Not a God

After we told him the story, the god who did not like to be called a god went back to where he had fallen. He searched long among the relics and was grateful that we had dug up so much. He picked out one which turned out to be a box. In truth, we knew it was hollow, but none could open it. The god who did not like to be called a god placed his hand on the box and it opened unto him.

It must have been great magic indeed, for he who was not called god treated it with mighty respect. He fed the thing with pellets from the box and hung it on his hip. Then he asked to be taken to where the men had died.

We watched many hours by the river, for the thing had just fed. But as the great sun awoke, stretching upon the horizon, the river began to froth. Truly, I feared, for who had seen such things and lived? Only those who ran. But he who was not god stayed, and I, who loved him, would die with him.

The white serpent came out of the water, its long arms straining for us. But then there was a sound as thunder, and the god who did not like to be called god spat fire from his hand. Forsooth, it was not from his hand, but only so it seemed, for the thing from the box had the fire and the thunder in it.

And the beast from the river was much shook and bleeding, yet it was king of the river, or so it believed, and it knew not fear nor knew retreat; instead it rushed the not god. More fire and thunder answered, and I and those who stayed cast our spears into the thing.

So was the first of the great hunts. Then men decided no more to suffer the monsters of earth, sky, and sea, but to learn the ways of killing and mastering the world. And the not god was troubled when we told him our resolution to tame these lands.

“Such things must happen and have,” he said. And his face was troubled.