Behold! Once there was a time when
Nothing was. And Arthi came to the place of Nothing and looked upon it, and
said to himself, “This will not do.” Reaching forth his hands, he took hold of
the Nothing and began to shape it. First from the Nothing he crafted marvelous
marble, then he made glittering gold, then he fashioned shining silver, and so
on until there was no more left of the Nothing. And he looked upon these things
he had formed from Nothing, and was well pleased.
But still his labor was not yet
finished, for now that Nothing was not and Something was, there was no order.
Marble stood by itself as a white slab, and gold by itself in a large ingot,
and silver was wholly unformed, and a variety of gemstones were yet unset. So
Arthi again reached out and took the marble and built columns, roof, and floor;
a large hall for himself in which to dwell. Then taking the gold he proceeded
to gild the archways and entrances, the tops of the columns and their bases.
And with the silver he inlaid intricate designs within the gold-work. Finally
he took the gemstones and set them in amidst the gold and silver, each
gem-stone to a column and archway.
Now the great hall of Arthi was
laid out like this: there were four entranceways, to the north, east, west, and
south. And upon the four walls of the hall there were three columns each,
totaling twelve. And before the east and west entranceways there were stairs, three
each. But before the north and south entranceways he had made smooth ramps.
Still having marble, gold, silver,
and gems left over, Arthi made for himself a high throne. Then he made several
smaller thrones, numbering twelve in all, not counting his own.
The marble was thus put to use, but
there was still gold, silver, and gemstones remaining. So Arthi took the
remaining gold and crafted a large harp, and wrote cunning designs, the history
of all that ever was or will be, the deeds of both gods and man. And the harp
he adorned with the gemstones. Then, taking the silver, he spun out twelve
strings, each of various width and height, and proceeded to string the harp. He
set the harp in the middle of his hall so that all might look upon it.
Again Arthi stepped back and looked
upon his glorious hall. His labor at last complete, Arthi wept for joy. His
tears he collected in a small golden jar, and set them aside for the coming of
Time.
And Arthi sat in his hall alone. He
had no need for food or for drink, for he was eternal and deathless. Neither
had he need for companionship for there was none who could fathom his
inscrutable ways. He did not even need his great hall, yet he had made it, for
he considered such to be good. At last he judged that the gods should be
brought forth, so that his great work might be built upon.
Reaching with his left hand Arthi
plucked his right arm from his shoulder, for it is in the nature of Arthi that
he cannot be divided lest he divide himself, and that even divided he should remain
whole. And his right arm he divided into two at the elbow. From the upper
portion of his arm he formed Pordil, firstborn of the gods and the craftiest.
From the lower portion of his arm he crafted Ledil, most valorous of the gods.
And from the right hand he took the fingers and divided the palm into two and
crafted the fingers and the palm into lesser gods, servants to do the bidding
of the two brother of the Right Arm.
And he took the two brothers of the
Right Arm (the Melidil) and set them upon the thrones on his side, Ledil on the
right and Pordil on the left. And Pordil was ever jealous that, though he was
the older brother, the younger had been given the seat of honor.
Arthi then plucked his left arm and
proceeded to do the same as with his right, making from it two gods and the
demigods to serve them. First came Ildol, of all the gods the most artful; then
Borodol, who rules over the dark seas. And he sat the Melidol (that is,
brothers of the left arm) to the right and left, youngest on the right and
oldest on the left, of the Medil.
From his right leg Arthi made Atil
and Vimtil. Atil it is who loves dances and feasts, Vimtil is the swiftest of
the gods and messenger. And the Mesotil took their thrones.
From the left leg was made Kortol
and Fortol. Kortol has love for all beasts and Fortol for all that grows from
the earth. And the Mesotol took their thrones.
And from his stomach Arthi made
Erthi to create the days of all gods and men that would come after. And he sat
Erthi to the left of Kortol.
From his heart he made Umthi to
number the days of all gods and men that would come after. And he sat Umthi to
the right of Fortol.
From his head he made Osthi to
collect the life from all gods and men who would come after at their appointed
time. And he sat Osthi to the left of Erthi.
And thus Arthi declared the number
of gods complete. But the gods looked around Arthi’s great hall in confusion,
and asked their father why there was one throne left empty. And Arthi replied,
“That throne is for Man, who is not yet, but will be. And as I sat each younger
brother in place of honor over his brother, someday will Man rule over you.”
And the gods nodded and proclaimed the wisdom of their father. Only Pordil
remained silent.
But the gods each felt incomplete,
yet did not want to voice this to Arthi, lest he be displeased at their
discontent. And Arthi saw their displeasure and bid them speak. And Ledil spoke
up and said, “Father, while you have given us this great hall and seats of
honor at your side, yet we feel as though there were more that is needed.”
“That,” said the Father of All, “is
because, while you are immortal as I am, yet you are not Eternal. I can be
content with myself and beget from myself, yet you needs must have wives for
contentment and begetting.”
“What
is a ‘wife’,” asked Ledil.
“A
wife is a companion and bearer of children,” Arthi replied.
“And
do we need wives,” inquired Kortol.
“If
there are to be any more gods, yes, you do.”
“But
why,” asked Erthi, “if we need wives, did you not make them for us?”
Arthi laughed and said, “Because I
wished you to love your wives as you love yourselves and as I love you. And as
I made you from myself, so I wish you to choose that part of yourself you feel
most important, bring it to me, and I shall fashion your wife for you.”
Thus Ledil took his heart, which is
the seat of courage and wisdom (qualities all good warriors must possess), and
brought it to Arthi. And Arthi fashioned for him Aletha, goddess of wisdom and
courage.
And so it went: for Ildol he made
Partia as goddess of light, for Borodol he made Lartia as goddess of rivers,
for Atil he made Woera as goddess of plenty, for Vimtil he made Xoera as
goddess of the winds, for Kortol he made Sara as goddess of wood, for Fortol he
made Cara as goddess of rain, for Erthi he made Vita as the spring of life, for
Umthi he made Ita as goddess of mathematics and measure, and for Osthi he made
Rita to judge the dead by their deeds.
Pordil alone did not come forth for
a bride. Arthi said to him, “Pordil, why do you not bring to me part of
yourself, that I may make you a companion and bearer of children?”
And Pordil, seeking to gain favor
in his father’s eyes replied, “Because, Father, like you I do not need
companionship, save that of my brothers, and I have no need of heirs who live
forever.” This he said, while hiding in his heart the truth- he feared, lest
“wife” be another name for “man” that he might bring forth the one to rule over
him. He also had no wish to sacrifice any part of himself.
Arthi looked upon Pordil with
sadness, for he knew what was in his son’s heart, but he said nothing.
And the great harp sat silent in
the middle of the gathering, awaiting the coming of Time.
It passed that the gods and
goddesses each came together and brought forth children, and named their
children as they saw fit. And they brought their children to Arthi and he
delighted in them. And in those days all was joy and gladness.
Now, Pordil knew that his father
greatly desired that the great harp in the middle of the hall should one day be
played, and he took it on himself to do so, so that he might gain the seat of
honor that his brother held. While the Father of All played with the children
and the gods and goddesses laughed amongst themselves, Pordil crept to the harp
and laid his finger upon one of the strings. And the sound of the string filled
the hall.
The gods and goddesses stopped and
stared and the children left their play in astonishment. “Pordil,” said Arthi,
“do not touch another string if you know what is good for you.”
“Father,” replied Pordil with a
laugh, “I know you desire this harp to be played, and so I will play it.” And
he reached forth and plucked another string, so that the harmony of the two
strings sounding together created the most beautiful of sounds that any had
heard.
“Pordil,” said the Father of All
sternly, “You do not know what you are doing. Stop now, lest it be too late and
your fate overtake you.”
But stop Pordil would not. Again
and again he plucked the strings, the sounds going forth into the air. At first
the sound was pleasing, but after the fourth string, then the fifth, the sound
became unbearable to all but Pordil, who took delight in the dissonance. For
the sound, once called forth, would not die out, for Time had not yet come.
When all twelve strings had been
plucked, the hall started to quake and the gemstones on the gilding began to
fall out of their casing. And Arthi clapped his hands together with a mighty
noise, so that the sound went out of the hall.
Once outside it began to take
being. It was a monster, huge and hideous, formless, taking first this shape
and then that. And it roared and stomped and railed about the outside of the
hall.
And the gods cried out in fear.
“Father,” they cried. “What is it?”
“It is Chaos,” said the Father of All.
“And unless you stop it, it will surely destroy this hall so that Nothing will
return.”
“Save us,” the gods cried to Arthi.
But he shook his head. “My labor is complete, until Time comes. You are fathers
and mothers yourselves, and now is when you shall prove yourselves to be gods.”
Then Aletha looked to her husband
and said, “If you do not take arms and fight this creature, I can never love
you.”
Ledil laughed and said, “Then my
course is laid out, for if you will not love me, how can I love myself?” And
taking a sword he went forth to fight the monster.
The battle raged in that timeless
place. Many blows did Chaos deal to Ledil, and many blows did Ledil return.
Aletha stood near her husband with a bow, firing arrows into the creature’s
tough hide, and shouting to him the weakest limbs of each form the creature
took.
And the other gods and goddesses
took courage from the actions of their brother and sister and went themselves
into battle. Only Pordil stayed in the hall, not from cowardice, but because he
found Chaos to be more beautiful than even the hall of his Father.
At long last the battle was won,
and Chaos was slain; cloven in two by the mighty sword of Ledil. The carcass of
the beast fell in halves to either side of Arthi’s Great Hall, and was long
enough that it encircled the hall completely. Arthi clapped for his children
and said, “Well done, my sons and daughters. With Chaos slain you have proven
yourselves gods, and at last Time has come.”
Lest the carcass of the great beast
should stink, Arthi took the golden jars of the tears of his joy and emptied it
out into the two halves, so that an ocean surrounded the great hall. And Arthi
explained to the gods that Time was when something would go forth from the hall
and then disappear into Nothing, and thus it was that Chaos must be and be
slain.
He commanded that now should the
great harp be played and assigned to the eleven gods a string to pluck and a
time to pluck it. Sometimes a god would pluck a string by himself followed by
another god once the sound had dimmed, and sometimes two or three gods would
pluck in unison. And as the harp was struck and each chord sounded, the gods
understood what their role was to be in the creation of the cosmos.
Ildol took the scales of the beast
from the side of the carcass and scattered them across the sky, where they
gleamed and twinkled in the night. And Partia cut out one of the beast’s eyes
from its head and set it in the sky, where it blazed and made light.
Kortol and Fortol laughed, and dove
into the sea, and raced each other in the friendly rivalry of brotherly love.
And in the depths they saw the entrails of the great beast Chaos. And they each
competed with the other, to see who could gather the most together and lift the
largest organ and bring it to the surface. Fortol it was who gathered the most
together, and Kortol lifted the largest organ. And both brothers broke the
surface at the same time. They called Umthi from the hall to come and weigh the
portions which they brought up, so that it would be known who lifted the
heaviest load. Umthi weighed the portions carefully and counseled with his
wife, and the two determined that the brothers had each brought the same weight
from the depths. And so it was declared that the brothers had tied. And the
entrails they brought up had become earth and covered a portion of the waters.
Then the wife of Fortol, Cara,
cause rain to fall upon the earth and thus bloomed forth every flower and
plant. And Sara, the wife of Kortol, fashioned from the trees two of every kind
of beast. In this way, the wives of Fortol and Kortol caused their husbands
great delight, and they all frolicked amongst the earth. And the exuberance of
their play was such that mountains sprang from the earth, and valleys plunged
into its depths.
Now, hidden in the dark of night,
Pordil, went out to the carcass of the beast and wept. Then, taking a tooth
from the maw of the beast he fashioned for himself a bride and made for her a
home, there on the underside of the beast. And he told no one about his wife,
but would often visit her in secret. And he named her Death.
When the gods had done their part
in forming the Earth and filling it with life Arthi came from his great hall
and looked at their work. And he was very pleased. Then he reached out and took
a little from all they had made: earth, water, and the creeping beasts. And he
shaped and fashioned a new creature. When he had finished forming this creature
last of all he took wind, and filled the creature with it, so that it began to
breathe. Then he called all the gods and goddesses to him to look upon his last
work. The assembled gods were amazed, for this creature was very like unto
themselves, yet very much like the world they had made as well. And Arthi
smiled and said to them, “Behold: Man!”
Arthi then named the worlds: Ariol
is the great hall where the gods dwell, Caliol is the earth where dwell Man and
beast, and Xoniol is the carcass of the beast Chaos.
Arthi had given unto the gods
strict instructions concerning Man, that he and his wife were not to be touched
nor spoken to, until the time of their maturity was complete and they were
ready to take their place in the Great Hall. The gods were to keep each to his
and her own sphere and tend the cosmos. As each god did his assigned task a
note would sound on the great harp, and at last the twelfth string made its
sound, adding a new dimension to the music. For every time Man did something or
learned something new, the string would sound. And all the gods gloried in this
new song, save one.
For Pordil, ever jealous of his
brother Ledil, conceived a new jealousy of Man and the prophecy that Man would
take a place of honor amongst the gods. So he sought to make Man his servant,
so that when the time came that Man would be brought to the Hall and rule over
the gods, Pordil would instead be the leader, supplanting Ledil and Man.
Under the cover of night, Pordil
would visit Man in disguise and seek to impress Man with his wisdom. Yet he
soon found that whatever he would show Man, Man would learn and put to better
use than he dreamed. First he showed Man fire, and how it could make wood burn
and disappear. The next night, Man was using fire to drive away the dark and
keep himself warm. That night he showed Man how he could shape flint and wood
into cunning designs and figures. The next night Man was shaping flint and wood
into tools and building shelter to keep out the rain. That night he showed Man
the intricacies of speech: rhythm, rhyme, and oration. When he returned the
next night, Man had crafted letters to represent speech and had composed a long
epic about the previous nights.
Pordil left Man and went to his
wife in the deep parts of the earth and raged. “Nothing I do gains me favor,
either in the eyes of my father or of man! Everything I show Man he learns and
does better.” His wife kissed him and said, “There is one thing you can show
Man that, when he learns, he will indeed do better, and thus be deprived of his
seat in Ariol.”
Gladly Pordil looked upon his wife
and asked, “What is it you have in mind, my sweet Death?”
“You can show him how you love me.
And when he learns, he will indeed love me, greater than even you do, so that
he will not wish to be deprived of me for even a second. I cannot go into your
father’s hall, for I am the child of Chaos, and as Chaos could not be in your
father’s hall, neither can I.”
So Pordil did as his wife
suggested. The next night, when he made his visit to Man, he took Death with
him. And he showed Man how he loved Death. Indeed, it was as Death had said,
for Man did love her more so than even Pordil, and wished that he should never
leave her side. And Woman did as well.
At this, Arthi left Arthiol and
came to Caliol, and wept in anguish. “My son,” he said to Pordil, “what is this
you have done?” Then turning to Man he cried, “I made you to be the greatest of
all the things I have made, and dwell in honor in Ariol when your time had
come.”
“When my time comes,” replied Man.
“And I go to Ariol, will Death be there?”
“That,” said Arthi, “is the one
thing that cannot be. For Death has no place amongst the gods.”
“Then I wish never to go to your
hall,” Man said.
“And that you shall not,” Arthi
said. “When your time comes, and you can no longer live in Caliol, you shall
descend into Xoniol and there dwell with Death. But know this: There will come
a day when your hatred of Death will exceed your love for her, for your love
for her is unnatural and taught. And your torture at love mingled with hate
shall become so great that you will no longer be able to stand it and you will
cry out. And on that day, I will hear, and escort you to Ariol, where you will
sit in judgment against the treacherous Pordil for all that he has done, and
will do, against you.”
Turning to Pordil he said, “And you
will share the fate of Man whom you have sought to supplant in your jealousy.
Had you not taught Man the love of Death, he would have revered you as his
great mentor and the bringer of learning, so that when he came to Ariol you
would have had honor even over Ledil, whom you hate. Now, you shall dwell with
Death in Xoniol, never to have Ariol as your home again.”
Arthi’s sorrow was so great that
his tears would not stop, and the realm of Caliol began to flood. Had not Ledil
and Aletha looked down upon Caliol and been moved with compassion for the
deceived Man and the living beasts, Man’s time on Caliol might have ended at
that very moment. But Ledil and Aletha made for Man a ship, and in that ship
placed Man, Woman, and the beasts. And they made Borodol promise not to claim
the ship in the deeps, and Xoera they made promise not to overturn the ship.
And when at last Arthi’s sorrow lessened, so that he could weep no more, Partia
caused the sun to shine upon Caliol, and Xoera caused the winds to blow, so
that the waters receded and land came again.
When it was safe again to tread the
surface of Caliol, Man and Woman departed from the ship. Then Ledil and Aletha
instructed the two, Ledil the Man and Aletha the Woman, as to the purpose of
procreation and begetting. Though Pordil had shown Man how he loved death,
Death was ever barren. Indeed, it was her barren state that caused her to
appeal to Pordil to deceive Man, for she desired to fill her hall.
Man and Woman came together, and
they had many children. But as the children grew, their love for Death was so
great that they would slay one another. He that was struck would not defend
himself, so greatly did he desire Death.
Thus the gods went again from Ariol
to teach Man, lest he should disappear from Caliol. The Melidol taught man to
love art and ponder the seas. From the Mesotil Man learned to love feasting and
games. The Mesotol taught Man to love nature, the trees and beasts of the
field. The Brothers of Thi showed Man the ways of fate, that
he should know how his time on Caliol is but a moment. And when Man learned
these things, he began to love Caliol so that he wished not to depart into the
halls of Death, though he still loved Death so that he could not bear to be
departed from her in Ariol. For Death could walk Caliol, but could never enter
Ariol.
When Man had learned to cherish his
time on Caliol, Ledil and Aletha returned to him once more. Ledil taught Man
courage, so that he would not readily embrace Death when attacked, and Aletha
taught him wisdom and piety, the sacrifice of animals so that Death would for a
time be sated, and those times when Man must embrace Death for the good of his
family.
And thus it has ever been in
Caliol. And if there ever has been a time when Arthi’s prophecy proved true,
and Man at last wished to leave the halls of Death, the tales do not say.
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