Tales of the Wyrm, Volume 1 Read online

On star-strewn nights – on the eve of Bræa’s Dawn, upon the solemnity of Harad, at Jule, and in celebration of the founding of Ekhan – the skalds lay down their vithelles, lutes and tambours, and they tell the tale of the Making.

  In voices reverent and low, they speak these words.

  ♦

  In the beginning, all was Unmade; naught there was but the Void, ever-changing, chaotic, unpredictable, and infinite in its constant fury. All that lay within it was ruled by chance. In time, chance calls all things into being, and so, at length, chance brought forth light; and in the instant that there was light, so also was there darkness. The light, which was called Ana, knew itself – and so, too, did the darkness, which was called Uru. Together, they desired a firmament upon which to contest one against the other, to determine which was the mightier, the light or the darkness. And so together they forged the Walls of Evertime, to separate the World Made – the vasty Universe, and all that lay within it – from the World Unmade, the seething madness of the Void.

  Through the formless mists, light and darkness circled each other, like foes everlasting, seeking ever for advantage and ascendancy. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the struggles of Ana and Uru were in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And so, after an eternity spent in fruitless jousting, they joined.

  In the instant of their union, the Powers were birthed: seven of Light, called the Anari; and of Darkness, seven also, called the Uruqua. First among the Powers of Light was Bræa, the eldest, of radiant beauty and matchless might; and her two sisters, Vara, of gentle mien, and Tian, who stood for justice and order. Their four brothers were Hara, the wise; Esu, the brave; Nosa, the swift; and Lagu, the strong. The Uruqua counted among their number Zaman, called the deceiver; Tvalt, who became the judge of death, and later the Master of the Long Halls; Kær, the thief; Morga, the destroyer; Ekhalra, the witherer, she who, in latter days, became the Queen of the World; and Dæsuglu, befouling all with his accursèd touch. And above them all, chief among the Uruqua, stood Bardan, lord of darkness; Bræa’s opposite in every way, and her bitterest foe.

  The Powers fell swiftly into debate over how the universe should be governed. Debate became disagreement, and disagreement, dispute; and dispute slid swiftly into battle. The Anari strove with the Uruqua, and all the universe shuddered with the blows that were struck, for the light and for the darkness. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the Anari and the Uruqua, like Ana and Uru before them, struggled in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And so, after an eternity spent in fruitless combat, they brought forth new life: slaves of power, to do their bidding.

  Thus were the Minions born; and they were mighty, brightening the skies with their fires, and darkening them with their wings. Though lesser in might than the Powers, they were more numerous by far. And because of their numbers, they beseeched their masters and mistresses to make for them a battlefield; a thing over which to fight. And so Bræa and Bardan met, and reached agreement, and put forth their strength – and thus were created the heavens and the earth. And these were together called Anuru, that is, the place of light and darkness.

  The struggles of the Minions grew until all Anuru echoed with the thunder of their strife. The Minions of the Light wielded the power of the Anari, shattering their foes with lightning, and spilling their heart’s blood with lances of silver fire. But the Minions of Darkness responded in kind, scorching their foes with fire, and smothering them in clouds of suffocating shadow. In these battles, the fallen were legion. The Uruqua who perished turned to stone, and from their petrified flesh were formed the mountains, the hills, and all the sands of deserts and of seas. But the Anari who perished turned to light, brilliant and joyful; and they became the stars of the sky, and so even in defeat, bathed their fallen foes in benevolent luminescence.

  The War of the Powers lasted an eon, and the fallen littered the earth, and made brilliant the Heavens. But because they were equal in might and in purpose, the Minions struggled in vain. Nothing came of their endless strife. And the Minions, and even the Powers, despaired; for none among them could conceive of any way to end their eternal war, and bring it to a conclusion, through triumph and defeat.

  None, that is, save Bræa, who envisioned a means of sundering the stalemate; for she alone understood that the Balance was an ineluctable facet of the universe itself, an artefact incorporated, all unknowing, into its fabric, by Ana and Uru, who had had the Making of it. And so Bræa reached beyond the Making, beyond the Walls of Evertime, and took in hand some of the formless substance of the Unmade realm beyond; and with this, and with scraps of each of the four elements of Anuru – the winds and fires of Heaven, and the waters and stones of the earth – she crafted the four Kindred.

  From the wind, she made the Elves, light-hearted and free; gentle in repose, but furious when aroused. From fire, she crafted Men, curious and fecund, who spread swiftly throughout the world, like the hungry and rapacious flames of which they were made. The Halflings mimicked the waters of the rivers, fast-flowing and capricious, deep and unquenchable, from which they sprang; and from the bones of the earth came the Dwarves, stolid and steadfast, and implacable in their enmity for the darkness that sought, from the very first, to overwhelm them.

  Because they were formed of the body of Anuru, the Kindred were native to the universe, the World Made; a part of its being, belonging to it like none others – not even the Minions – ever did, or ever could. But because they bore also within them a piece of the Unmade realm that lay beyond the Walls, they were forever free of the strictures of the Balance – the endless and eternal equilibrium that bound even the Powers themselves.

  Bræa hoped that her children would willingly serve the Anari; that they would grow in mastery, might and wisdom; and that, in the fullness of time, they might overturn the Balance between the Light and the Dark, that the Light might, someday, emerge triumphant. And that it might do so before the World Made returned, as someday it must, to the chaos of the Void, in the inevitable Unmaking – the apocalypse foretold, that the Kindred who knew of it called the Breaking of the World.

  But her children did not meet her expectations. They proved to be wilful and disobedient; they disobeyed Bræa’s commands, and flouted her will. Some even abandoned the light, and swore allegiance to Bardan.

  Bræa was wroth, and gathered her strength to destroy her wayward sons and daughters. But Ana intervened, and stayed her hand, saying that freedom had been Bræa’s gift to her children, and that freedom meant choice – including the choice to serve the darkness, rather than the light. Bræa refused to accept this; and so Ana was forced to break her, and took the light that was in her. And from that light, Ana formed a great star in the sky, the mightiest of stars, and called it Bræadan, which is ‘Bræa’s Lantern’. And the light of the Lantern was an eternal reminder to the children that their mother had essayed to betray them, and had been stayed.

  That they might never again be threatened by their mother, Ana took from Bræa her children, and divided them into four peoples; and gave each of the peoples to one of Bræa’s younger brothers. Hara, lord of woodlands, skilled in the ways of the Art Magic, was given lordship over the Elves; Esu, courageous, warlike, an explorer and conqueror without peer, received Men as his charge; Nosa, swift and cunning, meddlesome and curious, was given the task (some said ‘punishment’) of attempting to govern the Halpinya, the Halflings; and Lagu, wise and compassionate, who loved the earth, and was skilled in shaping metal and stone, was made the father of Dweorga, the Dwarves.

  Thus sundered from each other, and from their mother Bræa, the Kindred prospered under their new masters. But they were still wilful and disobedient.

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  Among all the Kindred, the tale is the same. In the lofty bowers or starlit palaces of the Elves; at the firesides, in the longhouses, or alongside the castle hearths of Men; in the comfortable homes of Halflings, smelling of bre
ads and meats and ales; and even in the deep stone halls of the Dwarves, redolent of water and iron, the same tale is told.

  The skalds tell this tale to remind all good folk – all of the Kindred – of their common origin.

  They tell this tale to teach the children, who cluster at their parents’ knees, eager to hear the words, if barely grasping their great import.

  But mostly…mostly, the skalds tell this tale to show how the Powers themselves have erred.

  For even the designs of the gods, howsoever carefully crafted, can sometimes go awry.

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  Gwen’s Notes

  Yawn. Don’t worry, it gets better. A little, anyway.