Most High

The God on his mountain observes...

I dwelt on the highest mountain in the range and the valley tribe knew of me.

I ignored them for the most part, because my nature was that of the storm, the domain of my power. I brought the western sea's energy and dark water to this place, reveling in my art. The valley people watched the flash of my eyes and heard the roar of my voice, and it seemed for a moment they understood.
 
I began to watch as the tribespeople raised their voices to me in song and prayer, danced for me and sprinkled water from the streams for my favor. I continued to bring the rain they needed and soften the winds, as I had done before them and would probably do long after they were gone. The people began to speak of how well they knew me, and they named me Most High. They bragged of my partiality for them, and their own wisdom in recognizing me. I was bemused, and turned back to my work again, only to hear their voices calling.

A single person in the tribe said he knew my wishes best. Others followed him and they became a flock, faces turned toward my mountain, voices raised in constant supplication. They asked for bountiful crops, much livestock, wealth, healthy children, and luck in the hunt. They burned plants, made masks, and slaughtered the animals that roamed my home. The smell of burning and cries of pain rose into the air to my mountaintop.

The flock of leaders demanded payment from the people, and complete obedience. They took what they wanted and treated the uninitiated with scorn. The day came when the generosity of their own people was not enough to sate their greed, so they arranged a war with a neighboring tribe, peaceful folk with ample stores. The fighting was fierce, bloody, and senseless. I, on my mountain, began to hate the valley tribe and their delusion of me.

While the war raged, a valley tribe girl slipped out of her hut and began to climb the mountain on which I dwelt. She moved fast with desperation, and soon stood on the rocky place below the snow of spring.

"Most High!" she called. I did not answer. "Lord of Storm," she said, and I exhaled the chill wind of spring in answer.

"What do you know of the nature of storm?" I asked her. "Your people are driven mad with greed and stories. I never asked for sacrifice or obedience. I do not know these frenzied lunatics, and they never knew me."

"It is as I thought," the girl replied. "Your nature has not changed from the time before we came. You are the storm still, and not the reigning demon the priests claim. I am glad. But is there nothing you can do to stop this slaughter?"

"No." I said, "It is already done." As the girl who understood descended the mountain, I watched the victorious valley tribe return to their village in glee, with all the spoils of their slain opponents. When the girl stepped from my mountain, the priests demanded of her the reason for her sacrilege.

"I have spoken to our diety, the lord of the storms," she said. "He has told me that he is not the Most High, and has no need for sacrifice and obedience. He does not want our battle-frenzy nor care for our greed."

In a fury, the priests took hold of the girl, and took her to an altar. As I knew they would, they killed her, my friend, in the pretense of offering her to me.

The dark waters gathered in clouds over us all. The tears of my grief poured unrelenting, with the winds of my useless sorrow buffetting everything within reach. I bellowed from my heart, and fire from the sky struck the earth,  but I did not look to see what the valley people did. I did not care. 

When the storm had raged for days and I was worn thin and empty, the last of the clouds drifted away to the east and dissipated in the cold morning air. I went with them. 

Reviews

[Vartul]

that's cool, susanna. you sure have quality in your work. i like the concept . One thing which you have taken care of and which i really appreciate is that you did not make a startling start or ending, or gave your story too many twists, which most useless writers on such sites do, and which is superboring. perhaps this is too much praise, but the simplicity of the narrative enchanted me.
But don't get bloated(just joking!). I think i'll see more of your work.

[nostal]

wow well written and infinitely original