It started with a stranger in a world that's broken.
He appeared as the sun sank into the sea, while I watched the dolphins play in the surf, waiting for life to resume without my sister in it. I was frozen and lost. Angry and sad. Dead and alive.
Wrapped in a coat, using a branch as a cane He emerged from the cliffs. I thought I was hidden but He stopped beside me and leant on his stick. I'd expected an old man, instead I was struck by a young face, with bright laughing eyes.
Is there work nearby? I nodded, it was harvestime, we had work.
I should have been wary, but He didn't look feral the way the gangs do, and He didn't have the hollow look that warns you away. My father and brother were shocked to find a stranger in the kitchen, reaching for their knives, seeking explanations. The stranger was calm. He'd work the harvest. He'd share his knowledge. He'd tell stories.
The world once produced stories like producing food. Now stories are precious, there are times I long to lose myself in them, but I'm afraid they'd wash me away.
Jo told great stories.
That night at dinner He sat in her chair, I let Him, my father noticed. He rarely showed his grief, but I saw it in his eyes before I looked away. When I turned back he was smiling at the stranger, offering bread rolls and stew.
We keep the old ways here. Harvest was next, with stories and song we'd celebrate the end of another too hot summer with true living.
For a month the stranger worked in the fields, joining us for dinner. Our kitchen was dimly lit with a large fireplace to one side, the lights flickered in and out. Our generator was old, but at least we had one. We're lucky, I'm told.
After dinner my brother and I would sit, listening as the stranger told His tales; His voice made the shadows dance and circle Him like rabid wolves, the fire crackled and popped in excitement, making us jump and laugh. He controlled the fire, the dark, the lightning it seemed. We hung on every word.
How Jo would have loved Him.
One story; once, the world worshipped a spider, paying tributes so that the spider grew fat, eating all they offered. Slowly, his web expanded until he had more and more worshippers.
They believed he made them better, but he was just a spider.
The spider was clever. He flooded the world with little stories and so the larger tales, the myths that should be told, were lost.
When sickness came the people were scared. They turned to the spider for help, but the spider was just a spider. The people threw their coins at him and starved. He was the wrong God. With less people his web crumbled and with one great storm he was gone.
The people were bereft, they cried out, beat their chests. Exhausted, they sat in their homes feeling small. Only then did they look up.
They saw blue skies, brighter for the storm. They heard birdsong, laughter of children, they saw the world afresh and realised all they'd missed. And the Old Gods smiled.
The Old Gods Smiled was how His stories ended.
I'd seen the church, with it's ruined steeple, but Father taught us to respect the land. This was our God. The sea stretching out in the distance, the cliffs with their sheer drop, and the Farm. Our farm. Respect it and it will respect us, father would say.
The stranger liked this, my father was right, He said.
I thought about the Old Gods as I baked, milked the cows, fed the chickens. I found myself thinking about them obsessively throughout my day. Questions swam through my mind. One day when we were alone, I asked, who are they?
The Gods are, the stranger paused, temperamental, He smiled. I couldn't breathe. How old? Ancient. Their names? He shook his head, don't speak their names - they might be listening.
I wished Jo could hear, she'd know the right questions, she'd understand the meaning. I looked out to the cliffs, and felt a tsunami of guilt. I wasn't hurting as I should. She was my sister and instead of missing her I'd been dreaming about Gods I couldn't name. What if she knew? What if she'd seen me? Living like normal, like nothing had happened, like she hadn't gone, hadn't abandoned us. I struggled to breathe, the air was too thick and I couldn't fill my lungs.
He was there, the air thinned and I was safe. Quietly He asked me to share and so I told Him about my Jo.
How she'd been beautiful, funny and clever. How I'd envied her her golden hair, her musical laugh, her love of life. How she swam in the sea each day. How my whole soul missed her. How when she started to wheeze and cough we all hoped it wasn't what it was. Sickness.
One night, having helped Jo survive the day I sat by my window. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and didn't move. I heard the front door close, and didn't move. I watched her walk to the cliffs, and didn't move.
The moon, the stars and I watched - she was my world and I didn't move. I let her go.
I'd never told. The stranger listened, our backs against the rough barn wall. I watched through tears as a breeze swept up hay, dancing it around the yard. I saw the sun shining through the door making the dust and dirt glow gold. I noticed the chickens peck the earth and our dog flopped in the heat showing his belly to the world.
The stranger took a breath. Your sister was brave, He said. No fates dictated her future. Perhaps the ocean God loved her and made her his bride. Perhaps she is one of the dolphins that visit the coast. Perhaps she is in the wind. Perhaps she will live on with you forever.
Perhaps, I answered.
There is a way she could be made immortal, He said and I looked to him with hope.
You love my stories, now you have your own. He stood and returned to work, taking my secret with Him.
At the Harvest festival, everyone I loved sat beside the bonfire, faces glowing, bellies full. I took a breath and stood.
My Story; It started with a great ocean God, whose lonely tears flooded the world. Seeking friendship he would walk the land, teaching man to sail and fish. For some time he was happy. Man travelled far and wide, and He played with them, tossing them this way and that. As the world grew, and man aged they forgot who to thank for the wealth the ocean afforded, believing it had always been theirs.
Slowly, man destroyed the world the Gods had offered so freely. Feeling their betrayal the Gods' fury knew no bounds. Tsunami struck the land, great waves beat into cliffs, as he claimed back the ice as punishment. After his wrath abated the seas went quiet. The waters were cleaner than ever but the God was lonely once more.
Again, He walked the land seeking those who would learn the old ways. He met a girl swimming in the sea. A wildly beautiful woman with a laugh that sparkled like sunlight. He spoke with her, entranced, and they fell deeply in love. Time and again they spoke of everything and nothing, her love for her family, their farm. She told him stories that made him laugh harder than he thought possible; they revelled in their love.
She found, as time passed, that she longed for him when they were apart. This longing became a sickness, she coughed and ached unless she was by the ocean, with him. He didn't ask her to choose, but a choice was coming.
One midnight, she made her way to the cliffs, weak and tired from missing him, she knew she wouldn't return. She didn't look back. She couldn't.
She had lived, and loved with her family. Now she would be something greater, she'd be with her love beneath the waves. She swam with the dolphins she loved and looked to the cliffs from the bay. Looked to the farm, to the family she missed. She needed them to know she was happy.
Understanding, her God took one last walk. He ascended the cliffs and worked the harvest with her family. He shared their home, their food, he told them stories. He eased their pain, and slipped away, returning to the waves and his love.
As I spoke, the words danced among the fire sparks, rising up towards the stars.
I felt my sister smile and love me from afar, and knew she hadn't gone.
As I finished, I understood.
And the Old Gods Smiled.
