Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Let me tell you something about marriage.

There are days when your marriage will test you. 

And I am not talking about the wedding “I do” kind of marriage. There are all types of loving relationships and friendships in this world. It is all about love. So when I say marriage, I am talking about any -ship where you have been with someone so long that you no longer remember a time without them. Where it feels like you’ve been with them forever. That kind of marriage with someone. Where all of their best and worst memories are your memories, too. All of their best and worst selves were with you. And, all of their best and worst times are your times.

Remember that part.

For me, that someone is my Job. He is my anchor, my best friend and my whole world, my Job. A true soulmate; caring, understanding, kind and sweet. A great provider for myself and our three children. I thank God that I am lucky — lucky — to be married to such a wonderful man as my Job. 

But...

Marriage will test you. It'll make you wonder how in all holy God did you do this when you could have been with that nice baker from the marketplace — the brunet with those arms and the tan and those buns... But no. 

Marriage is not all clear skies. Sometimes it’s sandstorms. The kind that rip apart the dunes and everything around you. Ones that apparently come and set fire to your house. That come on so quickly that they bury you and collapse your whole dining room.

There are days when your marriage will test you.

And for me, today is that day.

All through the night, our house was destroyed. Those desert winds came and blew down our house.  After we'd already lost all our credit, our accounts; lost the herd, the sheep and the goats. We had already suffered hit after hit, to the point it wore us down. To the point where one would feel like giving up, and struggle to believe in a just God and all their glory. But Job and I, we held each other tight. And he told me that God was still great and would still see us through. 

As everything we owned burned, he then walked off to the fields. Said God was calling him. And I believed him and let him go. 

Marriage test on that one: Trust.

My faith in God might waver a little right now, but I believe in my Job. My anchor, my best friend, my love. He'll find God and ask what happened.

So it's now noonish, and all the weird storms from last night have stopped. The house is still burning off in a few spots, but mostly thanks to these desert winds. Things are settling. I am still sifting through what's left of everything, looking for the kids. And then my Job comes back.

I ask him if God said anything about the children, or the fire. What in all of God’s glory happened? And he starts talking about whales. And I thought… we are in the middle of a desert, why are you asking about whales? And nothing about the children?

And then suddenly, these angels show up wearing these fancy white robes. One of the angels I do recognise, the one I’ve seen wandering in the fields who knows Job; but, I have no clue who these other angels are, and Job knows the place is not ready for company. He didn’t mention anything about bringing any angels home with him. 

Look, I understand the whole property’s basically a burnt out rubbish pit at this point, but this was the nicest room left in the whole pit. It still had a doorway, praise God. But I wasn’t given one minute of warning before all these heavenly angels appeared. All of them wearing their sandals all over the burnt out place, tracking in all sorts of only God knows heavenly what from only God knows heavenly where.

I turn and look at Job to see if he has any idea why they're here. And oh… 

The look. 

That look.

He knew something wasn't right. That look. Did God cause all this? I swear, even if he didn't know what God was talking about or what happened, he comes back like he knows something.

Your marriage will test you. 

Listen, you know when your partner is going through something. They say they don't want you to worry, say they have everything under control, but Job should have told me. I know he makes a habit of blaming himself for everything, but that affects me, too. Because even when your partner thinks they’ve got it all handled, thinks they're protecting you, thinks it doesn’t involve you… believe me, it involves you. 

That’s marriage. 

So even standing there with Mr. Smiles and his angel pips, I felt like turning and saying, “Job, you should have told me! We could have sacrificed another ox or one of the goats. You could have let me be here for you.” 

Your marriage will test you.

Job looks at me, wide-eyed. Maybe he didn't know, but it's too late now. Wish we still could have done… I don't know. I've heard sage works, flaxseed's good, vinegar maybe. But now, our kids are still missing, our house is burned down, our fields are all fallow, and we have to deal with this fancy, uninvited flock — or gaggle or swarm or whatever you call a bunch of rude angels. 

At first, I thought they might have come to help us. But then Mr. Smiles here — like he belongs in the market trying to sell lamps or timeshares — starts talking about some test of God’s we passed and how God’s going to replace our sheep and our things. Like he’s an adjuster or something. Which… makes sense. He looks like he sells insurance.

So, they start talking about all the blessings we’re getting after destroying everything we — yeah, not just all Job's stuff, but all my stuff too! — own. 

Marriage. His bad times are my bad times. Remember.

And a heads up would have been nice. It wasn’t just all Job’s stuff or even my stuff. My mother gave us that dining room table. Had it all set up, ox feast, all the trimmings until the room collapsed and the fire started. My mother goes on and on about that slab, ugly dining room table. How one day she would give me that table. I'd visit, and she would say to me, “Sitis, I know you need a table. This is your grandmother's. I’m just holding it. If you ever get a new one, give this one back, but I'm happy to give it to you.” Uh-huh. For years, my mother would not shut up about that table. 

I am not sad that ugly table is gone. God, I hope you’re not planning on giving me two new ones. Because I will never hear the end of it. 

But I don’t care about any of that. God, angels, whoever, please just answer: 

“Our children,” I start buttering up to Mr. Smiles; we need answers. “Where are our children?”

And then — then — this damn glitter pigeon tells me that my kids are dead? No. Oh no, no, no. Job?! No. God wouldn’t— No, no. God help me, I will tear every last feather off you sparkle sparkle mother fuc—

“I don’t… I don’t want more children,” I cry out. “If my children are dead, then I will curse God and—” 

Then Bildad barges in and my jaw just hits the floor. 

I see he's barefoot. At least he knows to take his sandals off.

Bildad started out as a friend of my husband's. He's been coming over a handful of years and is good with the kids. I'm not entirely sure what he does for a living. He lives a few towns over and stops by from time to time when he can; funny, good company. I have heard my neighbours talk; they say he mostly peddles prophecies and bullshit, but we've known him for a while. He's decent, kind and a good friend.

But okay, okay, glad he's here, too. I know he cares about the kids, and he's shutting up Mr. Smiles. He starts his litany of tap dancing, telling these angels he's a doctor? And a cobbler? A cobbler-slash-midwife specialist? “Where'd he go to school?” I think later. Right now though, I'm still speechless.

Bildad gives me a look. And then that angel I recognise, he gets involved. I am not sure about these two, but they do have game; I will give them that. Bildad's talents: obstetrics, shoes and game. Well alright, I will take that, as it shuts these angels up. And Job and I have no choice.

He starts talking me through this weird thing with the ox ribs? He asks me to trust him. Okay then, let's go. 

And, oh my God, my children appear, and it is an Almighty blessed miracle. I am jubilant, I want to cry.

But then these glitter pigeons start their shit back up again. I’ve got it this time. Job though, my love, is a wreck right now. Just oblivious! I try to communicate with him through my eyes. You know how when you're married with someone like that, you can talk without talking together. 

I keep trying. Come on, Job, catch on. 

And both Bildad and Job's angel friend, they are trying, too. These two are good together.

And by the time all the chaos is done, we have our family back. Mr. Smiles and his traveling circus can go now. I have my kids back. I have my family back. I have my Job by my side. And all is glorious.

Bildad and his angel friend take off. I make a note to look for him and his shoe table the next time I'm at the marketplace.

I look at the house and I look at Job. He shrugs at me again, tears in his eyes. Today was trying. It was a test on my nerves and patience. And we have a long, long way to go to clean up this place. But our bond is strong. We can do this.

Your marriage will test you. And each day, I thank God that we pass.

Everyone eventually has a turn, I guess. I get it. The fires, the stress, the loss and rebuilding. It must have been Job and I’s turn. 

I swore to love, cherish, obey and honor this wonderful husband of mine. This giving, caring, God worshipping man of mine. I love him more than anything on this Earth. I do.

But… 

Some days, your marriage will test you.

And, today has been a day. 

Let me tell you. 

Chapter Text

Bildad heaved a sigh of relief as he came over the final hill, breathing heavily. It was a long way from Shua, but when rumour came that his old friends Job and Sitis had fallen on hard luck, he had made all speed towards Uz. As the home came into view, Bildad’s heart fell. The house had been completely destroyed, the stable walls reduced to rubble. What had happened here? 

The rumours were disturbing. First their goats, and then their crops, ravaged in an instant. Job had always had luck surpassing that of anyone Bildad had ever known. How fortune had turned on them! Whatever comfort he could give, he had rushed to share with his good friends. And now… well, he could see that his worst fears were true.

There were raised voices coming from inside the stable. Quickly Bildad turned that direction and hurried over. But when he arrived at the crumbled wall, peering in at the fellow in black robes that was facing the crowd inside, he was shocked to hear the fellow introduce himself as “Bildad the Shuhite.” 

He must be mistaken! That man looked nothing like him! Tall and lanky, with his flame red hair and dark robes… not to mention that ridiculous beard that clung desperately to the very tip of his chin! Bildad ran his fingers through his straight, black hair as he huffed. But still… the more that he looked, the more he could see the resemblance. Strange. Maybe they weren’t that different after all.

“Need any shoes?” that dark fellow was saying. Bildad peeked in, his hands flat against the rough cool stone. It felt grounding, as the rest of the world seemed to be spinning away from him. A shoemaker? Bildad of Shua? He certainly was not! Though… looking down at his sandals, worn and broken from his long journey, an idea began percolating at the back of his mind. Yes… with a little fix here, and a tweak there… Perhaps he could create a better sandal for those on the go. He could see it now… “Bildad the Shuhite - Need any shoes?” It was quite the slogan.

“It would be really useful if you were an expert on human births,” the angelic figure speaking with his not-quite-the-same-but-close-enough double said. Bildad snorted softly. He was certainly entertaining the idea of becoming a leading shoemaker once he returned to Shuhe, but obstetrics? The very idea was laughable!

“Shoe-making and obstetrics, those have always been the twin passions of Bildad the Shuhite!”

Now that he thought about it, human birth was quite interesting. It couldn’t hurt to learn a bit more about the whole process, could it? He pulled on his beard as he thought, nodding to himself. It would be the perfect plan! Shoes for the mum, shoes for the dad… he could even make tiny shoes for the baby! Hadn’t he always, deep in his heart, felt drawn to obstetrics? If he were being honest with himself? It felt a bit like a dream from years ago, one that had been so deeply believed in and then forgotten on the path to adulthood, only to return with twice the fierceness once remembered. 

Resolved, he turned from the ruins of the stable and began to retrace his steps. Everything seemed to be in control for his friends, now. The fellow with the uncanny resemblance had it all well in hand. Lucky, really, that someone had shown up that looked so much like him. It was strange that he seemed to know all of Bildad’s innermost secrets… was it possible that they were twins? Separated at birth? 

As he moved further and further away, the angelic host clapping in appreciation of whatever miracle his long lost twin had performed, he heard bleating from the path just ahead. A small baby goat bounded up to him, butting its head against his legs as he bent down to pet it. 

“Hello,” he greeted. “Looks like everyone’s luck is turning around.”

Chapter Text

Being a lizard was fun.

Part of it was the tail. And catching flies with my sticky tongue. But mainly because, for once, Ennon and Keziah weren’t bigger or cleverer than me. And I was definitely the prettiest, because I was blue.

It was a bit boring in the pot though. I wanted to do some exploring, maybe climb up a few walls. Being able to see in the dark was cool, but all I could see were two other lizards and the pot. I would have liked to at least watch whatever the angel and the demon were doing. But I was stuck with Ennon and Keziah, who didn’t seem as happy to be lizards for some reason.

I was starting to get a bit fed up when the whole world started moving. Or the pot, at least, I suppose. We were being moved somewhere, and either there was another thunderstorm going on or some people were talking while they carried us. I couldn’t really understand them though, probably because I was so small and had lizard ears.

Do lizards have ears? Must do, how else would they hear other lizards?

It was daytime, which isn’t all that different from night time when you can see in the dark, except that it was really warm and that made me want to go to sleep.

And then, suddenly, I wasn’t a lizard anymore. And we were in the barn, for some reason? Mummy and Daddy were there though, which was nice. I gave Mummy a hug while she and Daddy talked to some people. They seemed to be arguing about who we were, which was stupid because obviously we’re us, who else would we be?

Only, the people they were talking to seemed to be angels — a whole bunch of them, and no wine anywhere — including the nice one from the house, and there was the demon who had turned us into lizards and wasn’t actually scary at all. But those two were insisting that we were different children, even though they knew we’d been lizards a minute ago, so I decided not to say anything, especially when Mummy and then Daddy started agreeing with them.

What do you call a group of angels, anyway? A flock? A choir? It’s probably not important. You’d think they’d be a bit more annoyed about a demon being there, but I suppose if he was friends with that other angel then maybe they were all friends?

Only, the other angels all seemed a bit mean? Not just because they were arguing with Mummy and Daddy. They were acting like Ennon and Keziah do sometimes, when they think I’m too little to know stuff so I should just do what they say.

Ennon thinks he’s really grown up and clever, but he was the one who started arguing. And he said a bad word, which he’s not meant to do when I’m in the room, and probably not when there’s a bunch of angels there either, because God doesn’t like bad words but She does like Daddy, and She might stop if we’re naughty.

Mummy didn’t tell him off though, just shushed him while the boss angel and a mean-looking angel talked to the nice one, who seemed pretty sure we were Daddy’s new children. Which was stupid, but the demon winked at me like he was saying play along for a bit, so they definitely knew that it was a lie.

Then everybody started clapping, although I’m not entirely sure why because nobody had actually done anything? Except the demon turning us back into humans, but I don’t think the angels knew about that. They didn’t seem to know much, to be honest.

Mummy and Daddy seemed happy when they left, even if the barn was all smoky and falling down, and Ennon told them that the house was the same.

They said they didn’t care about the house, or the goats, or the geese, as long as we were okay.

Chapter Text

Gabriel and Muriel are seated in comfortable chairs.

“Here we go,” Gabriel says. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Muriel responds.

“I’m dictating chapter one thousand, five hundred and four of my autobiography to the scrivener,”—he looks at Muriel, who supplies, “Muriel”—“Mary. This chapter explains my involvement in the Land of Uz, when I rewarded Job.”

“I arrived just after the complete destruction of Job’s animals and children. That sword-losing idiot, Aziraphale, was also there. He had tried to lecture me about the miracle of human birth just before I appeared to Job, but he was clearly misinformed. You’re getting all of this?” he checks with Muriel, who nods.

“I still don’t know why Aziraphale has remained on Earth. After the incredible disaster in the Garden of Eden with the serpent, the fruit, and letting humans run amok all over the pristine Earth, I think he should have been demoted. In fact, make a side note for me to look into this.”

Muriel starts a list of side notes.

“Michael was there. She wants my job. Side note: keep an eye on her, I think she might have a contact in Hell. Who would consort with a demon? She may be a traitor.

“There were several other angels with me in the delegation, but they were all very quiet; I think they were present just to brag that they had been to Earth. Side note: don’t let them visit Earth again.

“Back to the story. To start with, I created replacement sheep for Job. He seemed to be less concerned about the new sheep than about his children, who I informed him were completely dead. For some reason this appeared to upset him, and even my reveal that he was to have seven new children did not help. A very odd man.

“Fortunately, an esteemed local obstetrician, who also had a successful side business making shoes, arrived. He knew exactly what had to be done to assist in the miracle of birth, and his presence calmed the family. I watched him very carefully, and I’m pleased to report that his bedside manner and skills were excellent. If I ever get sick (Heaven forbid!), I would want him to take care of me. Very intelligent and impressive.

“Of course I had seen human birth before, in the Garden of Eden, so this was not new to me. Michael, on the other hand, needed remedial help as to the procedure. Dr Bildad was kind enough to acknowledge that I was an expert, but he explained the process to the other angels, and we were all able to witness the birth. Michael didn’t understand why they were not babies, but I explained that children can arrive in any size.

“The three new children looked quite similar to Job’s previous children, and it took a trained eye—such as my own—to notice the subtle differences. Job and Sitis were extremely pleased with the new children, actually. I even confirmed with Aziraphale that these were, indeed, new children, since Michael didn’t believe me. Make a note about her insolent behaviour.

“Then, I gave Job more livestock, to satisfy the terms of the bet. Also, his house burned down; it needed renovations anyways. All in all, a very successful day.”

“Could you read this chapter back to me,” Gabriel asks. Muriel reads it back. Gabriel ponders for a while.

“I think we need to throw everything out. Let’s just replace the entire chapter with ‘I, Gabriel, Supreme Archangel, saved the day once again,’ and move on to the next chapter.”

“But sir,” Muriel points out, “that text is identical to all of the previous chapters.”

“Whose autobiography is this, Mary?” he asks with a reproving look.

“It’s Muriel, sir. Yes, I’ll make those changes.”

“Now, on to the next chapter, which takes place the following year, 2499 BC. That was the year I spent rearranging the furniture in my office in Heaven. Yes, a good year,” he reminisces and smiles.

Chapter Text

Earth is surprisingly grey and disappointing. Every angel who had been here before had shared wild stories about the natural beauty and remarkable humans (Aziraphale), fornication and sin (Sandalphon) or smiting demons (Uriel). So I was very excited when the second assistant to Michael’s assistant approached me to join the group of messengers to bring news to Job. It was a recognition of my five-hundred-year streak of meticulously transcribing and filing prayers without a single error. No other rank 31 scrivener has ever done that.

And now everything I’ve ever seen of Earth is this dark and smelly barn with charred beams and half a roof. There are only three humans here but they don’t look like they plan on committing any interesting sins soon. And there aren’t any demons around to smite, either. I’d been looking forward to a good smiting. I’ve never done it, but if Sandalphon can do it, it can’t be that hard.

Truth be told, I wouldn’t even know how to recognise a demon. There were endless briefings about their depravity and evilness in Heaven, but they didn’t include a single description of how to spot a demon. They surely must have some characteristic trait to recognise them when they’re on Earth, right? Maybe horns? Or hooves? Something that makes them more pleasant to look at for humans to make the whole tempting thing easier?

Like the human who just walked in—Bildad, the midwife slash cobbler? He couldn’t be a demon with that beard. And Aziraphale has been on Earth since forever, he’d recognise a demon right away. But Aziraphale looks, well, not relaxed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aziraphale relaxed, especially not with Gabriel around. But at least he doesn’t look more anxious than in Heaven. Maybe a little. Perhaps that’s his usual Earth anxiety level.

I’m not sure why they even brought me here, so I keep quiet and nod occasionally when one of the archangels says something. Michael was talking about the great honour of being present for this revelation. But Job and his wife don’t look honoured. Guess they didn’t get a proper briefing either. They get very agitated when Gabriel mentions their kids, though.

There’s a bit of a flurry, then Bildad steps forward and Sitis pulls three ribs from her husband’s body. And I’m no human procreation expert, but that can’t be right. If they shall have more kids, will he run out of ribs? Or do they grow back?

I wasn’t involved in the human corporation development. As a level 31 scrivener, you don’t get assigned to the fun projects. But I worked on the duck task force. And there weren’t any ribs involved. What was it again? Those things with the hard shell? Eggs! That’s how ducks multiply. Are humans supposed to lay eggs, too? Two of those kids are nearly as tall as their parents, they wouldn't fit. It must be something else.

Over the millennia, I’ve transcribed millions of dreams that involved the phrasing ‘getting laid’, and I always assumed it has something to do with procreation. Maybe it’s customary to do it standing when people are watching?

I hope we can go back to Heaven soon. There’s a hollow feeling behind my navel and my belly starts to make weird noises. I have to ask Aziraphale if that’s a malfunction.

Michael is irritated by the whole rib thing, too. They are irked by a lot of things that involve Gabriel, but they normally don’t question him so openly. When Gabriel turns to Aziraphale to confirm that those are Job's new children, Aziraphale looks like his corporation has some kind of malfunction, too.

Once Aziraphale has control of his corporation again and verifies that those are in fact the new kids, everything happens pretty fast. The humans stay in the barn to do whatever humans do when they’re not procreating. Maybe they’ll lie down now?

Aziraphale heads out, muttering something about other duties he has to tend to. And the rest of us angels travel back to Heaven. There’s a short speech by Gabriel to remind us how thankful we should be to be included in such an important event. Then I’m back at my desk with more questions about Earth on my mind than before.

Chapter Text

Up on the wall the gentle breeze drifts over me and ruffles my feathers. I take a moment to enjoy the sensation, so similar yet so different from the feeling of air while flying. The voices below eventually pull my attention.

It's brilliant up here, I can see everyone, including the angel from the hill as he runs in. I'm beginning to suspect that these angels aren't that bright. Why would anyone want sheep when goats were far superior? Not quite as good as birds, but far better than a sheep. Even I can see Job and Sitis are upset. Maybe if they could be a bird they'd be happier. Or maybe just have wings. Sometimes those angels have wings, perhaps they could share them.

I've crept closer for a better look when the demon rushes in and I flutter back. I can't risk him seeing me now. Goats are great climbers, but I still think one would struggle suddenly finding they were on top of a crumbling wall, and I’m in no hurry to test my theory.

Once again the angel and demon seem to be communicating on a level beyond their words. I'm beginning to wonder if this is some sort of celestial mating ritual. There are aspects of their interactions that are similar to human and bird dances, although there is a distinct lack of urine. Maybe that's why it's taking them so long to get on with it.

The light catches the angel's collar quite fetchingly and I find myself hypnotised by the shimmering gold. I'm not sure I've ever coveted something before. The miraculous appearance of the ox ribs breaks the spell over me. Unfortunately the bones are picked clean, not a speck of meat left on them.

Still, it means I'm paying attention when the children suddenly appear. Now, this is familiar! A part of me wants to fly away, afraid I get caught in the transformative power, but I'm too invested in what's happening.

As Job fails to grasp what's happening I feel a rush of shame. This is the man I've struggled to outwit out on the hills? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree with Ennon. Why the men can't keep up and keep quiet baffles me. At least Sitis and the girls are on board. Sweet little Jemimah is keeping up, yet even some of the angels seem to be confused, although I suppose that's a good thing.

Despite the confusion the children seem happy to be human again, so I'm happy for them. I wonder if I'd have been more eager to return to being a goat if I'd been transformed into a lizard instead of a bird.

My introspection is interrupted when I'm joined on my perch. The crow beside me is sleek and handsome, and I’m fairly certain he has never been anything but a crow. There is a distinct lack of urine scent around him, but still, he's caught my attention.

He tells me his name is Jeremy, and asks my name. I panic for a moment. I'm not ashamed that I was once a goat, yet keeping that name feels wrong. I think for a moment, and then it comes to me. “Scroat,” I tell him, short for Secret Crow Goat.

Now that we've introduced ourselves he sidles up and begins to preen my feathers. It feels surprisingly lovely. Below us things seem to be winding up so we prepare ourselves to leave. I'm quite excited to see what life holds as a crow, and how this new friendship develops.

As we take to the air I feel a strange yet familiar feeling inside, and if I had lips I would smirk, but alas, I do not. I focus on my target, and swoop low as we leave. I hear the splat and the disgusted noises of the gathered angels, especially the big bossy one. As Jeremy and I go off together, I hear him ask a question.

“Is that…poop?”

Chapter Text

If you had asked us a week ago if we had ever expected to be part of human reproduction, we wouldn’t have answered you because, you know, we were busy supporting the chest cavity of an ox. Why are you expecting literal ribs to answer a question? Secondly, this line of question implies that ribs have hopes and dreams and expectations and are something other than calcium and marrow smushed together, which opens up even more questions than God Herself would have time for. That said, we can confidently assure you that the answer to this question, had we been blessed with the capacity to listen and understand the question, would have been No. Life has been decidedly weird lately.

Spending our whole life surrounded by the warmth of squishy, wet stuff, knowing we were very important indeed for the general protection of some of the more delicate squishiness was overall rather nice. If a little claustrophobic at times. But we knew we were part of something bigger – an ox to be precise – and that brought us great pride.

So when the ox was felled and the warm pink squishiness around us was roasted over the fire, we were gravely concerned. And that was without even mentioning the ordeal of being sucked clean by a prim and proper blond. If pressed, we could tell you just how lovely that mouth felt as it gnawed into us, but again, we are ribs and no sane person goes around asking bones if they enjoy being nibbled on.

And now, here we are in the house of the man who owned our ox, a house that has seen better days, quite befuddled to learn that we are to be turned into human children. The dark haired man in white, apparently an archangel Gabriel, has just informed the ox’s owner Job that he will be given back his sheep and goats and land after passing God’s test. Sadly, his children are dead, but not to worry! They will have seven new children. More children certainly sound better than fewer children, so we fail to see why they are unhappy with this news.

The red-headed man, the one who unwittingly bestowed sentience upon us when he presented us as a tasty offering to his blond companion, is now telling his audience that humans can reproduce with rib bones. We look at each other (metaphorically speaking, as we lack eyes) and discuss (again, metaphorically speaking, as we lack mouths and ears) if we have ever heard of such a thing, and we have not. We have not witnessed the act of human reproduction. But the act of oxen reproduction? That, we are familiar with. We remember how the bull whose organs we held together rocked against a female ox as he mounted her, the noises and grunts they made. Noises that, upon reflection, are not unlike the ones the blond man made as he licked us clean. We do not yet know what “food porn” is, but we might have been the first documented instance of it.

The man who owned us and his wife appear sceptical of the red-headed man’s obstetric expertise. They have reproduced at least thrice, so they ought to be more familiar with the niceties of human reproduction than we are. It feels like we’re playing a role in a bit of improvisational theatre. We’re not sure what a theatre is, but we are sure we’re being watched and that all of this is decidedly weird.

“Now, good lady, simply turn to your husband, reach into his robes... H-higher. Higher. Uh, a little higher... That's it! And pull out three of his ribs.”

This is our cue and we feel a strange urge to say “Yes, and...” Before now, we had assumed we were created to support an ox’s chest cavity, but perhaps we were destined for the stage after all, put on this earth to star in this act of divine subterfuge. We do our best to look like we were just yanked out of this man, that we had always planned to be used for human reproduction. Are they buying what we’re selling? We can only hope so.

“And now, to complete the process, a simple embrace.”

Inside the robes of Job and his wife, there is a pot. In that pot are three small slimy critters. Some miraculous force we do not understand turns these creatures into human children. And in that same flash, we shrink.

For the first time in our not particularly long existence, we have eyes. And legs. And bones of our own. Though they seem different from the ribs we were. Softer. Not as squishy as the ox’s pink stuff we once held in place, but still rather…

“Cartilaginous,” one of us says, and the other two nod as if they have heard this word before and understand what it means.

We look at each other for the first time, admiring our new colours. As we do so, we feel urges. Urges we are not entirely unfamiliar with, though they feel different when you possess a brain and organs of your own. We feel hunger to eat as the blond angel ate us (though we’re fairly certain ox ribs are not part of a typical newt’s diet). Thirst to drink water and swim in it, as we might have when we were larvae, had we become newts in a more traditional manner. One of us, a male, looks at another one of us, a female, and is struck with a need to learn the particulars of newt reproduction (we’re fairly certain ribs aren’t involved, but beyond that, it is still a mystery).

The mood of the humans above us, who now seem incomprehensibly large, is celebratory, the ox’s owner and his wife hugging their children (though there still seems to be some theatrics happening, pretending that these are in fact new children, when we have known them since when our ox was but a calf). As the metaphorical curtains close on the metaphorical stage above us, we contemplate what’s next for us. Though now, in separate bodies, we no longer feel like “us,” but rather three new “I”s.

“Does this mean we have to leave each other?” one of us asks, worried. As we have always been interconnected, this is not a matter we have needed to contemplate. We survived the horrors of being slaughtered, eaten, and forced to do improv. But could we survive being apart?

“No,” another one of us states firmly. “Even if we could, technically, survive on our own now—“

“We don’t want to,” the third one finishes. We breathe a sigh of relief, in agreement both that breathing feels different from the outside and that, whatever we might face outside of this pot, we will face it together.

We scale the terra cotta walls of our makeshift birthplace, then tumble onto the ground, learning how to use our new amphibian limbs. The world outside is a dizzying array of colours and textures and bodies both human and animal. We follow our urges to walk in three different directions, moving farther apart than we have ever been able to before. Still, we always keep one eye locked on each other, never wandering too far apart.

Chapter Text

By standards of attention, I wasn’t really anything. Space and form, a lack of presence, is what a portal is. People looked at me and saw the fancy outer door. The prettiness. The ornate carvings, the fittings of polished bronze, or if one was looking with an eye for improvement, the squeaking hinges. Or they saw the heavy inner door, a higher indication of wealth due to its strength and weight.

The doorway — that was me — was incidental. A door was useless without me, but no one really considered that. I existed because I must exist. One would not open a door to a blank wall. One opened a door and went in or out. So I was.

It wasn’t like I was profound or anything. Or if I were, the humans who liked to think about those sorts of things definitely didn’t come talk to me about it. But I knew I was fundamental, okay? Fundamentals were important, even if no one cared. A lot depended on things that couldn’t be seen, but were necessary.

Or it’s possible I just soaked up too much of those smoked herbs and incense from the daily house rituals. Thick stuff. Tended to linger in the air. Couldn’t blame me if I got a bit loopy.

So many people passed through me every day, and I remembered them all. The family: Job, Sitis, the three children; their steps light and heedless, or slow and measured as they increased in age or caution or self-concern.

The friends, people from various houses or villages or cities or countries.

The animals — my frame was scarred and snagged with wool when Ennon and his friends decided to play a joke with the sheep and goats and neighbouring asses.

The objects. Things to eat. Things carved from trees and stone, or sculpted from clay, brought inside to admire up close and everyday.

The creatures.

Not sure what else one would’ve called them. Not human. Not animal. Not of Earth, certainly, though there was a waft of it along with them as they passed through me, as if they’d patted themselves all over with clay dust to camouflage their otherness from the unseeing humans. Some more than others.

Two in particular seemed unaware of it, as if they were gathering dust from roads travelled endlessly and it was part of them now.

But the majority were as clean and bright and alien as…well, aliens. Not of Earth. They entered the house of Job, and did what was required of them — whatever that was — a blessing of good fortune — a slippery little curse laid into a crack in the floor — rewards for faith — ill intent out of spite — and then left again like darting sunbeams or shadows.

Oh, floors? There was too much to say about floors. Floors could have their turn another time.

In any case, portals — like me, that was me — didn’t see any of these beings, human, animal, or creature. Portals waited, and sensed, and mulled. Waited for the next passage to sense and mull. Waited some more.

And then the winds came.

They were of a particular bent of creature, the unholy kind. They tore at the house with infernal fingers, and all the boundaries were snatched away. My fancy outer door with its bronze markings, heaved away into the desert like a leaf on a spring breeze. My heavy inner door, shrugged askew and stuck open, all its vaunted strength for naught. Beams collapsing, tossed down in discarded ribs. Shingles and stone, shutters and rushes and even the paint striping the outer walls for decoration — stripped off in jagged flakes and flung into a roiling tempest unlike anything Uz had ever seen before and ever would again.

And when it was done, the house and all the boundaries were rubble. And I was there, a portal in the mess of it all, my humans inside the teetering pile of stones. All the pretty carved and sculpted things had been smashed or shredded, and I felt the weeping, and the children. Where are the children and the sorrow and rage pushed through me into the desert to ripple over the sand in hot wailing waves. The ruin was complete.

The creatures had come as well, but why? To gloat? It seemed so. I could not fathom. Their alien glow lit me coldly on one side as the Earth’s star rose on my other, a comforting heat.

Another creature pressed through me, then, startling me; one of the ones that felt rolled in Earth. It was late to the little celebration of death and destruction. It was quick and furtive despite its bright alien radiance. And then another slipped through, heavier with the stain and … love of Earth upon them.

And amidst these two, held safely, somehow? I could sense…the children. Different, but still three, and still shivering with life.

Could a portal, a passage, a doorway, feel relief?

Probably not. If relief, then sadness. Then rage. Then…choices. Better not to feel anything.

The rest of it was quick. The creatures left in flashes of light. The people carried on, reunited and ecstatic. I knew they would rebuild. I knew they would cover me again. Forget the point of me. That was alright. I knew.

One of the two stained Earthly creatures paused on my naked threshold. They did that sometimes. I stayed still, as was my wont. My thing. My way.

“There’s nothing wrong,” the creature murmured, almost inaudibly, “with asking questions. Nothing.”

And then they passed through, and were gone.

Well, huh.

I sensed, I waited for them to come back. I mulled. I was.

I wondered what it would be like to ask Someone. Something. Anything.

Chapter Text

The first I knew of the world was a pair of warm hands moulding me, shaping me from formless clay into something more. The hands were small and delicate, but determined. I was pummelled and pulled, pressed and patted, until I took on the form of a pot. Rough and simple but imbued with the love and resolve of the child who had made me.

Later I learned she was called Jemimah. 

Jemimah showed me off to anyone and everyone. Her siblings Ennon and Keziah did not seem to think much of me, but then I didn’t think much of them either, so I didn’t really mind.

I was not perfect, my sides were not the smooth sweeping curves of the bigger pots made by the older humans; nor was I very big – I could not hold much inside me. But Jemimah had made me, and she loved me and was proud of me. That was all that really mattered, though I sometimes looked enviously at the bigger pots and wished I, too, could be useful like them.

I was picked up and put down often by Jemimah’s small hands. I was cradled and loved and handled with care. Sometimes she would take me outside to collect things in me, like berries or interesting stones. I felt proud then that I could be of some use, even if it was only a little and only for a short time.

Whatever happened though, I could always feel the love Jemimah had for me – the pot she had created with her own two hands.

It was not many weeks after I had been made that the Big Event happened.

The first I knew of it I was plucked from the table and carried through into a room I hadn’t seen before.

Incidentally, I don’t know how it is that I can see anything at all. Humans seem to use something they refer to as ‘eyes’, but I don’t have any of those. I’m just a pot made out of clay, but somehow I can perceive the world around me anyway. I’ve always wondered if other pots are the same. There are many bigger pots around the house, but I couldn’t seem to communicate with any of them. Perhaps the lack of the hole humans use to make noises is more of a problem than the lack of eyes.

Anyway, I digress…

There were two people in the room, one dressed in white and one in black and red, and I thought perhaps Jemimah wanted to show me off to them as well. Except the one in white started shouting about how he was an angel, and how a demon was coming to destroy all the children, and that sounded a bit worrying. I’d seen a couple of angels visiting the house in the time since I’d been made, and the bigger people in the house, the ones Jemimah called “mummy” and “daddy”, often talked about them. They usually brought good things. Not stories about demons who wanted to break Jemimah and her family into pieces.

The children didn’t seem worried though. Keziah and Ennon seemed to think the one they called God would protect them from harm. I have to say, I wasn’t so confident myself. I’d never seen this God person and they hadn’t protected Jemimah when she’d fallen over and scraped her hands outside the week before. She’d cried, and the next time she’d picked me up I’d felt the places where her skin was rough and damaged from the fall. After a few days though she seemed to get better and the hands that held me now were as smooth and gentle as ever. Humans, it seemed, could heal themselves.

When it was Jemimah’s turn to introduce herself, she held me out proudly and announced that she had made me. The angel seemed impressed, despite my appearance, but sadly before he could say anything more about how clever my sweet Jemimah was, Keziah interrupted.

She still seemed to think they were immune to being destroyed, but for my part I was very suspicious of the character wearing black. His eyes looked odd, even to me, and the angels I’d seen all wore white, rather than dark colours. I wished more than ever that I had a mouth, so I could warn Jemimah.

Luckily, she’s a clever little thing and worked it out anyway. Although knowing the man-shaped thing was a demon didn’t help when he started setting the room alight. The flames roared around us, hotter even than the midday sun had been when I’d been left out to dry in it. Jemimah clutched me protectively, even as her brother and sister sheltered her between them. I suppose since their instinct was to protect their younger sister they weren’t quite so bad as I had first thought.

Things looked pretty scary for a few while, and though the angel was still talking, saying something about how we were perfectly safe, I couldn’t quite believe it. I really thought Jemimah and her family were going to be roasted, just like the ox on the table, but then, as the roaring of the flames reached its peak, we were suddenly falling.

Jemimah kept me safe, of course, clutching me to her chest so that I didn’t break when we landed on the floor below. We were in the cellar under the house; the flames were gone and it seemed as if we were safe for now. The angel had been right, after all.

I didn’t really understand the conversation that followed between the angel and the demon, but clearly the demon was not pleased with Ennon or Keziah because one moment they were standing around talking and the next I felt an odd fizzing energy in the air and they were gone. I couldn’t see what had happened properly, not from the safety of Jemimah’s hands. I only heard her ask if she could be a blue one.

‘A blue one of what?’ I wondered, before her warm hands were gone and I found myself falling once again.

For a second I thought it was all over for me. I’d seen another pot fall to the floor once – a large, well-made one that had held many different things in its time. One moment it had been in someone’s hands, and the next it was hurtling towards the floor. There had been a horrible shattering sound and the pot had vanished. There had been pieces of clay laying around on the floor afterwards, that the grownups had swept up and thrown away. It had taken me a while to realise they were all that remained of what had once been a fine and sturdy looking pot.

Obviously, clay pots like me could not survive hitting the floor in that way. Not even when we were large and well-made. Now I was falling towards the floor, and surely a small, rough pot like me had no chance?

I braced for the moment when I would be shattered, but it never came. Instead the strange, fizzing energy seemed to run right through me, and though I hit the floor with a thump, I did not break. I felt the jolt through every bit of clay I possessed, but something about that fizzing energy held me together. I was strong. Unbreakable even! Whatever the demon had done to the children, he had chosen to use that same energy to protect me from harm.

I had no idea why.

At least until the angel came over, picked up some tiny lizards from the floor and deposited them inside me. I realised at once who they were – I would know Jemimah anywhere. Her kindness and her love were unmistakable, even though she was now a tiny blue lizard.

I knew then that it was my job to keep her safe. And her brother and sister, of course. I could sense them too, their tiny feet scrabbling frantically at my smooth insides as they clamoured to try and climb out.

I had no idea where they thought they were going to go if they did get out. It was clear the angel and demon had some sort of plan for them, and it struck me that it would be more sensible if they stayed put. It wasn’t as if they could change back into humans by themselves if they did run away, was it?

Luckily Jemimah seemed to be on board with remaining in my protection. I could feel her little feet perched on my side as she looked out every now and then, but mostly she just scurried around inside me, or stood still and twitched her tail or her tongue. I’m not sure what she was doing, but she seemed to be having fun with her new body configuration, so I was happy for her. It was easier to keep her safe if she wasn’t trying to escape.

I was so proud to have been chosen to guard her and keep her safe. She had made me with such love, imbued me with life and with purpose, and now this was my chance to repay her kindness. I could not be useful by holding things like the other pots of the house, but I could do this. I could keep three tiny lizards safe from harm.

I stood silently on the floor of the cellar cradling her in my embrace through the long, dark night.

Mostly the angel and the demon ignored us. The demon seemed to be persuading the angel to eat some of the food, though I couldn’t understand why. He lounged nearby drinking wine and speaking of things that were beyond me. I heard him mention God though, the one Ennon and Keziah had thought would protect them. From what I could gather the demon seemed to think it was God who wanted the children destroyed.

The angel did not disagree.

Personally, I was horrified. Why would anyone want to destroy children? Ennon and Keziah had their faults, but I wouldn’t want to see them dropped from a height and shattered into a hundred pieces, like that other pot had been. They didn’t deserve that. And as for sweet little Jemimah – she deserved only good things. What sort of person was this God if they wanted to destroy someone as kind and loving as Jemimah?

Had I been able to, I would have shuddered with horror. As it was, I could only stand stoically and protect my charges in the only way I knew how.

Morning took a long time to come, but when it did things started happening again.

I was lifted, and carried, with my precious burden still safe inside me, and tucked under a robe where it was warm and dark. It was the demon again. He whisked us all to a place where I could hear many voices – though I could see nothing under the thick material of the robe.

The voices were muffled and I could make out little of what was going on, but eventually I felt myself being moved, transferred from one set of robes to another. I could hear more now – familiar voices, of the angel and the demon who had been in the cellar with us, and some other voices too, saying something about ribs. I had no idea what was going on, but the voices kept on talking, and then there was a strange wash of energy, similar to those I had felt last night, yet different this time. Less fizzy and more tingly somehow.

The lizards vanished and I fell. For one horrible moment I thought they had been destroyed, but as I once again landed unharmed on the floor, I realised I could feel Jemimah above me, back in her human shape. The voices I could hear were joyful now; the grownup humans elated to see their children returned.

Vaguely I noticed there were some more lizard-like creatures inside me, but these were bigger than the children had been and before I had really got to grips with where they had come from, they had climbed over my sides and disappeared, scuttling across the floor as fast as their legs could carry them. I didn’t stop to watch where they went, I was too preoccupied with the family above me.

Happiness was radiating from little Jemimah, and I basked in the warmth of its glow. I was proud of my part in her return. Had I not guarded her well? Kept her safe through the strange night, just as she had kept me safe in her small hands, even when fire had raged all around her? Even when she had fallen into the cellar?

Finally, I had been able to do something for the little girl who had given me life, who looked after me and loved me, even though I was imperfect.

It was a happy day for me.

The little pot stayed with Jemimah her whole life.

It was special to her. Not only had she made it, but she remembered the time when an angel and a demon had visited, and she had spent the night as a blue lizard, tucked away inside the little pot she herself had shaped from the clay.

It was a tough little pot, for it never seemed to crack or chip. Once, when she’d tripped and fallen, the pot had slipped from her fingers and she was sure it would be broken, but she was surprised to find it unharmed. It was incredible. Miraculous, even.

Jemimah knew the pot was special.

She kept the pot even when she grew to be an adult. Eventually she married and moved out of her parent’s home, and when she had a daughter of her own she let her have the pot to keep her trinkets in. She told her children the story of that night in the cellar, and they wondered at the things she had seen and knew the little pot was special too.

Then they had children of their own, and grandma Jemimah told them of that night and the story of the pot too. But they looked at it with a little less wonder and thought perhaps it was nothing but a silly story, until one of them dropped it by accident, and still it did not break. Then they looked at it more closely, still unchipped and unmarred after decades of use, and they wondered a little more than they had before. The eldest granddaughter kept it and told her children the story of her grandma, who had made the pot and met creatures that were not of this world.

And so it went on. The pot was passed down through the generations, until the girl who had made it was long forgotten, and the story was nothing but family folklore. Then longer still, until it was nothing but an old-fashioned pot, a relic of a time long forgotten, when angels walked the earth and miracles still happened.

Old and unimportant now, replaced with things newer and more beautiful. It sat, forgotten and unused, until one day it found itself discarded altogether.

It lay on the earth from which it had come and dreamed of those days when it had been loved by a child called Jemimah. The days when it had been important. When it had witnessed something it had never truly understood, but had known was momentous, nonetheless.

It lay until eventually it was buried, and the years passed by. Decades and then centuries. Until a long forgotten demonic miracle faded away.

Not even a miracle can last forever.

As it finally cracked, and flakes of its clay started to wear away, it lay dreaming of days long gone, until it felt itself slipping away entirely.

Then its last thoughts were of the child whose hands had shaped it from the clay.

And of a dimly lit basement where it had cradled that child and kept her safe in its heart.

And of love.

Always love.