This short story is set sometime during A Coward, A Warrior. Kwaotli tells of Ekakoapilli’s travels.
~900 words, strangely SFW.
Ekakoapilli flew as high as he could, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never reach her. The Sun, so beautiful, the center of his world, and yet she refused him. She welcomed his embrace only when she was tired, when she had no power to turn him away any longer.
“Please, please,” he begged as he lay against her breast. “Please, hurt me like you hurt Yollotletl, like you burn Tlalkwikani, like you disintegrate Teska’atl.”
And she brushed a kiss against his brow and answered, “If I hurt you, you would not let me go. I love you, but you are not what I need, and I am not what you need.”
It wasn’t fair. He gave her the winds so she might travel across the skies, and in return she gifted only gentleness.
~*~*~
Ekakoapilli traveled as low as he could go, into the deepest cavern, until it got too dark to see even the faintest hint of breath.
“You don’t belong here,” Tlalkwikani said. “Go back to the light. Go back to your air.”
“Please, please,” Ekakoapilli begged. “I’ve brought you gifts.” He spread his wings and dropped the souls of cowards and thieves, murderers and rapists.
Tlalkwikani took the souls and buried them. His earth rose up to bury Ekakoapilli as well, up to his knees, and Ekakoapilli stood still until he couldn’t, until the dirt closing in on him pressed his limbs against his torso, until he had to struggle, to break free.
Tlalkwikani took hold of Ekakoapilli’s wrists to keep him from moving. “You would not like my love. You do not truly want to be broken. You do not want to be healed.”
Before the last wisp of air disappeared, Ekakoapilli was gone, out of the oppressive dark.
~*~*~
Ekakoapilli danced around Yollotletl, darting in to kiss his dripping skin. Every drop of heat left blisters on Ekakoapilli and consumed him, the two of them combining, mingling, until they were greater than their own.
“Please, please,” Ekakoapilli said, releasing his breath into Yollotletl.
“Yes,” Yollotletl answered, pulling Ekakoapilli even closer.
They razed the countryside, their love sparking across plains and forests.
“More,” Ekakoapilli said.
Yollotletl let go. “No. I can’t. There’s no more of me to give.”
“Please!”
“You bring out the worst in me.” Yollotletl folded in on himself until there was nothing of himself left, leaving Ekakoapilli behind.
~*~*~
Ekakoapilli pushed Teska’atl, and Teska’atl went. Ekakoapilli punched, and Teska’atl bent.
“Don’t ignore me!” Ekakoapilli shouted.
Teska’atl slammed against Ekakoapilli. “You are not worth my time,” Teska’atl answered.
“Please, please,” Ekakoapilli begged. “We would be amazing! I would carry you everywhere. I would love you like no other.”
“I have no need of you.” Teska’atl flung Ekakoapilli away from him, but Ekakoapilli stole a piece of Teska’atl as he flew away.
Teska’atl couldn’t abide by that; he chased after Ekakoapilli, his anger sweeping over fields and cities. Ekakoapilli laughed and danced, taking joy from Teska’atl’s rage. He raced as fast as he could, storms following in his wake.
But suddenly, he was alone. Teska’atl had abandoned the chase, bored of the game.
“No. No! Please!” Ekakoapilli cried in his loneliness.
~*~*~
“And thus they all rejected Ekakoapilli,” Kwaotli said, his voice echoing the raw loneliness.
Tekokwa was afraid to say anything that might break the atmosphere. He’d always enjoyed listening to stories, but Kwaotli was the best storyteller he’d ever heard, drawing Tekokwa in and making him feel like he was there with the gods.
Kwaotli rubbed his eyes and looked across the fire at Tekokwa. “The wind traveled the world, looking everywhere for the love and passion he craved. Every god and goddess would entertain him for a time, but soon grow bored, and cast him out before he could be satisfied.”
What made Kwaotli such a good storyteller was his empathy for all the people in his stories. Tekokwa himself was moved to near tears. He knew the loneliness that Kwaotli described. He understood the desire to have companionship that accepted him, that loved him, despite his flaws. He had felt the ache of isolation, even while he’d still lived at home.
“Kwaotli,” Tekokwa whispered. He didn’t know what to say, just that he wanted to offer comfort. “I’m sure Ekakoapilli is fine. He’s a god. The people worship him.”
“The people,” Kwaotli snarled, suddenly angry, “Call him the prince of hate. They say he is jealous of Teska’atl and Tlalkwikani and Yollotletl. They honor him without reverence.”
“Is that what they say where you’re from? Because in Yowalapan…” Tekokwa paused. HE wasn’t a priest or a storyteller, so maybe he’d interpreted things wrong. But Kwaotli stared at him intensely, so he pressed onward. “In Yowalapan, Ekakoapilli’s festival is the second most important. He brought love into the world. He travels across the skies, bringing warm breezes as he touches all of us with his love. He rages when his heart is broken, but he keeps searching anyway. He is never discouraged, and he has an endless capacity for love.”
Kwaotli stood, burying his face in his hands. Tekokwa heard the soft sobs and felt sharp guilt at having said exactly the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry—“
In the next instance, Kwaotli was in his arms, burying his face in Tekokwa’s shoulder. Tekokwa returned the embrace, bewildered.
“Thank you,” Kwaotli whispered.