The Final Strife

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And so Anyme climbed the tallest joba tree they could find and took their place in the sky, a shining beacon to watch and guide.

Anyme’s children down below watched the musawa they knew become a God and every day they bowed at the roots of the joba tree and prayed. And so, do you see, the joba tree became the gateway to the one who sees.

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And here is where the tale ends for some and many, but not for us. Because when Anyme climbed above, alone they were not. Inside Anyme’s pocket, another did ride.

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A silver spider. So small was its body, but so large was its mind.

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“Who are you?” boomed the sky and Anyme, for they had become one.

“I have earned my place,” the silver spider said. “I was with Anyme all this time. I aged and saw and fought and more.”

Anyme knew the truth in the words, and so the spider joined Anyme above and wove clouds of web and silver moonlight, and fog so thick no one could see.

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So, every Ardae we give our offering to our God, Anyme the merciful, the just and all-seeing. Our ancient one who guides us. But don’t forget the spider too. A little piece of cheese or a grape or a few.