Goga Maker and the Dying River Master

Goga Maker and the Dying River Master.

Eli Simon copyright 2011

 

 

 

 

Many Many years in the futurepast, in a small village near the foothills of the Last Great Mountain lived a young

maker, known only as Goga. Goga's tools were poor and dull and his wares would not last.

Goga went to the Badger, the village wise man.

 

To Badger Goga Asked:

 

"Wise Badger, my tools are dull and wares will not last. What should I do?"

Badger sipped a murky tea and replied:

"Ah Goga, this question you ask is its own answer." Badger often spoke in riddles.

""Do I need better tools?" said Goga.

 

To this Badger replied:

 

"Always wanting more and better, the maker…If your tools were of the finest wrought metal,

folded many times, your wares would everlast and soon you would have no work!" Laughed Badger.

"But our village blacksmith has passed, and none have taken his trade." Said Goga.

"Goga, what can be made without tools?" asked Badger.

To this Goga thought long and hard then said "Beyond the Last Great Mountain lays the Dying River.

I have heard its' master makes wondrous makings with the blood of the river bed."

Badger was quiet a moment.

"Beware Maker, it is said the Master of the Dying River has a serpent head and guards over her land with a powerful temper.

She will devour any and all who seek the blood beneath the Dying Rivers waters"

"But does not the blood of the Dying River hold the magic of great making?" pleaded Goga.

"This, they say is true, but the Master must be soothed with a gift if you are to take of the rivers blood.

What that gift must be, no one can say but the giver." Said Badger

"And if the gift is not accepted?" said Goga forlorn

"Then you will know why it is called the Dying River" said Badger darkly

Thank you wise Badger. On this I must think." Said Goga and turned to leave

"Wait" said Badger. "Take this. You may need it"

Badger handed Goga the still sharp tooth of an ancient Wereshark, as big as his hand.

"Remember Goga, the thinker thinks, and the maker makes." And Badger said no more.

Early the next morning Goga started up the Last Great Mountain.

Days and Nights passed and still Goga ascended the insurmountable cliff seeking a gift as well as a pass.

The trees were well below and soon so were the clouds.

And still Goga knew not what gift to give a river master.

 

As Goga passed between spiraling cliffs and began the long descent he first saw the Dying River below.

Long did Goga behold the ever approaching river as he made his way down the treacherous rock face.

 

Many more days passed until Goga finally emerged upon the edge of the Dying River Valley.

And still Goga knew not what gift to give the Master.

As the sun set, Goga collapsed on the banks of the Dying River.

 

The next morning, Goga awoke and saw why the bed below the trickling waters of the Dying River was called blood.

It was the deepest red earth Goga had ever seen. He knelt, scooped it in his hands and felt it to be soft yet firm.

It held the imprint of his hand with perfection, and could be coiled anew with ease.

Goga turned as he smelled the faint scent of burning wood.

A long way up the bloody river bed, Goga found a small cabin.

Inside, shelf upon shelf sat bowls, cups, plates, ewers, pitchers, and much Goga knew not what for.

All made from the deepest red earth, but somehow hard as stone.

Some were beautifully carved, others simple and smooth.

 

Goga turned with a fright.

In the doorway stood a tall middle aged woman, hair and eyes as green as a serpent, and angry as if scorn.

She sprang a muscley knuckled hand around Gogas throat, and lifted him clear off the red dusty floor.

 

"Who are you trespasser?!"

 

Goga could barely breathe let alone speak.

In a flash he was dropped to the floor.

Clutching his throat he squeeked,

"I am called Goga, the maker."

"Maker?!" She roarded.

The river master grabbed him again, and dragged him out of shed, across a reeded field to a clearing.

Here the smell of wood smoke was never stronger.

Before Goga stood a massive brick mound with a chimney bellowing thick clouds of dark smoke.

The river master opened a small iron door, and held Gogas face close to the fire.

"There Maker. Is this what you seek?"

Goga saw shapes in the fire like those in the shed, but glowing hot orange, red, and yellow.

She slammed and latched the door with here free hand.

 

From the ground Goga said:

 

"River Master, I have come from the village beyond the Last Great Mountain. My tools are dull and my wares will not last.

It is said your wares are made from the blood of the Dying River. I see now that is true. They are of no equal."

The River Master softened almost barely.

Then as if remembering something, swatted Goga out of the way and began to stoke the great fire.

"This is the last kiln" said the river master

She turned to face the young maker and he saw that she was beautiful despite her age.

More than enough to master a river.

Still, he saw she was angry.

As she stepped towards Goga, he held out the large tooth and bowed his head.

"Here River Master, I have brought this for you" Said Goga, expecting his death.

She stopped, and held a hand to her lips.

"A tooth from the ancient Wereshark" She took it from Goga and held it in the morning light.

"You say your tools are poor and dull, and you wares do not last. But you give away the sharpest unbreakable tool there is?"

The river master laughed and walked past him in the direction of the cabin.

"Come Maker, I will show you just what you have brought me."

In the cabin the Master of the Dying River sat before a great stone wheel, piled high with the blood red earth from the bed of the Dying River.

The wheel began to turn, and soon she formed the red clay into a perfect cylinder four hands high.

She took the ancient tooth and used it to form the cylinder into a shape most sublime.

The clay dripped like blood from the tooth as the River Master perfected the vessel.

"So Maker", she said calmly. "You can make without tools, but it is nice to have good ones too."