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Title: For the Love of a Goddess 
Author: Gladys Hammonds (Supersoul@aol.com, Citizeng@ix.netcom.com)
http://members.aol.com/supersoul/xmen.html
Disclaimer: This story refers to characters who are 
trademarks of  Marvel. The Guardian, the Acolyte, and 
the King of Heavens are copyright to me. This is an 
unauthorized work and no profit is being made.  
Notes: This story is copyright of Gladys Hammonds.

	
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To the faithful in the Temple, the Guardian told the 
Story, the Holy Story of the Beloved Lovers.
	
In the time of our founding, the Rider of the Winds and 
the Maker of Marvelous Things were not known as gods.  
In those times, they were  known to one and all as mere 
mortals, for they walked the Earth in a plain and ordinary 
fashion, no more celebrated than the Earth beneath their 
feet.
	
They were mortal, but they were known to be gifted, for 
they could do things others could not. Their special 
talents brought them power and joy, but as gifts often 
do, they raised jealously and anger in those not so 
fortunate.  They were shunned, even feared by ordinary 
humans, though they were human themselves.   
	
Such were the times that our Beloved Lovers, our Wind 
Rider and Mistress of the Lightstorm, and the Native Son, 
the Maker of Marvelous Things and Heir of Shamanic Wisdom, 
came together. In their devotion they became the measure 
of all romantic love shared by man and woman.  The 
Catechism that we worshippers revere is their story.  
	
These two, known plainly in their own times, - the man, 
known as Forge, and the woman, Ororo Munroe, are
our Gods.
	
Her name, Ororo, meant beauty in the language of her 
people, who hailed from Africa, the birthplace of  
humanity. Her mother was born there, but her father, 
was born of African descendants long settled in North 
America.  
	
The Maker was a son of those native to America, from 
a tribe called the Cheyenne, who lived in the Great 
Plains. But he left his people for the great cities 
of those times and prospered, mastering their knowledge 
and arts while setting aside the ways of his childhood.  
He fought in their wars, mastered their complex 
technology, and was known as a maker of devices even 
then.
	
For when  his body was broken in warfare, his hand
and leg destroyed, he fashioned machines to replace 
his missing limbs, and he stood tall once again. 
	
His home was a high sky tower in a great city, filled 
with marvels of his own making. For his amusement, his
devices could mimic any land or place he chose, from 
the heat of an African grassland to the frenzy of the  
battleground where he had fought and his young soldiers 
had been sacrificed. An  environment real in every 
detail, and none would be the wiser.
	
These two became our gods, and we celebrate their love.
We are present here in their church, and we honor their 
story, which has become our Canon, our Credo, our 
Catechism, and our Religion. We cherish their devotion 
as the embodiment of romantic love, the sacred gift of 
the gods that endows our lives with meaning.
	
The Guardian of Eternal Truth retold the Holy Story,
and the worshippers in the hall listened in reverence. 
All had heard the words before, yet they listened, 
enraptured, just the same.
	
Behind the Guardian, the statute loomed, immense and 
eerie in the wavering light. The Guardian stepped aside 
so that the congregation could again gaze upon the 
tableau that portrayed the Beloved Lovers.
	
The immense figure of a seated woman stared down upon
the kneeling form of a man. The man, a supplicant, faced 
the woman  in an attitude of prayer.
	
"Our Beloved Lovers," intoned the Guardian. "We celebrate
such love that we may all share such ecstasy."
	
The assemblage murmured assent as the ceremony ended.
The worshippers filtered into the bright courtyard 
outside the temple. One young acolyte remained.
	
"Guardian, may we speak," he said.
	
The guardian looked into the youth's eyes, noting his 
curious and eager expression.  
	
"The ceremony is over, the catechism complete," said
the Guardian.
	
"But I have questions," said the youth. 
	
"You question me,  the Guardian of Eternal Truth?"
	
"It is because you are the Guardian that I question you.  
As the Guardian, you must have the answers  I seek. I have 
studied it all, all the stories,  all the tales of our Gods, 
and it seems to me that something is missing."
	
"Missing, said the Guardian. "What could be missing in
the sublime story of our Beloved Lovers?" 	
	
"The truth," said the acolyte. "the truth is missing." 
	
Their eyes met, the weary, solemn eyes in the face of
the Guardian, the questioning eyes in the face of the 
acolyte. 
	
The Guardian saw that the youth would not be denied.
Better to manage one with questions behind the secure 
walls of the temple than to allow him to fan confusion 
outside. He waved the acolyte into the clerical office 
and bade him sit upon the worshipper's bench.
	
"Ask your questions," said the Guardian.
	
"The stories, the legends come to an end. We know 
every thing about our gods, every great deed, every  
tender caress, up to a point, and  then nothing," said 
the youth.
	
"That is the mystery of the Gods,"
	
"But they weren't always gods. That has always been 
made clear. The Wind Rider and the Maker were not born 
as gods. They were human beings, mortals.  What do we 
know of their mortal lives?"
	
"We are never told how they became gods," the acolyte 
persisted. "We are never told how their human lives 
ended.  Why did they not marry, as we are expected to; 
why did they not have children? The more I think of this 
story, the more it seems an innocent's fable with the 
woeful parts missing. Parts you are determined to keep 
from us."
	
"I mean no disrespect," he hastened to say. "But surely 
we could worship our Beloved Lovers more fully if we knew 
all. If the story is incomplete, does it not make the 
celebration of their love incomplete?"
	
The Guardian of Eternal Truth gave a weary sigh as he 
pondered the acolyte's query. There was always one in 
every time span who questioned. He had been told this 
by the previous Guardian when the Knowledge was passed 
on to him. Always at least one.  The thought still made 
him tremble.
	
"Very well." 
	 
He stood and led the youth to the temple where the Grand 
Statute stood, the depiction of the Beloved Lovers in
their eternal communion.
	
In the base of the statute there was a door. They entered 
a small room where a book lay on a pedestal. 
	
"This is our Catechism," he said.
	
"Of course."
	
"You may read," the Guardian said, "the whole story."


*****

It is said that the Wind Rider was a thief, but none 
tell how a woman could steal beauty from earth and 
sky. Her sky was the deep rich brown of turned Earth 
in a farmer's field, her hair, white and willowy as 
the cumulus clouds, her eyes, the brilliant blue of 
a midsummer sky. Perhaps it was her powers she stole, 
but more likely they were gifts of creation to a 
favorite child.	
	
Other gifted ones could fly, but none soared as she 
did. She did not outwit gravity like the telekinetics, 
she did not tap the earth's fields of magnetic power 
to rise on propulsive force,  she bore no wings on her 
back to mimic the flight of birds. 
	
The Wind Rider stroked the powerful, surging currents
of air in the sky, and those currents caressed her in 
return. She could coax the air to bear the weight of 
other people, or even large objects, at will.
	
Hers was a seductive power, to entice elemental forces 
to do her bidding. Her will had the force of command, 
for the elements always obeyed, but she wielded it as 
gently as a prayer. The elements responded to her 
entreaties as a living soul helpless to a lover's whims.
	
She could nudge the clouds of mist and water until 
rain or sleet or snow shook loose.  She could tease 
lightning from the heated molecules of the atmosphere, 
and goad the heavens until the thunder roared.  Even 
the sun seemed beguiled by her; for she could sweep 
the sky of all clouds and disturbances so the day was 
clear and hot and bright, or block its rays to release
bitter cold.
	
No wonder that she was mistaken for a goddess,
long before she actually became one. 
	
She shepherded a band of fellows, gifted ones, who
loved her as a friend. There was a buccaneer with 
the shadowy form of a demon, and a flyer with the 
face and wings of an angel. There was a warrior of 
steel with a poet's heart, and a childish sprite
who skipped through walls. Of another it is hard 
to say if he was hero or savage, for he had the 
feral nature of an animal even as he lived among 
men. These were her friends and her soldiers in 
the struggle against those who would enslave the 
innocent.
	
She was their leader.  With great power comes great 
responsibility - that is always said, and she took 
that as her credo. With great power also comes great 
loneliness.  
	
How did the Wind Rider come to meet the Maker?
He knew of her first.   He was master of mechanical 
devices as she was mistress of the elemental.  His 
viewing devices showed him the Wind Rider as she 
soared through the sky, and his heart was enslaved 
by her image long  before he met her in the flesh. 
Though they were destined to love each other, their 
meeting was shadowed by cruelty and deceit. 
	
The Maker made weapons for the rulers of that 
land. One was made by him to destroy the gifts 
of super powered humans, but it was to be used  
only on those who were evil, or so he was told.  
It was aimed at one such villain, but treachery  
intervened and it was used against the Wind Rider 
herself.
	
When he saw that his weapon stole the powers of 
the Wind Rider, leaving her helpless, he brought 
her to his sky tower to heal.
	
They came to know each other as men and women do, 
seeking each others' hearts, sharing the secrets 
they told none other. Without her gift to seduce 
the winds, the Wind Rider was an ordinary child of 
creation, and she could see that alone in his sky 
tower, surrounded by the wonderful, artificial
environments he made, the Maker was no more than 
the same. 
	
They came to know each other, and to love each other,
but still they parted in misunderstanding and 
recrimination, separated for many months as the woman 
journeyed the earth seeking on land what she had once 
found in the sky.  Finally they were reunited when the 
Maker made means to restore her powers once again.
	
	
The acolyte nodded in satisfaction as he read. 
	
"That is no worse than I suspected," he said.  "The Wind
Rider was deprived of her power by the Maker, through 
treachery of course, yet restored to it as well.  A 
shocking fact, but one that ultimately shows the depth 
of their bond." 
	
He looked toward the Guardian for affirmation.
	
"Read on," the Guardian said.  
	
The Wind Rider devoted herself to the struggles of her 
companions, the Maker  to the wonders of his devices. 
They joined in common cause, and worked together on many 
occasions, and apart on many more. His love for her was 
great, as was hers for him, but many things conspired 
to keep them apart.
	
One of them was a deceiver.  This being could masquerade 
as any other, take the form of a woman or man, friend or 
foe, appear as one's devoted sweetheart or cruelest enemy, 
at her whim.  It was not unheard of  for a human to be 
gifted with this skill, but worse than her mastery of 
deceptive forms was her mean, deceiving heart, for she 
tricked the Maker into believing she loved him, and he 
responded in kind. In time her scheming became known to 
the Maker and he cast her aside. Again he reconciled with 
his Wind Rider and their love blossomed anew.	
	
The Wind Rider had claims on her heart as well.  One 
who could so beguile the forces of nature could not 
help but draw the attention of the gods.  Not the 
single God that the civilized humans had come to 
worship, but the gods that ruled before civilization 
held sway.  These were the savage, capricious gods, 
the gods that were as careless, as playful, as selfish 
as any human being.
	
These were gods unheralded once people turned their 
worship to a single godhead, and then later turned to
worship nothing at all, unless you count their worship 
of money, or technology, or themselves. 
	
Foremost among these gods was one known by many names: 
to Ororo's  people he was Shango, to the Cheyenne, the 
Great Spirit, ancients of Rome knew him as Jupiter, but 
the Greeks called him Zeus.   All  names recognized the 
King of Heavens, sovereign of both gods and mortals, 
master of the vast sky and of the spirits of wind and 
rain and thunder - the spirits the Wind Rider so 
willfully seduced.
	
He was angry at her imposition on his realm, and 
resentful. But he was shrewd as well. He would 
prevail over the presumptuous  woman while 
satisfying his selfish desire. He would make her 
a goddess.
	
He sent the offer to her ears in the whispering murmurs 
of the winds. She heard, and answered.
	
"I have been called goddess, but it is false. I use 
my gifts, as others of my kind use theirs. We do not 
have the might or the wisdom of the gods. We have the 
weaknesses of humans, for we are human."
	
The King of Heavens did not believe such humility. He 
gathered himself into an image in the clouds to speak 
to her directly.
	
"The  puny people you fight for reject you. Those 
without gifts are only fit to worship you. To marvel 
at your magnificence. That is their proper role."
	
"Your spirit is closer to the gods than to humans. 
You belong in  my realm, in my court. I am the King 
of Heavens and I would see you in my kingdom."
	
"I want no part of it," she said.
	
But this time the King of Heavens seduced her.
	
Her soul always resonated with nature's force.  He 
touched it, then expanded it until she abandoned her 
physical body, and like him, only existed as her power.   
Her physical form remained motionless in the bower she 
shared with the Maker, who was terrified that her spirit 
had left and would not return. The Maker thought death 
was upon her.
	
She was free,  unmindful of gravity, not needing food 
or water, unknowing and indifferent to the slights of 
humans, and like the King of Heavens, immortal, so long 
as she kept to that form. He allowed her to experience 
the ecstasy of life as a goddess, bereft of the physical 
needs of a human body. 
	
Then abruptly, he returned her to her human shape before 
she was ready, while she still savored the delights of 
such freedom (and before she noticed the boredom of  
forgotten gods.) Having known such joys, she would 
despair at a lesser role. So the King of Heavens 
believed.
	
When she came to herself, the Maker, was relieved, 
but he was also fearful, for he saw how tempted she 
was by the offer of the King of Heavens.  He feared 
if she rejected godhood it would be more from duty to 
her band of soldiers than for  love of  him. He was 
unhappy, so he set to work on a new machine.
	
This machine would do deliberately what had been done 
before by accident - steal the gifts of the Wind Rider 
so she would never again seduce the winds or tempt the 
King of Heavens. In secret, he used it against her, 
planning to blame one of their numerous foes for the 
loss of her powers. 
	
When the Wind Rider sought to seduce the winds she 
found they did not comply. 
	
But the King of Heavens, now disappointed and angry,
let her know who had betrayed her. Still, he abandoned 
her, for he had no care for a woman without power.
	
She faced the Maker in his alchemist's laboratory. 
	
"You have betrayed me," she said bitterly.
	
"You would leave me to become a goddess." he raged. 

"You would leave me to become a force of nature, to 
join the wind, rain, and lightning in the kingdom of 
the heavens. You wish to embody the life force itself, 
and you have no need of me."
	
"I love you, Maker, and I would do so, even as a 
goddess. I would enfold you in my embrace with the 
touch of the winds, in the warmth of the sun. You 
would always know I loved you."
	
"But you would not be a woman," he exploded. "A woman 
can love a man. A woman can embrace a man, and care for 
him, but not a goddess. You have rejected the mantle of 
goddess before."
	
"I wasn't ready before. I was young and too foolish.
But I am ready now. The King of Heavens would elevate 
me and my powers and allow me to join him in his realm."
	
"I would rise to the heavens, and I would demand your
presence as my beloved. We would be united eternally in 
spirit, as we could never be in the flesh. I would have 
boasted of your gifts, and of the others as well. But you 
did not trust me."
	
"I've stopped you," said the Maker with satisfaction. 

"I made the machine that has stripped you of your power. You 
can no longer seduce the wind  and rains for your delight. . 
I made the machine that took it away, and only I have the 
power to give it back. You need  only choose to stay with me."
	
"And when will you restore to me what is mine?"
	
"When I choose," he said.
	
"When you choose," she echoed.  "At your will, at your
whim, at your command, at your decree."
	
Her voice still had its thunder, and she paced the room with 
nervous, jolting rage.
	
"My freedom for your love. My freedom for the promise of
my power, which you have stolen from me.  You claim to love 
me, and you deny to me what I want most in this world."
	
"I was a woman with inhuman gifts, and I aspired to more 
than you think I deserve.  My great lover sought to trap me
and succeeded. My great lover mutilated my soul."
	
She was angry but he reveled in her majestic beauty.  
The bitterness of her voice sounded thrilling to him, as 
her voice always did. She was his now. She could not fly 
away.
	
"The King of Heavens has no need of a  powerless human 
woman," he said.  He will not elevate you. You will remain 
here, with me."
	
"You will reign as a goddess,  my beloved, but in my 
realm alone."
	
She gazed at him, anguished by the passion in his eyes,
passion stained by cruelty.
	
"What else is left for me," she said, and turned away.
	
The Maker took this as assent, and was glad.
	
Outside, the King of Heavens vented his frustration  in a 
furious thunderstorm. Once, the Wind Rider  had known the 
secrets of every storm in her heart, but this one was alien 
to her. A storm that she could not seduce.
	
She yearned to feel its tumultuous power. In a fury, she 
climbed the steps to the top of the sky tower, reaching 
the rooftop observation deck.  A pointed structure topped 
the building and extended the tower far into the clouds.
	
She climbed the metal structure as the wind roared around 
her. Wind and rain threatened her grip on the slippery 
metal.  Lightning peppered the night sky, furious and
random. She reached the pinnacle, grasping awkwardly with 
hands and elbows,  her knees and ankles wrapped around 
the beams.   
	
A drum shaped disk topped the tower, a device to redirect 
the energy waves that sent sounds and images and bits of 
data to their destinations. She struggled to climb atop 
it, finally standing upright in the midst of the storm.
	
Wind howled as it drove bursts of rain into her skin, 
and thunder echoed across the sky.  She saw, and heard, 
and felt the storm on her face and hair. But she could 
not feel it in her soul.
	
In despair she cried out to the whirlwinds.
	
The King of Heavens answered, spitefully.
	
An arrow of lightning streaked across the sky, a 
bright stiletto aimed at the heart of the woman.
	
Amid an otherworldly scream, the tower burst in a 
shower of sparks. The Wind Rider was lifted off the 
pedestal and flung into the air. For a heartbeat, 
the Maker, who had followed her to the roof, believed 
the powers of flight and lightning were hers again. 
But she dropped through the sky, flung down as 
gracelessly as a lump of coal. He ran to catch her 
but she crashed too quickly.
	
A human of special gifts could survive such a fall. 
So could a goddess. But not a woman, barren of power.
	
He picked  her up, limp and broken, and cradled her 
in his arms. She had words, last words. Odd, for what 
she said was the same as what he felt in his heart.
	
"I  love you, my beloved, and hate you. Forever."


***** 

"Well acolyte, are you now satisfied?" said the 
Guardian of  Eternal Truth.  "You now have the 
knowledge you desired. You can do with it as you 
will."
	
The acolyte felt as empty as  the Wind Rider when 
she reached within herself and found she could no 
longer touch the lightning inside.  He felt as 
bereft as the Maker when he discovered his Wind 
Rider preferred the company of the infinite heavens, 
to his companionship as a man.
	
She had sought the sky and died for it. He had sought 
to entrap her and triggered her death.
	
And then they had become Gods.
	
He did not understand.
	
The young acolyte turned to the Guardian, feeling 
numb and bitter.  
	
"The last words - how could these be the last words 
of the greatest lovers the world has ever known? How 
could this be the whole story of the Beloved Lovers? 
How could this travesty precede their ascent as our 
Gods?"  
	
"It must be a lie," he cried out. "A heresy. It must 
not be the truth." 
	
But there it was between the covers of the Catechism.
	
The youth closed the book.
	
"It should be burned," he said bitterly.
	
"I have tried that," said the Guardian. "I have tried 
burning, tearing, exploding, the book is indestructible. 
The historians who were our predecessors were skilled 
in finding a permanent means to record history. How 
conscientious of them," he said dryly. "And effective. 
A book of heresy that cannot be destroyed, one that 
must be maintained and guarded by those who despise 
it, lest it fall into the hands of the worshippers  
and cause dissension."
	
He turned to the acolyte.
	
"Will you be the next Guardian or the One who Exposes?"
	
"I don't know what you mean."
	
"Will you guard the mystery that underlies our faith 
or will you seek to share these tales with the 
worshippers?  It is the tradition that one who reads 
the full catechism may freely choose to do one or the 
other.  So far, all have chosen to serve as Guardian.
You may choose otherwise."
	
"But understand this:  if you expose this story to the 
faithful it will mean the end of our community. Maybe 
not at once, but in time. Without  faith in the passion 
of the two lovers, our society, sustained by these 
beliefs, will crumble." 
	
The acolyte did not answer.
	
The Guardian began to recite the rest of the Catechism.
	
"The Maker, with a talent for creation, mourned and 
celebrated. He mourned her death and celebrated her 
spirit. In time, he too was claimed by death, joining 
his beloved."
	
"We were made by him to worship her as our goddess
and him as her eternal companion. We owe our existence 
to the Maker, for we live forever in the world of his 
creation." 	
	
"The energy of his eternal machines empowers us. That 
is why he is called the Great Maker.  The awareness of 
life is our gift from the Wind Rider, the gift that 
bestows our souls upon us. We honor her as he did, 
through love and adoration."
	
He continued as the acolyte dimmed the lights in the 
little room.
	
"While the merely human exterminated themselves in 
their endless wars with the gifted ones they feared, 
those forged by the Maker continue unbroken."  
	
"That is how the two human beings became our Gods, 
and how we, his mechanical creations, became their 
worshippers."
 
"We have been deceived," said the acolyte.
	
"You have only to summon the worshippers to put an
end to the deceit."
	
The acolyte gazed anew at the Grand Statute, then
slowly shook his head.
	
"Guardian, if the Wind Rider died a powerless mortal 
woman, how could her spirit give us souls? Human 
beings, once dead, are no more than dust, are they 
not? Even alive she did not have the gift to bestow 
life on the unliving."
	
"That is the power of love, acolyte," said the Guardian.
"The ultimate mystery of the Gods."
	
The old Guardian voiced the catechism as the young
Guardian joined in.
	
"In the time of our founding, the Rider of the Winds 
and the Maker of Marvelous Things were not known as 
Gods..."
	
They stepped outside into the light.



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