Strom sat beside his uncle’s funeral pyre, warming his hands on the flames as the world around him died. Torrential rain poured down, and dark waves crashed against the sides of the pyramid upon which he sat. The top of the colossal building was broad, with enough room for the handful of gods that had gathered at the end of the world. They were the elite, the most prestigious of the pantheon that ruled the earth and the heavens. Other gods had found their own safe places to ride out the storm, but the Pyramid of the Sun was where the important decisions were being made.
The day had turned out to be a good one. It was the final day of a constant downpour that had lasted fifty-two years, and the resulting flood had eaten away at the Sun’s fire each time it descended through the earth at dusk. Now it was all but extinguished. Strom stood and stretched, letting the light and warmth of the Feathered Serpent’s burning corpse wash over him. He had been chosen to become the new Sun, and he was enjoying his last few hours of earthly life. Soon he would be sacrificed, and his burning spirit would ascend to the heavens and warm the earth.
What a glorious day it is, he thought with a smile.
Behind him, an argument had broken out among the group of gods. He turned to walk towards the gathering, and saw an immense black wolf lounging nearby, lazily swishing its tail. It saw Strom approaching, yawned, shook cinders from its fur, and turned away.
So, Strom thought, the Fire Dog has come. We may be able to begin now. He stopped in front of the wolf and folded his arms. “Have you brought the children, then?” The wolf nodded and flicked its tail in the direction of a small group of human figures, naked and drenched with rain. They trembled in the cold, huddling silently together. Strom wondered if they could comprehend that their father was dead, and his body was being burned only a few yards away. Even if they had the minds to understand what was happening, could they? He sighed and dismissed the thought, realizing that he did not care.
Weaver, sister of the Fire Dog and the Feathered Serpent, had also arrived. She stood apart from the group with her arms crossed, defiantly refusing eye contact with any of them. Strom felt a surge of annoyance at the sight of her. She had cavorted off to the underworld with her brothers and helped them create these new humans after the last of them had died off in the flood. By tradition, that right belonged to the one chosen to become the next Sun.
Strom watched the pale, hairless people cringing away from thunder and lightning and anything that moved. He had never liked humans. He preferred his own creations, the snails and creeping things of the sea. But the honor of creating this new race had been his, and they had stolen it from him. Worse, the Feathered Serpent and Weaver had created them together. The last insult was from the Old God, the father of all, when he had the gall to pardon the siblings’ heresy and proclaim that their children should inherit the earth. But, in the end, it would be the light of Strom’s sun that gave them sight and intelligence. These new humans were supposed to be stronger and more durable. With his light, maybe the new world would last longer than a pathetic seven hundred years. He planned to burn for thousands.
The Old God, who had been in the center of the gathered group, held up a yellowed hand for silence when he saw Strom standing beside the Fire Dog. The group fell quiet. Strom hadn’t heard exactly what they had been arguing about. Had it been something about the appearance of the humans? It didn’t matter, he decided, and promptly forgot about it.
“Strom, of the conch shell,” the Old God said in a small voice. “You have been chosen for the highest honor. What say you, in this matter we now discuss?”
Strom simply smiled. “I leave the decision to your wisdom, Great Lord.”
“Very well”, the old man replied, and he turned back to the group. “I have decided. We shall follow the suggestion of Hummingbird and distribute humanity across the many lands divided by the seas. In this diversity, may they find strength.”
There were no murmurs from the dissenters. The Old God had made his decision, and it was final. It had been the same when he selected Strom for sacrifice. Hummingbird stepped forward to speak. As the god of war, he was resplendent in a brilliant and colorful cloak of feathers that spilled over his shoulders and framed his shining breastplate of gold and jade scales. In one hand he held a staff with the head in the shape of a running rabbit, and in the other an orange hardwood helm crested with a plume of green quetzal feathers. The staff radiated power, creating an aura around the god that kept the rain and bay and shielded the tiny creatures that were his namesake as they fluttered around him.
Strom felt underdressed. He had worn nothing but his finest woven tunic and a necklace of conch shells. He silently scolded himself. As the wealthiest of the gods, he should have brought more to present. He took comfort from the fact that the Old God was dressed just as plainly in a red tunic.
“Father,” Hummingbird said loudly. “What of Jade? Her light has been put out; her Sun is extinguished. Should we not gather her before proceeding?”
The Old God’s voice was still quiet but had an edge to it now. “She decided her fate the day she loosed the flood rains upon the earth. To destroy oneself with the world they were chosen to protect is the greatest of heresies. Her body shall remain in the new world, becoming the lakes and rivers that will water the land, and her bones will seed the earth with jade and obsidian.”
Hummingbird began to speak, but the Old God raised his hand to stop him. “I will hear no more of it,” he said.
Hummingbird bowed his head and stepped back. Strom resisted the urge to scoff at the old man’s words. His cousin was condemned for retaliating against her husband after centuries of abuse, but the incestuous union of the Feathered Serpent and Weaver was going unpunished. Then again, he thought, that feathered fool punished himself well enough. The guilt of his actions had not been soothed by the Old God’s pardon, and Strom’s uncle had been consumed with shame to the point of taking his own life. Now his funeral pyre fueled the bonfire that Strom would embrace to become the Sun.
The Old God began to speak again but was interrupted by a racking cough. Everyone turned to the Fire Dog. The wolf stood and circled around the figure that had been hiding behind him. The god with no name, whom they all called Ridden, wore only rags that were soaked with rain and clung to his skeletal, hairless form. Every inch of his body was covered with a weeping sore or swollen pustule. He coughed again, then stood a little straighter and addressed the Old God.
“I am ready, Great Fath-,” he said before being interrupted by another fit of coughing. The Old God waited patiently until the small man had finished, then addressed the entire gathering.
“We are gathered here for the creation of a new world. One of us will be consumed by fire, so their spirit may ascend and light the heavens. This sacrifice is given willingly, so that dawn might come.
“You,” he pointed at Strom, who stood straight and clasped his hands together. “Wealthiest and most beloved of gods, for your status you have been chosen to inherit this honor. Your light will warm the earth and bring life back to the world.
“And you,” he pointed at Ridden. “Humblest and lowest of gods, you have inherited the right offered to the Fire Dog. It was his will to refuse, and pass the honor to you.” The wolf, bestial god of monsters, sickness, and all that plagued the earth, made no response. It lay quiet and still, watching the proceedings with its obsidian eyes.
“You shall be sacrificed by fire,” the Old God continued, “and your spirit will ascend to become the Moon. For all Suns require a companion to balance their flight over the earth. This sacrifice is given willingly, so that dawn might come.”
With that final word, the Old God somberly crossed to the pyramid’s center where the fire burned hot enough to fight off the rain pouring down. They all followed, with Strom leading the group and Ridden limping behind at the rear. All except the Fire Dog, who stayed back to tenderly herd the small group of blind, mindless humans forward.
When he reached the fire, the Old God waved a hand and two pillars of stone erupted on opposing sides of the pyre, North and South, followed by stone stairs for the sacrifices to climb and be thrown from. The gods all circled the setup as Strom held his head high and nobly climbed the stairs. They began to raise their arms and chant, arcane words fueling the flames with power, and they leaped even higher in front of Strom. The Fire Dog left the humans and guided Ridden to the other side. Slowly, the sickly man climbed. Each step seemed to be a battle, and he stopped halfway up to cough violently over the side. As Strom watched, the little man turned his head back towards his companion at the bottom of the stairs. The wolf sat on its haunches and nodded its head at Ridden. Then strangely, it turned to stare directly at Strom and lifted its head to howl.
Strom was suddenly stricken with doubt. What did the beast mean by that? His thoughts turned desperate as his will crumbled, and he shrank away from the flames. No, this is all wrong. I am proud, I am the sun! The beasts howl only at the moon, not at me! He met the eyes of the Fire Dog, who stared him down like a trapped rabbit. He looked in fear at the other set of stairs and saw that Ridden had gained some motivation at the sound of his companion’s voice. The sickly minor god scrambled up the remaining steps with astonishing speed, mumbling to himself the whole way. At the top, he stood as straight as his weak form could manage and shouted with a voice that defied his strength.
“That dawn might come!” With that, Ridden threw himself into the flames.
Strom screamed out in shock, lurching forward and almost slipping off the stone edge. He crouched there, the heat from the flames licking his face and drawing sweat onto his brow. Ridden had not screamed. Still, he thrashed as Strom watched him burn, skin crackling and pustules bursting with soft sounds.
Strom looked around at the other gods standing around the fire. Most gazes darted between the fire and him. Confusion and stunned silence were palpable among the group, except for the Old God. He stood resolute with eyes closed. Raising his hands again, he continued the chant. One by one, the gods followed.
Strom’s heart was pounding as he stared back at the fire with disbelief. They are accepting this!
The traitorous god slowed his thrashing, then only twitched, then went still. The fire ate away at his flesh, revealing the bones beneath and scorching them black. Within the chest of the burning man, a glow began to show through the gaps between exposed ribs.
No! Strom’s fury built within him at the sight of Ridden beginning his transcendence. This is my right!
He managed to stand, shaking violently and drenched with sweat. Rage filled his chest, burning hotter than the fire below him and fueled by spite and envy. There could be two suns born, and one could burn hotter than the other. If he acted quickly enough, before Ridden transcended, Strom could as well.
“No!” He shouted loud enough to make his throat hoarse. “I will burn hotter! This is my right! Mine!”
The Old God’s eyes shot open, and his head snapped to the side to glare at Strom as the god leaped from his perch into the flames.
Strom screamed. He felt his throat tear at the strain before the scream was cut off as ash and flame roared into his mouth and filled his lungs. The pain was lost in the waves of burning agony that washed over him as his skin blistered and popped. He thrashed around, smashing against the pyre and the remains of Ridden around him. Everything burned, inside and out. Seconds felt like hours of hot torture.
Then everything stopped. The world went black, and all sound stopped. Strom was awake, but unaware of anything around him. He began to feel a floating sensation, weightlessness matched by slow upward momentum. His eyes had long since melted away, but his vision appeared again in bursts of light. He saw a sky filled with stars, stretching across the heavens like a streak of white paint. No clouds blocked them out. Strom willed himself to turn, and his vision rotated in a dizzying spin as the pyramid came into view. The waves had calmed, and now only gently lapped on the stone walls. The fire still raged below him, and the figures of the remaining gods were shrinking beneath him as he rose.
He had no sense of physical presence. He could see, and hear, but had no face. He felt a great heat burning around him. It brought no pain, only a radiant warmth that grew so intense the heat of the funeral pyre seemed like only a soft breath. Strom could sense his aura growing and expanding as he rose into the sky.
He suddenly became aware of another presence, rivaling his own brilliant burning. His vision panned until a bright orb of light came into view, growing faster than him as it flew above him. Ridden’s spirit was strong where his body had been weak. As Strom watched the other sun forming, his vision was obscured by white clouds of vapor that billowed around them. He looked below and saw the sea boiling. The water burned away and receded at a shocking speed. The stone of the pyramid was being scorched black. As the tops of trees that had remained rooted through the deluge emerged from the water, they burst into flame and then into ash. Monsters and sea creatures stranded on mountainside by the falling seas shriveled and turned black. The heat of two emerging suns was beginning to destroy what remained of the earth below.
Strom’s vision was drawn to a shimmering blue light at the top of the Pyramid of the Sun. The gods were beginning to panic, but the chanting of the Old God was creating a shielding aura that protected them from the heat of two suns. Even across the growing distance between them, Strom could make out the anger on the Great Father’s face. As Strom watched, the old man dropped a wrinkled hand to point at Hummingbird and spoke a single word. The god of war acted quickly, hefting his staff into position and launching it into the sky with perfect form. It shot through the sky like a falling star, parting the clouds of steam and leaving them swirling in its wake.
The new sun could see it coming. Yes, he thought with excitement, strike the usurper down! Dim his light and let me ascend!
The rod flew not at the first sun, however, but at the second. He felt it collide with the lashing fire that had begun to roil around him, driving in him with the force of a bolt of thunder. He was parted from his light, his brilliant energy left behind as he was forced farther into the heavens. He watched as the flames he had been cultivating were drawn in by the dawning of the rival sun. He felt himself dimming, solidifying into stone as the cold of the heavens surrounded him.
The Moon’s thoughts were silent. All the spite and anger had faded, and he was left with a deep sorrow that cooled the rage inside him like the dark heavens had cooled his form. He felt right in his place, locked into balance with the new Sun. Below them, the earth had cooled as well. The Moon could feel it healing.
Then he felt a tugging presence, something beckoning his attention. He focused on the sun across the sky as it urged him to watch, to listen. A vision traveled across the beams of sunlight to the Moon, filling his thoughts with the Sun’s suggestion. Together, they could reform the world, remake it in their own image. If they brought the horizons together, made the world round, then they could avoid descending into the underworld every day. They would be separate from the world, untouchable but omnipresent as they circled the new earth in balance. Silently, the Moon agreed.
Below them, the other gods were powerless to stop the change. The Old God looked deep into the heavens, standing still and silent and the new world formed around him. The Fire Dog had begun to herd the humans, who all gazed at the world around them in wonder with their newfound sight. The wolf shepherded them down the side of the Pyramid of the Sun and into the remnants of the city to rebuild. One by one, the other gods followed. Soon, the Great Father stood alone at the peak of the stone mountain, still staring into the sky.
“This will work,” he whispered, unheard by all but the Sun and Moon above. “This will last.”
The Old God smiled and turned away to begin his own descent into the new world.
The day had turned out to be a good one. It was the final day of a constant downpour that had lasted fifty-two years, and the resulting flood had eaten away at the Sun’s fire each time it descended through the earth at dusk. Now it was all but extinguished. Strom stood and stretched, letting the light and warmth of the Feathered Serpent’s burning corpse wash over him. He had been chosen to become the new Sun, and he was enjoying his last few hours of earthly life. Soon he would be sacrificed, and his burning spirit would ascend to the heavens and warm the earth.
What a glorious day it is, he thought with a smile.
Behind him, an argument had broken out among the group of gods. He turned to walk towards the gathering, and saw an immense black wolf lounging nearby, lazily swishing its tail. It saw Strom approaching, yawned, shook cinders from its fur, and turned away.
So, Strom thought, the Fire Dog has come. We may be able to begin now. He stopped in front of the wolf and folded his arms. “Have you brought the children, then?” The wolf nodded and flicked its tail in the direction of a small group of human figures, naked and drenched with rain. They trembled in the cold, huddling silently together. Strom wondered if they could comprehend that their father was dead, and his body was being burned only a few yards away. Even if they had the minds to understand what was happening, could they? He sighed and dismissed the thought, realizing that he did not care.
Weaver, sister of the Fire Dog and the Feathered Serpent, had also arrived. She stood apart from the group with her arms crossed, defiantly refusing eye contact with any of them. Strom felt a surge of annoyance at the sight of her. She had cavorted off to the underworld with her brothers and helped them create these new humans after the last of them had died off in the flood. By tradition, that right belonged to the one chosen to become the next Sun.
Strom watched the pale, hairless people cringing away from thunder and lightning and anything that moved. He had never liked humans. He preferred his own creations, the snails and creeping things of the sea. But the honor of creating this new race had been his, and they had stolen it from him. Worse, the Feathered Serpent and Weaver had created them together. The last insult was from the Old God, the father of all, when he had the gall to pardon the siblings’ heresy and proclaim that their children should inherit the earth. But, in the end, it would be the light of Strom’s sun that gave them sight and intelligence. These new humans were supposed to be stronger and more durable. With his light, maybe the new world would last longer than a pathetic seven hundred years. He planned to burn for thousands.
The Old God, who had been in the center of the gathered group, held up a yellowed hand for silence when he saw Strom standing beside the Fire Dog. The group fell quiet. Strom hadn’t heard exactly what they had been arguing about. Had it been something about the appearance of the humans? It didn’t matter, he decided, and promptly forgot about it.
“Strom, of the conch shell,” the Old God said in a small voice. “You have been chosen for the highest honor. What say you, in this matter we now discuss?”
Strom simply smiled. “I leave the decision to your wisdom, Great Lord.”
“Very well”, the old man replied, and he turned back to the group. “I have decided. We shall follow the suggestion of Hummingbird and distribute humanity across the many lands divided by the seas. In this diversity, may they find strength.”
There were no murmurs from the dissenters. The Old God had made his decision, and it was final. It had been the same when he selected Strom for sacrifice. Hummingbird stepped forward to speak. As the god of war, he was resplendent in a brilliant and colorful cloak of feathers that spilled over his shoulders and framed his shining breastplate of gold and jade scales. In one hand he held a staff with the head in the shape of a running rabbit, and in the other an orange hardwood helm crested with a plume of green quetzal feathers. The staff radiated power, creating an aura around the god that kept the rain and bay and shielded the tiny creatures that were his namesake as they fluttered around him.
Strom felt underdressed. He had worn nothing but his finest woven tunic and a necklace of conch shells. He silently scolded himself. As the wealthiest of the gods, he should have brought more to present. He took comfort from the fact that the Old God was dressed just as plainly in a red tunic.
“Father,” Hummingbird said loudly. “What of Jade? Her light has been put out; her Sun is extinguished. Should we not gather her before proceeding?”
The Old God’s voice was still quiet but had an edge to it now. “She decided her fate the day she loosed the flood rains upon the earth. To destroy oneself with the world they were chosen to protect is the greatest of heresies. Her body shall remain in the new world, becoming the lakes and rivers that will water the land, and her bones will seed the earth with jade and obsidian.”
Hummingbird began to speak, but the Old God raised his hand to stop him. “I will hear no more of it,” he said.
Hummingbird bowed his head and stepped back. Strom resisted the urge to scoff at the old man’s words. His cousin was condemned for retaliating against her husband after centuries of abuse, but the incestuous union of the Feathered Serpent and Weaver was going unpunished. Then again, he thought, that feathered fool punished himself well enough. The guilt of his actions had not been soothed by the Old God’s pardon, and Strom’s uncle had been consumed with shame to the point of taking his own life. Now his funeral pyre fueled the bonfire that Strom would embrace to become the Sun.
The Old God began to speak again but was interrupted by a racking cough. Everyone turned to the Fire Dog. The wolf stood and circled around the figure that had been hiding behind him. The god with no name, whom they all called Ridden, wore only rags that were soaked with rain and clung to his skeletal, hairless form. Every inch of his body was covered with a weeping sore or swollen pustule. He coughed again, then stood a little straighter and addressed the Old God.
“I am ready, Great Fath-,” he said before being interrupted by another fit of coughing. The Old God waited patiently until the small man had finished, then addressed the entire gathering.
“We are gathered here for the creation of a new world. One of us will be consumed by fire, so their spirit may ascend and light the heavens. This sacrifice is given willingly, so that dawn might come.
“You,” he pointed at Strom, who stood straight and clasped his hands together. “Wealthiest and most beloved of gods, for your status you have been chosen to inherit this honor. Your light will warm the earth and bring life back to the world.
“And you,” he pointed at Ridden. “Humblest and lowest of gods, you have inherited the right offered to the Fire Dog. It was his will to refuse, and pass the honor to you.” The wolf, bestial god of monsters, sickness, and all that plagued the earth, made no response. It lay quiet and still, watching the proceedings with its obsidian eyes.
“You shall be sacrificed by fire,” the Old God continued, “and your spirit will ascend to become the Moon. For all Suns require a companion to balance their flight over the earth. This sacrifice is given willingly, so that dawn might come.”
With that final word, the Old God somberly crossed to the pyramid’s center where the fire burned hot enough to fight off the rain pouring down. They all followed, with Strom leading the group and Ridden limping behind at the rear. All except the Fire Dog, who stayed back to tenderly herd the small group of blind, mindless humans forward.
When he reached the fire, the Old God waved a hand and two pillars of stone erupted on opposing sides of the pyre, North and South, followed by stone stairs for the sacrifices to climb and be thrown from. The gods all circled the setup as Strom held his head high and nobly climbed the stairs. They began to raise their arms and chant, arcane words fueling the flames with power, and they leaped even higher in front of Strom. The Fire Dog left the humans and guided Ridden to the other side. Slowly, the sickly man climbed. Each step seemed to be a battle, and he stopped halfway up to cough violently over the side. As Strom watched, the little man turned his head back towards his companion at the bottom of the stairs. The wolf sat on its haunches and nodded its head at Ridden. Then strangely, it turned to stare directly at Strom and lifted its head to howl.
Strom was suddenly stricken with doubt. What did the beast mean by that? His thoughts turned desperate as his will crumbled, and he shrank away from the flames. No, this is all wrong. I am proud, I am the sun! The beasts howl only at the moon, not at me! He met the eyes of the Fire Dog, who stared him down like a trapped rabbit. He looked in fear at the other set of stairs and saw that Ridden had gained some motivation at the sound of his companion’s voice. The sickly minor god scrambled up the remaining steps with astonishing speed, mumbling to himself the whole way. At the top, he stood as straight as his weak form could manage and shouted with a voice that defied his strength.
“That dawn might come!” With that, Ridden threw himself into the flames.
Strom screamed out in shock, lurching forward and almost slipping off the stone edge. He crouched there, the heat from the flames licking his face and drawing sweat onto his brow. Ridden had not screamed. Still, he thrashed as Strom watched him burn, skin crackling and pustules bursting with soft sounds.
Strom looked around at the other gods standing around the fire. Most gazes darted between the fire and him. Confusion and stunned silence were palpable among the group, except for the Old God. He stood resolute with eyes closed. Raising his hands again, he continued the chant. One by one, the gods followed.
Strom’s heart was pounding as he stared back at the fire with disbelief. They are accepting this!
The traitorous god slowed his thrashing, then only twitched, then went still. The fire ate away at his flesh, revealing the bones beneath and scorching them black. Within the chest of the burning man, a glow began to show through the gaps between exposed ribs.
No! Strom’s fury built within him at the sight of Ridden beginning his transcendence. This is my right!
He managed to stand, shaking violently and drenched with sweat. Rage filled his chest, burning hotter than the fire below him and fueled by spite and envy. There could be two suns born, and one could burn hotter than the other. If he acted quickly enough, before Ridden transcended, Strom could as well.
“No!” He shouted loud enough to make his throat hoarse. “I will burn hotter! This is my right! Mine!”
The Old God’s eyes shot open, and his head snapped to the side to glare at Strom as the god leaped from his perch into the flames.
Strom screamed. He felt his throat tear at the strain before the scream was cut off as ash and flame roared into his mouth and filled his lungs. The pain was lost in the waves of burning agony that washed over him as his skin blistered and popped. He thrashed around, smashing against the pyre and the remains of Ridden around him. Everything burned, inside and out. Seconds felt like hours of hot torture.
Then everything stopped. The world went black, and all sound stopped. Strom was awake, but unaware of anything around him. He began to feel a floating sensation, weightlessness matched by slow upward momentum. His eyes had long since melted away, but his vision appeared again in bursts of light. He saw a sky filled with stars, stretching across the heavens like a streak of white paint. No clouds blocked them out. Strom willed himself to turn, and his vision rotated in a dizzying spin as the pyramid came into view. The waves had calmed, and now only gently lapped on the stone walls. The fire still raged below him, and the figures of the remaining gods were shrinking beneath him as he rose.
He had no sense of physical presence. He could see, and hear, but had no face. He felt a great heat burning around him. It brought no pain, only a radiant warmth that grew so intense the heat of the funeral pyre seemed like only a soft breath. Strom could sense his aura growing and expanding as he rose into the sky.
He suddenly became aware of another presence, rivaling his own brilliant burning. His vision panned until a bright orb of light came into view, growing faster than him as it flew above him. Ridden’s spirit was strong where his body had been weak. As Strom watched the other sun forming, his vision was obscured by white clouds of vapor that billowed around them. He looked below and saw the sea boiling. The water burned away and receded at a shocking speed. The stone of the pyramid was being scorched black. As the tops of trees that had remained rooted through the deluge emerged from the water, they burst into flame and then into ash. Monsters and sea creatures stranded on mountainside by the falling seas shriveled and turned black. The heat of two emerging suns was beginning to destroy what remained of the earth below.
Strom’s vision was drawn to a shimmering blue light at the top of the Pyramid of the Sun. The gods were beginning to panic, but the chanting of the Old God was creating a shielding aura that protected them from the heat of two suns. Even across the growing distance between them, Strom could make out the anger on the Great Father’s face. As Strom watched, the old man dropped a wrinkled hand to point at Hummingbird and spoke a single word. The god of war acted quickly, hefting his staff into position and launching it into the sky with perfect form. It shot through the sky like a falling star, parting the clouds of steam and leaving them swirling in its wake.
The new sun could see it coming. Yes, he thought with excitement, strike the usurper down! Dim his light and let me ascend!
The rod flew not at the first sun, however, but at the second. He felt it collide with the lashing fire that had begun to roil around him, driving in him with the force of a bolt of thunder. He was parted from his light, his brilliant energy left behind as he was forced farther into the heavens. He watched as the flames he had been cultivating were drawn in by the dawning of the rival sun. He felt himself dimming, solidifying into stone as the cold of the heavens surrounded him.
The Moon’s thoughts were silent. All the spite and anger had faded, and he was left with a deep sorrow that cooled the rage inside him like the dark heavens had cooled his form. He felt right in his place, locked into balance with the new Sun. Below them, the earth had cooled as well. The Moon could feel it healing.
Then he felt a tugging presence, something beckoning his attention. He focused on the sun across the sky as it urged him to watch, to listen. A vision traveled across the beams of sunlight to the Moon, filling his thoughts with the Sun’s suggestion. Together, they could reform the world, remake it in their own image. If they brought the horizons together, made the world round, then they could avoid descending into the underworld every day. They would be separate from the world, untouchable but omnipresent as they circled the new earth in balance. Silently, the Moon agreed.
Below them, the other gods were powerless to stop the change. The Old God looked deep into the heavens, standing still and silent and the new world formed around him. The Fire Dog had begun to herd the humans, who all gazed at the world around them in wonder with their newfound sight. The wolf shepherded them down the side of the Pyramid of the Sun and into the remnants of the city to rebuild. One by one, the other gods followed. Soon, the Great Father stood alone at the peak of the stone mountain, still staring into the sky.
“This will work,” he whispered, unheard by all but the Sun and Moon above. “This will last.”
The Old God smiled and turned away to begin his own descent into the new world.
