The Mortal Gods

Once, when the earth was still young and Man in his infancy, the Gods walked amongst us.

The Gods were represented by different faces in different cultures. Regardless of how Man saw them however, they were one and the same: the Greek and Roman, the Egyptian and Norse.

All the same. And all here to serve the same purpose. To teach Man. To guide us. To show us how to live a good life and care for the land.

Some of the Gods fulfilled their roles well. They taught the race of Man to hunt, cook, drink, defend and love. They taught us to make fire, Find precious metals and build. They taught us to read, write and tell stories meant to instruct.

But the Gods were not prepared for the power they held. While they were brought into existence to teach Man, there were no teachers for them.

Their power to corrupted them. Using it to hold us at their mercy, insisting on worship, offerings and sacrifices to gain favour, revoking it just as easily on a whim. They used men for sport, toying with the politics, lives and emotions of the people.

As if they were spoilt children, they began to fight among themselves, vying for more control and more power. Knowing that their intrigues and power games were beginning to have an impact on the people, the Gods agreed to leave the earth. They retreated to realms where they could watch and even guide us but their arguments and intrigues would not effect the realm of Man so much.

It would have worked, had not some Gods broken the accord to keep man out of their power struggles. They set country against country, hoping to distract the God who looked favourably on those cultures. War and savagery ruled earth for a time, an Age on Earth, and Dark Age at that. War, famine and death ran rampant.

Finally unable to allow this folly to continue, the Nameless, the creator of the Gods stepped in.

Thinking it was their immortality caused a lack of empathy, The Nameless took it away, leaving the Gods to age and eventually die.

It was not until one god slew another in a fit of rage that they realised they were now mortal.

In the mayhem of fear and confusion after the death, it was only the Goddess of Love and Beauty who thought to go to the Quiet Wood to hear the voice of the Nameless.

‘Great One? What has happened?’ She called softly.

‘You know.’ The voice whispered.

The Goddess stood in the silence for a moment. ‘Yes. I know. We betrayed our Purpose. We betrayed You.’

‘You dont blame others and refuse responsibility. Why?’

‘We were supposed to work together. We are one and the same even though we are separate. I am as much to blame for not stopping them.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Who will teach them after we are gone?’ She raised her head to look up to the sky. At first the Goddess thought the Nameless had chosen not to answer the question. She stood waiting, hoping if she was patient, an answer would come.

The voice, so faint, whispered finally. ‘I made an error. I gave you too much. You were supposed to teach and to learn as well. Why else would I have created you in their image? It appears your immortality stopped you learning. So I have rectified that and the lack empathy for the people you were to teach and protect. Your reason for being.’ Silence stretched out as the Goddess hung her head in shame. But the Nameless was not done yet.

‘There will be others to teach them, after you. They have already been born. As we speak, the new Gods are growing. When one dies, the new God will receive your powers. Perhaps being mortal will ensure the Gods do not forget their place in the world again.’

With that, the voice of the Nameless was gone.

The Goddess returned to her kin to share with them what she had learned. Some of the Gods used their time to write to their successors, so they would have some guidance and wisdom to help them through.

Others set to hunting down their replacements, operating under the notion if there was no successor, they could not die. They were misguided, blinded by their desire for power.

One by one, the Gods of old withered and died. The Goddess of Love and Beauty watched her youthful face fade. But she had listened to the Nameless and studied her own aging with interest. What she learned about her domain in that time, she diligently recorded, ready to pass to the new God.

When her time was near, she journeyed to one of the temples built in her honour. There she entrusted her wisdom to the High Priestess.

‘Find my successor. Give this to them. Protect them with your life and show them who they are. This is the last task I will ever set for you. Love cannot be alowed to die with me.’

The High Priestess bowed low. ‘My Lady, what if I fail you?’

‘You will need this to fulfil your oath.’ The Goddess held out a beautifully carved wooden box. ‘Inside are the instructions you will need to craft the tools that will help you find the New Gods. Choose carefully those who will seek with you, some of my Kin mistakenly believe taking the lives of the new Gods will prevent the loss of their own. They will oppose you. They will try to corrupt you and those who help you.’

The High Priestess took the box and cradled it carefully with the scroll. ‘I will be careful.’

The Goddess squared her shoulders. ‘I have one last task for you. Only a God can find another of their kin if they do not want, or know they need, to be found. For the tools to work, you need the essence of a God. My time is close, but we don’t have time to wait. You need to find the New Ones now. I will take my life. You will need to burn my body in a kiln, take my ashes and craft them into the tools.’

‘I can not desecrate your body!’

‘You can and you will. Our replacements need to be found. They must be protected. And most of all, they need to be taught. Find the Craftsman at the Temple of The Smith, his skills are what you need.’

'How will I know who he is?'

'The Smith has told him you are coming. He will know you, he will be waiting for you.'

The High Priestess was horrified at the thought of what she had been tasked to do, but gave her word to her Lady regardless.

After the funeral pyre ceased to burn, she carefully gathered the golden ashes of her mistress and sought out the one she knew could fashion the tools she needed. She found him outside the Smith's Temple, waiting for her.

'My Lord Smith said you would come.'

'And my Mistress said you are the one who has the skills to create what I need.'

The man fixed her with a level stare. 'What we need. Before his passing, I swore an oath to Him that I would assist you, first in the creation of the tools, then in seeking out the New Ones and protecting them.'

'You? A craftsman? You are not a Priest, let alone a High Priest.' She scoffed at the idea of a mere trainee being chosen for task of such importance.

'I have trained since a child. I was orphaned and taken in by the Brothers of the Temple and Forge. None, not even our highest ranked priest have my skill. But please, Lady High Priestess, judge me for my lack of rank. It will not be I who fails their God-given task.'

Embarrassed, the High Priestess apologised through gritted teeth. She was not accustomed to being chastised by anyone besides a God. 'Forgive my... presumption. I had expected my Mistress to have someone else in mind for the crafting of the instruments.' Swallowing her pride, she held out the ashes in their box and instruction scroll to the Craftsman.

'I accept your apology. Follow me. My workshop is not in the Temple.'

In the wood bordering the city, beside a pool so still it became a mirror, the Craftsman lit his forge and melted gold of the earth with the gold of the Goddesses bones. The water of the mirror pool began to ripple and a figure rose from the surface. Age creased her brow and the corner of her eyes, but there was a youthful air to her graceful movements that gave no consideration to her aging body. As the High Priestess watched her, the features of her face seemed to shift and change, like sun dappled shadows cast by the branches of the tree. There was only one she could be.

The Craftsman bowed deeply and she followed suit. 'My Lady.' The reverence in his voice struck the Priestess's heart.

'Rise, my dear Craftsman, I need not your genuflection.' The Muses caressed his face. 'I will miss your face and our times together when I leave this life.' Their voices sounded like a heavenly chorus.

'My Ladies, I am so honoured-' the Priestess began, only to be cut short.

'You have much to learn, High Priestess of Love and Beauty. You have ignored the lessons I have put in your path, so consumed by your own ideals you can see no other.' The chorus of the Muses voices rang in her ears. 'Now, you will have no other choice if you want to succeed. Now, join us at the forge and we will create something never before seen and it's like never to be seen again.'

Working by the light of the Craftsman's forge and the double moon, in the sky above and the pool below, the Priestess, the Smith and the Muses laboured to create powerful instruments that would be essential to finding the New Ones.

When the morning light touched the workshop, the task was complete and the energy of the workers, spent.

'Sleep, rest now. You have a long road ahead of you. Both of you. Beside my pool you will be safe. By the sun rise tomorrow, you must set your feet to the path. I have imbued the tools with gifts that will help you along the way,' the Muses paused and eyed the priestess, 'if you can learn to listen.'

With that warning, the Goddesses returned to the pool and disappeared beneath the water.

The next morning, the two companions set off in search of the New Gods with the aid of the tools forged with the essence and power of their predecessors.

Those tools and the task of locating the new generations of Gods has fallen from one seeker to the next over the history of Man.

So, dear friend, the next time you encounter one of those extraordinary people who occasionally touch our lives, ask yourself this:

Could they be one of the Mortal Gods?