Old Gods of the Ozarks

In the land of the mist and mountains, the old ones stayed true to themselves. While those of the Greeks got too caught up in interfering and taking on human appearance, the old gods of the Ozarks kept their natural form. They never asked to be worshiped; satisfaction to them came from maintaining the ways of nature. These old gods were weakened by progress, not forgotten as a religion. Some have not been seen in decades.

***

Alone in his vigil of the mountains, the barn owl, God of the Night Hunt, looks out from his perch in the hollow of the red oak tree. Known as Nartive, he serves as the patron for all the species, set apart from the others by his immortality. If he disappears, so goes his sphere of influence in these mountains.

Nartive remembers when nature was unspoiled; when those who came lived in accordance with it and did not just trample across it. Progress, he has heard the humans call it. The old god understands the word but thinks little of it. His ways are only what is best for the mountains. He has lived and guided life here since these mountains awoke with life and no name. Now those who tread through call them The Ozarks.

Not all the mountain visitors are ungrateful, some respect the land and the ways of the old ones. They come and visit or live in harmony with the soul of the mountains. Nartive keeps to the deepest reaches of the mountains, protecting those who hunt by night. His solitude is interrupted, word comes to him on the silent gliding wings and screeches of his too-mortal barn owl kin, the old gods are called to gather.

It has been more than a century since Nartive has been called to a council, but he will respect the request of the elk. Chola, God of the Mountains, does not assemble those still left on a whim. During the last council, there were six who came to meet, but since that time Nartive has not heard a word from Karnol. Whether the old badger has faded away or just hidden herself away, the barn owl does not know.

Dawn will arrive soon so the old barn owl takes flight for the council gathering. The meeting location lies deep within the Ozarks, a place unchanged since the beginning of all, not far from where Nartive has chosen to make his home. It is within a mountain gap, unseen and untouched by humans. The crags and trees open to where a small waterfall empties out into a clear pool.

Nartive is the last to the assembly, alighting on the branch of an oak that overlooks the pool. Chola stands tall and majestic next to the water with the three others who have arrived. The hellbender, Somil, Goddess of the Caves, rests on a small rock in the water pool. Just above her on a rocky ledge sits Grisna, Goddess of the Forest, the bobcat patiently waiting, but eager to leave and return to the thick tree coverage she roams. The final member lazily bobs in the water of the pool, Flooni the beaver, God of Steams.

Chola begins, “It has been many cycles of the moon since we have gathered. We have all, over that time, found ourselves withdrawing more into the mountains. The progress of the people who enter here has diminished our place in the world.”

Those assembled take in the elk’s words and know there is much truth in them. They have focused more on their own kind than the spheres they were fated to influence. None take Chola’s words as a reprimand, for he himself is guilty of the same retreat from obligations. People now seem to bend the nature around them to suit their own needs instead of valuing what it can give them freely. None of the old gods would say that they hold hatred toward people, but none would also say they do not miss the way of reverence the people long ago held for the mountains.

“There is a choice that comes before us now,” Chola says, gathering every god's attention. “When these mountains were still considered young and we- along with those who have faded- flew above, swam the waters of, climbed the hills along, and prowled the forest in, lived guiding along the natural way. Humans and their progress had yet to find this realm of ours and we found a different adversity set against us.”

No other had spoken yet out of deference to the great elk, but the thought of that dark time sent a shudder to Flooni’s and his tail tapped a nervous beat. “Unkowa.”

Unkowa, a creature whose vile intent was to destroy all life, to unmake the world. The serpent was an abomination. His red scales were the color of blood and ran the length of his twenty foot body darkening everything they brushed against.

Upon his head were a pair of magnificent white antlers, absorbed when the snake struck down the white stag, the first of the old gods he killed. Jutting out from beneath his head were the tusks of a ridge boar. Heeveclat, God of the Brush, had fallen second to the evil viper. With the death of these patron gods, soon after their species too were gone from the world.

Black wings adorned his back, an endowment he received when he slaughtered the old god massif eagle and all her species. Hanclen, Goddess of the Skies, had sacrificed herself and all of her kind in a massive strike against Unkowa. He gained the wings of the eagle but was left defenseless after the brutal attack.

The combined will of the remaining old gods of the Ozarks had banished Unkowa for what they hoped would be an eternity. The battle took place a thousand years ago and left the gods recovering for hundreds of years after that. Many among them thought this weakened state is what opened the door for the progress that came and further diminished them.

“There is no doubt the creature is returning,” Chola tells the group, “I have felt the menace in my bones as he makes his way to the surface.”

“What do you call on us to do?” Grisna asks.

“We must decide on a course of action,” Chola responds. “You can fight or you can flee these mountains.”

The God of the Mountains words are a shock, never would they believe he would advocate their retreat from these mountains.

Flooni caught what the elk left out, “You said ‘you can fight or you can flee’ not we can fight or flee. Do you intend to go it alone?”

“I won’t ask any of you to die for this fight,” Chola says solemnly.

Nartive speaks at last, “You don’t have to ask, it is our place”

“Our duty,” adds Somil.

“As it always has been,” the God of Steams says.

The bobcat springs to the ground and approaches Chola, “And why should you get to have all the fun?”

The great elk has never been more proud of those in his fellowship. “We leave at once.”

Chola leads the way with Grisna padding along behind him. Overhead, the barn owl glides watching the path ahead of them unfold. The path the elk leads them travels along a flowing stream allowing the beaver and hellbender an easy trip and a way to stay part of the group.

Two days they travel into the mountains until reaching a barren rocky plain laying before a crag in the mountainside. A dark cave in the wall of the cliff with a small runoff of water flowing into a stream marks the end of their journey and the beginning of the battleground.

Somil swims to the bank, climbs up the rocks, and deposits herself back into the water of the cave runoff. “I will look ahead to see what I can find,” the hellbender says and is gone before anyone can stop her.

With nothing to do but wait for word back the old gods take up position watching over the cave entrance. Time almost seems frozen until the group feels a call inside their minds.

I tried. I tried. It comes in the voice of Somil. I slowed him down. I used all my life force and have wounded him. He is weakened.

The voice trails off as the evil entity slithers from the cave. One of his wings drags alongside the snake, limp and useless. Pain etched on his venomous face.

The serpent’s voice is painfully raspy, “That hellbender was almost successful, the cave-in he caused when he exploded nearly trapped me. But,” Unkowa hisses looking back at the broken wing, “it will heal and in the meantime these new additions will serve me well in the water.”

The old gods look over the snake and notice for the first time the fold in the skin running down the upper half of its body. These slits were what gave the hellbender the power to breathe underwater. Unkowa will now have a new domain to terrorize. They know for sure their ally is truly gone.

Without hesitation Grisna launches herself onto the back of the snake. Her claws rip and tear into scales of the monster. Unkowa convulses his body and sends the Goddess of the Forest flying to crash hard into the cliff face.

The serpent swings around to the limp bobcat. Before he can finish his kill, the God of the Mountains charges and gores the snake in the side as the God of the Night Hunt swoops down, talons lash out damaging its right eye.

Unkowa reels out in pain swinging his tail around and knocks the elk from his feet. “That will act will be your last,” the serpent hisses at Nartive striking out with his head.

The barn owl flies to the side to avoid the fangs but is clipped by one of the tusks on the snake's head. Nartive tumbles from the sky. One old god is dead and three others lay injured.

“What a tasty treat awaits me in the water,” Unkowa turns toward the stream where the beaver floats.

“I may not be a fighter like the others, but old snake,” Flooni taunts, “there are other ways to win.”

Sensing danger, Unkowa turns as the crack of the tree echoes through the forest. The snap is followed in rapid succession as three more trees break all crashing onto the red serpent. The God of the Streams has been busy.

Grisna and Chola have both recovered and renew their attack on Unkowa. The battle between the trio is a blur of strikes. The monster scores a bite on the elk and a tail strike once again sends the bobcat crashing into the rocks. Nartive shakes his feathers and tries to pull his thoughts together. This is a battle they can’t win, the snake has seemed to draw in more power and is twice as big as it was before.

“Your delicious souls will be mine…,” Unkowa starts to say but is abruptly cut short as what appeared to be a whirlwind of gray landing on the snake's back. The new arrival slashes and stabs, sending showers of blood gushing from the serpent. It is Karnol the badger, Goddess of Nature’s Fury.

Karnol called out, “Old gods, there is only one way to finish this forever, but it will come at the ultimate cost. It will take four of us to give our life. That will be enough power to destroy this monster.”

The badger jumps clear and Unkowa thrashes wildly in anguish. The pain drives the serpent to more anger and he swells even larger in size.

“If we do this what will become of all the others- the beaver, the bobcats, the elk, the barn owls?” Chola questions. “It will be the end of each eventually if we are gone, as will now happen with the hellbenders.”

“There is a way,” Karnol replies. “Four will make the sacrifice, leaving one remaining. As the last, that god will gain immense power to look out for mountains and all the animals of it. All the creatures will be under their favor.”

“Then let it be done,” Grisna says. “I gladly give myself.”

“And I,” repeats Flooni.

“And I,” echoes Nartive, “Watch over them well Chola.”

“No, Nartive,” Chola says, “You are best equipped to watch over these mountains. Fly high, wise barn owl.”

Unkowa’s body now fills the rocky clearing. “I will have it all,” he hisses balefully. He rises high in a coil ready to strike any challenger down.”

As one, an intense white light begins to glow around the elk, the badger, the bobcat, and the beaver. Their lifeforce lashes out in an explosion directed at their enemy. A quick flash and they along with the snake disappear, it’s hiss echoing into nothing.

Nartive, new power swelling into him, screeches and lifts to the sky, climbing higher and higher over the mountains. He is the last. He is the Old God of the Ozarks. The barn owl will protect them all.