Lately I struggle to remember what I can of the good times, when things were simple, and living was easy. Those were the days I used to roam the Eastern woods with my people. Whether alone or in company, stepping between the trees and into the wild comforted me. Running my fingers over bark, I would taste the bitter sap of the ancient forests and smile. It was home.

We would hunt and revel in the beauty of the untamed wild. Eating, sleeping, and making love, it all happened under the stars. Men would stare at my beauty when they believed I could not see them, and women wished to be me. I was respected and desired by all.

There were times I would leave and wander, wander until I no longer knew where I was. Sometimes I encountered other tribes, other times I was alone. Always, I was in the forests and hills. Whatever I needed, I found. Whoever called on me, I sought out. This was truly my golden age, the days I so fondly remember. I am Zbysa, I have always been Zbysa. I will always be Zbysa…or at least, that is what I tell myself.

Those that visited my sacred ash groves honored me and loved me, praying for safety or blessings. Any who blasphemed came to know my wrath. I accepted sacrifices and ensured fertility of harvest, of game, of womb. In the height of my power, I forged my silver bow from rays of moonlight. It would be my weapon, my symbol, my power which I protect my flock. It was a weapon that would kill gods.

It wasn’t the sacrificial blood that sustained me but my followers’ faith in me. The more that worshipped, the stronger I became. In my wake I left thriving plants, animals to hunt, and fertile wombs. Some called me Zbysa. In nearby lands they called me Sebysa or Zebeerza, even simply The Goddess of the Groves. Where alters were erected, there too was I. The longer my followers reach, the further into other lands I could travel.

Time moves swiftly when things are good. It swirled around me like the wind. Everything changed, but I remained the same. The roving tribes of the forest and hills settled into permanent dwellings. Many still came to my groves and made sacrifices, but I could feel it. A world on the cusp of change.

The passing of ages brought bearded Westerners into my lands bringing with them a new god. They had come before with old gods they had now cast aside, some of which I knew. Some of which I fought. With the foreigners came a mandate to my people, convert or die.

I empowered the tribes against the new threat to our lands. With my favor bestowed to believers, I walked among them in battle. The war was long and more than once, I had to endure the enemy burning down sacred groves and killing my people. At the bloody stand-still, a peace was made and borders re-drawn. We had survived.

Instead of warriors, out of the western empire flowed priests of the nailed god, spreading the message of this new god throughout my lands. With my bow, I stalked and hunted the priests but no matter how many I slew, more still came.

Eventually, fewer and fewer came to my groves to worship. Sacrifices in my name grew rare. I could feel my power fading and resolved that I would not become a shadow and fade into nothing. I would fight and those set against me would know my might.

Amidst the congregation of a newly constructed church, I revealed myself to the mortals there, in all my glory. I issued a challenge to the new god, holding out my arms, I watched the stained-glass shatter and the holy symbol burst into flame. I smiled as the image of the man nailed to wood burned. With satisfaction I vanished back to the forest.

As I waited for a response, I readied myself for the coming fight. The more I waited, the weaker I felt. The weaker I felt, the more I feared I had overstepped. I visited my sacred groves and one by one, they began to rot and decay. If I was to survive, I would have to act quickly.

A show of force would have to be made, at the very least, a final stand. Something to remind the people of who I was, what I am. I strode into the largest city in my lands. With its cathedral in sight, in the presence of the full moon, I drew what power I had left. A lone man stepped in my way, wearing a simple tunic and breeches, he held out his hands to me. “Why have you come Zbysa?” he asked in a soft voice.

I was almost too surprised to answer. Looking deeply into his eyes, I saw that he was not of the world of men. He had power and an unsettlingly calm demeanor. “I’ve come to remind my people who I am,” I said.

The god raised a hand. “I reminder implies a loss of memory,” he calmly replied. “You’ve moved too slowly. Your places of worship are rotting and those that used to pray to you now pray to me. If there had been a time for this, it would have been long ago. Now, go in peace.”

“There will never be peace so long as I have power!” I yelled. Drawing my arms up, my bow of moonlight formed in my hands. The string drew back and loosed my arrow. The god’s hand shot up quickly, forming a fist. My arrow halted just in front of him then faded into nothing. When he opened his hand, my bow shattered into shards of light that faded as clouds covered the moon.

I stood dumbfounded, no longer feeling a connection to my bow, the very symbol of my power and most powerful weapon. He was far stronger than I had ever imagined. The strength in his eyes was beyond fathom. I stepped back. The god extended two finger and made a slight jab. A sharp pain split through my stomach.

I looked down to find blood welling into my light tunic. My hands grabbed the wound and another surge of pain brought me to my knees. My vision began to blur. “My believers span in all directions. If you have any worshippers left, you’ll return,” said the god. “When you do, leave these lands. They no longer belong to you. Seek somewhere else to call home and find your peace.” On the cobblestones of that city, I felt the life drain from my body.

With the dawn of the new day, I opened my eyes in my new life. There was no way I could match the power of the new god. Creating my new body had already cost me greatly. Like many I had known, I made the hard decision and left my home to wander.

My years were then spent amongst the mortals I had taken for granted, who I was now barely different from. The numerous people I passed in the streets were a constant reminder of how many no longer believed in me. Every city I found bore symbols of the new god that pulsed with unseen power.

In the immigrant land of the eagle, I created a new home. In a new continent, in a new age without any that follow me, I now feel different. I feel…fear. No one now knows my name. It’s been an entire age without having heard it from another’s lips.

Even now, my thoughts are harder to recall, like remembering a dream. Each day, I remind myself of who I am, although, I’m not sure how well I remember it. The idea of who I was might only now be a fiction, something I thought I once was, a mis-remembered half-truth.

Now in this new age, there are no believers left. I roam the forests of my new home, one that is strange and terrifying. Purposeless, I can feel myself fading. I can feel myself becoming…nothing. All I have left is my name which is…I no longer remember.