Chapter 2
----------------------------------------
The Story of the Gods
“So it was that the Divines came to be, created by the very world itself to guide us of the four races. Immediately, each of them knew their purpose and they began working together to create a place for the mortals to live. Unlike us, they were unhindered by the racial prejudice which is so prevalent in our society today.” – The Book of the Divines 1:2
“What's a Stinking Elf doing here?” the elderly Dwarf screeched, narrowing her eyes and pointing accusingly at the offending member of the group that had appeared in the same instant she had. She didn’t even take the time to come to terms with what or where she was. “I bet this is your fault,” she accused, before having anything to accuse it with. Her immediate racism was not heard however, as she was far from the only one to start their life shouting in anger.
“Eww, a Dwarf,” the lanky Elf sneered derisively, the second he caught sight of the wild, dirty, and naked thing.
“Where did you come from, what’s going on?” Homos yelled, panic drove anger as he tried his best to shout over the cacophony of voices - following the age-old human custom, to be understood one need only be louder than everyone else. Unfortunately for the irate man, he was far from the noisiest of the bunch.
Whilst Athæ’s eyes burned with fury as she injected the perfect inflammatory remarks to spark a physical altercation, glee evident in her battle-ready posture, Volta spoke softly and the fragrance of her flowery form brought the gods back from the edge.
Elementa crackled, sizzled, and steamed - nervous about all the blood sacks bickering around her.
Leå, the goddess of life, fuelled Volta’s calming flora with her innate power as she too tried to stop the senseless shouting but it wasn’t enough to halt the group as they grew more and more intense.
The young boy, Tempi, half the height of the others - save Helka, the dwarven goddess - darted around, frantically trying - and failing - to get their attention. One moment he would be buzzing about, speaking too fast to be heard, at others it was as if he was in slow motion. There were even a few seconds in which he spoke in reverse. On the whole, he was ignored, viewed as little more than a nuisance by his peers.
Vasti, the goddess of space, with her striking form (that of a star filled night sky in the shape of a woman), might have been able to capture the attention of at least the mortal gods with her appearance alone had she been anywhere to be seen. Within the first few seconds of being created, she found all the noise and motion distressing and disappeared - teleporting out into space where it was quiet and far more comfortable.
Magus was also shouting, though for a completely different reason than everyone else.
“Fascinating, absolutely wondrous!” the pale ghost of a man exclaimed, stroking his phantasmal beard, as he witnessed the growth of the magical flowers Volta had made. Despite the fact Magus was the god of magic (in this tiny solar system), he knew very little about it, because he was just a bundle of instincts that only related to his domain. He understood how to use magic innately but not the how nor why. As it turned out, the personality that he had been formed with was incredibly curious. He continued to poke and prod at the magical constructions, ignoring the others as their enraged motions just passed straight through him. He yipped in delight when the magic of Leå’s power entertwined with Volta’s creation and the two types of mana sang in unison - empowering the pacifying effect. He also noted the other’s seemed to have some kind of natural resistance to the magic, as did he for that matter, and the argument continued, only slightly slowed.
Where all the other gods - except Vasti - stepped in close to their siblings the second they were created, shouting and screaming - spittle and accusations flying - Dem (the god of death) stepped his boney arse back and observed. He was content to wait for the others to calm down and for the truth of his newfound existence to come to light, afterall death was nothing if not patient.
Makir was the last to act. Unlike his siblings, he didn’t follow the lead of the Elf and the Dwarf who sought to find answers through confrontation, nor did he immediately try to help and break apart these strangers as Volta and Leå did. Instead, he looked within himself. Makir had no memories which he could call his own, though it wasn’t as though he was a helpless kitten. He knew he was a khati, a race evolved from cats, he knew what evolution was, he knew too much to concisely consider in this moment, so, instead, he searched for an explanation.
Did he have amnesia? No, well maybe, but that wasn’t enough of an explanation. Makir recognised the Dwarf, the Elf, and the Human for what they were but the other figures seemed impossible according to everything he knew. There was:
* A silver-haired child that could have been from any of the fleshy race’s (save his own) moving with no regard for time.
* A woman made entirely from flowers that smelled sweet, trying to calm the brewing riot and being assisted in her efforts by a tall lady that looked, at first glance, to be an Elf, except her ears weren’t pointed and her eye sockets were filled with a golden, glowing light.
* A bird headed that skeleton stood, watching the escalating affair. Despite everything that was wrong with such an existence as he, to Makir, the strangest thing was that the bone man was the only one wearing clothes. A thick black mist bellowed out from the dead thing’s shadowy cloak.
No, all of this was too absurd for amnesia alone to explain.
Was he dreaming? The Khati looked around. They were on a rocky plateau, roughly four hundred yards across. He stepped to the edge and looked out. Makir was high, very high, a few errant clouds drifted below, halfway to the ground. He stood atop a precipice with an otherwise unobstructed view.
The land was uniform in its composition; entirely grey rock. No vegetation grew, no dust flew. It was as if the whole area was brand new, never having seen ware of any kind - not even from the air in the atmosphere. And looking up, there was clearly an atmosphere. The blue sun was high in the sky; a bright spot in the deep azure sea.
At the bottom of the pillar-like mountain, atop which Makir stood, there was a rough splat of land, mostly of a level. This secondary plateau ringed the mountain's base and extended for roughly ten to twenty miles in each direction. There were other mountains on this mass, though none anywhere near as large as the one on which he stood. Being so high, it was difficult to get a proper sense of scale. At the bottom of this secondary ring was another deep drop, though not sheer like the one directly beneath the khati man. The land sloped off at the border of this lower level, descending a further mile. The rest of the world beyond was flat. Too flat, given the irregularity of the land on the island below him. The planes continued in all directions, all the way to the horizon - which itself seemed too far away. Whatever planet Makir was on, it must be huge… and empty. It looked as though someone had simply forgotten to add an ocean. No, this wasn’t a dream, Makir was confident his mind wasn’t so bland.
He closed his eyes, shut out the growing shouting, and let the wind drifting up from the edge gently stroke his fur, the sun warming his skin as he dove deeper into himself.
What was he? Makir, a khati… no, The Khati. He realised that now. It seemed ridiculous, but the reason he had no memories was because he was no one Khati. He was a million people in one body. The strongest and most common traits in all those personalities held the tightest grasp on him, though their impulses could be ignored; he was also his own completely separate entity, newly born.
Luckily for Makir, his people took their time to think things through. That and they were lazy, otherwise he might have ended up like the others who had appeared with him. Looking back at them, he felt they too were like him. Focusing, he could feel a connection - one that had been severed but still left traces to a newfound sense he knew khati didn’t normally have. There was another attachment far above, somewhere in the sky, and a sense of belonging that came from everything around him. This new sense, which he had no experience with, also told him that he could do something. If he willed it to be so, he could create another khati, in fact he felt it was his purpose. Now that he had discovered the ability his body was itching to use it and it was a struggle to ignore the feeling. Except he had to, there was no way a khati could survive here, without any water for at least a hundred miles in any direction though Makir suspected this entire planet was barren.
He had power, he knew that now, but Makir alone wouldn’t be able to create a place where the khati he must create could live. He would need the help of the only other people/creatures that existed.
The gods’ divine nature had helped them swiftly build an immunity to Volta and Leå’s magics, that combined with the pair tiring from the use of mana, meant a fight was imminent. Athæ had just told Visok that Helka said:
“An Elf's ears are only good for cleaning out her own.”
The jibe at his insecurity had caused him to snap and his composure broke. Instead of another snide and cutting comment, he was about to kick the fuzzy and saggy ball of naked flesh when a low, menacing sound froze him in place. He wasn’t the only one, instinctual fear halted the rest of the people around Visok.
“Rrrrroooooarrrrrr!” The sound welled up from the deepest depths of Makir’s belly, growing in veracity as it grew in momentum, speeding up and out of his oesophagus. Passing the vocal cords that vibrated slowly, adding a basso growl to the mix.
The Khati’s outburst had the intended effect; everyone had stopped bickering and was looking his way. Makir didn’t have long before these people would fall back on their baser instincts. He chose to strike while the iron was hot so he cleared his throat and spoke in a authoritative manner:
“Elf, you can make Elves. Dwarf you can make dwarves. Human, you can make humans.” The three who were picked out looked affronted by the way that the Khati addressed them but the bluntness of the statement caught all of them short as they held back their angry retorts to think about what he had said - all, that was, except the Dwarf.
“Are you propositioning me?” The elderly woman asked, waggling her eyebrows.
Makir, forced down a grimace as he ignored the dirty coot, he could see the far off look in the other’s eyes as they found this power within themselves. Seeing there might be something to what the Khati said, Helka finally took a moment for introspection. He could see that the bronze skinned human was on the verge of doing something stupid so he placed a paw upon the man’s shoulder, snapping him back to himself.
“Don’t create anyone yet,” Makir warned, “if you’d take the time to look around - no one could live here. And to the rest of you, if you are looking for your purpose, look to the place in your mind in which your name resides, once you find it you’ll know.”
The others did as he said, having calmed down. There was one exception however, Athæ the goddess of war, after giving that final word of incitement to Visok she had stood back, her head raised to the sky and a look of sublime pleasure on her face. That had been wiped away as Makir spoke, her regular look of anger had returned, morphing into a mask of rage.
“Where is my blood?! Where is my violence?! Where is my war?!” Athæ shouted, looking around at the gathering accusingly; her eyes filled with angry red flames. But no one returned her glare, they were all absorbing what Makir had said, either peering over the edge of their sheer mountain top or looking inwards to find their reason for being. The lack of response only caused Athæ’s temperature to rise even further.
“You were growing more powerful from their fighting.” Makir stated, not cowed by her full attention, the pride of his lioniod race forcing his back up straighter at the challenge in her approach.
“This is your fault!” Athæ growled, pointing at Makir as she walked menacingly toward him, the half out of it gods clearing her way subconsciously.
“Yes,” Makir responded simply, not giving an inch.
She got within a handspan of his furry body, staring threateningly into his eyes. The first to blink would lose. They stood like that for minutes, the tension building more and more until the air seemed to distort with its weight. Makir strained not to blink, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. Athæ seemed the opposite; with each second that passed the flames in her eyes dimmed until a regular eye was visible beneath. Still, Makir held on as tears began to pour down his face. By this point, most of the gathered gods had found this “purpose” that had been embedded into them and were looking on at the display, unwilling or unable to break apart the contest. After the flame of Athæ’s anger died out completely, she appeared nothing more than a red haired lass and the fatigue began to kick in. Several minutes after Makir, the whites of her eyes began to fill with red lines. Then it was all over. Athæ twitched then spasmed shut. Makir nodded then turned away, desperately trying to blink the sandpaper out of his eyes.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Most thought that this would alight the flame anew in Athæ, based on the little they had seen of the woman, many assumed she might well be a sore loser, but to the surprise of all she bounded forward and hugged the Khati.
“That was fun! We should do it again,” she encouraged with the enthusiasm of a girl. Gone was the fierce warrior, replaced by an effervescent and bubbly woman who was incredibly attached to the man who had bested her in a simple staring contest.
Makir had his eyes screwed tight shut and didn’t see the tackling hug coming, he was nearly bowled over. When he opened his eyes, the skin beneath his furry cheeks blushed slightly as he extragated himself from her grasp, coughing slightly.
“Right, so,” Makir began when he was free and the attention of the gathered gods returned to him, “From this sense of purpose I gained a new feeling - I can feel a link between all of us. Can you feel it too?” There was a chorus of agreements, some rather begrudging.
“I will speak plainly. My name is Makir. I am the Khati. My purpose is to create and guide other members of my race. To do that, I will need to make somewhere that is liveable, somewhere with food, shelter, and water. I can not do that alone. I need your help,” he implored, eyes still swollen as he looked at each of them in turn.
“How are we supposed to help?” The Dwarf asked grumpily, “Sure I can make another Dwarf but what good’ll that be. The Underground’s as barren as the surface, I can feel it. There’s metals and gems sure enough but no water or life. More mees ain't gonna help with any of those you mentioned, part from shelter.”
“That’s a good start actually,” Makir replied with enthusiasm. “I didn’t even consider the underground. And regarding your second point, I know dwarves are good at working with stone and there seems to be an abundance of that at least.”
“Aye, I suppose. Letting me know about something as important as this “purpose” as you call it has put me in your debt. Besides, I feel I also have to create a safe place for my brethren, making a couple homes for khati isn’t too far out of my way,” the Dwarf reasoned aloud. Once she was sure, she nodded firmly and held out a hand for Makir to shake. “Name’s Helka,” she introduced as their hands pumped up and down.
A scoff came from one of the gathered gods.
“I had considered helping with your little project, but you’re not worthy of my help if you’d work with that thing,” the Elf remarked with a sneer.
Makir smiled at Helka when a deal was struck but turned an annoyed look on the Elf when he spoke up.
“Seriously? I know you feel the same need as I do-” Makir began but was cut off.
“I most certainly do not!” the blond haired Elf spluttered, indignant.
“Really? Can you truly say, now that you’ve found your Purpose, you don’t have that itch in the back of your mind that tells you to fulfil it, an itch that grows more and more with every second you don’t act on it?” Makir asked and when the Elf looked away and didn’t answer, he turned the question to the crowd and received a series of nods from all save the skeleton man who, throughout the whole ordeal, had stood apart from the others and not engaged. Makir found him off putting but perhaps whatever race he created wouldn’t be so bothered by the lack of food and water.
“I am more than capable of creating a sanctuary for my people without the help of a Dwarf!” the Elf spat, not even looking at the person in question.
“Are you?” Makir challenged.
“Elves are exceptional at working with nature, the natural world provides everything we need.” he declared with a huff.
“What ‘natural world’? Look around, there isn’t any life here.”
“Elves are skilled with plant magic, we can grow it.”
“With what water? With what soil?” Makir questioned.
“There, she can make plants out of nothing, with her help I’ll be done in no time.” Visok responded, pointing at the woman made of flowers who seemed flustered by the sudden spotlight. She looked like she was about to agree to help but the blue glowing ghost of a man interjected before she could.
“She can’t.” he said, matter-of-factly. The flower woman looked affronted at this but before she could voice her own thoughts the Elf responded to the Ætherial man.
Raising an eyebrow towards the woman who hadn’t managed to get a word in edgewise, the pointy eared elf spoke, “Is that so? Do you truly wish to oppose me, the almighty Visok?”
Finally done with being talked about rather than too, she spoke up angrily:
“Since the second I got here, I have been trying to stop you idiots from killing each other,” as she talked her body morphed from a womanly form made from delicate pink and purple flowers to a twisted mass of dangerous vines, “Now I wonder if it was even worth it?”
She was about to say more but was cut off by the red headed woman who had pounced on Makir, she jumped up and down and clapped.
“Yippee, more fighting!” she said with a razor sharp grin. Seeing the expression on the violent woman’s face the plant lady unravelled into daisies.
Exhaling, she spoke, “Look, I want to help you, Visok, but I would like to be asked. Moreover, I think we should all try and work together.” The red haired woman deflated but Visok seemed gratified and understanding of her desires after the first statement and annoyed after the second.
“If you are so willing,” Visok began, “Then would you consider helping both myself and Makir separately?” he asked between clenched teeth.
She seemed disappointed by the proposal but was about to resignedly accept when again the ghost interjected:
“She can’t.” He spoke without inflection, as if saying the sky were blue. The petals of the of the woman sharpened slightly as she turned to the interrupter and said:
“Oh yeah, and why’s that.”
The man didn’t seem to take note of the dangerous edge in her voice.
“I’m Magus,” he introduced, shaking a confused stem with a hand that passed straight through it.
“Volta,” she responded, caught off guard by his action.
“And that’s an excellent question,” he continued excitedly, “You might think, by looking at her, or the flowers she produced earlier that she has summoned them or created them somehow but that’s not actually the case-”
“Get to the point,” Visok cut in with an impatient scowl.
“Right,” Magus responded while he mentally truncated his lecture, “Well, to put it simply, her flowers are nothing more than mana made manifest, magic. You’ll notice that previously, while you were shouting at that little person, Volta here had grown plants that had a calming effect all around you but now there’s nothing but bare stone.”
Makir looked over at Helka, expecting some kind of angry retort for being called a “little person” but thankfully she hadn’t noticed as she was sketching designs for something in the rock with her finger.”
“What are you saying?” Visok pressed.
“Miss Volta doesn’t create real plants and she won’t be able to start an ecosystem.” Magus stated and Volta deflated slightly at the news.
“That’s a problem we can come back to,” Makir said to break the sudden mood that had overcome the group.
“Before that we have the issue of water, any ideas?”
At this the Elemental of four elements burbled and hissed. Despite the strangeness of her sounds it came across to everyone as words,
“My name’s Elementa and I can create water Elementals who can make water, but they need some to start with.”
As he heard the foreign noises form into words, Makir realised that none of his peers had been speaking the same language as him. Looking inside himself when Visok replied “What use is that?” Makir realised that it was the connection they all shared that translated for them.
Before another argument could break out, someone spoke up. The child who, until this point in the conversation, had become distracted and was looking up into the sky.
“I think I have a plan.” he said, and all eyes turned his way.
✯
As it turned out his plan was quite amenable, much to Visok’s chagrin - that was an elf who never seemed to be happy. Makir heard the boy out as he explained that he also felt this connection they shared except there was someone with whom he shared a stronger link; someone, who felt to him, like a sibling. And, given his own “Purpose”, he believed they would be able to help, the only problem - they were too far away, somewhere in the sky. Makir recalled that, when he had discovered a connection to the others, one link led off up somewhere.
Through some testing with those present it was discovered that a message could be sent through their links but it came through as a jumble of emotions, still it should have been enough to get the point across. Come down here and lend a hand. After the boy, who was called Tempi, revealed his Purpose, it led to a discussion about their Purposes.
Makir had assumed that, like him, each of them was meant to be the progenitor of a race that looked like them. That wasn’t the case at all. Of those present, only five had such a Purpose.
There was:
* Him, Makir whose Purpose was to create and guide Khati.
* Homos whose Purpose was to create and guide Humans.
* Visok whose Purpose was to create and guide Elves.
* Elementa whose Purpose was to create and guide Elementals.
And yet, after some soul searching, they each concluded: whilst they were all very much of their own race they were different to a normal member. None of them had felt hungry or thirsty nor tired or even cold - nor did any of them much care that they were naked. The idea that they were gods had been tossed out there, however none but Visok were comfortable with calling themselves that.
Makir discovered that the other six beings present, although connected to him, had wildly different purposes.
There was:
Volta, the woman made from flowers, each part of her created from a different and changing plant that came together to form the perfect image of a woman - new flowers blooming and wilting with every breath, only to disappear behind ever more plants. Her Purpose was to maintain peace and create love.
Tempi, a boy that came to just above Makir’s waist with shiny silver, short-cut hair and completely white eyes who, although young in appearance, switched between seeming elderly and wise and young and naive whenever he said something. His purported Purpose was to maintain the continuity of time which was something Makir struggled to understand.
Leå, a tall woman with golden hair and glowing golden eyes who hadn’t joined the discussion until prompted, was a woman of few words, though everything she did say was well thought out. As it turned out her Purpose was to create and maintain life, though even she couldn’t make something out of nothing. If there was water she would be able to “create the building blocks for life” - whatever that meant.
Magus, a man made completely out of glowing blue mana without a physical form. He had bushy eyebrows and a long beard which he had a tendency to stroke when in thought. When asked, he told Makir that his Purpose was to maintain and regulate the currents of mana, which was something his body did naturally. He then went on to theorise that, if they were all created, perhaps he was supposed to protect whatever civilisation the first four would create. After all, living people could be negatively affected by the waves of mana that came from their blue sun - literally anything could happen if the waves were strong enough. This led to a discussion about the hows and whys of their coming to be. Now that they weren’t all on edge, it was more productive. But, as it turned out, none of them had any idea how they had got there, although Makir did note that Tempi seemed to be hiding something.
Athæ, the perky woman with fiery red hair and eyes that seemed to grow into actual flames when her more violent urges were satisfied. She had become rather attached to Makir when he had beaten her in a staring contest. Her Purpose was conflict and it was from her that Makir learned what might happen when their Purpose was fulfilled. Although she still craved more conflict, apparently the urge was more manageable but more than that, she had gained power from it as evidenced by the flames which had come off her at the time. This got the others excited for the prospect of fulfilling their own Purpose.
Dem, was the last of the bunch, he was a skeleton, clothed in a black cloak that emitted a dark mist and his skull was that of some kind of giant raven. The whole time he had kept his distance and not joined in their conversations. His Purpose turned out to be Death, to ensure things died and stayed dead which put a damper on the mood until Leå revealed that that was something she would need in order to speed up the process of creating more life. Soil was made from dead things after all.
The group was more relaxed, discussing the prospect of building something on this Island when Tempi spoke up and informed us that his supposed sibling had gotten the message. Everyone looked up, expecting someone with the power to fly to descend from above so Makir was startled when someone appeared right behind him without any sound and tapped him tentatively on the shoulder.
“You wanted something?” a timid voice asked quietly.
Makir turned around to find a figure made from darkness, filled with spots of light. The two brightest points, in the place where eyes should be, didn’t focus directly on him as she spoke - her voice the sound of echoing emptiness - she rubbed the part that would be an elbow on a person with the part that would be a hand.
He wasn’t the only one to be startled at her sudden appearance and the shocked exclamations looked like they were about to scare her off until Tempi pulled her aside. Her face literally lit up when she saw him, there was definitely a connection between them.
After the pair had taken a minute to talk with each other outside of earshot they returned, and the newcomer had shrunk. Where before her figure was sized and proportioned to match the silhouette of a woman, now she matched Tempi in height and apparent age.
Tempi explained to us that she was very shy, her name was Vasti, and that her Purpose was to maintain the fabric of space and not let the planes collapse in on each other. This granted her the ability to teleport and to reside out in space, which Tempi had suspected and had figured into his plan which he had yet to explain.
He told something to Vasti then she disappeared, right in front of the gathered gods. Tempi revealed that he had asked her to search the space above them for comets made from ice and Makir had to admit it was a good idea.
She appeared a few seconds later with a handful of solidified water and explained, through Tempi, that there was a belt of the stuff beginning to form around the planet, slowly drawing closer and closer. It looked, to her, that we would be bombarded with millions of tons of frozen water in the next few weeks.
Once a source of water was secured there came the debate of where to start building. If there was an oncoming flood, staying on their high plinth would be ideal but it was only four hundred yards in diameter, hardly enough for a village and the people would be stranded.
It was thus decided to start this first settlement on the ring that surrounded the mountain's base, as it was still a mile above the planet's lowest level and far larger in size.
With Vasti’s power it was a matter of moments before the group of somewhat excited gods, led by Makir, were teleported to a flat spot in the bumpy stone hills that made up the second, lower plateau.
Helka dug a hole, able to sculpt the stone with her bare hands, Vasti went and scavenged ice to fill it with, and Elementa used her control over fire to melt it. Then Leå and Dem began work on filling it with tiny forms of life, trying to create evolution in a fraction of the time.
So it was that the twelve very different divine's overcame their differences to fulfil their own Purposes and all the while I continued to sleep.