The Teething God

The Teething God

Lo, but there were too many gods in those days. Too many by far.

And yet

Cotem did his best to honor the overflowing pantheon. He rose with the sun each morning as Eo dictated, exercised daily in the fields beyond his cottage in service to Arbon the Hare, bathed in the stream each dusk to attain the standards of cleanliness set forth by Ceru Weeping. Yet for all his steady deference Cotem was but a man, and there were many things a man did not know which could harm him. Many gods.

And thus

the first tooth wormed up between Cotem’s incisors like a stubborn root through stone. There was no pain, only a strange pressure pulsating within his jaw. Perturbed, he sought the wisdom of the village kailol, who pulled the tooth without incident. The healer assured Cotem that, while strange, there was no cause for undue concern. Perhaps an extra minute of dental ablutions each night to keep Tanthu pleased, but nothing more.

And yet

Cotem had never heard of the god Tanthu, and upon speaking thusly the kailol became alarmed, voice pitching upward as they pressed an unassuming pouch into Cotem’s hand along with a small woodgrain brush. He was to dip the brush in the stream each night, sprinkle it with powder from the pouch, and run it across his teeth for several minutes before spitting it out again.

No stranger to strange rituals, Cotem thanked the kailol and returned to his cottage. After bathing that evening Cotem retrieved the powder and performed the ablution. The brush was rough against his gums and the powder sizzled against his tongue, bringing tears to his eyes. When Cotem spat his saliva was thick with blood; he hoped this would be the extent of Tanthu’s ire.

And yet

the following morning Cotem awoke in total darkness, a vile pressure thrumming behind his eyes. He lifted his fingers to his sockets, felt the hard, tiny ridges of enamel pushing out through the lids. He opened his mouth to scream and something clicked against his jaw, scraping the back of his gums. With shaking hands he reached into his mouth, probed at the single glossy tooth jutting from the center of his tongue. Cotem pulled. There was no pain as the tooth squelched free, only the unrelenting pressure in his skull, the taut stretch of skin over scores of tiny protrusions forming along his arms and legs, the growing chorus of teeth consuming his mouth.

And thus

Cotem, half mad with terror, stumbled from his hut into the woods. There he wandered for hours, blindly ripping teeth from flesh until his arms ran slick with blood and enamel littered the ground like autumn leaves.

And yet

eventually Cotem heard shouts, then screams, then silence, followed by the consoling murmurs of the kailol as steady hands guided him he knew not where, for all land was darkness to a man with teeth for eyes. A syrupy liquid was pressed to his lips, and Cotem felt himself pulled into a deep, penetrating slumber.

And so

Cotem awoke beneath the mauveine sky of Zuloeta – realm of dreams and home of gods. Before him towered Eo, swathed in the silver speckled cape Ψ draped over the world each night, returning the stars to the sky and shielding the world from eternal sunfire. Beside Ψ idled Arbon the Hare, restless as a summer storm, and Ceru Weeping, tears streaking Ψ’s cheeks like sparkling waterfalls. Cotem fell to his knees before his gods and begged for mercy.

And so

Eo looked upon him, radiant as a thousand sunsets, and spoke: Why do you seek that which has been given, child? For Ψ take your pain and weave it into the fabric of the stars, where such agony will not burn the sanity from your mind. Is this not mercy?

And so

Arbon the Hare hopped forward, nose twitching like a hummingbird’s wings, and spoke: For Ψ push the teeth from your flesh, so that all which Tanthu seeds within you shall return to the earth from whence it came. Is this not mercy?

And so

Ceru Weeping spoke: For Ψ salve your wounds, surceasing rot and disease from seeking purchase within your sorrow. Is this not mercy?

Cotem bowed his head, moved deeply by the kindness of his gods. Yet he could not help but plead, “Why was I cursed, when I had not known of Tanthu until it was too late? How could I include in my prayers Ψ whom I had not known to exist?”

The smile slipped then from Eo’s face.

And Ψ said: It is not a god’s duty to be known.

And Arbon the Hare said: Yet Tanthu is not without reason. For Ψ has summoned those who will spread word of your suffering so that none will share in your ignorance.

And Ceru Weeping said: Is this not mercy?

And Cotem wept.

For two-and-thirty days and two-and-thirty nights Cotem huddled within the kailol’s hut, teeth spilling from his flesh like raindrops upon a ravished sea. Just as Arbon foretold, servants of Tanthu flocked to the village to behold the molars that burst from Cotem’s earlobes like ceremonial piercings, to prostrate themselves before the incisors gleaming between each of his toes.

And yet

Tanthu was not without mercy, for on the thirty-third morning Cotem’s misery ceased as quickly as it had begun. And, like seeds upon the winds of Spring, Ψ’s priests departed to spread the gospel of what befell those who angered the Teething God.

And thus

Cotem returned to his hut, a band of cloth now tightly wound across the scarred sockets which once held his eyes. In time, he learned to rise with the warmth of the sun instead of its glow, to weave between the stalks of maize during his daily exercises.

And still

Cotem ablutes his teeth each night in the name of the Tanthu, and prays for the mercy of gods he will never know.