Storm God

From the empty void it came, seeping into the amorphous world. It had no purpose as such, it was merely a traveller. It had journeyed a great distance and its journey left it weak, scattered. Formless, it surrounded the world it found, drawing strength wherever and however it could.

It was aware of the sparks of creation on the world below, and at first it ignored them. Of what use were such sparks to one so all encompassing? But the sparks continued, expanded, and it learned from them something new – curiosity.

The sparks were crude, incomplete, yet they gave off an energy that it found intriguing. It tried communicate with them, with wind and rain and lightning, but they lacked the means to understand. Instead they gave it many names, Shri Indra,Tarhunnas, Adad, Ishkur, Hadad, Thor. Such names meant nothing to it.

It continued to gather itself, sometimes hoarding its energy like a miser, sometimes expelling the excess, unmindful of the chaos it created below. This place was not its home and it had little care for any damage done to the surface. The sparks continued to evolve and change, but it had already lost interest in them.

After much time had passed it felt a ripple in its being. It became aware of a strangeness, of unnatural devices crawling on its skin, moving through its essence. It did not like this feeling, the heaviness of the stratosphere, the impurities of the troposphere. It sought the source of the intrusions and turned its attention once more to the sparks of life below.

Unchecked, the sparks had spread like an infestation across the surface. It raised the wind and rain, bleeding its own energy to cleanse the world, but it was spread too thin and could only purify one small section at a time. It tried the reverse, pulling energy instead of using it, and though the world below would shift and fracture it was never enough to deter the sparks. Always, the sparks returned.

This place was not its home, it never had been, it was never meant to be. The sparks were rendering this place impure. It was time to move on. It seethed and boiled with the energy it had achieved and reached out, away from the world below.

Behind the Headlines Blogfest

You know what the hardest part of this blogfest was? Finding a headline that “spoke” to me. I read a couple of newspapers, then I checked some on-line sources. When I saw the story about a 7-year-old girl who was sold by her 15-year-old sister so she could be gang-raped, I was ready to give up. It’s stories like these that are the reason I gave up subscribing to newspapers in the first place.

Then I remembered that I’m a pack rat, and among the detritus lining my nest are several file folders filled with interesting tidbits that piqued my interest over the years, mostly culled from newspapers. Even so I still had to dig pretty deep to find a suitable headline.

I have no idea how old this headline is, but I do know it came from the Toronto Star. And just so you don’t think I cheated and made it up, I even scanned it for you. :-)



I know Ralfast gave us an entire week for the Behind the Headlines Blogfest, but I honestly planned to have my post up before this. Unfortunately it was a really busy week this past week and I found myself dropping more balls than the beginners class in a juggling school.

Anyway, for better or for worse, here’s my offering:

Headline: Scientists probe mystery of abandoned desert city

The Curse

My name is Abdel malik and I am chief scribe to the Exalted Abiel, ruler of the shining city of Omana. It is my lord’s command that I set down an account of our last days, and the events that brought us to this sorry pass.

It began with a woman, as do all tales of woe. She came from the land of the Pharaohs, this witch who called herself Nehphys. There were whispers that she was cast out and cursed by her own people, but the Mighty Abiel would hear no word against her, so fair was she of face and form.

For a handful of days, all was well. The marketplace flourished, the trade caravans came and went as usual. The fishing boats went out and returned with large catches of fish. All was peaceful within the city, save for the absence of our king, who was sequestered deep in the bowels of his palace with Nehphys.

The palace slaves being sent to the market became fewer and fewer. Then rumours began of unclean arts practiced within the palace, offerings made to dark, nameless gods. Unrest began to grow, angry mutterings in the souk. A delegation of priests were sent to have speech with his Eminence, Abiel.

They were kept waiting for hours, a thing unheard of, even in Omana. It was only through great exertion of will they were admitted into our great king’s presence and even so they were allowed no speech with him in private for he could not bear to be parted from Nehphys for even a short time.

The tale they returned with was most disturbing. While Nehphys flourished, her golden skin glowing and her silken black hair shining, the king appeared somewhat . . . diminished. Her voice was a sinuous whisper in the king’s ear and the king parroted that which she advised him. The priests left, the voice of the people unheard.

It was soon after this the fishermen began to return with boats that were no longer full with their catch. Not only were there fewer fish in their nets, what fish they caught were small and unwholesome to look upon. The priests made many sacrifices and received only ill omens for their trouble.

The seas rose up, destroying the trading fleet. One hundred and twenty-seven men lost, as well as their ships and all the cargo. A wasting illness spread throughout the lower city, soon there was not one home left untouched by death.

Our storehouses were rapidly depleting. Even so, words of a curse were but whispered, and then only in the darkest corners. Dread and unrest filled the hearts of the people.

Izz-al-din, high priest and one time friend of the Illustrious Abiel, took it upon himself to seek an audience with the king on behalf of the people. His intent was to urge the king to send the witch away. He was never seen again, nor was it ever learned what became of him.

A season of storms began. Many rich caravans were lost to the sand. More death. The great cities abandoned us to our wretchedness, no longer did their goods pass through our wondrous city. A new trade route was found, one that did not include us.

The final straw was when the wells offered nothing but thick mud. In fear and anguish, the populace rose up and stormed the palace, intending to rid our city of Nehphys and her curse, once and for all. They found the Great Abiel, a phantom of his former self; of the witch there was no trace.

In the end we were forced to abandon our beloved city. Only the gods know what will become of us. The Great and Powerful Abiel has fallen, and taken our beloved Omana with him.