The Offering

In a vast, green, endless, mountain range there lived a god. Though, perhaps we should start with those who worship him.

In a small village surrounded by a vast, green, endless mountain range, there lived a mother. A mother, who was alone, scared, and very, very tired. With a small, quiet bundle in her arms the mother made her way up the mountain surrounding the village, where she knew the altar was waiting. Climbing through the thick foliage, the mother eventually came upon the biggest tree, whose branches outstretched over the whole mountain range. Each root connected to all the life around her. And it was here, at the base of the biggest tree, that of which the villagers believed all life had begun, the mother laid her baby down, making sure it was carefully cradled in the low branches.

Above the lonely mother, the height and thicker branches began to shift and bear an unseen weight. The mother had come here countless times as a child with her family, and sometimes with the rest of the villagers. They often asked for good crops, a healthy life for their offspring… but nobody in the village ever dared to ask for selfish things like wealth.

The bright green trees shimmered against the unseen force, the village God, and the mother could feel a chilling breeze begin to pick up and rock the child.

“What is this you have brought to my altar?” A deeply dangerous voice roars throughout the mother’s mind in questioning.

The woman stands tall, all her thoughts centered around her child even as the deep voice thunders in her mind.

“A life for you to nurture… to love where I have failed,” screams the mother into the wind.

Above her, the shimmering light of the being the village worship slowly descends the branches until it is just above the mother. She is unable to make out its shape.

“Do you insult me!? I have never asked for an offering of a life!” roars the voice, “Take it back into the village where it belongs!”

The mother stood firm against the brutal winds that cut through her and chilled her bones. If she did not hand this child over now, then it would never have a good life… a safe life.

“No.”

“No?”

“You have blessed our land with good crops, and when the weather turned bad in the winter, you were there, heating the houses, '' exclaimed the mother through the harsh wind.

The god was not impressed.

“I fail to see the point you are making, human. I do what a God should, and that is to take care of those who choose to worship him.”

The woman kneels before the tree, her head bowed so low it touched the grass. This surprised the God, as he understood it, only the most desperate bowed their whole body to him.

“Exactly! Now you must take care of my baby, because I cannot!” pleaded the mother as she lifted her head to the branches. Nothing, no form, no indication that anything was there, other than a shimmering mirage. The God could only stare as he mulled over the possibility of this unfortunate child. The wind ceased, and the trees were quiet. The mother waited.

“I cannot promise that their life will be good,” confessed the God as he began to give into the lone mother’s whims.

“It is no different than helping our crops. Just make sure you nurture them properly and they will turn out alright,” explained the mother bitterly. The god hopped down from the branches that creaked from holding his weight for so long. In the tall grass the mother could make out four toed paw impressions as it prowled around her, finally stopping above her as she felt the weight of its shadow above her, and finally, as it hung over her baby.

“Did you name it?” The mother had to escape from her thoughts before she answered to the weight of the God.

“No, I… didn’t want to get attached.” The God hummed, which was felt as a deep rumble that shook the mother’s bones.

“Do you have a name in mind?” The Mother was quiet, though something in her screamed for her to touch the child one last time. She dared to lift her hand, and hover it over the slumbering child, but at the last second she pulled back, scolding herself.

“I do not wish to name it, I have just come here to hand them off to you.”

The God wanted to be angry at the mother for abandoning her blood, but he knew that this was a difficult decision. Still, his blood boiled hot for the small child that would not grow up with proper human customs.

"Then, as your punishment, you must leave the village and never come back."

The mother wasn't surprised by this, and in fact, from what the God could assume, the mother was relieved.

The God watched as the mother got to her feet and began the descent down the mountain, and only when she was out of sight did he leap down from the branches and reveal himself to the child. His wings outstretched, his scales as hard and as durable as diamonds reflecting any light that may come into contact with him. His maw could easily swallow a handful of humans whole, but as he leaned down and hovered his snout above the child to sniff them, their small hand reached out, and tugged at the skin around his nose, causing the god to pull back and sneeze a plume of smoke that shoot up through the tree. The small child, however, found this quite amusing.

“What am I to do with you?” questioned the God as the child’s laugh traveled up the branches and through the leaves, causing birds to scatter and chirp. Well, whatever it was, he knew from watching the mothers of previous generations that raising a child would be no easy task.

###

“Stop! Stop!” bellowed the God as he hugged his wings to his chest, forcing his body to dive at an odd angle to keep up the same speed as a make-shift sled shot down his mountain, with his child on top. The child, of course, was laughing with glee as they avoided trees and rocks in their path. Two sticks at each side of this sled were used to make it go faster. The issue was that the child, in all its scheming, did not think of a way to stop the makeshift sled.

The child screamed in glee as the God dived downward and was planning to cut them off. Of course, their child only saw this as a challenge, and used the sticks to go faster. The God, Growling in frustration, now used its scaled black legs to hook the back of the sled and pull it upward to completely stop its descent. However, just as the God was able to grip the back of this sled, they came upon a sudden dip that ended in an upward arc. The child, still laughing, was launched forward as the back of the sled was picked up, sending them flying through the air.

In a panic, the God dropped the sled and stretched out its wings, flying just below its child, trying to grip on to their clothes, but with the way the child was tumbling and twisting through the air made it difficult for the God to get a grip on any article of clothing. So, the only option was to watch their child dive into the lake below, sticks still tightly gripped in their hands.

Irritated, The God huffed a plume of smoke as he waited on the banks of the lake. Eventually, his child emerged from the depths and pulled themselves up, fixing their long, outgrown hair out of their tanned face and smirking up to the God.

“You’re supposed to use those sticks for walking, not sliding down the mountain! Do you know how badly you could have gotten hurt if you didn’t aim for the lake!?” grumbled the God from deep in his chest.

His child, however, seemed very uncaring as they used their upper body strength to pull themselves to their twisted feet.

“You know, I stole some books from the village down there, and the books say you’re not a God, but rather a dragon.”

The God sat back on his hindlegs, letting the sunlight reflect off his scales in a cascade of rainbows that danced around his child with each intake of the God’s breath.

“You’re ignoring my question, Offering.”

The child, of course, took this as an indication that they should continue, limping toward the God in all his anger.

“Two wings, four legs, a tail…. Though I’ve never seen you breathe fire, you do have a nasty habit of blowing smoke everywhere. Bad for your health… or so the books say.” The child smirked.

“I should have never taught you to read,” mumbled the dragon.

“You don’t mean that.”

The dragon huffed, before leaning his snout down, allowing his child to climb up on him so that they may fly back to the tree. “No, I don’t… but you still scared me. What would I do without you?” The dragon’s voice echoed around in the child’s head, guilt filling their stomach as they made themselves comfortable on the dragon’s back, the walking sticks held tightly in their hands. In truth they hadn’t thought of anything bad actually happening.

“You’d have a lot less of an annoyance in your life.” Offered the child.

“No!” boomed the dragon, angry that their child could even think of such a thing to say. “I would be lonely without you. I would leave this mountain and never return.”

“That’s pretty dramatic… You’d leave a village without their god.”

The dragon rolled his eyes. “I have told you many times before, I am not a God. That is just the name they give me.”

“Still don’t see you refusing any of the offerings they bring you.” The child began to pick at one of the reflective scales. The dragon - God - whatever he wished to be called, imitated light just like a mirror. The child, of course, could pick out the shape of the dragon with ease, but it never ceased to unnerve them as they rode upon his back. It looked like they were floating on simple air, not laying on scales of a massive beast from stories hidden behind age stained pages. The child read a word that described this perfectly… translucent.

“They bring me food, and if I do not eat it, something in this mountain will. I am simply playing the part they want from me, Offering.”

As they got closer and closer to the tree, the dragon could see many lines of people making the trek to his alter. It was usual around this time for families to climb up his mountain and present offerings for good crops and a short winter. He could grant none of these things of course, but if he refused anything the villagers brought to him, they would take that as a bad omen. He was stuck in a role, but it wasn’t all bad. He truly never regrets taking what they offer him, something he took more pride in as Offering came into his life.

“Let us abandon this subject. The villagers are coming, and perhaps you will find a better name than ‘Offering’ this time around.”

Offering, of course, did not believe this, and scoffed at the idea. Though Offering had yet to find a name they liked in the last sixteen years, they had also never refused to listen to what the villagers had to offer.

As the dragon took his place in the branches as always, he gazed down at the first in line. An old man the dragon knew from a young child. He, like always, offered the first catch of the season. A sizable buck with the antlers removed. The dragon hated to digest antlers.

“I request what I request every year since my first babe was born, God.” The man began.

The God waited.

“I request that I have a bountiful hunt so that my wife does not starve. I cannot feed my newborn, and my wife needs the food to produce what she can.” The God hummed, his rumble could be felt through the man's body, but he did not weaver. The God was not to be feared.

“I will do what I do every year, and send you luck, my friend. To your wife as well, since I know she cannot make the hike up to the mountain…. nor would I want her to.” The God leaned down and consumed the buck in one bite. “And what name do you offer me this year?” The man smiled, looking up to the branches, but not exactly where the god laid in watch.

“I offer the name Antonio! I had met a nice trader who was selling fabrics and small glass trinkets from far away. When I asked what his name was, he gave me Antonio as an answer.”

With that, the man bowed, and allowed the next person to offer. One after the other, they offered him food, or something small like a child’s outgrown stuffed animal. Each offering him a name as they departed. When the line was complete, and The God offered all he could to the villagers, he blew a plume of smoke. A simple signal for his Offering to come down from the trees and rest with the dragon.

“For a God who basically does nothing, you sure promise them a lot. Like the first man, I know you hunt for him sometimes and leave the kills at his door.”

“I do what I can for the kindness they have shown both me and you. There are some small things left for you as well as some toys meant for children, but there is a nice glass ball in there you might enjoy. Just…. don’t break it.”

The Offering hopped down from the branches, slowing their descent by catching branches with their hands on the way down. Just like the dragon suspected, they ignored all the toys and went for the fancy things. “And yet, when I offer you something, you still cannot fix my twisted feet.”

The God stared.

The Offering stared back.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Hmmm…”

“Anyway…" began Offering as they tried to avoid the odd situation they created, "the names they offered me didn’t seem to fit. Antonio was nice, and I enjoyed the story about how he was a far off adventurer-”

“Trader.” Corrected the dragon.

“Same difference, but the name just didn’t fit me. Perhaps next year.”

“Or perhaps you will simply be my Offering for the rest of your days,” chuckled the dragon. The Offering groaned in annoyance as they tossed the glass ball up and caught it, repeating the motion with grace.

“It would be much easier for you to burn me alive, dragon.”

“Call me what you like, I am a dragon and god all the same. I will be what you need me to be. What anyone needs me to be.”