Story: Waking the Gods

[frogs_of_war]

Saskia, does this story have too many names? 


Title: Waking the Gods
Length: 4.7k
Summary: The least important can be the greatest and trying to stop something can allow it to happen. And some mythology.



Besian shivered in the warm room. Gjon gestured him closer. He’d come inside. Wasn’t that enough?

“Besian!” Gjon’s whisper was harsh.

Besian stayed behind the pillar closest to the wide open double doors. Blood pooled between him and Gjon, reflecting the torches that lined the walls of the circular temple. Once, legend said, this temple had only been a stone ring and before that just an altar in a field. Now the vaulted ceiling rested on marble pillars up among the smoke from the torches.

Beside the altar, Uran fell to his knees before the enemy knight. “No, please…”

The knight swung his sword and Uran’s head flew. Besian hid behind the pillar. The head skittered across the floor and came to rest against a body. The blue cloak—no. He wasn’t going to think.

“Besian!”

Fisnik left Clirim’s side where they fought the enemy’s squire and turned to the knight. Two on two. Gjon’s team had lost their advantage of numbers. Unless Gjon meant to fight.

Besian checked to see that the fighters were occupied. The bursts of random sword clangs were shorter than they had been earlier and the pauses were longer. Besian waited for a burst of noise and stepped from behind his pillar. That hand. Did he recognize the ring? A bit of black leather greave was left on the length of arm that remained. Next to it was a pool of what had to be guts from a body not far away. That body had both of the arms. And breasts? One of the enemy then.

Hair across a face. That guy had been mean to Besian, but Besian hadn’t wanted to see him dead. He hadn’t wanted anyone to die, least of all himself. Stay strong. The world might yet be saved.

“Besian.” Gjon pulled him down with a bloody hand. “Was anyone outside?”

Besian shook his head. He’d been out there alone. All the enemy had gone into the temple just before Gjon’s team had arrived. Fifteen was all that was left of the thirty rebels Gjon had been sent to stop. Gjon’s team had only lost five of their twenty, until today.

“And the sun has set?”

The sun had abandoned the bottom of this valley where the temple stood hours ago, but only after the last of the light had left the sky had Besian dared peek into the temple. The rebels’ ceremony was supposed to have been completed before the sun set. It hadn’t even started.

“Then why are they still fighting? Why haven’t we won?”

A horrible gurgling brought bile into Besian’s mouth. He peered around the pillar. Blood flowed down Fisnik’s chest and his hand released his sword, buried deep in the knight’s chest. He had found a chink in the knight’s armor. The knight toppled over and Fisnik fell on top of him, a few more bodies cluttering the floor.

Besian turned away and threw up. So what if the world ended, as long as he never had to see another dead body. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand and pressed his face to the cool marble pillar.

“Buck up.” Gjon smacked Besian’s leg. “You’ll need more courage than that if we’re going to win.” Gjon sighed. “Why won’t that guy give up?”

Clirim still fought the squire, but now Clirim’s movements were slower and he favored his left arm. The squire stood easy and relaxed despite the hours of battle.

Gjon tighten the now red bandage around his thigh and levered himself to his knees. “You’d think killing all their women would have sent them scurrying for cover for another generation or two.”

Perhaps women weren’t as important to the ceremony as Gjon believed.

“The rebels’ mission is a failure. Why can’t he just give up?”

If the squire’s only mission was to stay alive, he was doing a pretty fine job of it. He looked up and met Besian’s gaze. Besian’s gut clinched. Endrit’s eyes were a startling blue, the color of a summer sky. This morning they had been ice blue as he’s followed his knight into the temple. But no matter the color, they were always beautiful and compelling, nothing like Besian’s ugly yellow.

Endrit easily blocked Clirim’s thrust. Then he countered with his own. Clirim never stood a chance.

Gjon climbed to his feet. “My turn again.” He pulled a knife from the sheath at his back and pressed it into Besian’s hand. “If I don’t succeed, you’ll need this.”

What was Besian supposed to do with the big knife? Go against a man who had brought low men who spent their lives fighting? Or kill himself so he wouldn’t have to witness the end of the world?

Neither option was good.

Gjon hobbled over to the altar, using his sword like a cane. Endrit didn’t raise his sword until Gjon raised his. And he didn’t force Gjon to move around as anyone with half a brain would. Was he just playing with Gjon? Why?

Perhaps Besian would know if he got closer. He stepped out from behind the pillar and moved the best he could to the next. Tears shone on proud men’s faces. Bodily waste mixed with blood. Guts would be slick, wouldn’t they? He better go around. Was the guy one of Gjon’s or one of the enemy? That no longer mattered.

All were alike in death.

Besian would soon join them. If by some miracle he survived the night, this temple was weeks from civilization. He’d starve to death in a valley full of food. He’d never been a good hunter.

He slipped on something he didn’t want to examine too closely and lunged at a blood splattered pillar. Ouch. But at least he hadn’t landed face first on a body.

A young woman in leathers lay at the foot of the altar. Gjon’s team were all men, but the enemy had young and old, male and female. The dead woman wore a smile. Was she finally at peace? Or was she so sure that her team had won that her own life meant nothing?

Besian’s life had meaning. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he wouldn’t have thrown it away over a religious disagreement if he’d had the choice.

Endrit’s sword pierced Gjon’s leather vest. Gjon felt to his knees, but they couldn’t hold his weight. He pressed his hand against his wound. “I’m sorry.”

He fell on top of another body. Fisnik? Besian didn’t want to know. He looked up at Endrit. Was he next?

“Would you like to say goodbye?”

What?

“I heard he was your kin.”

Besian shook his head. “My guardian.”

Gjon was the latest in a long line of people too nice to leave a cursed boy to fend for himself but not nice enough to make him feel wanted. “Do you think he had to be kin to put up with me?”

Endrit set down his sword and unknotted the laces under his arm. “Put up with you?”

“My ugly eyes.”

Endrit meet his gaze without flinching. “But your eyes are beautiful.”

He was crazy. “Old urine is beautiful? You have weird taste.”

Endrit pulled his leather vest over his head. His shirt was soaked in sweat, but he stood easy, not like most men Besian had seen after day-long battles, tired and gasping for air. Endrit grinned. “Your eyes are the color of the sunrise, bright against the morning sky.”

He couldn’t mean that. Even good people couldn’t hold Besian’s gaze for long.

“Come here.” Endrit held out his hand.

Besian wasn’t going anywhere. Endrit had to be dangerous even without his sword and armor. He’d outlived all his comrades. Besian nodded at the dead woman. “Have you said your goodbyes?”

“We weren’t kin, but I cared about all of them. We said our goodbyes at dawn.” He sighed. “We knew your team wouldn’t be content until we were all dead.”

“They aren’t my team.”

Endrit unfastened his left greave. “No?”

“Gjon couldn’t find a place to leave me.”

Endrit frowned. “Aren’t you old enough to be alone?”

Besian shrugged. “This whole end of the world thing made people less welcoming than normal.”

Gjon hadn’t trusted strangers from cutting Besian’s throat while he slept.

“This isn’t the end of the world. It’s the new beginning.”

“So you say.” Theological fights were stupid. What did he care which gods were real. Both sides probably thought the world was better off without him.

“Don’t you feel it?”

Besian felt nothing that couldn’t be logically explained by being in an old, torch-lit temple in the middle of the night with the broken bodies of men he knew.

Endrit took off his shirt and wiped the top of the altar. What was that about? Besian made his way closer. Endrit dragged the knight’s body away from the altar. “Sorry, Kreshnik.”

Then he walked around to the woman. Endrit was too close. Besian danced out of the way. Endrit dragged the woman’s body to the wall. “Teuta, good luck on the other side.”

He took the torch from the wall sconce and hooked it on a pillar near the altar. He toed a body. “This one yours?”

He better not expect Besian to touch it.

Endrit raised his eyebrows. “His name?”

“Uran.”

“Sorry, Uran. I’m going to have to move you.” He took Uran’s hands and dragged him toward the wall. Endrit brought back the nearby torch. He repeated this until all the torches were lighting the area by the altar and the bodies were hidden in the darkness. Besian could still smell them.

Endrit wiped his hand on his shirt. “That’s better.”

“Why?” He wasn’t going to attempt to complete the ceremony, was he? “The sun has set.”

Endrit nodded. “And the moon also.”

How could he tell that? The temple didn’t have windows and he hadn’t gone near the door.

“I thought the sun and moon had to be up.” Had Gjon’s ideas for the ceremony been all wrong? “Don’t you need girls too?”

Endrit laughed. “Kreshnik would have needed girls, or a girl, but I don’t.”

He walked into the shadows and came back with a long black cape. “My mother made this for me.” He flipped up the ragged hem. “When I was much shorter.”

Did his mother die, too? Is that why she didn’t make him another? Lucky guy though. He had something left to remember her by. Besian pulled his hand-me-down, patched and mended cloak tighter around him.

“When she died, our neighbors told me the earth was my mother now.”

Besian had heard the same thing. “The earth doesn’t do so good of a job taking care of her young.”

Endrit nodded. “But I met Kreshnik and became his squire and his cause became mine.”

Lucky. “So you want to end the world?”

“I want to bring the end to the endless night.”

He was crazy. “The sun was out earlier today.”

Endrit grinned. “No. The floods and famines. The wars.”

The wars had killed Besian’s mother. They would never end.

“And waking the gods will stop those?”

“The earth is mourning.”

“Well, good for her.” He didn’t cause a fuss and let people die when he was upset. He kept his head down and didn’t complain. Complaining only encouraged people to treat him badly.

“Her children are sleeping and she can’t wake them up.”

“Aren’t they her brothers?” Besian had heard this story many times. Priest always felt the need to tell it when he was in the congregation.

Endrit gestured Besian to the altar. “Put your hands here. It’ll warm you up.”

Nothing would warm him up. He was in the house of the dead with a zealot. “They are brothers and lovers. That’s how we know they are evil. Waking them will destroy the world as we know it.”

“As the priests know it, yes. Their gods are imps, powerless against the might of the Three.”

“The earth is their mother and sister. That’s evil.”

“No one has control over who their parents are and how they come into the world. Besides they are only brothers the way the sun and the moon are brothers, born of the stars.”

Besian shivered. His father had left his mother after taking one look at Besian. He said Besian couldn’t possibly be his. Besian’s mother swore to her dying day that she’d never been with another.

Endrit set his hands on the altar. “Come on. You’re cold.”

How could a giant stone be warmer than the night air? Besian stuck out his hand and brushed the altar. It was warm. He pressed his hand against it. “I oughtn’t be cold.”

He wasn’t sweaty and the summer night was warm.

Endrit laid his warm hand on Besian’s. “The stone will get warmer with both of us touching it.”

Endrit didn’t have goosebumps and he was bare to the waist. Besian pulled his hand away.

“Suit yourself.” Endrit hopped onto the altar and brought up a foot.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my boots.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He kicked a boot onto the floor. “But this feels right.”

He was insane. “The old gods are evil. We are better off with them asleep.”

Endrit turned on the altar and pulled his knees against his chest. “Who told you that? The people who insulted your beautiful eyes?”

Besian bit his lip. What other people were there?

Endrit crossed his legs. “Long ago before the world began, stars shown in the sky.”

“But no one was around to see them.” Everyone knew the story.

“The stars grew bored and made the earth and named her Yllka. They played with their new toy with all the excitement and fervor of a small child, but eventually every new toy becomes an old one. They tired of her and set her aside.”

That part was worded slightly differently than Besian was used to, but the idea was the same.

“Yllka was lonely off by herself, so she wept. The stars tried to ignore her, but eventually she wore them down with her weeping. They gave her a sun to light her day and a moon to soothe her nights. They were well pleased, but she wasn’t. She begged for companionship, to again play with the stars and be loved. But they had new toys to play with and didn’t want to upset their games by bringing her back.”

“Selfish sods.” They had created a child and then abandoned it, like his father had done.

Endrit nodded. “She wept again, disturbing the sun and the moon, who wailed as well. Give her a child of her own, they begged, so she would look in and not out to the stars for company.”

The poor sun and moon. Yllka must have been loud.

“The star debated this idea. Some worried that it would take time from their new games. Others liked that idea and many were tired of the wailing; only they couldn’t agree what the earth’s child ought to be like. They fought and raged and argued and then they went their separate ways.”

That was why only one person was in charge of dinner every night. If two or more picked the meal, they’d be lucky to eat before dawn. Or so Gjon said.

“After a while, the stars came back together and showed off their work. Many of the stars made only half hearted attempts, but two had put in lots of effort. The stars picked the golden boy to give to the earth. She took the babe into her arms and her wailing stopped and the stars went back to their games.”

“Hey!” Besian stepped against the altar. That wasn’t how the stories went. “How did the other old god appear then? What about the new gods?”

Endrit raised his eyebrows. “I was just getting there.” He patted the place beside him. “Come on up. You can tell me your version.”

Besian climbed up. The rock was very warm. He sat on the far corner.

Endrit raised his eyebrows and smiled. “The stars were like anyone who has worked hard on a project. The second best one thought his was the best and he went down to the earth and hid his creation under a rock. He didn’t want to look at his failure. Yllka meanwhile loved Artan, her golden son, and she forgot about the stars. Their companionship was nothing to the love she received from her boy.”

Good for them. Besian refused to miss his mother. He hated stories about children that were loved. Why couldn’t he have even a drop of that growing up? This wasn’t even the real story. It was better. Too bad it wasn’t true.

“They walked the earth together, Yllka and Artan. She brought him with her everywhere and he learned the cycles of the sun, of the moon, of the oceans, of the land. But they didn’t spend all their time together. When she was busy, which she often was, he played with whoever passed by. One day, while playing with a family of bears, he tipped over a rock. Under it was a youth his own age. The boy didn’t remember anything but being under the rock. Artan took his hand and lead him to his mother. Yllka was overjoyed. She had another son. She held him close and showered him with love and encouraged Artan to do the same to make of for those years Qendrim was alone.”

Besian clinched his fist against his chest. This wasn’t a nice story. It was a horrible one. The priest had showed him over and over how evil the Three were, how their love was wrong. But to find a mother, a family, after growing up alone… Besian wouldn’t cry.

“They didn’t get along all the time. Artan and Qendrim fought from time to time, but never for long. Qendrim soon realized that he didn’t love Artan as one loves a brother. He decided to take himself away from the temptation. When she found he was leaving, Yllka wept. Her happy home was shattered. Artan, with feelings of his own, volunteered to leave instead. He would stay away for the amount of time Qendrim had lived under the rock. When he returned they would talk. Qendrim agreed and Yllka ceased her weeping. Artan was a man and needed to make his own way in the world. But he promised to return, so she kissed his cheeks and sent him off.”

Endrit dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He bent close and wiped Besian’s cheek. Besian snatched away the cloth. “The new gods?”

“The weeping, as soft and short as it had been, drew the stars’ attention. They looked down and saw the earth’s sons. Since she had two, a few more wouldn’t make any different and the failed attempts were wrecking havoc with the stars’ games. But the Failed Ones neither needed nor wanted a parent. They liked their freedom and when Yllka came to ask them to stop flooding the land, they refused. She exerted her power and the people living on that island were saved. The Failed Ones hid from her power.”

“No.” Besian couldn’t let that pass uncorrected. “They aren’t failed ones. They are the new gods. The stars looked down and saw Yllka’s sons and saw their flaws. They made new gods without those flaws. They made better ones.”

Endrit set his hand on Besian’s thigh. “Which story would you like to be true?”

Besian squeezed his eyes shut. “Artan came back from his journey?”

“Artan returned and talked to Qendrim. They shared their feeling and talked to their mother and she agreed that they ought to do what made them happy. Being together made them happy and that made her happy.”

“The priests say that is evil.”

“Evil is pain. Evil is hate. But if that disturbs you, remember they are only as related as you and I.”

“Us?”

“We are motherless sons, shaped by the same wars, the same soldiers.”

Besian turned away. He was not going to take the sympathy of the enemy. “If the old gods are so great, how could the new gods put them to sleep?”

“The Failed Ones caused floods and draughts and famines. But Yllka kept them under control. Then they started fooling humans into worshiping them and used that power to fight Yllka. She called on her sons and together the Three brought the Failed One low. For a while. But one of the Failed Ones rose above the others due to his numerous worshipers. He led them in a coup. They separated Artan from Qendrim and, using trickery, convinced Artan to sacrifice himself, thinking he was saving Qendrim. Qendrim meanwhile, learned of the trick too late. He used the last of his strength to take out the leader of the Failed Ones. Yllka wept and the Failed Ones scattered. But they grew strong again in the absence of power.”

Endrit spread out his hands. “If Artan and Qendrim do not wake, one of these Failed Ones might grow powerful enough to rule the world, killing all that stand against him. They fight each other for dominance even now, using humans as their pawns.”

“Will the wars end? If Artan and Qendrim wake?”

“Soon. Their power might take time to awaken. What would you do first if you were them?”

Besian would hold his mother tight. Or perhaps his lover. But he’d never had a lover or a brother. His heart ached for the woman he barely remembered. “What about you?”


“If I could be with people I hadn’t seen in forever? People who loved me?” Endrit sighed. “I might just forget about the world for a while.”

“You can’t do that.” Besian poked Endrit’s chest. “People might die while you enjoy yourself.”

Endrit cocked his head. “You’d keep me on the right path.”

He grinned.

“As if we have to worry about that. I don’t even know how I’m getting home.”

“Where’s home?”

Besian didn’t know that either.

“Come with me.”

What? Endrit wasn’t grinning or anything, but he couldn’t be serious. “Where’s your home?”

“Anywhere you are.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Besian’s.

Besian ought to pull away, push Endrit back, run for his life. Use the knife Gjon gave him. He oughtn’t to have whimpered when Endrit sat back.

He scooted closer. “Do you mean that?”

“We have to be alive for a reason.”

Did they?

Endrit placed a hand on Besian’s cheek. “Feel it.”

What was he supposed to feel? Besides Endrit’s warm hand and the growing sense that Endrit wasn’t the enemy.

Endrit sighed. “Perhaps over here.”

He got on his knees and moved from the center of the altar. He patted the cloak. “Come on.”

Besian wasn’t going to feel anything magical just because he moved. He’d show Endrit. He sat down. “Now what?”

“Now.” Endrit sat beside him and leaned close.

Besian was feeling something alright, but it had nothing to do with gods. He pulled Endrit closer and opened his mouth for the kiss. This time he’d make sure Endrit would want to move away.

Perhaps he was feeling something besides warm hands against his skin and a warmer rock at his back. He felt safe. The bodies were a life time away. He couldn’t even smell them over the scent of Endrit’s hair and breath and skin. He pulled back finally and gasp for breath. “I felt something.”

Endrit grinned. “As did I.”

His hand roamed below Besian’s waist. “And I like what I feel.”

He leaned back and tugged Besian to a sitting position and helped him get his tunic and undershirt off. Skin to skin was much better.

Endrit’s lips moved along Besian’s jaw and down his neck. Besian was definitely feeling something now. Was Endrit? Besian explored Endrit’s body. Every muscle was solid and one was very, very hard. Endrit gasped. “Please.”

Only Endrit’s breeches were in the way. But not for long. Just looking at him made Besian hot and bothered all over. He kicked his breeches off and pulled Endrit beneath him. “I’ve got you where I want you.”

Endrit licked his lips. “I’m where I dreamed of being since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Very sweet.” Even if it wasn’t true. Only Endrit made it feel true with every kiss and touch and movement of skin on skin. They flew high together and when Besian felt he could go no higher he screamed Endrit’s name and heard his own echoed back.

They sank back onto the warm stone. Besian’s body was so heavy he felt he was sinking into the altar. His body had no real form, but that didn’t matter for he was not alone. He’d never he alone again.

Endrit hummed against Besian’s hair. “I feel as if I’m finally alive but so tired. Sweet dreams, Artan.”

The name felt right. Perhaps Besian was finally alive too. He pressed his lips against Endrit’s arm. “Qendrim.”

Endrit relaxed a bit more against him and sighed. Sleep took Besian under.

—

Besian didn’t want to wake up. His bedroll was warm and the morning chill still clung to the air. The sun was on him, but no one had kicked him yet or yelled at him to get up. He couldn’t hear anyone around. Perhaps he’d woken in paradise.

He pulled the blanket up over his face. Cold air hit his feet, he pulled them up. His legs brushed each other. His arm rubbed his chest. He was naked.

He opened his eyes. He wasn’t in the temple. He wasn’t even on the valley floor. The view was fantastic and the sunrise burst across the sky. He’d never seen so many colors.

He was freezing now that he’d sat up. His pillow was his pack. He’d left it among the trees not far from the temple. He couldn’t even see the temple from here. Was he in the same valley?

His blanket was Endrit’s cloak. He took a deep breath of it before he pulled on his clothes. The cloak smelled of Endrit plus some earthy tone. A mother’s love perhaps.

He wrapped the cloak back around him. Where was he? How was he going to get back to civilization? Did he even want to? The valley was beautiful.

The sun crept over the opposite hill and the light flowed down to the center of the valley. He heard voices. His imagination. The only things around him were birds and bugs and a fox and several squirrels and sky and the wind and the earth.

A woman’s voice rose from the valley and a man’s. Endrit?

A couple came around a rock far below him. The woman looked up and stopped. And then she grabbed her skirts and ran straight up the steep hill. “Artan!”

She slipped. Endrit helped her up with a hand under her elbow. Besian stood. She stopped just below him. “My Artan, my baby, my son.”

She was so familiar. Her eyes were full of tears that splash down her cheeks. She oughtn’t cry. She ought never to cry. His heart broke to see her weep. “Mother?”

She threw out her arms. He ran down to her. “Mother!”

“My darling, my baby, my son.” She kissed his cheeks and held him even closer. “I’ve missed you so.”

Endrit smiles behind her. “She did the same to me.”

“My boys.” She pulled Endrit into the hug.

“As you’ve probably guessed, this is Yllka, the earth goddess.”

“‘Mother’ is fine. Look how cute and sweet my little Artan is. And my Qendrim is so handsome. I love you both to pieces.”

She really did sound like a mother and she held them as she had no intention of ever letting either one go.

Besian found Endrit’s hand and squeezed it. They are awake, and together, at last.





---

Originally the Endrit character was the enemy knight and he and the Besian character didn't speak to each other. They may not have even shared a language. Very different than how it turned out.