Hammered

remembered because of Eddas . They still weaker than before Christ, but much stronger than me. Because of words. Because now children in many parts of the world hear about them. And so they are bigger ideas.
    What can I do now? If I appear to men and say, I am Perun, I am a god, they will say, No, you are just very scary hairy man. This has happened. A man in Minsk said to me, Put down that axe and I will give you brush for hair.
    If I say to men, Look, I control thunder, they say, No, that is natural force. Is science. Or coincidence. Magic does not exist. Gods do not exist. No belief, you see, is as strong as their disbelief.
    And besides, they say to me, even if gods are real, you cannot be god of thunder. That is Thor.
    You see what Thor has done? Among all thunder gods in world, he is now supreme in minds of men. He has done this with words and by tricking me. He has stolen my thunder, as saying goes.
    And not only mine. I pay visit to other thunder gods. Shango in Africa, Susanoo in Japan, Ukko in Finland. All of them get visit from Thor, and Thor say to them, Oral tradition is best, or carve this in wood, or scratch this on rock, and you will be remembered. But none of them remembered now like Thor, except Olympians.
    Zeus and Jupiter doing fine. Much written about them by their people. Thor and Odin doing very well. And I think they see this time coming long ago. Old One-Eye throws runes, or he talks to Norns, and he sees what he must do to remain strong in age of science. He sees that he must make idea of Norse become bigger than ideas of Slavs or Celts or other peoples. And he sees he can do this with words instead of spear. He sends Thor out to world, statues and carvings get made, and many gods of world fall prey to bigger ideas.
    Their words—their lies—have made me little fish. But I am still fish with sharp teeth. They owe me blood. My axe will take it. Is all I have to say.
    The lightning flash in Perun’s eyes was not so friendly by the time he finished his tale. I thought his self-assessment was remarkable for a god. I could not imagine the Morrigan, for example, frankly asserting that she was a little fish. Flidais would never contemplate the possibility that she might be prey; she was always the predator. Perun’s ability to do so spoke of a certain realism spawned by many painful hours of reflection. His seeming good humor most likely masked a terrible rage.
    I checked the magical spectrum to see if the stories were doing the trick, and it appeared they were. There were bonds forming between the men who had told their tales, gossamer threads of camaraderie twining between their auras. To those who hadn’t spoken yet, the bonds flowed only one way. Weakest of all, however, was my own bond to them. Thor had never done anything to me personally, so I couldn’t relate to them in this way. I’d bond to them later through different tales, some other shared experience that would make us brothers.
    There were two left. Everyone looked at Leif, but he stared at Zhang Guo Lao and nodded at him, indicating that the alchemist should go next. The ancient immortal returned the nod, acquiescing, and cleared his throat delicately.
    » If leisure serves, I will offer my experience now, « he said.
    There were replies of » Aye, Master Zhang, « and » Please, sir, « and » Excellent. « The immortal Zhang Guo Lao rose and bowed to us, then began his tale.

Chapter 18

    The Alchemist’s Tale
    Begging your forgiveness for this poor, simple tale; it is a trifling matter only and not weighted with portent and substance like the adventures you have shared with me.
    In elder days I walked the earth as a simple man, learning the mystery of the Tao. Through study and application I conceived the Elixir of Immortality; through battle and experiment I won reputation; through legend and worship I acquired godlike power. Wisdom eludes me yet, but foolishness I captured long ago and to this day it is my constant companion, though many people consider me wise.
    Throughout China I am known for riding upon a white donkey. My portrait, sketched many times, always shows me astride my companion. This ass was a singular creature; he brought me much fame. He carried me for thousands of li every day, and when I arrived at my destination, I folded him up like a work of origami and put him in my cap box. When I was ready to travel again, I would squirt water from my mouth upon the paper donkey and it would expand and grow to