by Lily Lachance
Gather round, my faithful, and let us join forces – let us join forces to summon the gods. We’ve worked so hard and so long for this ritual: today, we will get them to come down from the stars.
Hear now my tale, a tale as old as our tribe, a tale passed from our foremothers’ foremothers to us. It’s a tale of our people, of gods, of their gifts to us, and it’s a tale each of us has to know by heart. Pay no heed to the heretics, or to the young ones, or to the tribes from beyond the big hill. Their doubt is toxic, their words are corrosive, and they’ll never know the true glory of gods.
Go take your places, my friends and my faithful – don your disguises and wait for my sign. We may have failed in our previous summonings, but this time, we’ll bring them all back from above.
Hear now my story, my tale, and my chronicle. In the beginning, there was a bright light from above. Now, friend Quallotzi, slither up on that tree, and wave the big torch as far as you can.
The light from the heavens grew brighter and brighter – yes, well, done, friend Quallotzi, it looked just like that. The celestial chariot came from the sky to us, came to our tribe, our tribe chosen by gods. Quick now, my friends, climb into the grand hollow shell, the grand hollow shell from the swamp-beast we slayed. The biggest, most beautiful shell we have found yet, and look at the glimmering gems we’ve attached!
And so came to us the celestial chariot, its gems shining bright for our eye-stalks to see. It shook, it made noises – rock the shell now, my friends – and then it stood still, like a swamp-beast at dawn.
Then there was a soft noise, and the chariot opened up, with the gods, all the gods, spilling out from inside. Come now, fast, faithful friends – leave the shell, all together now, and hold your costumes together, or else this won’t work. Just like we practiced, together, in unison, standing on top of each other’s top ridge. Our foremothers’ foremothers said each god was a giant, as tall as 20 tentacles, and they walked on just two.
Good job, everyone, keep maintaining your posture – you’re all doing great, and the gods will be pleased. Move all around now, making god noises, the ancient god noises preserved by the rememberers.
“Air seems oh-kay” and “No ha-zards dee-teck-ted” and “Should be fine” and “Spread out, get the sam-pells.”
Keep moving, my faithful, and use your main tentacles, use them to touch all you see, like the gods. Their ways are a mystery, their sounds are strange to us, but we have to copy them to show our faith. Gather rocks, scoop the water, pick up the small shells, wave funny rocks all around you, and frown.
There were many gods, and they walked far and wide, but their leader was easy to spot. That god had the head-growth, like the grass by the swamplands, so yellow, so bright, so unlike anything else. Yes, Glormak, just like that, hold that grass really high, and then wave it gently with your upper claws.
That god, fair and mighty, was named Ee-va-no-va, and it had a small sun at the top of its head. Ee-va-no-va the Lightbringer, the commander of gods, with that little sun shining right through the dark.
And there, far from all the gods, there was another one – one we remember as Wil-son the Firebringer. It stepped far away from the rest of its friends, and started a flame, the first flame we have ever seen. Now, use the big torch to light up the bonfire. Make it burn high, like it did on that day.
The god then bent down, and it reached its appendages, and graced one of the foremothers’ foremothers with its gentle touch. The god lifted her up, right up to its mandible, and then whispered gently, “I won-der how you taste.” It held her right over the fire – friend Lorxy, pick up one of the little ones, and then hold it high by the flame. Just try not to drop it, or you’ll ruin the ritual – it’s always embarrassing, and we’ll need a new little one.
And just as Wil-son the Firebringer lowered the foremother’s foremother – don’t drop that little one, Lorxy, you hear! Just as it lowered her toward the flame, Ee-va-no-va the Lightbringer made a harsh noise. Altogether, my faithful: “Wil-son, stop! What is wrong with you? Their pro-teens are not com-pah-tee-bell. Eat one of them, and you’ll puke for a week.”
And so Wil-son the Firebringer lowered the foremother’s foremother, put her back on the ground, and then moved away. She was the only one touched by the divine appendages, and she ruled our tribe for the rest of her life. But this is no tale of Gerloma the Divine-Touched, this is a tale of celestial gods.
Off to the side, one more god stepped away from them, stepped far away from the rest of the gods. It bent itself double, and rested on the Holy Rock, and held the strange object in front of its face. That was Gup-ta the Giftgiver, the kindest among the gods, and as it sat still, we could tell it was different. Sometimes it would move one of its big appendages, and turn a flat piece of the object it held. It kept turning pieces, and sitting immobile, and only its brown eyes moved side to side. Our foremothers’ foremothers hid and watched in amazement: never before had they seen something like this.
Then Ee-va-no-va the Lightbringer found Gup-ta the Giftgiver, and used its upper appendage to strike the back of its head. And it said, as recorded by all our rememberers, all together now: “Gup-ta, please, stop goo-fing ay-round. You can read in your spare time. Come on, time to go.”
And then Gup-ta the Giftgiver put down its gift to us, wobbled its big appendages, and replied – let us chant: “Sure thing, boss. This book sucks, eh-nee-way.” And then it got up, and moved to the other gods, and it joined their strange ritual, all silent and stern.
So it went, on and on, for the whole little cycle, right until Ee-va-no-va the Lightbringer said: “That’s ee-nuff, ev-ree-won, we got what we came for. There is nah-thing of eh-nee seeg-nee-fee-cance here. Just eh-nah-zer plain rock. Tah-nah-kah, call the ship.”
Then Tah-nah-kah the Messenger, the divine summoner, moved its left upper appendage right up to its head. Yes, Ognaflox, just like that, you moved perfectly – that was the way Great Tah-nah-kah did its ritual. I know you’re tired, friends, and these noises are hard to make, but this is the last invocation, I swear. Tah-nah-kah the Summoner said, “Ship, Tah-nah-kah here. Sam-pells ack-wi-red. Nah-thing im-por–tant. Lon-ching in five.”
And so everyone else, all the other gods, came as one, came all together and into their chariot. Yes, friends, we’re almost there, the ritual’s almost done, wobble together back into the shell. Did we get everyone? Good, then let’s shake the shell! Shake it more, harder, faster – like the gods made it shake. Kluffra, pick up that big torch in your tentacles. Wave it around as hard as you can. You there, my friends, make a noise with your mandibles, the noise of the chariot as it rose up and flew. Good, good, well done, everyone, this is just like the foremothers’ foremothers said, just like they saw on that beautiful day.
Now let us wait, and prepare, and join tentacles as we all pray to the gods from above. Meditate hard, think of them, and prepare…
Just a bit longer, my friends, a bit more, and the gods will arrive from on high. Squeeze your tentacles tighter, and pray with me, pray with me. Pray as hard as you can, and imagine the light.
…looks like we failed, my friends, failed yet again, I fear. We must refine our ritual more. The gods walked among us, and though many big-cycles passed, they will return if we try hard enough. For now, let us practice, and rehearse the next ritual, and marvel at everything the gods left behind.
Look upon this hot fire, this beautiful fire, the gift from Wil-son the Firebringer we’ve preserved ever since. See now this present from Gup-ta the Giftgiver, and how the symbols within tell a tale. Marvel at all of these lovely containers, sharp and empty and shiny, the gods left after they ate.
These are our proof, proof that we have been visited, proof that the gods from above blessed our world. Let us gather these artifacts, all of these precious gifts, and put them away until we try again. And meanwhile, my friends, let’s make paintings and drawings, sculptures, and stories, and poems, and songs. Let’s preserve in our history this celestial mystery, because someday… Someday, they’ll return.
~
Bio:
Lily Lachance is an artist, author, and rogue philosopher. She loves elephants and underappreciated indie novels. When she’s not away adventuring around the world, she lives in Montreal. She can be found at lilylachance.com
Philosophy Note:
This story was inspired by what I consider to be gigantic philosophical (and anthropocentric) blinders in the SETI program, as well as astrobiology at large. If life exists on other planets, it’s guaranteed to be stranger than we can possibly begin to imagine. Our bias will blind us.
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