The people, your beloved children, say the gods are sheepskin wearers.
Soulless beings that raised us only as a form of entertainment, so they could play with us, cull us when we grew too insightful.
The words of our Grand Elders' spread like poison in a stream. Unstoppable.
They, whom should be your most trusted messengers, plotted to steal your divinity and share among themselves as the sole power of this world.
As a ranked official, I found myself involved before I could change their minds.
It was as if a plague had befallen my colleagues, persistent and wild. They blamed the gods for the unending drought that ached the bellies of our livestock, the incurable illnesses that killed our mothers and fathers, the economic stagnation of our Empire. They vented about feeling confined, restricted by laws of divinity. Why should men not build an empire as large as the world? The resources, the land and the force are all within reach. It is only the gods' forbiddance hindering progress, denying men from harvesting the land and achieving more.
And so, under the darkening sky and the canvas of twinkling crystals, I stood with my colleagues at the top of the Holy Temple. From its wide base to its flat top, the Holy Temple was a twelve-tiered pyramid made of polished sandstone. A structure constructed entirely for the worship of the gods, now devoted to their ruin. The top was also square, with two sides extending into triangular panels that point towards the sky.
Before the war, at nu, I would sit with my legs dangling out the edge, head tilted down to observe the village lights all around and clasped my hands for prayer. It was impossible now, the nus filled with heat and noise, hatred, and misery.
Praying to the gods itself was a crime.
The torches' light that once felt comforting now hissed across a myriad of mud-caked faces at the center of the floor. Grim and solemn – or so they acted – these people were the bait for the Grand Elders' plan.
My colleagues circled the 'bait' and one of the elders stepped forward with a cane full of splinters. While I could not read the hearts of these men, their intent was palpable. I clenched my hands into my robes, sickened by this atmosphere. How can they do this on the Holy Temple?
But I stood unmoving beside them all.
The Grand Elders aimed to lure only one of the gods. If both arrived, then it was a greater boon, but one was enough. Afterall, the one that will surely come, and they were prepared for, is the god of foresight, Y'ncha i'da.
Wise but infinitely merciful was this god. His care for the common people was always obvious and the Grand Elders used this to their advantage.
When he arrived, it was in a flurry of ash and embers. Weapon sheathed at his hip, white feathered wings gliding on the floor, glowing form robed in sea blue. His lips a tight line; he did not question our motives nor strike us down where we stood.
Still, I trembled. I hoped for him to raze us to the ground, as he had done our brothers and sisters. The god remained, still as stone, defying that very wish. Even though I and everyone present knew he knew every step of this plan and every vile deed that would be inflicted on him.
My colleagues secured him with a rope of thick metal, just as a Grand Elder ascended the steps and joined the scene. He wore a trailing formal robe, as though he were merely here to conduct a divine ceremony. A wide bowl and broad knife was in his hands.
Tear his wings. Collect his lifeblood. Section his body.
His pride would not allow him to move.
We will have his divinity by the end of this nu.
The plan whispered its way again into my mind.
From the sul I was integrated into this plot my mind had churned a million ways to foil this heinous plan. Misinform the times for this gathering, desecrate the Grand Elders' formal robes or to greater extent, convince my colleagues that the Grand Elders were truthfully seeking to wrest power for themselves. Expose the undeniable truth to the common people! It would all be effortless... if I had the conviction.
After news arrived that a god was sighted above my village before its annihilation, I did not beseech Y'ncha i'da for the why. I was enraged and wanted to be proved wrong. I desperately sought to find out which god had killed my mate and children, had casted such a blinding attack, the land was scorched barren. But I was not. The war had stolen many but sul after sul that my mate and children were untouched by it, I trusted we were protected through the gods' good will. Yet a blue-robed god was the unmistakable culprit and I felt everything I worked towards crumble.
All men are equal under their judgement, it seems.
For that, I felt adrift from my connection to the divine. To this glorious being before me.
Do you remember me, great Y'ncha i'da? It has been decades since we last met eye to eye like this. So close to reach out and touch, to place all my hopes and wishes upon your light soul. You, who first helped me shape my dreams. Sat with me through all the times I was alone. Imbued upon an imprudent child the power of language. That penniless, skinny child who grew to become me, an important official in the Holy Temple.
All I worked for was to be close to you again. I wanted you, my first teacher and friend, to be proud of me.
Tear his wings! Collect his lifeblood! Section his body!
The Grand Elder chanted, and my colleagues closed in. Y'ncha i'da was motionless aside from the mere shift of his glowing white wings.
My village and family had been destroyed by a mere flick of his weapon. I did not dare to contemplate the actions of a god but perhaps you feel guilty for those slaughters. Perhaps you wanted this, to be punished by the people you swore to always protect, by the person you thought of as a student?
I am a fool to think so highly of myself. Perhaps I am nothing to you at all, great Y'ncha i'da, god of foresight, guide to all living creatures.
No! Stop this!
A god does not belong in the realm of men. You should just leave us to rot. Fly far away with your great wings and never interfere with our lives.
The Grand Elder looked at me, my colleagues and the 'bait' lunged to stop me, but I already had the god's weapon in hand.
If you do not leave now, I will end myself.
I danced to the very edge of the platform and clutched the weapon to my chest. It hummed and burned my clothing and hands, and I held it tighter.
Y'ncha i'da moved slightly, both hands raised as if to placate.
Ja'd, a voice called sharply into my mind.
A shudder ran through me at the old name, and the familiar voice that sounded reproaching yet gentle.
Leave this mortal realm!
I repeated. Images of my destroyed village, the charred bodies of sisters and children of all ages, my home in splinters flashed in my mind. I hope you see it all and understand. If only you had never come to me.
Suddenly, Y'ncha i'da jerked his head. A chain had looped around his neck and hands grappled for feathers on his wings, dragging each wing to opposite sides. There was movement behind me at the same time. My feet separated from the ground, I flailed but there was nothing all around to grab onto. My back hit the edge of the second tier with a loud crack. The silhouette of the Grand Elder turned his back to the edge and was about to move away when he fell to his knees, the god's weapon embedded clean through his abdomen.
The weapon had left my hands in a moment of hatred. It seemed to read the will of its wielder and acted on its own. I clenched my fists in revulsion. Killing a Grand Elder, let alone fellow man, was a sin.
A tremor ran through the Temple and a bright light shone from its top. I painfully clambered to my feet, leaning against the sandstone walls as I shuffled to find some kind of leverage to get back to the top.
A slender, graceful shadow loomed over me.
Y'ncha i'da freed his weapon from the Grand Elder's body. He turned his head down to me as he did so and I stared back defiantly. Would you punish me for killing? Was this crime equal to yours?
No. You acted well, Ja'd. He nodded once.
Leave now. Please don't make me say it again.
I stepped back when he tried to reach for me. I knew he would want to heal me, but whether it was because of his light soul or instinct I do not know.
He lips twitched as if to smile, but after my thoughts ran through, he pursed them. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he backed away until his wings opened and the wind fetched him away from the Holy Temple.
You won't see me again. I give my word.
His final words left a bitter taste in my mouth, along with the tears that coursed endlessly from my eyes.
When your ire is cooled, and your heart wholly healed, let me remain as dust in your eternal memory. I do not hope for you to grieve over me, as I know your soul feels deeply, deeper than the hearts of men. You, who have been kind to me all my suls, was repaid an ungrateful student.
Old friend, this is my final prayer to you! I wish you eternally glorious, as the sul we first met.
This story is a spin-off from 28/4/2021