Two, yet one. Brother and sister, yet knowing each other more than they knew themselves…separated by only a few years in most tellings of their myth, but lately by a gap of ten passages of cthonic black earth through starlit, scintillating night. One named after a blue bird with a sharp tongue and angular body lines, tuft of feathers on his head like messy hair, the other after a soft, round bird with red breast and sweet song. They were love and war, sex and death, creation ex nihilo and reduction back to that same black zero-point…the sword and the cup, air and water, fire and ice, division and multiplication. They looked alike, yet where one stood for passion from warm hugs to cold steel opening fire on a summer night like lightning across the sky, the other stood for playing it cool, knowing rather than doing, rational, careful, cautious thought. And in odd moments, the two crossed each other’s paths like twin snakes climbing a tree that led to heaven, and switched roles.
In all myths they were the last hope of the galaxy, of the world, of worlds, of a fantasy kingdom, of each other against a boring, rainy day. They represented – in no uncertain terms – the glimmering firelight of the Aeon that they were a part of. They were its sword and shield, healer and defender, and in some cases the destroyer of the one before it, the enemy of dead gods who would stop the sky’s progress from Night to Day. She was the Gnostic Kiss, he the archangel with sword of flame.
They were born from the dead relics of lesser-known characters from a famous science fiction story, beginning as names of young knights changed to protect the originality of a work for a local story contest, and winning their maker victory, small fame for fifteen seconds. They walked with him for nine long years – dreams, moons, Odin’s fiery mead and second sight with first and only eye, strength of magic through Art. Unwritten, they were always the germ of a glorious idea if only he got the time, but the idea always changed. It was an epic tale, set here, set there, set in the past, the future, another now. They were servitors, fantasies of other kinds, constant waking companions as he dreamed out what they would be next, what he would be next. But never did he set pen to paper, begin to walk the dream road…
One day he decided enough was enough, okay. He was gonna write a story and make people love it…it was a little bit too weird for the masses, but the story remained as a regular feature in a magazine given light, flesh, cybernetic beeping pixel glory. An Aeonic Edge…a decision point, the edge of a dagger that cut astral bone from astral marrow, a Logos Laser pointed at the heart of those who clung to anything but themselves. For in these trying times they would not last..there could only be self-realization. It wasn’t just The World That Crowley Conquered that was opposed by itself, on the brink, on the Aeonic Edge…it was the world of the writer, the world of the reader, all alternate worlds, The World Within. Dead were dogmas, anything but what flowed forth like living water…and as with any other Aeon, the brother and sister stepped forth to defend this one as well. Except now they were his spirit allies…they opposed and protected at the same time, somehow. A double Aeonic Edge, a combination of flint and steel, perhaps matter and anti-matter.
Their names, of course, were Robin and Jay. But as the Storymaker had invoked a deeper current into a spirit he had created, Ayin Soph, the Beautifier of the old, tired memesphere, Space Wall-E – the current of the Beast and Babalon, Apocalypse Within! Right Here! Right Now! Opposing force of dissolution and existence-joy – could he not bring forth that same primal ebb and flow through the brother and sister, the red and the blue, the song and the shrill logical cadence, the breast and the beak, the twin wings of infinity and primordial nothing? If all that resided on the Internet was ones and zeroes (but mostly zeroes, the Storymaker had found, for most of everything was noise with many meanings, not signal with one bright Sense), could Tales From The Aeonic Edge not tell its tales with the Zero and the One, who together made Two Invincible, transposed from setting to setting and story to story as the need of their author required?
Truly magical things could be done with this, the bond between the brother, the sister and the story…and perhaps the energy, the principle, the joy of the telling would make the stories even better. Make the love that the Storymaker had for these very special characters fuel a new Aeon of Self and Story which constantly spun on its edge, which bore the words EXCELSIOR! WHAM! POW! ZAP! upon its heart, written with a pen of fire. This was going to be awesome…the Storymaker bid the two sibling-friends go forth into the story realm, birthing from clay as the gods of chaos and creation, death and the apocalypse, settled on them like snake-crown and storm-heart…like sun and moon. The horizon was golden, glowing with eternal astral light…and Robin and Jay skipped off into it hand in hand, waiting for the first story to bring them form. And there would be many forms, many stories, many adventures. For the Will was there, and the Heart…now all the tales needed was a reader, who would make the story True.