Story for the Day: By Menor's Might

Bhi Abhras Menor, by Menor’s Might, is a common Frewyn exclamation, also used in blessings and before performances, and also in the sick chamber, said to wish someone well. Menor is the silent protector of Frewyn, and though he does not show his true form often, when he does summon the Might of the Earth and Mountains, he is an insuperable force.  

A horn echoed overhead, and a sheet of snow slid down whence the Brigade marched past.     

                “I will leave her with the men who patrol this mountain,” said Menor, looking up, watching the torched burn through the nebulous squall. “They have saved many of Gallia and Uscen’s children. They would not allow this one to die.”

                “None who had found the child could let her die,” Borras asserted.

                “Frannach would.”        

                A hard look was exchanged.

                “He might take her to Our Father,” said Borras, “but he would not willingly harm a young child.” A coy smile spread over Borras’ lips. “He might quarrel with you for other reasons, like keeping the company of other banished Gods.”

                A suspicion passed between them, and the continued presence of a familiar friend not far off made Borras sagacious and Menor disgruntled.  

                “Reis is permitted to visit me,” said Menor, his features burning in a glow of indignation. “Our children still pray to her—“

                “They might, but that does not mean Our Father is pleased, nor does that mean that he would be happy at your having her here—“

                “I MAY DO AS I WILL.”

                The voice caromed and raged, pervading the landscape, pulling up the earth around it. The rocks rose, brume and dust shrouded the whole of the cavern, magma pobbled up in pools, following the slate in tributaries along Menor’s legs, cracking and splitting the stone. The slate clambered over his limbs, stacking in a broken symphony of stone, and when the mist cleared, the God of Earth and Mountains presided over the cove, the stalagmites clustering around his feet, his form hulking and rupestral, his eyes a blaze of amber lava, his head and shoulders blanketed in smoking ash. Magmatic estuaries conflagrated along his arms, a coldera burned in his chest, cinders spewed from his mouth, sedimentary rock grinded against one another in tectonic fury.

                “I AM MENOR, THE MIGHT OF CREATION,” Menor thundered, in a terrible wrawl, boulders falling down from his shoulders in an avalanche of sound. “I CONSORT WITH THOSE WHO ARE WORTHY OF MY ATTENTION, AND AS THE FOURTH SON OF DIRAS, I SPEAK TO REIS, DOMINION OF FORTUNE AND DELIVERANCE, AS I WILL.”

                Volcanic ash billowed forth, ululations echoed across the expanse, and a short silence followed.  A thick delitescence clouded the cove, and in an instant, the ash cleared, steam settled in a heavy sigh, the slate crumbled and sloughed off in sheets, the wending lines of magma drawing the stone shell away, and Menor reappeared at the mouth of the cove, returned to his previous form, his petrous frame rambled over with snow and moss, his stooping shoulders cloaked by his mist mantle, his eyes low, his aspect pained.

                “I apologize,” said he, in a mortified voice.

                Borras smiled and stared at his brother in amazement. “You have never shown me your anger before,” said he, impressed. “You have not even been angry enough with Aoidhe to show him that form.”            

                Menor hung his head, holding the sleeping child in his arms close to his heart.

                “You misunderstood me. I did not mean that you should not be allowed to speak to Reis—“ Borras began.

                “I understood you,” Menor interposed, looking deplorably.

                Here was a grievous sigh. Menor looked out at the forest, and Borras, sensing his brother’s disappointment, went to stand at his side.

                “It is not my providence to tell you what to do,” Borras continued, “nor is it my intention to tell Our Father what you have done. You are not the only one to defy His Edict.” Here is a furtive smile. “We all defy His Wishes. Even Fuinnog.”

                Menor turned from the child to give his brother an incredulous look. “Is that possible?”

                “It is. He brought two children to the Realm, to be raised with Romhaine.”

                Menor gawped, divided between wonder and admiration. “Did he.”

                “Two young boys at an orphanage attached themselves to him, and he could not leave them again.” Borras spied the child asleep in Menor’s arms. “Many of our children are not able to care for their offspring. Are you certain you will not keep this one?”

                “I am,” said Menor decidedly. “Once she is grown, if she calls to me and asks me to take her to the Realm, I will, but I must give her the choice first.” He raised the child to his lips and kissed her forehead, his Blessing bathing her with incanescent light.“To Be a God is to be alone,” his voice purred,in a sobering hue. “Some of us have companions,” eyeing Mharac, who was rubbing himself against a tree, “but our Main Purpose is to Do Our Divine Work and Shepard our children, and we should not remove One from the Flock until they go astray. They need to be together,” said he, in a low whisper, speaking more to the child than he was to Borras, “as Our Father intended at the Time of Creation.”

                “But we as Gods were never meant to be alone,” said Borras feelingly. “We were meant to Sit Among our children and Rejoice with them, as we used to do before we were bid to leave them. Our Father Commanded us to abandon our children as a punishment to them, but what He did not realize was how much of a punishment the separation would be to us.”

                It was true, Menor must own, that being forced to remain away from their children and only visit when prayers otherwise summoned them, was a trial to his nerves. Frewyns suffered at the time of the Abandonment, but the union of the clans and the establishment of Allun as their king proved their merit to Diras, and a pact was made: in a thousand years’ time, if the Children of the Gods could maintain peace, the Gods would be allowed to live amongst them once more, and seats would be reclaimed and stones exhumed, and the Gods and their children would be reunited. Until then, the Gods were only permitted to visit in a nominal way, appearing when prayers were said in their names, visiting those who cried out to them in exultation or distress, but more than this was prohibited, an Edict laid down by Diras and enforced by Frannach. Menor liked the situation as much as Borras did, but they must do as Their Father Commanded, and while many of the Gods had companions in one another--- Borras and Suibhne, Aoidhe and Chune—divine relations could not supplant the arrant affection that generations of living progeny could furnish. The love, the ceaseless and shameless love, that every Frewyn child inherited from their Creators became a birthright of desolation and despondence for those who must learn to love from afar. Diras had doomed his Sons to loneliness, and the pang that a thousand years of severance must solicit, even to the eternal, was a grievance never to be suppressed.