Smokescreens

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 an ordained 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 beheld a square for gathering, with two sides extending into triangular panels that unfolded diagonally towards the sky.

Before the war, at evenings, I would sit with my legs dangling out the edge, head bowed down to observe the village lights all around and clasped my hands for prayer. It was impossible now, the gloaming horizon 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 bodies at the center of the square. Resigned – or so they acted – these people were the bait for the Grand Elders’ plan. They were on their knees, hands flat on the ground with only a thin garment across each of their backs.

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?

Yet 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. A glowing form robed in sea blue with a thin blade secured at his hip and white feathered wings that brushed airily on the floor. His lip 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 thick metal, just as a Grand Elder ascended the steps and joined the scene. He wore a lavishly coloured robe, as though he were merely here to conduct a divine ceremony. A wide bowl and broad knife were 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 evening.

The plan that was instructed onto us whispered sneeringly in my mind.

Since the day 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’ ceremonial 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… should I have 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 that the land was scorched barren. Only I alone was left. The war had stolen many but day after day that my mate and children were unharmed, a belief bloomed in me that we would be spared by the gods’ goodwill… Yet a blue-robed god was the unmistakable culprit, framed by neither evil nor deceit. His decisive form and actions were witnessed by hundreds nearby, who were now plagued by nightly terrors.

I felt everything I worked towards crumble.

All men are equal under gods’ judgement, it is becoming apparent to me.

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 hand. I did not dare to contemplate the actions of a god but perhaps you feel guilt 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 have left us to rot. Flew far away with your great wings and never interfered with our lives.

At my abrupt outcry, the Grand Elder looked at me, my colleagues lunged to stop me, but I already had the god’s blade in hand.

If you do not leave now, I will end myself.

I strode to the very edge of the square and clutched the weapon to my chest. It thrummed and sizzled 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 my old name, and the familiar voice that sounded reproaching yet gentle.

Leave this mortal realm!

I repeated. Memories of my village, reduced to ash, the charred bodies of sisters and children of all ages, lain where they had worked and played, flashed in my mind. The final memory: ash and splinters of my home cradled in my bosom. I hope you see it all and understand. If only you had never come to me.

Suddenly, the god’s head was jerked backwards. A chain had looped around his neck and muddy hands grappled for feathers, dragging his wings to opposing sides. The ceremonial knife was raised above the juncture where the flesh of his shoulder meets an almost translucent bone. There was movement behind me at the same time. My feet separated from the ground, and I flailed momentarily in search of something to grab onto, only to skid to the edge of the second tier. The fall left me with a gasp and a splitting pain, but I managed to glimpse the silhouette of the Grand Elder turning his back on me and moving away.

Stop! I called desperately without sound.

The Grand Elder fell to his knees, the god’s blade embedded clean through his abdomen.

It had flown from my hands without their moving. Though it achieved my will, I did not rejoice and was instead truly sickened.

A great shudder ran through the Temple then and a bright light shone from its top. I clambered painfully to my feet, leaning against the sandstone walls as I sought 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 returned his gaze intently. Would you punish me for killing? Was this crime equal to yours?

There is no blame upon you, Ja’d. You acted well. He nodded once.

I stepped back when he tried to reach for me.

Leave now. Please don’t make me say it again.

I recognised his gesture and intention to heal me, but I was repulsed as I questioned whether this action was once again driven by a divine instinct.

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 resounded hollowly within my mind. Tears streamed down my face, unnoticed until they stung my cheeks.

I will never get to know the truth of your actions. Why do you still keep me, us – your children – alive? What purpose does your light soul need to fulfil on this earthly plane? Seeing your brilliance in this dark hour and bearing close witness to your stoic reactions to our vulgar behaviours has once again proven you are an enigmatic and immaculate creature.

Yet I know your soul feels deeply, deeper than the hearts of men. You, who have been kind to me all my days. When the fires of this war that men started are extinguished and your heart wholly healed, let me remain only as dust in your eternal memory. I may become defiled, poisoned and marred beyond recognition; my very form and reasoning could be altered beyond your understanding. Because of these, I hope you will never grieve over me.

Old friend, this is my final prayer to you: I wish you eternally glorious, as the day we first met.