Real Gods Require Blood

Summary:

The young Ba’al Hadad of the Mesopotamian Pantheon returned from his hard work of establishing the city of Ur in an effort to show he is ready for godhood. Unfortunately for him, he’s not an ordinary god, so an ordinary path won’t do him. As a result, he is propositioned by The Gala, a troupe of Inanna’s priestesses who say they can show him a different path. This is the night before he is set to go. . .

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Hadad finds himself in a dream. He knows this to be true because he is in the body of a large, powerful ox instead of his own. On his being would be a thick, insular lair of hair from head to hoof that matches his natural color with a long, whip-like tail that had a tassel of fur at the end,

Coupled with a long snout with the nose pink at the tip, a set of massive horns sprouting from either side of his head, and a pair of beady eyes that still held the same emerald tint. In this dream, he would stand beside eleven other animals in front of a flooding bank with a mythical being hovering above the turbulent waters as their guide.

“First one to the other side of the bank shall be declared victor.”

Now says the guide, her lithe body framed by a long, white, floating gown with a green sash that encircled her like a halo. Hadad moos as one expects an ox would do; in the dream, however, it seems the guide understands what he meant to ask for she responds:

“The Throne. You will win The Throne.”

And the guide disappears into the misty rain like she was never there to begin with, making all the animals feel as if they were just hallucinating. Yet it were that the other eleven take to the bank with swift fury – the sea dragon dives in first and starts to ride out the waves with its slithering body, the tiger tries next to stay above by pedaling on its fours, and on, and on. Somewhere in between, the rat jumps on top of the jackal’s head while it hops from land mass to land mass since neither of them can swim at all.

Not Hadad. As the ox, he realizes he is the tallest animal, can stand above the roiling waves so as to avoid swimming. He’s also powerful enough to walk through it all even as the water knocks the sea dragon itself around. Soon, he would find himself ahead of them all by a good half mile, head held high with his hooves forging the path one step at a time.

The halfway point changes everything. Upon a distant bank, Hadad sees a small, white dot that seems flattened by the rains pouring down, or perhaps injured from a fight with another animal. He at first does not think this is his business, what concern of his was this creature that wasn’t even a part of the race?

Then the creature that turns out to be a bird – a dove – lifts its head up with its pleading, crystalline eyes that it needs help, you, can you help me? Hadad huffs, turns his head toward the side in an effort to ignore it; the dove chirps a tune so lovely that even he can’t help but acquiesce in the end.

“You are far from home, little dove.”

Hadad begins, eyes blinking while his tail does a little swish. “We are in the middle of the race and I do not recall seeing you as one of our competitors.”

But I was! Cries the dove with a weak flap of a wing. Hadad snorts through his nose, then nudges the bird onto his scalp for he felt the dove too weak to keep flying. “Perhaps you could not see me because I was hidden behind the sea dragon, but I was there all the same! I had a great headstart flying before all this rain weighed my wings down.”

Yeah, okay, Hadad thinks. Had his oxen body been capable of it, he would’ve smiled some. “Yet you cannot race in this condition now, the storm is too much for you to bear.”

It is, the dove confesses, nestling his beak into the top of Hadad’s head with a merry chirp. “Alone, at least. If we go together, I have no doubt I’ll be just fine!”

Hadad digs a hoof through the mud. “And what makes you think I’m going to take you to the finish line? I’m trying to win the race too, you know.”

Another merry chirp. Hadad yearns to understand what it is about that tune that melts his otherwise hardened heart. “Then let’s win together! You and me, we can both claim The Throne and sit upon it together!”

Two gods winning? Hadad doesn’t remember the guide saying it possible, nor did he see in the other animals’ eyes their interest in sharing; briefly, he will entertain the idea that the dove is simply out to scam him out of his spot, is about to say as much right up until he and those pretty, glistening eyes meet skeptical emeralds.

“Come, just because the guide said ‘win’ does not mean only ‘one,’ does it? I don’t remember her saying any of us would be disqualified if we choose to act as a pair.”

Hadad wants to narrow his eyes. He cannot find it in his heart to when the dove proceeds to gently groom all his wet strands from his view so he can see better. “Please, Mr. Ox, let me prove I am worth it! In exchange that you carry me to the bank, I will be your eyes.”

And if Hadad needs more convincing (which he did, he confesses he did), the dove would then leave a series of lingering pecks along the bridge of his nose, wings brushing against his long, drooping ears. The dove then whispers how all the other animals will lose because they are incapable of recognizing the gifts that true union can bring them.

“Fine, little dove. If you promise me this, I shall carry you. . .just pray I do not catch you betraying me. I’ve quite the appetite and you look rather ravishing.”

Something wicked now gleams in those crystalline rises as the dove takes to his position atop the oxen’s scalp for good. “To be eaten by you would be an honor.”

On they go. The other animals had a chance to catch up during this little tete-a-tete but it mattered little to them now; the dove takes the ox on a series of side journeys that range from tranquil creeks to rolling rivers. Hadad obliges, though he can’t quell the initial fear of being led astray when he catches glimpses of the other animals surging back ahead in the race. 

“Pay them no mind, Mr. Ox! They forge their path in the face of danger for a hurricane is to come their way.”

How do you know that, Hadad thinks, wishes he could raise a brow to reflect his ongoing skepticism. The dove quells it all with another series of gentle pecks to his scalp, heart melting and resolve weakening in the face of such beauty. “Trust me, I saw it up ahead while I was still able to fly! It threatens to suck all in who dare try to cross.”

So the ox chooses to heed the dove’s warning, trekking onward through the path less travelled by. Both the dove and the ox take turns tending to each other; the ox keeps the dove shielded from the heavy rains during their periods of rest, and the dove regails the ox with parables he’s created of his own volition. 

“Once, there were two virgins who took their lanterns to bed in preparation for their wedding to their future husband, one of them foolish and other wise. The one who was foolish is so because he failed to take any spare oil with him to his chambers, while the wise one carried a spare supply in case his lantern went out. Therefore, when the bridegroom came for them the following night, the foolish one said ‘my lantern is out and I have no oil, will you spare me some?’ While the wise one said nothing, his lantern still lit.”

Hadad wishes this bullish body came with brows so he could raise one. “Oh, gee, let me guess.  .  .the bridegroom took the wise one in because he came prepared, right?”

Yep!  The dove chirps, wings fluttering. The feathers tickle Hadad’s long ears again, making him shudder with a foreign delight he’s not yet experienced in the waking world. “The bridegroom chose the wise man because the wise man was ready to be had. Meanwhile, the foolish man cried out: why do you even care if I have no oil? I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The dove pauses to, in his words, ‘build dramatic tension.’ Hadad now wishes this bullish face of his could smile as he trots on through gentle waters. “What did the bridegroom say, little dove?”

The dove hops atop the ox’s head with his delicate talons. “The bridegroom said: why would I take you when you did not prepare for me? I warned you that I would arrive and that I would want your lantern lit so that I may see who I welcome to my bed!”

Interesting. Hadad scratches his back with his tail, ear twitching. “Is.  .  . there a point to your story? ‘Cause uh, it was real nice ‘n all but, now I’m just confused.”

The ox can tell the dove would smile if he had lips as well. “The point, Mr. Ox, is that the right mate will come along and make themselves so clear you will know it without any guesswork!”

On it goes. The dove, as Hadad keeps finding out, is a beautiful storyteller. He finds himself enjoying each one more and more as their trek goes on, wasn’t even thinking about how their path soon became a simple walk over puddles while the other animals fought against harsher waves. By the time the pair emerge toward the finish line, they were the only two present; the others were now trapped in a perpetually swirling typhoon with their strangled screams drowned out by sharp winds. 

“Congratulations.”

Says now the guide as she sits upon a breezy meadow, wildflowers sprouting everywhere around her as she pets another dove in her hands. There’d be a serene smile upon her delicate, pink lips, eyes closed with a hum trapped in her throat. “You have both passed my test. By finding a different way around the storm, you not only avoided sharing the fate as all the other animals, but you both came together and found joy in each other’s company.”

The Throne, you may have it. “Enjoy the eternal bounty and pleasure that it confers.”

And that was it. The Guide disappears again like a mirage, leaving the ox to trot over where she once sat in her stead. He would then fold in on his legs to rest after such a long walk with the dove in tow, wings fluttering again as he nestled himself atop Hadad’s back.

“So, this is meant to be The Throne.”

Hadad says after a long, contended lapse of silence. He would turn his head to face the dove so he could glimpse again into those peculiar, crystalline eyes. “It’s strange. . . I thought a Throne is meant to be a seat a ruler rests in.”

The dove’s eyes glimmer again, his small head cocking to a side. “Whoever said that’s the only thing a Throne could be? Do you not consider yourself sitting as a ruler now, one who oversees the flowers bloom and the fruit ripen?”

Hadad doesn’t respond right away. He sinks his head deeper into his legs, eyes never leaving the dove’s. The dove in turn gives him delicate pecks along his snout that make him realize now what that whole strange parable about ‘waiting for the right one’ meant. “.  . .it’s different. I like it.”

And you, I like you. “It feels like we’ve met before.”

I feel the same, the dove confesses, nuzzling his beak into Hadad’s cheek with a chirp. “Who knows, maybe we have!”

Hadad’s not too sure how he’s supposed to believe a talking bird in a dream of all things yet here he is, gaze softening as he nuzzles the dove’s side with a gentle huff. “Then if we have done such, little dove, will you at least tell me your name? I don’t think I know of it yet.”The dove does. He leans into Hadad’s ear to whisper it the way one breathes in and out, a two-syllable name that the ox will now never forget no matter how many centuries must pass for them to meet in the flesh. The name was –