Prologue
The Banished Hunter's Homecoming
Over the millennia that followed the World Serpent’s death, its funeral barrow had become a great, sprawling mountain range dividing east and west. The tallest peak pierced the clouds where, in the great Serpent’s death throes, its head had broken through the veil to the heavens above.
In the shadow of the mountain that pierced the heavens, a god walked among broad-leafed trees. His skin was a deep indigo streaked with lines of sunbright gold running along the meridians of his body. Around his waist, he wore a crimson sarong of silk, and his arms were adorned with armbands and bracers of polished iron. His hair was as smooth and black as obsidian and hung, braided down his back. Two dread hounds, Usa and Tiké, padded at his heels. They were as large as bears and their shoulders came to his waist.
Ogé had languished in this forest beneath the mountains for an interminable time after his expulsion from the heavens. Untold seasons had come and gone as he sulked and cursed his fate. Now he returned, his exile having come to an end.
The idea of ascending the steps to the heavens did not fill him with the joy he had expected. The nagging prick of trepidation slowed his steps. Disquiet clung to him like a chill.
Centuries I’ve been away. And now they send their summons. Through the trees, he could make out the steps carved into the mountainside. Steps he and his siblings had carved into the stone on the eve of their Ascension. All that seemed so very distant. He had been but a youth then, the youngest of the Serpent’s Children. A full-blooded god now, he had spent the majority of his life grounded with beasts and earthly gods. Why now? That was the crux of his discontent, the splinter of uneasiness keeping him from fully enjoying the prospect of his homecoming. All during his trek to the mountain, the question assailed him with dogged persistence. Why now?
Usa whined, her thin tail straight out as she sniffed the air. Still padding along behind him, her eyes scanned the jungle around them, and her neck strained to catch the scent.
“Usa,” Ogé said, snapping his fingers. “There will be no hunt today.” The hound turned its head to Ogé and followed, her eyes occasionally wandering to undergrowth around them before returning her attention to her master.
He and the hounds had spent the years in exile hunting all across Ayelati. But for this trip, he had left his bow and spear behind. He did not know if he would return so he had left them with mankind, his creation, borne of blood and earth. In a vague sense, he worried about them, the fledgling humans he had raised for generations. But worldly affairs were beneath him, he tried to convince himself as they came to the stairs carved into the mountain’s face.
The god and his hounds climbed the stairs to the heavens. The stairs wound up the mountainside, the air growing thinner and colder the higher they climbed. Soon the land far beneath them was obscured by wisps of cloud which thickened until they were surrounded by dense clouds of purest white.
At a plateau swaddled in clouds, two godlings barred the final flight of stairs leading to the ethereal, stairs entirely obscured by thick, luminous cloud cover. They slithered towards him on a pair of serpentine limbs the color of sunlight splashed on the surface of a slow-moving river. From the waist up they were humanoid save for the flat, leaf-shaped snouts and the flicking tongues coming out from mouths filled with needle-like fangs. The offspring of his sister Matara most likely. Kin he had never met in his absence. They raised spears of starlight and barred his way up to the clouds. “What brings the Banished Hunter to the Highest Throne?” the one on the left hissed.
“Treachery, no doubt,” the godling on the right said.
“I’ve come to see my brother,” Ogé said, ignoring their provocations. “Ajawaya awaits me.”
“We were told ages ago to not let you step foot in the heavenly realm,” the guard on the right hissed.
“My sister’s messenger told me otherwise. I am expected.”
The one on the left flicked out its tongue, tasting the thin air. “I smell deceit, do you not?” it asked its twin.
The narrow slitted eyes of the other fixed on Ogé’s. “I believe I do.”
Usa and Tiké stiffened, lips curling and low growls rising in their throats. Ogé raised a hand and they quieted although their bodies did not relax. Their eyes never left the godlings.
“I am expected. Go and ask. My siblings will tell you I speak truth.”
“Do not give me orders like you are my greater,” the godling on the left said. “Turn back and return to your exile, usurper.”
Ogé bristled, the lines of sunbright gold along his limbs flaring. He took a slow, deliberate step forward and the godlings raised their spears. “I am Ogé of the Serpent’s blood. The Ironclad Hunter, god of blood and bone and flame. Whether above or below, I am one of the Highest, so do not think you are my greater.” The lines of light along his meridians burned like sunfire as he straightened. Power radiated from him like heat haze, pressure rolling from his body like dense fog. “You are not even my lessers. I deign to speak to you out of courtesy and this is how my civility is repaid?” His hand reached at the dagger’s handle upon his waist. “Now go to your mother and ask her of my summons and she will tell you the same as I have. And be quick about it. I have been gone far too long to be delayed by a pair of arrogant whelps.”
The godlings exchanged a glance, cold slitted eyes narrowed. The godling on the right raised his starlit spear. “I shall do just that,” he said reluctantly. “Don’t try anything in my absence.”
“I am no kinslayer,” he said. His eyes met the gaze of the other godling. “Without cause, that is.”
The godlings gave him a doubting look and then the right godling retreated up the stairs, limbs undulating over the steps into the bright light and thick cloud cover.
The god and the godling stood at the bottom of the stairway, silence like a canyon yawned between them. The light pulsing from Ogé’s meridians faded as he breathed, restraining the simmering anger that had gotten him exiled so long ago. They are foolhardy and young, he told himself, quelling the fires lashing within himself. Just as I was in my youth.
“You are of Matara’s brood?” Ogé asked. The godling said nothing. “How is your mother? Is she well?” Ogé continued.
“I won’t have idle chatter with a traitor,” the godling said, his serpent’s eyes narrowed.
Ogé’s good-natured demeanor faltered, wavering for a moment before he regained his composure. “I am no traitor.”
The godling bared his teeth and a hiss escaped his lips. The spear, swaddled in starlight, raised a bit.
Ogé frowned. “What is your name, child of Matara?”
“My name is none of your concern.”
“I only wish to know so I may tell your mother who I slayed.” In an instant, his hand drew a gleaming iron knife from its intricate leather sheath. The blade was curved and covered in intricate designs, swirling vines etched along the spine. His hounds crouched, fur bristling along their backs. “Now lower your spear. I do not wish to upset your mother,” Ogé said, his voice like iron against a whetstone.
The godling stiffened. His tongue darted from between his lips and his slitted eyes glanced from the hounds to the blade.
“Nagisa,” a voice like a gentle breeze came from the clouds above. “Do not antagonize your uncle so.” Matara’s voice wafted from the heavens, airy and divine. Hearing her voice soothed his prickling irritation.
“Come, Ogé,” Matara said. “You have been gone long enough.”
Ogé motioned for his hounds to stay and they sat upon the stone, looking expectantly at him. He turned, gave the godling, Nagisa, a glance and then walked past him up the stairs. The clouds parted as he strode. His body became light, buoyed by the currents of the Cosmos. Beneath his feet, stone steps gave way to stairs carved of jade. The air around him warmed as he climbed. The smell of cherry and cedar, frankincense and gharuwood, ocean breeze and morning dew tinged the air. Ogé breathed deeply as he emerged from the clouds, glad to be home.
Cresting the staircase, he breached the cloud cover and came into the courtyard before the Celestial Palace. A long and wide path divided the courtyard, a path made of marble tiles inlaid with jade to create a stunning mosaic of geometric designs, tesselations of ten pointed stars repeating again and again. A colonnade surrounded the courtyard, held by marble columns carved with intricate designs depicting the World Serpent winding his way toward the heavens. The roof of the colonnade was green ceramic tile and curved from the peak down to the eaves.
Being home soothed any disquiet he had. A sense of rightness, of serenity, held him in its warm embrace. His bare footsteps were soft and quiet upon the marble.
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Golden fig trees grew, large and sprawling, in the garden on either side of the path he walked, and in the center of the courtyard, the point from which the mosaic radiated, was a massive, ornate, multi-tiered fountain of marble bubbling a sweet, gentle melody in the tranquil courtyard.
Nothing had changed since he had been cast out. It was as if no time at all had passed. Memories came unbidden. Memories of his brother, Ajawaya, towering above him as he bled on the mosaic tiles. The placid quiet of the courtyard soon took a solemn quality. His soft footfalls and the bubbling of the fountain were a soft dirge to his past life.
His sister’s serpentine body was looped around the base of the fountain, the rainbow iridescence of her scales sparkling in the spray of the fountain. The feathers along the ridge of her back were lustrous and colorful, encompassing the whole color spectrum from the deepest purple to the brightest yellow. She raised her serpent head, the feathered plumes all around her cobra’s hood flaring and relaxing as he approached. She slithered from around the fountain and rose to face him, her gold-scaled head was nearly as large as he was. “Welcome back, brother. It has been too long,” she said, the words coming from her fanged mouth a whisper in the stillness of the placid courtyard. “Forgive my children. They have grown to be quite…spirited.”
Just like their father, the thought arose. Just like Ajawaya. Ogé smiled although the memories of his exile were clear and nagging in the back of his mind. “It is good to be back, my dear Matara. You are just as beautiful as I remember.”
Matara’s head swayed back and forth, hypnotic and alluring in its fluidity. Her long plumage shimmered in the ever-present light of the ethereal realm. “I have missed your honeyed words.”
“I have missed being home,” Ogé said earnestly. “Although I am surprised to be back, I must admit. Why has Ajawaya sent for me?”
Matara’s eyes looked away, glancing through the open colonnade to the clouds and ether beyond the courtyard. “Always right to the point, brother. That has not changed, has it?” She turned back to him, a softness in her slitted eyes. “After your duel with Ajawaya, we allowed you to do as you wish in the realm below. We let you use the entire world as your hunting grounds. We did not intervene when you created your humans. We let you have your earthly delights, did we not?”
“Yes, you have been very generous,” Ogé said. An air of disquiet had seeped into the courtyard like the cold breeze before a storm. Where is this going, dear sister? he wanted to ask but he stayed subdued and deferential. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with unease.
“Much too generous, it seems,” a voice like thunder broke through. The bronze gates at the end of the courtyard flew open. Ajawaya strode forward, his adamant breastplate shining so resplendently it was hard to look directly at him. He walked with his spear over his shoulder, the spearhead like a bolt of lightning affixed to the shaft of ash.
The smell of ozone filled the courtyard as Ajawaya rounded the fountain. His beard was gray like storm clouds. He towered over Ogé, his body thick and muscular like a bull whereas Ogé was lithe and sinewy like a panther.
“Your treachery has not gone unnoticed,” Ajawaya said. “You rally the low, worldly gods against us, your own kin. And for what? To avenge your tarnished ego?”
“I have done no such thing!” Ogé shouted, confusion in his voice. He had thought his brother’s invitation was to be his return to the Celestial Palace. His homecoming. Now he felt it all crumbling down upon him. “How dare you accuse me.”
From the shadows of the colonnade slithered Matara’s twin, Talara. Her wicked bat face, covered in filth, wrinkled at the glare of the courtyard’s light. Her serpentine body undulated, entrails from her open gut writhed and wound around columns like tentacles. “The shadows see all. You cannot hide yourself from them. They see who you truly are, Ogé. You lust for revenge. It consumes you.”
Ogé’s jaw clenched. “You speak only lies.”
“I showed you mercy,” Ajawaya said. “Despite my best judgment, I heeded Matara’s words and I let you keep your head.” He swung the spear from his shoulder and held it in two hands at his waist, the spearhead pointed at Ogé. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“You cannot believe what she says! She only knows falsehoods and treachery.”
“I do not need to believe her. I’ve seen it myself. I have eyes everywhere the sky touches earth. I have heard what you tell your humans. The treachery of the High Gods. The cruelty of Ajawaya as he cast you from the heavens.” Ajawaya scoffed. “As if it was not you that challenged my sovereignty.”
Ogé’s fists clenched at his sides. Betrayal sullied the air like the stench of death on the wind. His mind whirled. He gave voice to the questions buzzing in his skull like hornets. “Why now? Why betray me now after all this time? Why allow me to live below if only to ambush me now?”
Matara, her massive form wrapped around a sprawling fig tree, replied, her voice soft and gentle. “To what end did you create your humans?”
Ogé grimaced. “Even gods are not immune to the chill of loneliness.”
“And you say I speak falsehoods,” Talara said, her voice grating.
“Damn you,” Ogé growled, the lines along his body flaring to life. “Damn you all to perdition.”
“You are nothing but a petulant child,” Ajawaya said dismissively as he took a deliberate step forward. “And I will endure it no longer.”
A great pressure began to build around Ogé. His body began to feel heavier. He looked in the colonnade to see Aséshassa surrounded by a shimmering aura. His amber eyes glowed from beneath his cowl. His flowing robes billowed and a myriad of bronze bands and bracelets jingled around his outstretched arms. “You know your magics don’t work on me,” Ogé said as he drew into himself the energy of the Cosmos. The gravity bearing down upon him broke away, dispelled immediately, and he drew his knife in time to deflect Ajawaya’s spear thrust.
He leaped away as the spear flashed towards him again. Lightning arced from the spearhead. Ajawaya’s beard smoked, his eyes glinting with cold star fire. “I should have killed you when you were born,” he growled.
Ogé darted close and slashed low. Ajawaya knocked his blade aside with the shaft of his spear then slashed, pushing Ogé back a step before thrusting towards his stomach. Ogé leaped back and sidestepped the thrust.
“I’ve always hated you,” Ogé said, trying to get close to bury the knife in Ajawaya’s side. “But I would not have killed you.” The shaft of Ajawaya’s spear shoved him backward. “I would have buried my anger deep within myself and been done with it. But I am not even allowed that!” He slashed, knocking a thrust away so it only grazed his shoulder. “I am not even allowed my anger!”
They fought, exchanging blows while Aséshassa attempted to catch Ogé unaware with his magics. Spears of light arced through the air. Ogé dodged the bulk of them, deflecting one with his iron bracer before Ajawaya charged with a feint and a low thrust. Ogé stumbled backward, barely able to avoid the thrust. Small black holes gaped in the space around him like moth gnawn holes in the fabric of space. One such hole swelled near his face to swallow him up. Focusing his magic nullifying energy in his hand, he reached out and crushed the hole, collapsing it in a fist with a woosh.
“You can’t kill me with your petty tricks,” Ogé called to Aséshassa before Ajawaya’s spear flashed forward and nearly opened his neck.
The air around Ajawaya crackled with electricity and blew in tempestuous gusts. His attacks came faster and Ogé could only barely keep the thrusts at bay. Ogé’s limbs grew heavy with exhaustion.
He darted behind a column of the colonnade, trying to give himself space to breathe. The column burst into rubble and dust as Ajawaya’s fist brought it tumbling down.
Talara’s tendrils swelled, overtaking half of the colonnade to reach him. They lashed out at him, hoping to catch his leg but he slashed at them, hacking the coils of entrails before they could grasp him. He ran along the colonnade, darting between columns only to have Ajawaya turn them to rubble.
Ogé darted behind a column and made a break for the courtyard. If he could reach the staircase he could escape.
Ajawaya’s spear slashed his calf open. Blood as red as the setting sun poured down his leg. He stumbled and whirled around to face Ajawaya.
A voice came from behind him. Gentle and sweet. “I’m sorry, brother.”
Matara’s teeth dug into his chest and his legs. She lifted him off the ground and shook him, his bones cracking in her bite, then threw him down to the tile floor in a bloodied heap. His knife skittered far across the courtyard.
Ogé gasped, the breath forced from his punctured lungs. His flesh was mangled and torn. Blood poured onto the jade mosaic.
Ajawaya stood over him, watching him writhe on the courtyard floor, coughing and choking on his own blood. “You will not die here,” he said. “You will not sully my palace with your blood.”
Ogé tried to push to rise, but the smooth marble was slick with his pooling blood and he fell as Ajawaya grabbed him by the throat. “Curse you, bastard.” Blood splattered down his chin as he spoke. His eyes flared. “With my dying breath, curse you and all your kin. Damn you to hell.” Ajawaya dragged him toward the stairs, his grip crushing Ogé’s windpipe. Ajawaya threw him down the first few steps. When Ogé stopped rolling, he stared at Ajawaya, hate burning in bloodshot eyes. Words came from his crushed throat in a strangled wheeze. “I will have my vengeance. Not even death can stop me.”
Ajawaya walked down the steps and stood over him, a smirk on his lips. He raised an adamant-clad boot and brought it down upon Ogé’s head, crushing it against the jade stairs. He stomped again and again until the stairs began to shatter and crack. The mountain’s peak shook with great tremors as Ajawaya reduced Ogé’s skull to a pulp amidst chunks of jade and pulverized stone.
The staircase shook, the earth trembling beneath his feet. Matara’s children slithered up the stairs past him in terror. When the mountain began to groan, he stopped and stepped back up the stairs to the courtyard, satisfied.
Stone cracked and the entire peak of the mountain came crumbling down, cutting off the heavens from the earth and ridding the High Gods of their youngest brother’s vengeful scheming. A massive landslide roared down the mountainside, the entire side of the mountain rolling down into the low-lying land below. Dust filled the air in a massive cloud that blotted out the sun for years.
In the ages after his death, the rubble in which Ogé was interred was buried in dirt deposited by upslope winds. Atop his funeral barrow, a forest grew, surrounding the mountain that had been the Serpent’s head. His lifeblood nourished the sprouting forest and life was born from his death.
A massive moringa tree grew from the ichor, thick-trunked and as green as jade. A remnant of the Ironclad Hunter’s divine essence. The moringa grew tall but wounded as Ogé had been. A gash near the bottom of its trunk bled a trickle of sap which gathered at the base of the tree’s roots, in a depression in the dirt. And from that sap, a young boar was born to the burgeoning forest. It drank from the pool of sap from which it had been born, the light of its divinity glowing faintly across its body, bright as sunfire.
Humanity, in its infancy, assumed Ogé had ascended and taken his rightful place among his kin. His progeny took the things he had taught them - iron and fire and the hunt - and they multiplied and spread across the land. The gods, High and Low, treated them with scorn, and thus humanity lived and died at their hands.
Until, far away across the seas, an eldritch fog boiled from the depths of the roiling ocean and hung across the sky like a shroud. In the heart of the mist, deep in the swirling fog, illusory shapes of monstrous proportions shifted and contorted like shadows in the dense gray. Fingers of fog began to reach the shores of Ayelati, bringing with it pestilence and death.
Things existed far greater than any god of earth or heaven. The sovereignty of gods was to come to an end.