The laughter of the bonemen turned out to be a first for him and a last for them, because Theming, camel or not, had had enough. He left his skin on the sands of Sidareptana and took on a more comfortable shape. Towering above the endless sands now stood a colossus made out of solid stars and drifting nebulae, its star-hooded head reaching far above the skies. Four arms stretched out across obscured horizons, and with a flick of the wrists surely only meant to impress those who'd think he'd need the motion, suddenly, there stood seven herds of seething striped cats. Tigers made of sand, with razor crystals for paws, ready to pounce the diminished bonemen who had been discussing the universe so intently just seconds before.
Like all those who find themselves in such a quandary, the bones prostrated themselves and kowtowed as best they could. Their voices wheezed now, their hollow bones doing their best to at least approach a simile of loudness. "Lord! Forgive us! Thy immensity, thy beauty, 'tis only matched in size by our unfathomable ignorance! Surely our bones deserve to be taken apart, but we are naught but Yogung's servants, hidden in the sands of a world never meant to be found by the living OR the infinite!" To which Mexar quickly added, "All we do is speak loftily and contemplate the Ideas!" And Shamuin cried out once more: "... AND RECORD THEM! 'Tis all we do! Apart from sweeping the sand from the bellfry now and again!"
For a short while, Theming tasted delight in gracing those he had not made with the indignity he had been subjected to time and time again. The silence fit his stature. It was a ruse, but a satisfying one. One he didn't intend to keep up for long. For Theming, such as he was, not just pitied them, but felt their anguish. It is a strange thing for Gods to empathize with their creations, but Theming had seen Death for the first time just a tiny shred of an aeon ago and was by now quite taken by the begging bones in the sands before him. And so he waved the sandy herds away. "I feel for you, bare ones. Now tell me, wherefore do bones contemplate the Ideas? Is Yogung not able to do it himself?"
A short silence followed, because Shamuin did not possess the presence of mind necessary to dignify such a strange question with an answer. Mexar, however, was up to the task. "Yogung tasked us with the Ideas about eleven cycles ago because he does not intend to remember them all himself! The Lord has more pressing matters to attend to, such as the balance of starlight, the aesthetics of reason, the wherefore of his presence and other matters we shall never understand! But surely, you knew all this already. How could you not?" Shamuin beheld his subordinate partner petrified, aghast, and thankful.
There towered the voice again, vibrating through the bones of the world it enfolded. "I never forget my creations. Why would He?" Shamuin mustered the courage this time. "Of course, Lord, he possesses the memory, 'tis more the will with which he be concerned. That is to say, the Skeleton Skinbeater does not sustain the sound of his blows, 'tis the patterns that he weaves. They stand still like memories, but need to be forgotten to change."
Another earthquake of celestial vocal chords. "It is not easy to lose a God in your argument, but you seem to have wrought it, Shamuin." To which Mexar responded that the unclarity which Theming so expertly pointed out was the result of a long-held debate on whether Yogung and Basheesh were the lords of Ideas and Time, Matter and Movement, or merely the effectuators of Stasis and Change. "Who knows? We are here to carry out the Debate, not settle it. Lord, Shamuin's response took us five cycles to even attain a semblance of."
By now, the bonemen had finally settled on comfortable ground with the titanic celestial shape in front of them. Shamuin felt a miniscule pang of pride, one which would have ended the ambitions of lesser members of his order. He stood up and spoke. Mexar's jaw nearly fell out of his skull cavities. "Lord, forgive me for asking, but isn't it perfectly clear that Yogung lays plans, even those of your Creations? It is written on the very tablet Mexar held before you graced us with your true form. Yogung Spake, and Basheesh agreed! There is nothing between the Worlds, in the void, or beyond the rim that does not take shape without their union!"
Theming was far from incensed. In fact, he was amused. He had found his niche, drawn by the verbal prostrations of bonemen. "There is much that takes shape without the need for all those lofty contradictions. I deemed it necessary for others to beheld as the Gods do. And thus, they did. Life is made of affection and carried out by impulse. It is gratifying to see others behold, and sheer pleasure to tinker with their grateful husks."
Shamuin and Mexar, both risen, stood agape. Mexar clutched his tablet. The sacred form of speech had left him. "It was you. But.. why?"
"Because I like tinkering on beings that behold like I do, and to grant them life is to make me smile. I am here because one of the Ideas took my Smile away, and I am very, very displeased." To which Shamuin and Mexar exchanged the tiniest of empty-socketed glances.
Theming noticed. All of a sudden, a marble-skinned Man stood in front of them and spoke with the voice he just employed from fathoms above. "Debaters, you must have discussed the ceasing of my Life. Was it an Idea of Yogung? A Change of Basheesh? Or did some horror occupy my favorite moon and turn my Life to dust because of their ceaseless tinkering with Time and Matter?"
There is no debating a God. "I-it's best for us to show you, my Lord." And they pointed inside, into the dimly lit darkness of their clay abode. Theming noticed a faint chiming sound inside.
They led their terrifying but hopefully temporary master past a small hallway into the nave of the building. Shamuin explained that the light was not necessary to carve tablets, but that the bonemen bound themselves to an unending rhythm of the day; tiny rituals in tiny alcoves were carried out ceaselessly by other robed skeleton men. When the nearest star went below the distant dunes, their positions changed and new tablets would be laid by those who had finished their daily observance. Theming was impressed. His Life never bound itself to rhythms. He granted it as much freedom as its locale would permit, which pleased him, but this was something else. Yogung seemed to enforce iron regularity upon his subjects as much as he made them enjoy the ceaseless contemplation of the void's vagaries. Quite a trick.
They entered a large hall with a starlit ceiling. At the end of a row of crude stone skeleton seats stood a small pillar with an orb on top of it. It seemed to apprehend them somehow, watching them. Beyond its black exterior, inside the shadows, subdued colours shifted almost imperceptibly. Shamuin had by now reverted to his posturing, for he was at home. "My Lord, this is our archive of Starlight and the Worlds. Peer into it, and thou shalt behold the Ideas about which we have debated these past few aeons."
Theming did as he asked.
The first thing that happened perplexed the Lord of Life. Theming left his marble form without choosing to do so. All around him, even inside of him, gleamed spectral starlit hues. Amber, turqouise, violet, magenta and deep, deep black surrounded him. Through these, unending worlds seemed to pass at speeds unseen even by his very own celestial eyes, which had beheld worlds and starlight for longer than almost any other part of the existing cosmos. He instinctively felt the need to pull his head out of the orb, but he couldn't. Not without shattering the entire apparatus, and he contemplated it for a moment but decided not to anger Yogung's subjects just yet. So he drifted. Faster and faster he went, through the hues, past the worlds, passing under them in great ellipses, drifting through the endless void, then nearly crashing upon a succession of umber spheres until he finally reached a small maroon-ringed indigo globe.
On that globe stood a hut, in which lived a tiny, ugly man with a walking stick. A walking stick? No: a digging device. The Man was digging. He opened a hole in the indigo dirt into which he could nearly fit, peered into it for a moment, then sighed. Theming looked around, and saw an entire field full of holes in the dark blue dirt. He looked up, and saw an unsettling crimson colour permeate the cloudless skies. Why was he seeing this? He couldn't know, so he followed the man, who seemed not to notice him. Theming took a closer look at the man, and felt a great melancholy. The man was wreathed in loneliness. When was he created? Theming couldn't remember.
The man went into his hut, and fell down on his knees. The bottom of the hut seemed to be shaped very precisely, so as to accommodate the man's legs, hands and face as he bowed down so low his forehead touched the floor. The ground was worn, Theming realized. This was not the first time this man stooped in that spot. But why? Then a note of dischord graced his starlit ears. The man was pleading. Begging. For him.
"Why dost thou not harken my pleas, Theming? Thy Life is unfinished.. I am unfinished.. thou hast left me on this godforsaken world to carry out duties forever unfulfilled .. I naught but suffer at thy cruel indifference..." He started sobbing. Theming had never before felt such infinite pity, such sad compassion for another being. He answered, but the man didn't hear. He tried to touch, but there was no hand to do it with. He tried to make the man dream, but there was no sleep to do it in. There was nothing. Just the man, sobbing on the floor.
With a jerk, the marble figure yanked his head out of the orb. His voice thundered through his stone and clay surroundings. "What is the meaning of this?!" Shamuin and Mexar shuddered and held up their opened fleshless hands. "Lord, there is no way of knowing! We peer into the orb and behold the worlds, teeming with change. But we only see those Ideas Yogung needs us to see!"
"Then why does Yogung deem it necessary for me to see such abject, destitute loneliness!"
"My lord", Mexar whispered, "it is not Yogung. It is you who posed the query, and it is you who obtained the reply."
