Another Post from "a Misspent god"

I'm working diligently on this story and trying to finish my second novel now titled Tall Pauley (instead of Saint Pauley)--thanks to my first readers.  The final drafts of both of these represent some serious toiling with words. There is much to do, much to do.  But I love it.

I thought that I had better post something, though, to help me push forward.  So, here's a bit more from a chapter entitled "The Metalworker."

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I wandered for several more cycles of the sun. I wandered in and out of villages and towns observing the work and the ways of the lower ones. Often I would hear the names of the gods invoked in prayer, cursing or woven into conversations such as this. "I was plowing the field three days ago when it rained, Gersemi be praised.”  It seemed everywhere I went they praised or invoked the names of a myriad of gods.  There were times I shook my head in disbelief. 

One time in particular, I must tell you, I was sitting near a fountain. Many lower ones milled around me. I overheard one sitting close by saying, "Honor be to Ogmios!" I cannot recall the context in which it was said, but I scoffed at his name. I thought I had done this under my breath, but the man who spoke heard me say this. He turned on me and cried out his displeasure, which gathered quite a large crowd. He leapt to his feet and cried out, "This man has no respect for Ogmios!" To which I cried out, unfortunately, "I have no respect for any of your gods!" This was not the thing to say, no matter how true it was to my thoughts. Within a very short time I was being drug out of the town and stones were being collected of which they intended to hurl at me.  Do they not understand that the very stones they picked up were the same stones that have fallen from the mountains? How one stone could be used as a weapon, another a part of the wall, another considered rubbish to be thrown out on the field and yet another to be a god is completely beyond my understanding! 

At the moment that I was to feel the true effects of stone against flesh, I sensed some of my old powers return. Perhaps this happened because I was nearing the end of my trial period.  For whatever reason I was able to loose myself and ran from their midst. I ran for half of the day then became somewhat hungry. I would need sustenance for only a short while more.

On the outskirts of another small town I saw a small alcove with a small figure of a god tucked inside.  It was surrounded by dead and freshly picked flowers. There was an odd smell of decay and sweetness. What lay at the base of the alcove was the real find! There was quite a large pile of fruit and nuts. I took small bites of these at first, and finding them delicious, soon ate my fill, decimating the large pile of fruit. I left only pits and stems for the worshipers to discover. After all, they might enjoy some proof that what they gave to a god was indeed gladly received of a god. I believe I was fortunate that no one found me there. I imagine they would have picked up more stones to teach me proper respect for their tiny statue.

I wandered the streets for a time, exploring their marketplace. Soon after, I entered a shop that was very well kept. Inside were small and large images made of what I learned was silver, a precious material considered to be of great value. I recognized some of the images as similar to what the stonemason had been carving. This was a shop filled with the images of gods. I almost laughed out loud at their large eyes, protruding lips and strange clothing. It was apparent that the imaginations of the lower ones were quite crude.

A big voice behind me interrupted my reflections on this matter. I turned to see a rather large man. His eyes danced with the prospect of the exchange of coins for gods. His wide mouth was filled with teeth as white as snow. It reminded me somewhat of my father's smile, broad but without great brushes of ridicule.

Copyright M.R. Hyde 2013

"a Misspent god" Continues

I was back again last night at the CSWRS. Thanks to Mandy Solomon for her good leadership and bringing us wonderful writers to broaden our local horizons!

So, here is what I read aloud last night in the continuing saga of "a Misspent god."  Frankly, this story is not easy to write. It does not seem difficult because of the first-person perspective nor because of the content.  Rather, it is difficult to write because I want to be so very careful in building the plot to a phenomenal point of conflict.  Carefully, carefully I trod toward a resolution by which I am completely intrigued.

The Crone

I found a plateau nearby strangely vacant of vegetation and sufficiently flat enough for me to lay out full length.  Tiny deer fled from the nearby rocks as my shadow darkened their habitat.  Because the crone had ignored my calls I lay down and watched the clouds.  Presently a hawk flew overhead and I reached up and gently tapped its tail feathers and laughed when it careened through the air screaming at me to leave it alone.  Soon it flew out of my reach and I went to sleep in the hot sun.

The next thing I recall was the ground trembling.  I woke in a shadow—the shadow of my father walking toward me.  I did not know how I should or could react.  I was at his mercy as I lay there. The earth ceased trembling as he stopped near my side.  I blinked up at his aspect.  The sun crowned his head with its brilliance. This is what he said to me.  “Helgeror tells me you bested her at the library.”  There was a groundswell of challenge in his voice, but I did not respond.  “I would test you now in this matter.  However, your mother has told me she has sent you to the crone for a journey to the lower realms.  So, I shall test you later.”  And with that, and not waiting for any response from me, he turned and walked off of the plateau and into his chariot, a great cloud of dust in his wake.  I hated him even more then and determined that I would never permit him to test me.  I felt my feet slip off the edge of the plateau and realized that I had grown even taller as he spoke to me.  I was glad for this, for I had hoped that someday he might fear me as much as I feared him.  Then I slept again.

The crone woke me in the obscurity of twilight.  She stood by my ear which was as tall as she.  Her voice was gentle, but her aspect with harsh.  She had been legendary for her beauty.  But now her legend was made of other things.  She woke me with these words:  “So, this the son of Ogmios and Ernmos.  You have come at your mother’s bidding.  What does she want of me?”  I stretched and the plateau trembled.  I was in no particular hurry, so I sat up slowly.  The crone was behind me then and she had to shout up at me.  “You will have to lay back down, boy, if you want to speak with me!”  At this I reached around behind me and grabbed her in my fist.  I swung her up near my face.  “Or,” I declared to her in a small clap of thunder, “you will come to me!”

She was unimpressed and her eyes were as dark as midnight.  She closed them slowly and her aspect grew larger in my eyes.  In the next moment I realized that she was not growing, rather I was becoming smaller.  Soon my grip around her was strained and I could no longer hold on to her.  She laughed at me and cried out with delight, “How small do you wish to be, little god?  How small?!”  I only called out to her when I saw her ankle bones at the bottom of her tattered skirt.  Then everything stopped.  She leaned over and one dark, black eye blinked in my face.  Her breath was hot and heavy like a summer’s day at the seashore and it reeked of garlic.

 

She told me three things.  The first was that by sunrise I would be the size of a man of the lower realms.  The second was that I would remain in that form for only six turns of the sun.  And, finally, I was to have no powers except that of the lower ones.  I protested loudly, especially on that last measure.  But, she laughed and said that my father had made this so.  Then with a blink of that terrible eye she was gone.

Copyright M.R. Hyde July 12, 2013