The gods have sent you a message. For you it’s just scribbles, but if you tilt your head and squint your eyes, the message reveals itself. Ayy lmao. But something feels off... -- Anon Guest
I don't know why the gods chose me. I'm a nobody from nowhere and honestly, I'm lucky to have made it to sixteen. I only know how to mine slate. I don't know how to read, I can barely count to fifty, I keep my head down and I don't bother anyone. I don't want for much. Food to fill my belly. A decent bed without bugs in it. Time to enjoy the sunset and one whole day above ground. It's not that much. So when I found writing inside a stone, I couldn't understand why.
I'm not stupid. I know what writing looks like. Since it was inside slate, I had to take both slices. One slice was reversed, I know that much. They were useless for sale, so I could keep them for my hut if I wanted. Other people get birds and bugs. I got... script. I didn't know what it said, not initially. Like I said, I can't read. I just knew that it was important, because the gods gave it to me, and it was mine.
That night, after my daily bread and bowl of stew, I lay down on my side and... I could read them both. They were sideways! It had to be the language of the gods, and it was a message for me, because the first thing I read included my name.
It said, Pillar, do not sleep this night. Rise and follow the moon until the dawn colours the sky again. When you reach that point, you will be able to read the next instruction.
This was a message from the gods. What else could I do but comply? I'm no idiot, so I packed what supplies I had. Trust in the gods, oh yes, but look after yourself all the same. They knew me. They reached out to me. They had to know that I would do these things. I knew I had to be smart enough to take my slates with me. My book of instructions, with two dense pages of writing.
I reached the second place at an old stone temple. Tired and a little punch drunk. All that walking and all that weariness, and the only thing that became clear to me was one word. Cleanse.
They made me walk all night for that? I started a fire and kept myself safe while the flames burned away at the scrub and the vines all over the place. I didn't care about the forest at that point. If the gods care, they could send the rain to make the fire go out themselves. I am just one being in this wide world and after walking all night, I wasn't in a mood to do much else besides fire.
The next morning, I woke up with the ability to shoot blasts of energy from my hands, and the instruction, Use your reward well.
I used those blasts to clear out the vegetation that the fire missed. That night, a new instruction became clear. Rebuild that which is ruined.
I'm a slate miner. I don't know masonry nor building. My shack was made by another with the knowledge of how to make a shack. I knew enough to add plates of bark to the walls or the roof when the weather came in. Maybe that's why they chose me. If I knew more... well... I might not have been so obedient.
Let's just say that my first attempts were propped up with a lot of wood. The gods had to know that my efforts were honest and my skills were limited. Otherwise, why were they gods? I didn't question, and that was my downfall.
My next set of instructions were how to get a proper mason into the temple, and what to do with them when their work was done. There was gold to pay them for their work under stones I could not move on my own, as well as an education on how to move those stones without them.
All the month they were there, all I heard from them was about the dreams of the completed temple and the monster within it crying to be let out. That was my first warning. A warning I didn't heed. I didn't feel concerned about the orders to sacrifice the mason, either. The gods demanded blood and I dared not ask why.
Every time I followed their instructions, I gained more powers. I could make a weapon fling green energy at my enemies. I could gather the moisture around me into an armour that hurt my foes. I could do so many things, and with each foe that fell, I could do so many more.
It was only when the instructions called for the blood of babies that I had reason to pause. Enemies, I could understand... but what had mewling babes done to deserve the wrath of the gods? I had to ask.
I dared to ask.
I was wrong to ask.
The gods can punish just as well as they can reward.
I am a slate miner. Not a murderer. I smashed the gods' slates and walked away from the rebuilt temple. They can burn my bones, plague me with nightmares, withdraw the powers they gave me. I am still one being. I am still capable of choice.
I... choose...
I chose to follow. I chose, also, to disobey.
Now I choose to wander, looking for a real god to take pity on me and rescue me from the persistent, insect-swarm whining of the gods who chose me. I choose to keep searching, either for that or for death. Whichever is the most merciful.
If you must listen to the gods, you must also choose.
Which is better? Their attention... or their neglect?
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / homydesign]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [87 remaining prompts!]
