Gol – A Short Story

Just a short piece written for some university work.

Gol

Gol had lain there as long as anyone could remember. Huge and mighty and corroding and dead, His mountainous body had rested at the centre of the Tankland for what may have been forever. Even Lunkerl, the oldest and wisest of the tribe, had said that He been there since before he had been born; Gol had been ancient in the memory of their clan’s eldest member even when he was young.

“G.”

Lessik traced the tip of her spear over the first of the Letters that was written on Gol’s chest, the one that told the tribe His name, tattoos written into His metal flesh. She took care not to scratch them, for the Letters were sacred. More importantly, they were hers. Well, hers and Lunkerl’s, but he had passed the secret knowledge of the Letters onto her. When he died, she would be the Reader.

“O.”

Lessik was under the crook of one of Gol’s arms, the massive joint towering above her, where the Letters were tattooed. The massive limb that was scabbed with a verdigris patina of mould and plant growth, stained by water damage and scabbed with roots. She was, of course, alone; all other members of the tribe were afraid of Him, but she wasn’t. According to the legends, Gol had strode forth with His servants, the Tanks, to make the world and only lay down to rest and die here in the Tanklands after His work was done. There was nothing to fear from a creator.

The worry of the others was understandable; where Gol had bled His blood, shed in creation of the world, the ground was poisoned, and it was said His heart had beat on for many after His death, its divine energies overwhelming for mortals. No plants grew in those bloodstained places, and those who stood on the dead grounds would sicken and die, but Lessik found it was easy enough to avoid them. Being here was important. Otherwise they might forget the Letters. They might forget the name of the being which created the world.

“L.”

Here, the final Letter met the ground. There were old legends which said that Gol’s name was incomplete, that there were more Letters in the Word, but this was largely disbelieved. The Librer Tribe, which Lessik’s people sometimes traded with, also claimed that were more than three Letters, that G O and L were just a few of a multitude. Their heresy was ignored, tolerated only because the Librer were stronger and were willing to trade.

“Gol.”

The name of the god was a good one. The way it was pronounced, rolled off the tongue, was pleasant to the ear. She liked it, as any true believer in Gol would.

She lingered for a few minutes more, her first Ritual of Reading complete, looking at the god which she would soon serve as sole Reader of, and after that left, disappearing into the Tanklands and back home.