When Gods Go to War

It was a frigid time. The cold days had arrived early this year, catching many farmers off guard, some of them with crops that had yet to be harvested. The ground had frozen stiff and the snows had fallen like no one had ever seen or remembered. The terrain was a desolate countryside of leafless trees, naked bushes, and snow covered hills as far as the eye could see. A few evergreens were spread out within the landscape here and there, but those were more prominent further north in the next region. The skies seemed to be in a constant state of discord; always dark and foreboding, always ready to unleash of torrent of white snow and violent winds. The fires lit within the houses seemed unable to warm the people residing within them; the folks living in the country could always feel a constant chill. People were seldom seen out of doors, and when they were forced to leave the vicinity of the fires roaring within their homes, they would hurry about their business, wrapped in heavy cloaks or thick robes, never stopping for more than a moment along their paths. Layth pulled his cloak tightly about his body as he struggled to walk the path back to his parent’s cabin. The snow was deep enough to sink in to the knees, and every step was difficult to take; he had to step up high to advance, and several times he lost his balance as the strong wind pushed him. Darkness fell around him as the last light of the sun vanished over the horizon. He knew he would have to press on harder if he did not want to feel the much colder weather of the night that was bound to come soon. He had delayed his departure from Tleth longer than expected. He had been working hard all day in the smithy with his father when, as dusk was announcing itself, Astlo decided it was time to close down the shop and head home. But Layth had wanted to see Anlia today. He had decided he would tell Anlia how he felt; he was going to take the plunge and empty his soul and pour his heart into her gentle hands, expose himself and his true feelings. He was willing to suffer rejection if he had to. After speaking with his father, he had realized that indeed, it would be better to finally know exactly how she felt about him; he would no longer have to guess, he would simply be able to do all the gentle things he desired to do with her. Lay all of his cards on the table, as his father had told him, and see how things went. His father seemed to think that Anlia felt the same; he could see it in her eyes. But to be honest with Anlia, he had continued, would strengthen their bond regardless of how she felt about him; honesty was the foundation for trust and long lasting relationships. He had run over to her home, located near the southern entrance to the village, a modest log home built by the hands of her grandfather. As he stamped his boots on the wooden porch, knocking off the clumps of snow that stuck to his soles, Anlia’s mother had opened the door. She had heard him arriving when he had made a terrible racket with his feet. After greeting each other, she announced that Anlia was not home at this hour. She had left with her father to the neighboring village to visit with relatives and help mend a break in their roof. They were due to return soon, but it would be a short while yet, unless they had decided to stay for the night and head back in the morning. Saddened at this turn of events, Layth had returned to the cold and snow, dreading the solitary trek back to his home. His stomach was grumbling by now, motivating him as he fought for each step. He had found his father’s fresh tracks easily enough; it had been snowing all day long, enough to cover the tracks they had made on previous days, but the recent tracks were still quite evident. He thought of Anlia on his way back to his home, and fought with his emotions. He had prepared himself to tell her everything and he had been looking forward to having his burden lifted from his conscience. He wanted her to know that his day was always made better when he saw her, how her smile made even the worst weather turn into a bright shinny day to him. He did not like the fact that all of his mental preparations had been for naught; he would have to try again on a different occasion. He was trudging through the snow, his gaze constantly on the ground in front of him, watching every step he took, cursing the foul weather, when a high-pitched shout pierced the night. It carried clearly through the air, hitting his ears loudly and making his bones shake. The shout had come from somewhere in the direction he had come from, possibly from the village itself. He could not even fathom what type of an animal would utter such a horrid cry; he did not want nor intended to find out! He pressed on harder than before; looking behind him on many occasions to make sure nothing was following him. Several times he would start at a sight within the trees, the shadows moving in ominous fashions, making him imagine all types of evil creatures, hungry to feed upon his body. Layth tried to fight down the rising horror within him, telling himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He could imagine his father laughing at him playfully, putting a hand on his shoulder and telling him he had too much of an imagination, that no foul beasts resided in his forest. But he did see a shape! Right to his left, within the trees, he could see what seemed to be the outline of a person… swaying left and right. But as he tried to focus on it, the shape melted into the shadows of a tree. He thought he heard an awful moaning sound coming from somewhere to his right… where another shadow stood. And then the sharp shout could be heard once again. It was a short, primal sounding shout, which managed to finally break through his reserves of bravery and made his legs find unknown founts of energy that made him race towards his home. His cloak flew behind him as he let go of it and let his arms swing free to run. His hood had fallen from his head in his flight as he high stepped through the tall snow, but he did not feel the cold biting at his cheeks or the winds that cooled his torso. He was seeing shadows everywhere closing around him. He felt terror. He kept looking around him, left and right, jumping at every shadow that leaped out from the woods that pressed upon him; he never noticed that he had left behind his father’s tracks. He was driven to escape whatever it was that was after him! Layth never saw the tree that lay in his path. An intense pain exploded from his right cheekbone and his vision snapped; he saw a flash and then nothing but darkness interrupted by explosions of white lights. He stumbled backwards involuntarily and lost his footing. He fought to remain standing but his legs would not listen to him, and his body forced him into the snow. He lay there, attempting to form a coherent thought, but his ears were ringing and his vision refused to focus. His world spun as he flailed on the ground. He put a hand to his cheek and felt a burning sensation that ran up to the top of his head. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, but everything remained blurry. Several things were swarming about, getting closer to him. Still groggy, he managed to clumsily flip onto his stomach and pushed his body forward through the cold snow. He left a long gash in the snow as he desperately crawled forward, trying to escape the things that hunted him. He looked one way and saw a flying shape; huge fangs could be seen emanating from its wicked smile, claws and sharp nails grew at the edge of its wings. He looked in another direction and spotted a seven-limbed creature, arms flailing and bent in impossible angles. A sniffing sound made him look the opposite way where another shadow seemed to meld with a tree. He looked behind him and spotted a sickly white figure, walking on all fours, as if it was more comfortable walking on its hands and feet, rather than upright. It was a hair