A fiery tale, not a fairy tale
Whisper of The Gods - A Cloudlands Myth
Part One
Once upon a time, in the faraway lands of the Cloud Isle, there was born a young girl named Imoa. A long-wished-for child, her parents commemorated the momentous occasion with a week-long feast so that all might share in their joy.
Villagers from near and far flocked to attend the celebration. For her parents, Fend to the Leaf tribes, were greatly beloved by all, having provided protection to the villages for many years.
The Fend showered their beloved daughter with much love and affection. Making regular offerings at the local shrine in hopes that the gods would look favorably upon her and bless her with good health and wellbeing. But therein loomed a shadow, for as the little girl aged she rarely spoke, and when she did it was only to utter strange sounds that her parents could not understand.
Concerned, they sought the help of the local healer, who after carefully examining the little Fend, made an astonishing discovery. While the little girl could hear sound, she could not hear the voices of other people around her. Yet, even with this knowledge, the healer could offer no solace. He knew no cure for such an affliction.
"Make twice-daily offerings to the gods," he advised. "And pray they lift the curse."
The Fend returned to their home more confused than before, but heeded the healer's words and increased their regular offerings to the shrines.
As the years passed, little Imoa began to speak in a soft and lilting manner, however the words she spoke could not be understood by those around her. And though her parents tried their best, she would not speak the words of their tongue. If this was not troubling enough, soon came rumors that the girl had been seen speaking to people that no one else could see or hear. Whispers began to spread amongst the tribes that the child had been cursed by the gods and some of the villagers grew uneasy at the thought.
The Fend grew worried. Though they had provided the tribes with shelter and protection for these many years, they could not compare to the gods. Not in thought nor in deed. For the gods brought good fortune and abundant harvests. They kept the fishing nets full and the livestock fat. The very idea of angering them was unheard of and keeping a cursed soul amongst them, would surely invite their wrath.
Concerned for what this could mean for their child, the Fend did their best to keep Imoa away from prying eyes and for a time her curse was almost forgotten. Until a local fisherman drowned at sea, then a farmer awakened to a dead calf with not one injury as the cause. Soon every incident whether big or small became evidence of godly displeasure. And it wasn't long before a worried whisper from one, became a fearful cry from the many.
The gods were angry.
Amidst the rising fears, the Fend stayed within their compound, while outside their Guardians tried their best to calm the growing panic. But as the days passed and more seemingly odd incidents occurred, a crowd began to gather outside calling for the Fend to deliver the girl.
The gods must be appeased!
"I will not allow her to be made a sacrifice," Fen Nara stated firmly, her daughter held tightly in her arms. "She is not cursed! She may still overcome this. She--"
"Whether she is truly cursed or not no longer matters," Fen Ome explained. "The people believe she is. She cannot remain here, Nara. We cannot protect her. Even our Guardians have begun to look at her with suspicion. We can no longer guarantee help from them if the worst comes."
The calls for the girl from outside grew more incensed as the day passed, and late into the evening as dark descended, thick smoke began to fill the compound.
While their Guardians worked to extinguish the fire, the Fend quickly escaped into the forests under the cover of darkness, before making their way up into the mountains. It was hours before they reached the Sacranal, House of the Gods. They found Mama Ute, the High Priestess waiting near the entrance when they arrived as if she'd been expecting them.
Garbed in her bright yellow cloak, the High Priestess silently studied Imoa, watching the child play with some wooden toys as the Fend relayed all that had transpired. When they finished the telling she nodded, before leaving the room and taking a wide-eyed Imoa with her. It was a while before they returned and the Fend's worry intensified with each passing moment.
"Her affliction is strange, but she is as the gods have made her," the Priestess announced upon her return. Her silver grey hair was twisted into a crown and threaded with various shells and beads in a design meant to denote her high station.
"If the gods have cursed her, there is nothing that can be done. However, given the circumstances, I think it best if she remain here at the Sacranal. Serving the gods will not free her of the curse, but it may at least appease them. Tell the villagers the girl is now in service to the gods. No harm must come to her."
Though the Fend were reluctant to part from their beloved daughter, they understood that leaving her in the High Priestess' care was the best way to protect her from the growing fears of the villagers. For the Sacranal was a holy place that none would dare desecrate.
