s why Saelonu needed me. I was pledged to her (look, I know the gods don’t really have our concepts of gender identity, but she’s just always been a she to me and she’s never complained, so you shouldn’t either) so I was technically an aspect of her power that was already in the world, that didn’t need to cross the barrier that Chanos had put up. She could use that keyhole to sneak most her power through, and she did. So that’s what I became—an Aspect. A manifestation of Saelonu in the world. I don’t know what happened to the people of the town—Saelonu offered to show me, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch something that looked like me, that sounded like me, but that wasn’t me at all. Not anymore.

Saelonu was impressed by me, apparently. She brought me outside of the world instead of destroying me, as a reward for my service. She said I could be reborn into the world, pending approval from a few of the other gods, since it wasn’t a power she could use unilaterally. She said I had powers now, not to the level of a god, of course, but enough that I could survive in this interdimensional space. She said that was how I had been able to cross projects as a kid, although again, time? Apparently it’s just weird once you get beyond four dimensions.

Now, I wasn’t privy to the next part of the discussion of course, but it went down something like this:

- The rest of the Nine were both appreciative of Saelonu for figuring out a way in, and annoyed at her for taking a mortal out of the project.

- Some of the other gods wanted to take their own mortals out, (probably Haenall lead this, knowing her,) but that was a power that required Saelonu’s approval, and she was hesitant to give it.

- They eventually came to a compromise—Aspects were fine, although to be used only in emergencies (and this certainly counted). Each god could pick three mortals to Ascend, whether or not they were an Aspect (and whether or not they had more Aspects, the three-cap remained).

So. That’s it, basically. That’s how I became the first Angel.

Of course, there’s a lot more that happens later (don’t get me STARTED on how selfish these pathetic excuses for gods are,) but that wasn’t what you asked. I could tell you about which myths are true, which are exaggerated, and which are complete lies (ironically, most of them aren’t Pailiat’s,) but that would take years, and I don’t know if you have that kind of time. I do, but I’m some sort of pseudo-immortal now. Isn’t that kind of ridiculous? I’m the first Angel and I still don’t really understand what the Angels or the Nine are. I get that there’s more than the Nine, or even the Ten, but from what I can gather, the Nine/Ten are the only ones with any interest in this project. And that’s fine by me, we have enough trouble with only these. They’re no better than the mortals, they just have a lot more power to back up their squabbles. I do what I can, but my powers are a grant. Thankfully Saelonu can’t take them back now—I’m sure she would have tried if she could—but I still can’t beat a god. But what I am? At heart?

A mortal, of course. Why do you think I’m constantly getting reborn? I’d rather be back in the world than out here with these children—sorry,gods. Mortals are much better. They learn. They try again. They admit mistakes. And they’re a lot more interesting.

Did that answer your question? Sorry, what was it again?

My name? It’s—

Oh, how my name got its meaning. Well, that’s obvious now, isn’t it?

Katherine. First among the Angels.

Kayti for short.