Chapter II

Looking mournfully into the soaked courtyard as the rain continued to pour down from the sky, the ten children huddled around the window and whispered among themselves about their chances of playing their favorite game. Behind them, their teacher, Derill Denish Simchet, and the Temple’s Educational Adjunct and Priestess of Alana, Anya Getter Ochiya, consulted softly. They could see the children’s disappointment, but it was clear that the storm was not going to end before evening. The planned ballgame would have to be postponed for an indoor activity. Again.

The weather had been wet and unpredictable for the entire week, and the adults were getting to the end of their ideas for ways to keep the five-year-olds entertained and educated while remaining within the confines of the Temple proper. This particular group was just starting their month-long pre-school Temple training in preparation for their sixth birthdays and the beginning of their formal schooling. They were ten children chosen from the families who had applied for the rotation every month at the Temple. All temples in the area of Lassa and beyond were preparing the children on the verge of the age of six for their acknowledgment into the greater Thalusian society.

The whispers turned to giggles and the boys of the group broke into an impromptu circle dance, their interpretation of what they’d seen their fathers, uncles and older brothers do at the Summer Festivals. The girls laughed at them and clapped their hands in an assortment of rhythms that would have sent adult dancers careening into each other.

Anya leaned over to whisper to her counterpart, “Do you think the old Storyteller is awake?”

Smiling fondly, Derill whispered back, “Who knows? He’s so old, he either sleeps all the time or doesn’t sleep at all!”

“He’d be a good one to tap to keep the children occupied this afternoon. We can ask him to tell them the creation story.”

With a frown, Derill turned to the Sister. “Do we dare? You know he could be called back into Service at any time. He needs this time at the Temple to recharge.”

“We can only ask. He will either agree or refuse.” Anya serenely tucked her hands into her sleeves. “I’ll go. See if you can get the children into a storytelling circle. If he says no, we’ll do what we can.” At Derill’s nod of agreement, she turned and left the room for the private quarters of the Temple.

He was, as she expected, sitting in the window-seat of the common room, staring out across the dripping garden. He appeared deep in contemplation, perhaps meditation, but turned at the soft, deliberate scrape of her slipper on the floor. A deeply wrinkled face framed by snow-white hair smiled gently at her. “Sister Anya,” he greeted her quietly, dark eyes sparkling, “is all well?”

She returned his smile. “All is well, Brother. I don’t wish to disturb you.”

He waved a gnarled, yet still agile hand. “No disturbance, Sister. What can I do for you?”

Seating herself next to him, she waved a hand at the window. “As you can see, we can’t take the children out for a ballgame. If you aren’t busy, would you be willing to tell them the story of Talos? It would be a treat for all of us.”

A chuckle, deep in his chest, preceded his answer. “Ah, I remember trying to keep a group of pre-sixes occupied on a rainy afternoon.” For a moment, his gaze went distant and Anya remained respectfully silent. When he turned his eyes back to her, they were twinkling again. “I’d be glad to rescue you. It will do me a world of good to be around the little ones.”

“If it’s no trouble,” Anya began but he waved her to precede him out of the room.

“No trouble,” he assured her. “Please, lead on.”

Derill had managed to corral the children into sitting in a semicircle, and he was just ending a song when Anya and the old man entered. Eleven pairs of dark eyes took in the two, and Anya gestured to the man following her, “Children, this is Brother …”

“I’m the Storyteller,” he interrupted her with a gentle hand on her arm and a speaking look. She nodded and stepped away as he made himself comfortable on the chair provided, returning the serious gazes. “Our sister Anya has told me that we have an afternoon to fill, as the rain is causing your ballgame to be canceled.” At the disappointed nods, he sighed. “Well, I will do my poor best to provide a substitute. Would you like to hear the story of Mother Talos and how we came to be?”

Now excited, little heads bobbed in agreement. All ten made themselves comfortable at the priest’s feet, while Anya and Derill took their own chairs, away from the group but close enough to intervene if needed. The priest took a deep breath and closed his eyes, setting his hands comfortably on his knees. After a moment of centering, he fixed the circle of children with a keen gaze, and his voice rumbled out, filling the room and instantly commanding the attention of everyone within hearing.

--

For long ages, Mother Talos slept. She was unaware of her place or her relation to her siblings as they orbited their Sun, Father Talos, in somber order, silent and calm, the soft song of space their only accompaniment.

When it was her time, responding to a vague but silent call, formless and directionless, Talos awoke. And she called to her sisters, only to find them either dead worlds, or far more deeply asleep than she herself had been. None responded to her call, and she found she was lonely.

Father Talos, forever watchful from the center of the circling worlds, called to her when he saw that she was alone and saddened. They took joy in each other, and soon desired to share their existence with others. And Mother Talos gave birth to the world of herself, all of the animals, plants, islands, deserts, mountains and seas. And it was with great joy that Mother and Father Talos cared for their offspring, watching the interactions of the life that roamed Mother Talos’ surface, listening to this new music, the song of life.

And yet, for all of the songs the children of Talos sang, there was a particular song that Mother Talos longed to hear. As none of the current children of Talos were capable of making the sounds she sought, she thought to give birth to another sort of children, able to sing the song she missed, and who would act as stewards of her world.

And so, with the help of Father Talos, the first Thalusian twins were born. Ondaro, male, tall and slim, with long black hair and sharp black eyes. He stood upon his mother’s breast and shouted with joy at the new world that greeted him. Alana, female, willowy and lithe, with the same black hair and eyes as her brother, and the farseeing abilities of her Mother; she extended her hands to the seas and laughed at the surging waves that raced to her.

For long, long years, Alana and Ondaro lived in the world their Mother had created, filled with her creatures and climates. From the hart, Ondaro learned to run; from the bear, to fight; and to speak and sing with his sister. He learned smithy from his mother’s volcanoes, and created a blade with which he cut wood and killed animals for their food, always with respect to the spirits of the beasts for giving their lives to sustain their siblings. From the herds, Alana learned the love of the land, healing from the plants, and from the deep, still pools of their Mother, she learned to See.

They were content.

At that time, monsters walked the bosom of Talos. In their creation of the world, Mother and Father Talos had made mistakes, and yet had not the heart to kill them. These mistakes hated their beautiful brother and sister, and hated those for whom they cared. They chased and killed the animals, tore down the mountains, and muddied the seas with their raging. Huge monsters of many eyes and hands and great strength, they had no respect for their Mother or Father and would have ravaged the whole world.

Frequently, Ondaro would leave Alana to fight and drive back the monsters from where he and his sister chose to live, to defend those innocent creatures hunted and destroyed by the misshapen beings. He took his blade and fought for his Mother’s world with it, creating a haven for a while in which all could dwell in peace. Then the monsters would return, for Ondaro also could not bring himself to kill them. They were his brothers, and fighting them was a test of his prowess and honor. It gave him joy to be able to send them away in defeat, knowing they would come back to fight again when their strength had returned.

Alana wearied of the constant fighting. It disturbed her calm, and stirred up the waters so that Sight was impossible. One day, when Ondaro stood victorious over his defeated brother and sang his pleasure to the sky, Alana asked him, “Why do you not kill the monster and cease this continuing battle?”

Ondaro replied, “He is my brother and so is my equal. It is only because my strength is greater than his that he is the vanquished at this time. The next time, it may not be so, and I will lie defeated at his feet.”

Alana replied, “If it were up to me, I would kill him so that the land may have no more fear of these battles, and the animals and plants may thrive.”

“If you had a blade, then you would be able to fight for yourself and, if you were the stronger, then you would be able to kill him if you pleased,” Ondaro stated, sheathing his blade on his belt.

“I don’t need a blade,” Alana retorted, “for I will use yours!” With that, she tore his blade from the sheath and buried it in the monster’s eye, killing him instantly.

Ondaro was outraged and a great argument ensued between them. Ondaro was dismayed that his sister had sullied his honor, killing the monster without having fought first to victory. Alana argued that her brother’s honor was also hers, and that if his hand would not act, hers was forced to. They argued and shouted until both were too tired to stand and too hoarse to yell. Reduced to a point where they had to talk moderately, they came to an agreement.

If Ondaro wished to fight, he would take himself far away from the living area to do so. The area where they lived was under Alana’s control, and if the fight came there, she would defend it. And this is why Thalusian men fight the wars away from the clan holding, but if they fail to keep the war from approaching the holding, the women will fight also.

--

In the silence following the end of the story, the children and their caretakers were motionless, still spellbound by the power of the priest’s voice. He allowed the reaction its time, then stretched in his seat, breaking the spell. “And that was this afternoon’s story. Perhaps you would like to hear more tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes please!” the children clamored, while Derill looked to his Sister and gave a nod. The afternoon’s diversion was an obvious success. Even he hadn’t heard the story of Mother Talos told with such power.

Looking very pleased with herself, Anya rose. “Come, children, it’s time to meet your parents to go home for supper.” Gathering them together, she waited while they thanked the old priest and wished him a good night, then ushered them out of the room.

Derill offered a hand to help the old man up. “Thank you so much, Brother,” he told him. “It was a wonderful experience, both for the children and for us.”

The Storyteller smiled and patted his arm, turning to leave. “It’s good to be reminded of what we have fought so long to preserve,” he told him, making his way out of the room.