Eggs and deserts might be a strange match—except in the world of Eggs for the Ageless.
This all-new comic fantasy novel arrives May 16, 2022. In the meantime, I’ve got to blog about something. So, I’d love to share a chapter of the book with you.
A live version of this excerpt is available here. However, if you’d rather not hear me repeat the word “umm” several times, you’ll prefer the written version below. Anyhoo, without further ado, here’s Chapter Two of Eggs for the Ageless, entitled “A Meeting of (Most of) the Dozen.” Hope you enjoy it!
Lira, Goddess of Order, cleared her throat. “Your father and I have an announcement to make.”
“An important announcement,” her husband clarified.
Lira shot him a venomous look. She wore her long hair tied neatly into a spiraling braid which hung over one shoulder. Her forehead contained a vein that had been throbbing for several thousand years or so, and never more vigorously than during family meetings. Like this one.
She noticed her husband’s throne was not quite aligned with hers; a hair of a degree off, by her estimation (which was of course perfectly accurate). So Lira snapped her fingers. Her husband’s throne jerked into place.
Her husband’s name was Florinioniorius. He was a plump god adorned in a robe of starlight and boots of midnight. A beret spun from strands of dream was stuffed over his curly mop of dark hair. He was called God of Life, Creator of Creation, Author of It All, and many other bombastic self-appointed titles nobody used but him. Most just called him God of Creation.
Florinioniorius’s eyes changed color depending on his mood. As they narrowed on his wife, they turned red. But when his gaze swept over their children standing before them, his eyes turned a vibrant orange. He scooted his throne back where it had been, then stroked the silver quill tucked behind his ear. It was the quill he’d used to create everything.
Lira and Florinioniorius (we’ll call him “Flor” from now on, to save paper) had hundreds of children, all of them Ageless. Among those hundreds, the first 10 were known as the Dozen (with Lira and Flor making 12). And of those 10, eight were in attendance. Those eight children presently stood in a half-arc around their parents. Above them hung the crystalline dome of the Council Chambers, and above that a dome of purple clouds that kept out the oppressive sun. Far below awaited the realm of the mortals (where Egg and her mother lived). The Ageless called it “Downstairs.”
Lira and Flor were human-shaped. Among their eight attending children, some were and some weren’t. One, for example, had a cluster of eyeballs in place of a head. Another sported three pairs of feathery wings and was now combing them with a brush. Another had a tiny, cone-shaped head atop a hulking, angular body. The most humanoid among the children was a curvy woman with red hair, red robes, and red ruby rings, one of which she twisted around her finger. Her name was Laléna, and she was Goddess of Love.
“Mother?” Laléna asked. “Father? Is everything alright? What sort of announcement is this?”
“Let me guess,” said a god whose bod was composed of swords, spears, daggers, and all manner of pointy objects. “There’s a fight brewing. Am I right? Sweet, I knew it. I’ll gather a host and meet you Downstairs.”
“No, War,” Lira answered. “No fighting.”
The God of War, who’d given himself the imaginative name “War,” peered down sullenly at his shoes. They were made of razor blades.
A Goddess with hair composed of kelp and tanned skin verging on orange spoke next. “I’ve got a guess. We’re installing a new beach down there, aren’t we?”
“Good guess, Idos,” said Flor, winking one orange eye. “But no new beaches needed. Maybe another time, m’dear.”
Idos, Goddess of the Sea, peered down sullenly at her shoes. They were flip-flops.
“Is this a recognition banquet in my honor?” asked a goddess with green skin of a bark-like texture, along with several toadstools sprouting from her cheek. Two crows sat on her shoulders, and a monkey sat on her head. “Or a good-natured roast? Perhaps a surprise party?”
“No, Grimgrumble,” Lira sighed. “It isn’t even your birthday.”
Grimgrumble, Goddess of the Wilds, peered down sullenly at her shoes—or would have, if she ever wore any.
“We have summoned you all here today,” Lira practically shouted, vein pounding in her forehead, “because your father and I have an announcement to make. We need to tell you that—”
“Ahem,” said Flor.
Lira glared at him. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…who’s telling them? Me or you?”
“I was about to. Then you interrupted me.”
“That wasn’t interrupting, that was me clearing my throat.”
“My ass. I know what it was, it was—”
“Mother,” Laléna interjected. “Father. We just want to know why you summoned us here. From either of you.”
The world’s original power couple glowered at each other for what seemed like eons. Finally, Flor waved a hand in concession. Lira nodded.
“Your father and I,” she boomed, “are getting a divorce.”
Silence. That’s what came next. Complete, awed, disbelieving silence. Ten whole seconds of it, during which existence itself seemed to hold its breath. (Who knows? Maybe it did.)
One god finally broke that silence: The one with three sets of feathery wings. Windbag was his name, and he was God of Air. He raised his wings along with his hand.
“Divorce?” he asked. “What does that word mean again?”
Mountain, God of Earth, who had the cone-shaped head and the angular body, whispered the correct answer. He had to whisper, otherwise he’d cause an earthquake. Unfortunately, he whispered so quietly that no one heard him.
So War, God of War, ventured a guess instead. “Divorce is a breed of dog, Windbag, you dummy. Mom and Dad are getting us a puppy.”
“Nope,” said a goddess who had hitherto been silent. She wore muddy boots and a big hat with a tall yellow feather in it. Faraway was her name, and she was Goddess of Travels. “Not a dog. Divorce is a term coined by the mortals. Means Mother and Father are splitting up.”
“That’s correct, m’dear,” Flor confirmed. “Your mother and I are parting. We’ve had enough of each other. And frankly, enough of this world. I created it, yes, but I yearn for a new project.” He patted the silver quill tucked behind his ear. “I’d hate to be remembered as an author with only one book.”
“You created this world,” Lira snorted. “But I kept it going. The whole damn time.”
Flor’s eyes turned red again, though he managed to unstick them from his wife (soon to be ex). He smiled at his children. “We’re leaving two essential posts empty: Mine, as God of Creation, and your mother’s, as Goddess of Order. Therefore, we’re conducting tryouts for our replacements.”
Lira glared at her husband (soon to be ex, also). “We agreed to call them interviews. Not tryouts.”
“‘Interview’ sounds so stodgy. Tryouts are fun! Besides, why do you care so much?”
“Father,” interjected Laléna, ever the voice of reason. “Mother. Let’s back up a moment. Is divorce really the answer? Can’t love find a way?”
“No!” snapped Lira and Flor simultaneously. It was perhaps the first time they’d agreed on anything in several millennia.
The god with the head made of eyeballs spoke next—or would have, had all those eyeballs left any room for a mouth. Instead, he wrote a message on a scrap of parchment, then passed it to Laléna, who read it aloud. She said: “Infinity wants to know when the interviews are being held.” (Infinity, by the way, was the God of Knowledge.)
“Soon,” answered Flor, at the same time Lira said, “Immediately.” They exchanged several dirty looks, then Lira continued.
“We shall consider all of you gathered here today, as well as your sister Coda, who’s working right now and couldn’t attend. We would’ve considered your brother Hylus, too, but…” She trailed off, cleared her throat, took a moment to gather herself. “Any other questions?”
Several divine hands shot up. Lira massaged the vein in her forehead. “We’ll make appointments with each of you individually.”
“Thanks for coming, m’dears and m’boys,” said Flor. “Good luck at your tryouts!”
That was their cue to leave. And so, they did. Another happy reunion for the world’s original dysfunctional family.
Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.
© Kyle A. Massa, 2022. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be duplicated or distributed in any form or by any means without expressed written consent from the author.
