"The Warrior of Grass and Sky" by M.A DeLeine

At setting sun horizon cleaves,

The light 'twixt earth and air.

When painted domes of fire feed,

Into the waning glare.

The drying grass of summer's parch

Stretched into seas of gold,

Do brush and bend and lightly arch,

Before the breeze so cold.

It's now they come 'cross rivers broad,

And valley passes wide,

To pay thanks to their mighty god,

Zeked of Grass and Sky.

'Neath branches of divinity,

Upon the sacred slab,

They place their off'rings round the tree:

The towering baobab,

To thank Zeked who lives within,

His palace in the leaves.

Who keeps them safe from western winds,

And mount'nous sands they heave.

'Flesh of beasts that you call prey,

And gems of every kind,

Shall be arranged in rich display,

So I may claim as mine.'

So goes the ancient benefact,

The yearly trek to bind.

On obsidian plates the treasure stacked,

With 'rrangements most refined.

But this year comes a pilgrim new:

A child pure in heart.

A simple rite of passing through,

To learn the giving art.

His mother leads him by the hand,

Down dirt paths stamped by time,

To where the mighty tree did stand,

So glor'ous and sublime.

Clutched tightly in his little palm,

A tiny bead of gold,

To rest a recent sorrowed qualm,

His actions here were bold:

A hallowed space he saw was bore,

Where roots split round the earth,

Where no man had dared go before,

If not from fear then girth.

With wild flail he scrambled forth,

O'er jewels and meat and hide,

So recklessly without recourse,

He squeezed himself inside.

His mother wailed but chased him not,

For fear of Zeked's will,

She knew herself what her son sought,

And prayed in airy chill.

The tangled pass of roots was tight,

The air was thick with clay,

But through the hole devoid of light,

The child made his way

'Til he appeared upon a field

Of thick and flowing grass,

Whose windless churn in parts revealed,

A counter-flowing mass.

It moved against the flitting blades,

And 'neath the starry sky,

Whose lights against the beryl shades

Flowed like a vaporous sigh.

The figure did 'pear not to move,

But closer still it came.

With trick of eye or magic prove,

That god and land were same.

From clouded dust and sparkling high,

And silent turquoise flame,

Appeared Zeked of Grass and Sky,

And asked the child's name.

The child spoke with fearful tone,

But passion in his heart:

"This I have heard and it is known,

You tore my house apart.

Two months ago a sickness fell

And claimed my brother's life.

With grieving hearts the village swelled

With misery and strife.

I asked my mother who to blame

And she said 'None my dear,

'cept those to who his life may claim:

The gods, who we adhere.'

So here you are, of sky and grass

The ruler of the gods.

Say your words, your very last,

Unless you like your odds."

The god produced upon his face

A smile filled with mirth.

Teeth shining like the daylight grace,

And supple lips of earth.

He touched the boy with grassy hand,

And power without scope,

Then met him with his starry eyes

And softly Zeked spoke:

"My boy to you I'll say just this:

Your brother isn't mine.

And though I'm sure that he is missed,

All things must pass in time.

The way of life's to end in death

With little in between.

From infant's cry to final breath,

Most moments never seen.

So brave are you, or very dumb,

Still 'warrior' you are,

So ring of wood around your thumb,

From trees grown 'round a star

I give to you my vibrant son

To show your burning might.

And from your battles never run.

And always stand and fight."

Then the boy was gone from there,

And fled off into night.

Until he saw his mother knelt,

And held her body tight.