Hammered

Chapter 17

Americans say all men created equal. These words very good. Make men feel special. They know is not true, not really, but they always say is true, and they point to these words and say, Ideas like this make us strong. They turn mouse into bear. They turn dog into bear. Everything can become strong like bear if you think with American brains. But if everything is bear, what do bears eat?

Americans want magic, perfect world. But these places only seen in movies. People never equal, same as animals never equal. There is always predator and prey. Little fish make dinner for big fish, yes? And there is always bigger fish.

Is same with ideas. Exact same. Small ideas eat up by big ideas. Big ideas stay for long time in brains of men. Small ones forgotten; is like little fish eaten up by big fish.

Gods are big ideas. They stay for long time in brains. They walk on earth or live in sky or water or under ground. But even gods can be eaten by bigger gods.

I was eaten by Christ. You see? Christ ate many gods. I mean he ate me as idea, not as flesh. He ate me and other Slavic gods. He ate Celtic gods and Greek gods, Roman gods and Norse gods—even Väinämöinen here—and took their places in brains of men. Some of those old gods are dead now. Men have forget—no, forgot—them.

But I am not gone from all brains yet. There are some who remember me. There are some who still worship. I will not die until they forget.

Yet I am weak like kitten. Not strong like days before Christ came to my lands. And reason is Odin and Thor.

At first I think only Thor did this. Later I think Odin ask him to do it. Thor comes to me and say, “My people build me finer statues than yours. They love me more than your people love you. Nothing is finer than statues and stone tributes.”

He shows me his statues in Sweden. He shows me his tributes in Norway and Denmark, and they are fine indeed. I become envious. I become jealous. I ask my people to build me stone tributes. Wooden ones too. Not only for me but for my pantheon. This is how you show love for me, I say. And so my good people do this, and soon I have monuments and statues better than Norse ones.

But later I see truth. Is hard to write on stone. So hard that it is better to write nothing at all. And any writing that goes on statues gets worn away by time. So then Christ comes with his reading monks and their printed word, and idea of Christ remains and grows while idea of Perun washes away in rain and wind.

This is how gods are strong today. Christ, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha, Krishna: They have pages and pages of words about them. These words travel everywhere to bring idea of them to new generations. I have stone statues that travel nowhere. If lucky, I get half hour of man on History Channel asking who I was in deep voice.

Odin saw this coming. He sent Thor to me to trick me into slow death. Then he sent Thor to Iceland to have their skaldic poets write Eddas. Centuries later, when it is too late, I see what happen. Norse remembered because of Eddas. They still weaker than before Christ, but much stronger than me. Because of words. Because now children in many parts of the world hear about them. And so they are bigger ideas.

What can I do now? If I appear to men and say, I am Perun, I am a god, they will say, No, you are just very scary hairy man. This has happened. A man in Minsk said to me, Put down that axe and I will give you brush for hair.

If I say to men, Look, I control thunder, they say, No, that is natural force. Is science. Or coincidence. Magic does not exist. Gods do not exist. No belief, you see, is as strong as their disbelief.

And besides, they say to me, even if gods are real, you cannot be god of thunder. That is Thor.

You see what Thor has done? Among all thunder gods in world, he is now supreme in minds of men. He has done this with words and by tricking me. He has stolen my thunder, as saying goes.

And not only mine. I pay visit to other thunder gods. Shango in Africa, Susanoo in Japan, Ukko in Finland. All of them get visit from Thor, and Thor say to them, Oral tradition is best, or carve this in wood, or scratch this on rock, and you will be remembered. But none of them remembered now like Thor, except Olympians.

Zeus and Jupiter doing fine. Much written about them by their people. Thor and Odin doing very well. And I think they see this time coming long ago. Old One-Eye throws runes, or he talks to Norns, and he sees what he must do to remain strong in age of science. He sees that he must make idea of Norse become bigger than ideas of Slavs or Celts or other peoples. And he sees he can do this with words instead of spear. He sends Thor out to world, statues and carvings get made, and many gods of world fall prey to bigger ideas.

Their words—their lies—have made me little fish. But I am still fish with sharp teeth. They owe me blood. My axe will take it. Is all I have to say.

The lightning flash in Perun’s eyes was not so friendly by the time he finished his tale. I thought his self-assessment was remarkable for a god. I could not imagine the Morrigan, for example, frankly asserting that she was a little fish. Flidais would never contemplate the possibility that she might be prey; she was always the predator. Perun’s ability to do so spoke of a certain realism spawned by many painful hours of reflection. His seeming good humor most likely masked a terrible rage.

I checked the magical spectrum to see if the stories were doing the trick, and it appeared they were. There were bonds forming between the men who had told their tales, gossamer threads of camaraderie twining between their auras. To those who hadn’t spoken yet, the bonds flowed only one way. Weakest of all, however, was my own bond to them. Thor had never done anything to me personally, so I couldn’t relate to them in this way. I’d bond to them later through different tales, some other shared experience that would make us brothers.

There were two left. Everyone looked at Leif, but he stared at Zhang Guo Lao and nodded at him, indicating that the alchemist should go next. The ancient immortal returned the nod, acquiescing, and cleared his throat delicately.

“If leisure serves, I will offer my experience now,” he said.

There were replies of “Aye, Master Zhang,” and “Please, sir,” and “Excellent.” The immortal Zhang Guo Lao rose and bowed to us, then began his tale.