Tara’s God
by Andrew Bruce Fisk (© December 2012)
The brittle, chill winter touched Tara's heart. She was out on the hill edge again. Alone except for her thoughts. She glanced up from the valley where she had been observing the menfolk collecting fuel. Up above her a sparrowhawk circled in splendour. Other creatures shrieked in alarm or hid in fear.
No such feelings gripped Tara today. The stark emptiness of the cold season brought out a unique response from within her soul; a celebration of her place in nature’s realm. Her father would describe her mood differently. He was all she had now. Her mother had perished in the winter two years back and her brother had died in the endless fighting with the men of the southern plains.
If anything concerned her it was the fear of being left here in this place of insignificance. The hills had been her home all sixteen summers of her life. The crofts of the Edge Folk were safe from the dangers of the wilderness to the north and the warrior kingdoms of the south and east. They had not been safe enough to Kia, her brother.
Grass stood short out here on the Edge and sunlight crept through the cloud base illuminating, enriching and promising more to come. She felt a small sense of hope. The worst of the past was just that, in the past. She could build a new life, perhaps with one of the trade folk who came periodically to the nearby port of Ston.
Then she saw the God.
Frozen more deeply than could be caused by any work of nature she stood exposed on the escarpment.
It arose from the south marching like some titanic force of nature but instantly dispelling any transient illusions that this was a creature of the Earth.
It had the height of ten fully grown men and wrapped itself in garments of fire and darkness. The eldritch figure strode powerfully up the vale of the great river.
Down below in the valleys men and their womenfolk rushed to hide from their divine master. Children cried out only to be hastily silenced. Animals fled with a new terror. The birds took flight, oblivious to natural predators. The God marched on. One mighty step after another. Its rate of progress was prodigious. In its wake the ground trembled and burned with bright indignation. The earth cried out in protest at the supernatural invasion.
Tara stood without motion of mind or body. Locked in place on the skyline of the Edge.
The God paid no heed to mortal concerns, storming onwards on its northerly path. With time, life returned to the valleys and the hills. Tara blinked, unsure of what she had seen. But, due to knowledge passed down from elder days, she knew the danger it posed.
"Father Krystos protect me."
The words came out of habit rather than true belief. She had tried to believe in the ancient myths but the gods of her age were so much more tangible, real and evident than the ancient stories.
Time had restarted.
She realised with sudden alarm that it was getting late and she was needed at home. Her father would be worried, especially after the visitation.
Koban sat quietly before his hearth. The fire he had set crackled with an evil intelligence, reminding him of his past misdeeds. It dragged him back into the darkness of his personal failure. Reminding him how he loved those that were no longer alive. Koban mourned alone. With sadistic intent, the light from the flames shone deep into the black oblivion of his life.
Neila, his beloved partner, had been so much a part of him. She had answered his call, ended his loneliness for a time and been the mother of two fine children.
Why had she been taken away?
The wasting disease had touched his household before. It had taken the lives of both his parents. He had prayed to the gods for deliverance then. He had prayed again when his wife's life was slowly ebbing away.
The gods answered his prayers with violent spite.
The door swung open with the softness of wood on wood. Quiet steps echoed from the short entrance hall and Koban roused himself from his immersion in self-inflicted pain.
Tara had come home at last.
"What delayed you? I thought that maybe I had lost another child tonight."
"Is that what you thought, Father? You know I would never leave you."
"Just like your mother, like your brother?."
Tara sat down next to the dying fire and regarded the sober figure slumped in the wooden rocking chair. She was tempted to reach out and comfort him. She feared his reaction.
"I saw a god today."
Koban shrugged. Noncommittal or maybe he kept his concern hidden.
"It came from the sea, full of fire and flame and it frightened the menfolk."
Koban opened his eyes and returned his daughter's gaze.
"Did it frighten you?"
Tara wanted to give him the answer to another question; one concerning a much deeper fear.
"It was just a god. Why should it frighten me?"
"Good answer my child, now go fetch us some supper."
Tara wondered at the unexpected praise. Rising swiftly she made her way to the food store and began to prepare something simple. Something her increasingly critical father would accept. She too feared further loss. She did not want to be returning home to a cold empty hearth. There was no one else.
The wharfs of Ston buzzed with greater activity than was usual. A trader ship had been seen approaching the mouth of the estuary. The winter had loosened its grip sufficiently to allow the ship passage through the ice pack. Storms had delayed the arrival of the trade folk but that situation was to be consigned to the past. The farming communities of the Western Edge soon heard of the news and the people gathered in the anticipation of trading opportunities and to exchange gossip with the newcomers.
Tara had a particular interest in the approaching vessel. She hoped to sell woollen garments she had worked on during the long nights of winter. She had another reason to wish speed to the sailors. Nethen had promised to return to her with the first trip of the year. He was an honourable man and had yet to break his word. Tara hummed with delight at the prospect of seeing him again. Maybe if things were different she could convince him to take her away with him once the trading had been accomplished. But that would mean leaving her father. She sighed that was something she could not countenance. Koban was, in reality, already alone but she was not ready to abandon him.
The red sails of the caravel were visible as the traders caught an onward wind. Tara had left her belongings with her father and had climbed the curtain wall that protected Ston from those who would wish its inhabitants harm. She strained to see the faces of the sailors as they worked to bring in the ship safely. The sand banks were the greatest hazard out there in the river and many a boat had grounded before it could make port.
Tara wondered whether Nethen could find acceptance in her father's heart. Koban lived the lost lives of his ancestors. His world had closed in and around him drowning his perception in a sea of fragmented memories. Nethen had arrived in their lives like a blazing lightning storm. The effect had generated drastically different responses from Tara and her father.
The young trader had indeed set Tara's blood afire when he had stepped out onto the quays of Ston and into her life. He spoke with a strange accent and conjured visions of different ways of experiencing life.
He had told her about the wonder of the Krystos, and for that Koban would never accept or forgive him.
"Foreign gods bring nothing but curses," had been his response when she had confessed to him.
For sure, she loved Nethen for his energy, for his love of life that had sucked her into his world, and for the quietness and deep sense of joy she felt when she was beside him.
Tara watched the ship pull round into the harbour, guided by the pilots. She could see no sign of her lover and was well aware of her father's growing impatience.
The priesthood had filed out of their assorted temples ready to bless the newcomers. Tara wondered what Nethen would say about these elder of her community. The gods were counted in the hundreds in the minds of her people. Yesterday she had seen for herself their power. The priests represented power of a different kind.
The traders bought their charge home to the dockside. Help was offered and taken in lashing the ship safe.
Still Tara could not see the man for whom she longed.
Sighing to herself she resigned to the fact that he had not returned this time, not on this ship. Hoping in her heart that her world would remain intact, she left the rampart and climbed back down the wooden stairwell. Koban was waiting. She could not acknowledge his stare. Nethen would not have knowingly broken his promise to her. Something must have prevented him?
Tara felt sick.
She finally mumbled an answer to a question she had not heard and indicated that she was ready to take their goods to the traders.
The day finished as it had begun. Light transitioned back into the darkness of night. Nethen had been absent from the market and she despondently wondered whether the memories of last year had meant anything.
Night turned to day and the hillside called out to her. In truth she was glad of the errands that drew her to the slopes of the hills. Out here herbs and wild fruits she used in seasoning their meals could be found. There were things to do at home but she cared little for the silent condemnation she faced in that place.
Softly, without the slightest outward sign, Tara's heart broke.
As the days passed she stayed away from the port and kept her own company. She was no longer the wild spirit that lit up every gathering of Edge folk. She withdrew from the company of men and women alike.
She waited for the day when the ship from the south would depart. Word reached her that there had been plagues and famine in the wider world. Tara did not dwell on the possible consequences of such news.
The last day of trading had come. Tara had lost herself in her work. Koban had been forced to deal with the southerners. The departure of the training ship would be marked by festivities and Tara's moods deepened in anticipation of this coming ordeal. Nevertheless she would be expected to attend.
The sunlight of the day yielded a form of solace to Tara as she made her way down the dirt track into the town. The softness of nature at this point of winter's boundary with springtime gave her a little strength. Her father remained silent, walking by her side. A subtle change had entered the relationship; perhaps an acknowledgement of shared grief, shared pain. Tara wondered whether this day's journey would end this way.
Farmers, fishermen and townspeople mixed together in the central square of the settlement. The high priest had decreed a blessing for the travellers. Whether by genuine acquiescence or by clever politics the outsiders also attended. By custom the entire population, young and old, would be present to hear the plea for their safe journey home.
Tara decided that today her fortunes would recover. Nethen and his god had abandoned her. At least she knew that the deities of her land were real.
The time had come. The priests chanted and raved, danced and capered before their followers.
Their cry to heaven echoed around the valleys and the people waited.
The new gods were fallible. They came and went as they wished, imparting gifts and punishments in an indescribable fashion. They were true creatures of another world, to be feared, to be worshipped. Tara paid less heed to them than she should. Her father swayed to the rhythms of the crowd, now murmuring quietly to himself, then crying out loud. She tried to play along. Before last year she would have had no such difficulty in being a living part of the community in this occult devotion.
It would have been better if she had feared the gods.
The frenzy first waxed. Then waning to near silence before a fresh outbreak of collective insanity spread itself amongst the people assembled in the square.
Would the gods hear them? Could such beings truly understand the human mind?
Tara hid her face from her neighbours. She was sick with revulsion. In what way could she relate to these people she had grown and lived with? Not like this. This was wrong.
"Tara, are you well?"
She filtered the voice from the surrounding din that threatened to drown it. Something touched her. Awakened a feeling, a sense of past and future. A realisation that the strife of recent times have been for nothing. Totally unnecessary.
"Tara, come away from this!"
She knew the voice. It penetrated her. She looked up at its source.
"Nethen?"
She was confused. Had she not been to the ship? Had she not counted the sailors one by one as they embarked on their work?
"Where?"
"Other work Tara. I am sorry I am late."
Time slipped. They left the madness of the crowds, retreating to the hills of the Edge.
She knew his company, his touch, his warmth. She listened to his voice, striving to really understand the words. She adjusted again to his ways, his accent, his walk, his body.
Tara was born once more that morning.
But to meet with gods is to invite grave danger.
Out in the ocean mass the Lord of the Sea awoke in anger. His rage was of supernatural origin, quite unlike the violence of his devoted worshippers. Rising silently, he sensed a hunger that needed feeding, a call for the world above that he could answer and devour.
Violent intent became a physical presence as this master of mortal destiny surged from the deep, where he had long slumbered. Thought took on form as the being coalesced, shifting its physicality as the water pressure lessened. Upwards the lord surged, striving to reach the estuary of the river of mortals. The god surfaced in majesty, a mass of tendrils and fins. Lord Cyrae had come to feast.
Tara had vanished. The thought entered Koban's mind with sudden urgency. It distracted him from the subtle change in mood of the surrounding crowd.
Something was wrong but all Koban could think was bitter annoyance at the tardiness of his daughter. How dare she run off! Just like her to show public disobedience.
The first signs of danger were becoming apparent to the inhabitants of Ston. The priesthood continued their performance but gradually, one by one, the onlookers fell silent. Tremors had begun to shake the buildings of the town. Water lapped a little higher by the quayside.
A god was coming.
They rested together in a glade above the farm. Tara rose from the forest floor. For once she was happy. Nethen remained asleep so she dressed and gently covered her lover with his travelling cloak.
Tara wondered how long this would last. Nethen had offered an apology but no explanation to his behaviour. His ship was due to depart today.
Why could he not stay? Did she mean so little to him? Questions she could not ask. Ones he could not answer perhaps. Tara's thoughts shifted focus. Maybe she could persuade him to remain behind, but regardless of that she must at least give him the choice.
"Tara I must go now."
Tara shivered. The sun was starting to go down once again in her life.
"You will return to your ship?"
"I am sorry."
Something had stirred the wildlife of the forest. The creatures of the Edge were agitated.
"Why can you not stay here with us? I will talk to my father."
Nethen got to his feet. It was obvious to her that he was unhappy.
"There are some things we cannot avoid. I will return, my love."
They said no more. Neither wanted their time together to end in disagreement. Wordlessly they started on the journey back to Ston.
Cyrae rose from the river, a worldly apparition seeking fearful adoration. A silence had fallen over the Edge Land. The wind had dropped. All was still. The inhabitants of the coastal town were frozen to the ground on which they stood. A wordless paralysis had taken hold of their minds and bodies.
The god spoke. Words formed in the minds of the watchers. A gleeful tirade of semi-intelligible language flooded their awareness. Cyrae feasted on their terror, on their confusion and dreadful doubt.
Soon the god grew bored. It was evident that the being from the deep wanted more than mere submission from his flock. The priests knew a sacrifice would be needed.
Cyrae did not wait.
Pain lanced through the thoughts of the worshippers. Panic spread through the crowd, scattering and crushing in equal measure. The god roared with approval.
"Lord of the Deep, how best can we serve you?"
The voice of the high priest rang hollow.
The Lord of the Deep was not to be concerned with his mortal acolyte. A savage thrust of his body smashed into the crowd. More would be destined to die this day, but the priesthood would be unable to save them.
"My Lord, I beg you, spare your people!"
Cyrae fixed his eye, now with a greater intent, fully on the figure of the cleric. He paused his murderous intentions momentarily.
"My Lord we thank you, we - "
A demonic limb lashed out decapitating the unfortunate mortal.
"I have great hunger!"
The words echoed in the minds of the fleeing survivors; a mental resonance adding confusion to the agony of the renewed assault.
Cyrae howled with pleasure as the wharfside disintegrated taking its human makers down into the depths of the harbour.
"I want more!" roared the mad sea god.
The square was empty now. All had fled or perished. The creature pulled itself more fully onto the land, but it was sure to retain a link to the sea, the source of its origin and power. It revealed a hard, calloused body studded with rock and shell. Questing with its mind it sought out the hiding places where, perhaps, it would find fuel for its desires.
Nethen and Tara saw the destruction from the safety of the forest edge. Ston lay in desolate ruin. Fires burnt with fierce intensity, quickly claiming more lives.
"Father is there. We must hurry!"
Nethen remained silent for a moment. Then whispered softly, "Tara, I will face this."
She glared at him. Her resentment mixed with suppressed trepidation.
"I do not fear that monster. It is my family, my people it's murdering."
Nethen shrugged. He had enough problems without confronting Tara of the Edge.
The beast was still. The pulse of its beating hearts throbbed slowly. The remains of its prey splattered across its hide.
Lord Cyrae was sated. He knew that fresh meat was available. But for now he rested, digesting in peace the physical and spiritual essences of the humans. A movement caused him to rouse from his slumber. There was a complete absence of urgency in the god’s behaviour. With an almost careless effort the god opened his eye and observed the newcomer.
Koban stood alone in the square. Something had broken within him. At some other time and in other places he would have fled like the others. But the creature whom he had worshipped had gone too far. The god was far from divine.
The wind was absent, the breeze taken away. The chill lessened in Koban's heart. Life was returning to him just at the moment when, maybe, it was due to end. Fear returned momentarily but Koban had been living in its shadow for far too long and its grip was weak on him.
"My Lord I would beg an audience with you."
Cyrae paused. This was interesting indeed; a mortal standing fearless before him. Surely no threat.
"I desire to give the Great Lord a gift."
Cyrae understood the weakling’s position. It was begging for mercy. Perhaps seeking to placate its god's holy appetite.
The god laughed.
Horror filled Koban's mind, striking harder than any death blow could have done. Koban dropped to his knees.
"Mortal I consider your gift."
Koban shivered, waiting for his life to be ended.
Time slipped.
Moments extended their reach. Past continued its transformation into the future. The sound of Koban’s heart drowned out everything.
And then it was over.
A hand touched Koban, shaking him back into reality of the moment.
"Father?"
The old Edgeman opened his eyes and met the gaze of his youngest child.
"You should not be here."
Tara shook her head in denial.
"It is going to be put right. Nethen has a plan."
"Praying to that god of his?"
The earth shook, ending the shared respite between parent and child. Cyrae was speaking, his booming voice echoing through their minds.
"I would not be defied!"
The pair turned to face the tyrant.
Nethen stood before the god.
"Krystos protect us," murmured Tara.
Nethen was speaking. Tara could not hear his words or the god in his reply. Koban cursed, his sacrifice unwanted. Tara ignored him, focusing instead on the scene before her.
The minutes dragged. The god's voice was quiet now. Just brief murmurings reached them.
Tara waited. Finally silence fell over the ruins. They still stood alone against the alien entity. Nethen turned his back on his adversary. Smiling to Tara he raised his hand as if he was to tell her something.
She strained to hear. She read his lips.
"I love you."
The god struck down hard. Smashing bone and flesh, crushing life and soul.
Lord Cyrae roared in triumph and then turned. It turned and slid back towards the sea satisfied with this day’s entertainment.
Tara's world fell apart.
Koban sensed the coming of darkness, the snuffing out of his life light.
Cyrae thrashed his way into the shallows of the estuary. But something had changed in its ravings. Somehow, out of schedule, the tide had turned. In his occupation with the mortal world the god of the sea have not noticed the danger.
Some force had drawn back the water from whence the god drew its strength. The tide had gone out. Like a beached whale the great master of the currents heaved and pulled its body down the harbour, desperate to find water.
Koban knew that the moment had come.
"Death to the demon! To arms!"
In ones and twos, men, woman and even children emerged from hiding and approached the thing of evil that languished in the sand shallows of Ston Harbour.
Snatching a fallen block Koban struggled forward and hefted it through the air.
The stone struck home. The god howled in annoyance. Tara stood silent.
Shock had paralysed her anger. But the paralysis thawed. With boiling rage she joined her father and launched a stone towards the object of her fury. Others joined them tearing down the stonework of the temple square. Men reached their side with long bows taken from the town armoury. Swiftly the weapons were applied.
Lord Cyrae, master of the sea, tyrant of the deep was torn down limb by limb, wound by wound. He bled into the empty sands of the harbour. Bereft of his power the god cried out in fear.
Tara watched as her relatives and friends exacted their rage and hatred on the god whom only hours before they had worshipped. Tara too was angry but a deeper emotion ruled her heart now. One of regret. One of sadness.
She watched Cyrae die screaming in agonised disbelief.
"Lord have pity."
Her thoughts were vocalised without her realisation.
"Let it die swiftly," she added. No one heard her. She stood alone.
The sun set over the hills of the Edge and she wandered long in the midst of the deep glades of winter. In the high fields above the town she found her father sitting with a stranger. One of the stranded traders, Nethen's people. Upon her arrival the stranger bade farewell to Koban. Tara could not meet her father's stare. The emptiness of his life seemed a perfect reflection of her own.
"Just hold me Father.”
Tears came at last. But they were only a temporary release. Life would continue in the hills and the town. Somewhere across the sea Nethen's people would mourn his death as well. She was sure of that.
Koban did as he was bid. Patient with his child.
"Why did they have to die?"
Koban remained silent.
"Father?"
"Have you learnt nothing?"
The response made her recoil. She sensed the criticism was not implied but she was not ready for the return of her father's moods. Not today, not now after this.
"He had a plan. Why did he die?"
Koban sighed.
"Maybe you should ask your god that question?"
Tara broke away from her father’s embrace.
"Nethen would not say a thing like that."
"Ask your God."
Tara felt anger rise within her. She did not need his sarcasm. Surely they had suffered enough.
"Ask your God." He repeated.
Tara heard change in tone; his voice carried a gentleness she had not heard for a long time. Confusion replaced her anger.
"Father I cannot bring him back."
"Turn around and ask him."
For a single moment time stood suspended. Tara sensed a twisting of mood in her father's voice, something combined with the lightness of touch, something new. Humour.
Koban laughed softly.
"Turn round and ask him!”
This was too much. She had to leave her deranged father and find peace somewhere else. She turned her back to him and her heart stopped.
"Nethen?"
He wore the same travelling cloak that he had done the first time they had met but something was different about this man.
"I do not understand - "
"No you do not."
"How?"
Nethen smiled. Tara remembered that smile. From another age, another time.
"Did you think that creature was truly a thing to be worshipped?"
Tara's confusion deepened. Shock was setting in.
"Do true gods really act like wild animals? What do you really think Tara?"
“You are dead! How can you be here?" The words somehow escaped from her.
"Do you not trust your eyes? You're not insane Tara, just tired."
"Do not leave me."
Nethen smiled again. "That is something that will never happen."
The sun set over the hills of the Edge. But it had left behind something new for Tara and her people.
