A God of Men

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         “We must attack now!” Through the darkness, Pallas eyed each of the five clan leaders. The old men peered back through eyes glazed by age and indifference, but they said nothing. Pallas clenched his dark-skinned hands into fists. “They are divided, but will form an alliance if we wait – and we will be overrun.”

          “Solenes,” said the old, wizen priest as he waved his feathered stick, “is not a god of war.” His voice wavered with a raspy dullness. “He is a god of men.” Turning, he pointed at the clan leaders. “Without the favor of Solenes our warriors will fall. You will anger our enemies and they will seek us out for destruction. Great will be the slaughter of our people.”

         Several of the old men nodded. One patted the fur skin covering the grass they sat on, and said, “We must ask for a sign, if he be with us to battle.”

         The old priest smiled and bowed, billowing out his painted leather cloak. Then he unrolled a ball of leather and crushed some dried plants inside. Sprinkling them on the small campfire he rattled off a chant and shook a string of seedbeads wrapped around his staff.

         As the dark smoke curled into the night sky, the jungle around them seemed to pause as they all waited and watched.

         Pallas noticed the slightest hint of a smug smile curl the priest’s lips.

         A shrill note sang out around them, echoing against the canyon walls.

         Pallas stood and stared around, searching for the source. Up in the sky, he saw something red with the hint of flames. A figure with a span of deep red wings and tail of feathers and fire, fluttered across the dark expanse.

         One of the clan leaders gasped. “It is Solenes himself!”

         Pallas felt himself trembling as he watched the light in the sky as it faded and vanished.

          “Solenes shows favor to the war,” whispered another leader.

          “Perhaps,” the priest said with a frown, “but we must be careful not to misunderstand--”

         Pallas glared at the man. “You saw the sign. We all did. Right as you prayed!”

          “Yes, yes,” a clan leader said. “We must act, for we cannot mistake.”

         The priest scowled, narrowing his eyes at Pallas, but the warrior eyed him, saying, “You wouldn’t defy you god, would you?”

         The old wizen man turned, swirling his cloak around him, and walked into the dark jungle.

         Pallas sighed in relief and smiled. “I will gather the other warriors.” He turned and hurried away, but as he left the small clearing, he saw something glint in the firelight. He knelt and pulled a small metal pipe from the bushes. As he stared at it, his eyes widened and his breath caught. The shrill note. His fingers clenched around the item and he peered up into the dark sky.

          “But how?” he whispered his eyes narrowing as his voice hardened, “and why?”

         Pallas sprinted through the trees as fast as he could run. Enemies could have lain in wait to show the sign. Perhaps the alliance is already forged. Perhaps they wait to ambush us on the trail. I cannot lead my people to their deaths.

         Pausing to glance up through the tree to figure his position, Pallas snuck along, hoping that he was near where the light had vanished. He slowed and crept silently through the shadows, pulling a hunting knife from his ankle-sheath.

         In the darkness, he heard faint laughter and he moved closer. Caught in the tree branches above, he saw a red cloth, dying flames licking at the edges. A few young tree limbs dangled from it. At the base of the tree, Pallas found two teenage boys.

          “You should have seen them,” laughed one boy. “’Look, it’s Solenas!’ You’re a god, Tenko – a god!”

         The other boy groaned, pulling at strips of the same red cloth and more young branches. “Just help me get this stuff off. It’s still burning!”

          “Wait ‘til the others hear.”

         Swatting at his smoldering loincloth, Tenko glared at the other boy. “No more dares.”

         The boy grinned and laughed. “Fine, fine. You’re in.”

         Pallas stood, calling out to the boys. “What are you two doing here?”

         The two boys turned. Their eyes widened as they saw him. Then, they paled and fled into the jungle.

         Pallas slid the knife back in the leather sheath and smiled. “Perhaps the priest had one thing right – Solenes is indeed a god of men.” He turned toward the village anxious to call the warriors. War calls.


Word Count: 765