The Day the Gods Embraced

(Glossary provided at the end of the story.)

Frræ looked up.

The red eye of Wau peered down at him, Her solar rays beaming out somehow brighter than they usually did. Below Her, hanging low in the sky, Rau’s eye was encroaching.

Frræ narrowed his eyes. The two celestial bodies rarely came so close together–it had been cycles since Rau had even been visible during the day. With His shadow toward the world, no one could tell the color of the moon’s surface. Everyone knew it was periwinkle, but right now it was black.

“What?” Muræ asked behind him. She approached him on all fours, already armed with her jagged gauntlets. “No hunt?”

He turned to give her an acknowledging glance, his eyes trailing almost hungrily over the sharp curve of her hunched spine. Then he tilted his eyes back up to the sky. He raised a claw to point.

“Rau comes early,” he said.

She looked. Her brow furrowed, her protruding fangs bared in a nervous snarl. “Is bad omen,” she said.

“No,” he said, turning. “Is Gods talking. Maybe Rau apologizes.”

Her snarl didn’t fade. “Rau does not apologize,” she said as she turned and plodded back to the group.

He sighed and followed her, checking the straps of his gauntlets. While hers were made of a tough wood embedded with red stones, his were made entirely of shards of desert glass he’d found. Cutting up the kikitæ was essential; in the hunt, he’d mark their quarry on the first encounter, bleeding it so that if it got away there would be a clear trail to follow. This kikitæ was a beast that they’d hunted for months; all muscle and sinew and coarse, greasy hair, its head adorned with a crown of bony plate, its fangs protruding upward from its jaw–opposite the proud downward sabers of an Ortuxan’s fangs–and its snout flat and wet. Its long, clublike tail and its hard head were easily the biggest obstacles, and had felled many a good hunter. But he and Muræ, along with the other five warriors they’d brought, were confident. They could take down this beast and bring it back to the pride for good eating for months, maybe years. They probably didn’t even need all seven hunters, but it was good to give everyone experience.

As he approached the group near the fringes of the forest, he could smell their anticipation. They had been grappling with each other, warming up their muscles in preparation for the incoming fight. The odors of sweat and musk mixed with the spiky scent of the cactus water they had been doused with before leaving the pride, leaving a heady smell in Frræ’s nostrils. He inhaled deeply as the scuffles died down, and eight faces turned toward him in anticipation.

He stood there a moment, and in that moment the world grew dimmer. He dared not turn, knowing what it must be–Rau, embracing Wau. The gods blessed their hunt.

“Hunters of Waumærr,” he said, his voice deep and carried on the wind to every ear twisted his way. “Today, we kill Kikitæ!”

There was a growled acknowledgment. His fangs bared in satisfaction.

“Today, we make pride fat on meat of Kikitæ!”

The growling grew into a snarl. Gauntleted hands struck the stone ground in a thunderous applause.

“Hunters,” he said, waiting. The snarling, the thundering hands, the yowls of anticipation grew to a fever pitch, and he smirked. This hunt would be a good one.

He waited for one more heartbeat, then boomed the word they were all waiting for.

“Hunt!”

There was one more caterwaul, then the hunters went silent, disappearing one by one into the brush. They would all be heading the same direction, instinctively following the paths of their fellows. One queen lingered. Muræ waited, dipping her muzzle in acknowledgment as he passed her to take the centermost position. She fell into step behind him, and the hunt was on.

The forest was eerie, but it was always eerie. No one went into Kiñaufu alone or unarmed. Frræ’s ears were open for every rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig, every distant cry from small prey like kikifeu or kikilæm. The hunting party made no sound as they crept through the towering trees, each step calculated. He trusted everyone he picked for this hunt.

He paused, sensing Muræ behind him stopping just short of running into him. His eyes narrowed. Something was…not wrong. Just different. But “different” could be construed as “wrong” if he wasn’t careful. He looked around, mouth just agape enough to taste the air. He could smell the sweat and cactus of his fellow hunters, the crisp leaves of the trees. The ground was springy under his finger- and foot-pads, far different from the stone or sand he most often found himself standing on. His dense coat kept out most of the heat, though the forest air was cooler than he was used to. All of this was expected, though. He’d been to Kiñaufu before. Hunted between the thick, tall trees, sprang from its soil onto the backs of prey, smelled the odor of the hunters, heard the singing of–

Wait. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. Shouldn’t there be more kikifeu singing?

Abruptly, he realized how dark it had gotten in the time since he’d spoken to the hunting party, which now felt like cycles ago. He tilted his head up, but of course the leaves of the trees blotted out the sky. He could only faintly catch a glimmer of its pale yellow between the reddish leaves.

Except…it wasn’t yellow anymore. It was a darker orange, the color of the sky at twilight before everything darkened into a deep blue. He stared up in awe, trying to catch a glimpse through the leaves. Were Wau and Rau still up there, dancing around in the sky?

He shook his head, twitching his whiskers in irritation at himself. They were here to hunt, not stare at the sky. He crept forward again, sensing the curiosity emanating from Muræ, but neither of them spoke.

He kept his mouth partially open, drawing in scents, trying to pinpoint the smell of keratin and musk from their quarry. The scent was stale by now, but that made little difference. He didn’t expect to find it right away. His hands and feet brushed through ferns and packed dirt, claws digging in to give himself traction. Around them, the world was dark–but then, how better to hunt than under cover of a premature night?

He froze as his knuckles scraped against something else.

Looking down, he bent to sniff at the new object. It was a stone, but…His eyes furrowed. It wasn’t one stone. It was a few dozen, arranged in a pattern that didn’t seem natural. He felt over it with his fingerpads. Too smooth. Too…neat. They were all the wrong colors, too; a blue-gray stone flecked with black. The only color of stone he’d seen this far inland was the red sandstone of the nearby budding mountain range.

He didn’t have the words to explain what this all meant, but it didn’t look natural.

Muræ broke the silence. “What that?” she breathed, looking ahead. Around them, the hunting party broke out of the foliage, all equally curious, most with tails twitching from anxiety.

Frræ looked up, ears flattening. Ahead, the too-flat, too-neat pattern of wrong-colored stone continued, making up an entire section of ground. In the center stood a raised pillar, made of the same stone and the same regular pattern. There was a flat, very straight-edged square at the front of it, and carved into that square were lines of scratches.

“Never see this,” he said. He’d been into the forest thousands of times, and had never come across this. He looked up, sniffing the air. The trees had opened up around the strange clearing, and he could now see the sky, where a blazing crimson ring hung in the rusty, starless blanket of false night. The Gods embracing.

A ray of flame descended like a falling star, and Frræ flinched back as it settled on the strange pillar. He cocked his head curiously. A kikifeu…made of flame?

Indeed, a creature with feathers tipped in flame turned its head all the way around to look at him with golden orbs. Its face was a disc, its beak a tiny triangle that clacked thoughtfully. It regarded him, made a chirping noise, and then spoke.

And he understood it.

“You hunt?” it said.

He blinked, once, twice, then dipped his muzzle in the affirmative. “We hunt,” he said. “No hunt you.”

“I didn’t think you would,” it said matter-of-factly, almost sounding amused. It was adding extra words in its sentences, which made Frræ’s head hurt a little. “Ortuxans. So, you’re the Children of Wau. And you live nearby?”

Frræ frowned. “Live…near. Yes.”

“Oh, right. I should probably adjust my syntax.” It cleared its throat. “I Ke. Goddess of flame. Friend of Wau. I come with gift.”

Frræ narrowed his eyes, then glanced back at his party. They looked wary; Muræ in particular had hunched, her pupils black discs, her haunches shifting as she prepared to pounce. He nudged against her, purring for a brief moment to calm her down.

“What gift?” he asked Ke.

The goddess hopped to face them fully, then raised her wings as she brought up a talon, pointing to each of them in turn. Her face didn’t change, but she seemed to smile. “Seven. Good. I brought enough.”

Tucked between the feathers of her wings were seven of different colors; one the reddish pink of Wau, a misty silver-green, the red of the sand outside, the indigo of the moon, the pale gold of the sky, the blue of the ocean at night, and the last blazing in all the colors of the rainbow. She fluttered down off the pillar and stood before Frræ, and he realized she was far bigger up close. She dwarfed him now, actually. She looked down at him, sternly but calmly, as if they weren’t two creatures of talon and claw.

“Take one.”

He didn’t need her to clarify. He looked at the oddly-colored feathers, and with little thought to the flames his claws had plucked one–the red feather, which dulled slightly and shimmered a dark green in his hands.

“Good choice,” she said, dipping her beak. “You have chosen the Gift of Cheu, the power to break stone…or the power to call on nature. Your bloodline, and others you choose, will carry this gift through the ages.”

He blinked. “Your gift…magic?”

“In a sense.” She dipped her beak again and tapped onto the stone before Muræ, who was no longer attempting to pounce. With an excited glint, she chose the multicolored feather and stuck it behind her ear, the subtle flame not fading but not appearing to harm her.

“Ah, you’ve chosen mine. The Gift of Ke, the power to raze with flame or paralyze with lightning. I assume you heard what I said to Frræ about carrying it through the ages?”

Muræ blinked, glancing at him. He shrugged; he hadn’t said anyone’s name, but he figured knowing people’s names was trivial to a goddess.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I hear.”

“Good.” Ke nodded, hopping to dole out the other five gifts. The gift of Ñæ, which she cited as the power to call on the breeze or the storm; of Rre, the power to move with the flow of water or to freeze it in place; and of Kufu, the power to dance between the minutes and seconds between space and see through the layers of them to the future or the past.

Then, most surprisingly, of Rau, to become one with the shadows; and of Wau, to guide with Her light. The queen who received this stared at Ke, uncertain, even as she reverently tucked the rosy feather into her white fur.

“What is purpose?” Frræ asked, facing her. “Why gift?”

Ke turned to regard him. “Your people face a dark future,” she said. “Kufu has seen it. Nothing you have to personally be wary of,” she added. “It’s just lucky you happened to find this place during the eclipse. It’s the only time anyone can see it, anyway. But it’s ending soon, and you still have a boar to catch.”

Frræ blinked. “What ‘boar’?”

“Oh, right, you call them ‘kikitæ’ here.” She folded her wings. “Frræ, your pride is at the dawn of all life on Ortuxia. Make sure it thrives.”

The day began to lighten again, and as the sun’s rays beamed down Ke seemed to dissolve, her flames flickering into nothingness. The seven of them stared around, and found themselves in a regular clearing. No strange stone ground, no scratched pillar. The lowing of a great beast in the distance brought them to attention, and Frræ growled, “Hunt.”

As the shaken hunting party disappeared into the brush once more, Muræ said, “Everything different.”

Frræ looked down at himself. He’d felt a twinge of something when he’d touched that feather. Its light fading felt like it was being pulled into him somehow. And now he felt so much stronger. But he didn’t look any different, he thought.

“Dawn of life,” he said as he led her back into the brush. “Everything different every day.”

Glossary:

Wau (WOW): Goddess of the sun. The sun is referred to as the “Eye of Wau” or the “Waumærr”.

Rau (ROW): God of the moon.

Kikitæ (KEE-kee-tah): A boarlike creature, hunted for its meat.

Waumærr (wow-MEHR): Eye of Wau. Also the name of the continent.

Kiñaufu (keen-YOW-foo): Literally “clouded forest”.

Kikifeu (KEE-kee-few): Bird.

Kikilæm (KEE-kee-lahm): Weasel.

Ortuxan (ohr-TUCKS-uhn): Dominant species of the planet Ortuxia (which is feline in nature).

Ke (KEH): Goddess of flame and love.

Rre (RREH, roll the “RR” as in Spanish): Goddess of water and of "going with the flow"

Ñæ (nee-EH): Deity of wind and of chaos.

Cheu (chee-OOH): God of nature, of life, and of death.

Kufu (KOO-foo): Deity of time and prophecy.