A Deity of Dirt
By: Noah Lloyd
Tags: Stories, Short Story, Storytelling, Fiction, God

At the peak of a mountain where the Earth met the heavens, two scholars compared their wits. One of them, the scroll collector, carried with him texts from lands near and far. The other, the smoking man, held only a pipe and kept all of his knowledge within his own mind.

They agreed that, when the sun had set, they would combat each other in a game of tales around a campfire. Whoever could tell the story of the most powerful god would be called the champion of divine knowledge. As the last fragments of sunlight vanished, the game began.

The scroll collector had one of his favorite tales at hand, ready to be read. He spoke of a god in the body of a lizard whose body could fill a valley. The beast would dig underneath the surface of the earth and scour the world in search of villages. As he hunted, the ground would shake and break apart, sending his prey into a panic. He would then open up the earth, sending them falling into the black abyss he used for a mouth. The God of Quakes consumed all.

As he went on about the beast, the pipe man interrupted him. After exhaling a burst of smoke, he told his opponent that he lacked elegance and, as a counter, recalled a tale on the more pleasant side. After a quick moment of contemplation, digging through the old library in his head, he talked about a woman of nature.

She wore a dress of red and yellow leaves, wandering endlessly throughout her forest. Whenever she went beyond the edges of the woods, plants would sprout at her feet, claiming the land as an extension of her territory. Be warned, however, for her way of life was not purely benevolent. If one were to enter her forest, the plants would wrap around them, digesting them slowly for nutrients. No man could tame the Goddess of Vines.

The pipe man expected applause but received only a chuckle. They then heard an echo of distant thunder, inspiring the scroll collector to bring forth a special find.

He began his tale by describing a bat the size of a mountain with the head of a moth. The God of Storms used his wings to create the most magnificent typhoons and, by clashing them together, unleash a flurry of lightning upon wherever he pleased.

The pipe man responded by speaking of a worm-like sea monster known as the God of Mist. He could stretch himself across miles of coast and cast an eerie fog among the waters. When ships entered the mist, they would disappear forever, evaporating into the white air that they sought to cross.

On and on they went. Neither scholar failed to answer the other’s story with an even more grandiose expression of their knowledge. Unbeknownst to them, however, they were being watched.

They were watched by the streaks of clouds in the sky, the pebbles on the ground, the embers of the fire, and even their own skin. While they preached about gods and goddesses who took the form of mystical and otherworldly beings, the greatest of the divine beings took the form of the very air they breathed and spoke through. This deity, invisible to most, could only be seen by those who would lower their gazes of grandeur. The God of Dirt watched over all, for what does not have their origins in dirt?

Each word spoken by the scholars received a silent laugh from this god. They both looked upwards to find the greatest of the divine, but in reality, what they sought lied in the fact of their very existence. Such a power would become obvious to them if they would only look low enough.

The magnificence of the God of Dirt was disguised as the irrelevant, the mundane, the uninteresting. The two scholars could continue their feeble game until the sun rose, and neither would be worthy of the title of champion. But it did not matter to the greatest of the gods. He had his laugh.