266. The Storming of Thirteenth Hill
Later in the afternoon, my uncles Gentlerain
and Richearth came to fetch me at Aunt Nebula’s.
“Oki,” said Uncle Richearth, “let’s do as
Daddy commands.”
And he turned to his brother and added, “Get
on with it, Gen. Go destroy the worlds!”
“I’m not going to do this personally. Someone
might find out and nobody would forgive me. Never. Not ever. I’m going to speak
with the Nephelai. And then I am going to place myself where everyone can see I
am doing nothing.”
“You doing nothing?” asked Uncle Richearth. "Unbelieveable."
“Well, nothing like storming. Maybe I will be
having a drink. A whisky. With water…with ice… No! Because they might say I was
celebrating the disaster.”
“Chicken,” said Uncle Richearth.
“No. I only happen to be dubious enough
already. Too much maligned, and always unjustly. Why do you think Papa wants me
to do this? Because he knows everybody will hate me.”
“That’s what you get for seeming to be better
than he is.”
“So do you, but he doesn’t bedevil you.”
“Because he thinks I do as he says. And I
just do my thing. You interfere with his thing, doing what he should. You give people what they want. Me, they only take for a silly man, not someone serious like you.You’re
wasting my golden time, Genny. Go get them clouds to drench us.”
And Uncle Rich began to shout towards the
sky, to attract the clouds attention.
“Hi there, Honeylambs!”
“Hush!” hissed Uncle Gen. “This has to be done
in secret.”
“Good, because they don’t usually rain when I
sing,” answered Uncle Rich. “Sometimes one may get mushy and drop a tear, but that’s it.Who
will do the lightning?”
“We’ll see. I’m ascending.”
The three of us ascended, and the local clouds greeted us warmly, as befits clouds that are
basking in the sun. Curiously, the more sun there is, the whiter these girls become.
“What shall it be, boys?” they said.
Uncle Gen stated his business to the clouds,
and explained why he would rather not do it himself.
The pretty, fluffy clouds, sweet as
meringues, laughed lightly.
“You’re in luck. The Nuberu has come all the
way from his mountain home in Egypt to visit us. He is getting ready to leave,
but we will detain him. We’ll do the water, he can do the bolts.”
The man the clouds called The Nuberu was none
other than the god Taranis, brother of Esus and Teutates, the two other gods that, together with him,
are known as the Triad of the Night. I had never seen Taranis before, but I
recognized him immediately because I knew he rode a dark gray or purple horse and
crowned his head with a broad-brimmed black hat. His beard he twined with this
airy plant too, which he claimed to have created himself, and he always wore a fur coat, rain or shine,
because he always felt cold. I also knew he had a vile temper, though he could
be kind to those who were good to wildlife and warned his friends to take
shelter before he burst into a rage and stormed. He was fabulously strong, and
could turn himself into a giant or a dwarf, but always preserving his
phenomenal strength. And he had an eye
that saw too much and that he covered with a patch when he would rather it
didn’t. Fortunately for us, the Nuberu liked Uncle Richearth, and even felt
admiration for Uncle Gen, whom he regarded as a worthy colleague.
“But first, we drink!”
Uncle
Richie, who knows exactly how to please most types of people, made an
enormous vat of apple cider appear up there, where one feels light-headed just
breathing the air.
“These ladies drink,” he whispered to me,
“more than Cossacks.” And he made a
second vat, just as large, appear too. “And the drunker they get, the heavier
they will be and the better they will do this job.You see, this may be the only
job that is done better when in liquor. Now, where do I keep the cider
glasses?”
A lovely lady with a red cloak appeared
before us and said, “Here you have them!”
She had brought the glasses, but she was
frowning. And there is no scarier sight for a man than a beautiful woman in a
rage.
“Blessed Barbara,” said Uncle Gen,
immediately trying to pacify her, “please help us with our problem. I don’t
want anyone hurt, but we have to stop this mishmash.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “I'm a saint. I’m not angry. I’m
worried. I’m here for the sake of the poor little shepherdess. I know what it
feels like to be called a fraud. After all the people I have aided, how can
anyone doubt I exist? But before you ignite the storm, instruct that child to
tell her followers to remember to call
on me. I work better when I hear myself desperately invoked. That encourages
me.”
“I was about to do that,” said Uncle Gen.
“Rich will stay up here cheering the stormers on, won’t you, Richie? I’ll go
tell Betabel what she has to say. Are you good for a quarter of an hour before
the real fun begins, Richie?”
“A half hour I can give you, I think,” said Uncle
Rich. “Don’t take longer. This cider is stronger than the average, and I can’t hold all this crowd
back for long.”
“I won’t need more than ten minutes. I said
fifteen to be safe.”
And Uncle Gen and I flew down to Thirteenth
Hill. There was a huge crowd there, many lugging containers of the finest olive
oil to be had.
“Appear, you imbeciles!” hissed Uncle Gen at
one of the two angel’s trumpet trees that flanked Betabel’s Short Tower. “And
do exactly as I told you. No improvising, or I’ll give you what for!”
Two balls of green light flashed above one of
the trees. The crowd that surrounded Betabel’s tower gasped. Next, some screeched and
others fainted. Betabel began to speak with the balls. Then she turned to the
crowd and yelled as loudly as the poor thing could, “Go home right now! This
minute it begins! The end of the worlds! Call on St. Barbara and she may have
mercy on you! Ask her to protect you and your homes! As loud as you can!”
KATABAM
went the skies.
There was a mass stampede as those present
fled from the rain and rushed home to wait for the worlds to end. Those who had
fainted were either dragged away by their friends or trampled on by people in a
panic.
“How awful!” sighed Uncle Gen. “Arley, try to help someone! Anyone. I have to deal with these two fools!”
“Ah, heck! The fiends have gotten to them before I have. Oh, well. I’ll drop by later,” Uncle Gen cried after
the devils, “to see to those idiots!” And to the fools in the balls he shouted, "Ask for a lawyer! There's no lack of those where you are going! I'll see to you later!"
He and I didn’t have to do much to help those
who had been physically harmed. The mountain was already full of angels of
light who were keeping the infirm and
the battered and those wandering about mumbling in a trance from rolling downhill and miraculously
restoring them to better shape than they had ever been in. Uncle Gen and I did get Betabel and her
lambs off the tower before the lightning began to fall.
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